Blood Trails

by Sharon Sala

  “Hello.”

  Whit forgot what he was going to say. “Tate? Is that you?”

  “Yes. Holly’s in the shower.”

  “What the hell are you doing out of the hospital?”

  “Sticking close to my woman is what I’m doing. What’s up?”

  “Are you mobile?”

  “Is he going to talk to her?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow at one o’clock. City jail. Tell her I’ll pick her up around twelve-thirty.”

  “We’re both going.”

  “Can you even walk?”

  “He cut my shoulder, not my legs. I won’t let her anywhere close to him without me there, too.”

  “I can promise you he’s in chains and shackles, and there will be armed guards in the room and outside the door no matter who he’s talking to—except his lawyer, of course. Oh, by the way, tell Holly she won’t have to testify in court.”

  “That’s good news, but why not?”

  “He’s pleading guilty at his arraignment tomorrow.”

  “That’s good to know. When she talks to him, is he going to be in one of those rooms with a two-way mirror?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you hear what he’s saying from the other side?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then that’s where I’ll be. If there’s a spare chair around, I’ll take it. Otherwise, I’m good.”

  There was a long moment of silence, then Whit said, “You are one tough son of a bitch, and I mean that in the nicest way.”

  Bud smiled. “I’ll take it as a compliment. We’ll be ready.”

  Holly came out of the bathroom just as he ended the call.

  “Who was that?”

  “Carver. You’ve got your interview. One o’clock tomorrow at the city jail.”

  At first she didn’t respond. She just stared into space.

  “Holly?”

  She jerked. “What?”

  “Are you okay?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve been trying all day to figure out how to ask him about Mother.”

  “You’ll find your way. You always do.”

  “Do you need any help in the bathroom?”

  “No, I’m good. I’ll just sleep in my sweatpants, and settle for washing my face and brushing my teeth. I won’t be long.”

  Holly watched until he had shut the door behind him; then she walked to the windows overlooking the river. The Arch and the riverboats were lit up like Christmas trees. Down below, the streets looked shiny. She was surprised to see it had been raining. There was so much riding on tomorrow, and she was weary of the stress. She pressed her forehead against the cold panes of glass and closed her eyes.

  “God help me.”

  At the jail, Mackey was the man of the hour. The agent from Quantico was there, waiting his turn to talk, looking forward to finding out why such a notorious serial killer had quit cold turkey.

  Detective Carver was anxious to get locations on the four other bodies, but he wasn’t broaching the subject with Mackey until Holly spoke to him first. It only seemed fair, given everything she had done for them. He was on the way to the hotel to pick her up, though he was still anxious about Tate going with her. The will to do something was often stronger than the body’s ability. He was hoping they didn’t have to call an ambulance to the jail if Tate couldn’t hold up.

  But to his surprise, as he pulled up at the hotel, they came right out.

  “You must have been watching for me,” Whit said, as he got out of the car to help Bud in.

  “Bud, you take the front seat,” Holly said. “It’ll be easier for you to get in and out. I’ll ride in back.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Bud said, and eased himself inside. He didn’t even argue when she buckled him in before getting in the back.

  Whit eyed the couple with something akin to jealousy, wishing he’d found a woman like her when he was younger, then reminded himself that he might have had better luck if he’d been looking somewhere besides a sports bar.

  “Ready?” Whit asked, as Holly shut the back door.

  She nodded, buckling herself in as he drove away.

  “Has anybody talked to Mackey yet?” Bud asked.

  “No. Holly gets the first shot.” Whit glanced at her in the rearview mirror. It was obvious that she was nervous. “I wish I could guarantee you’ll get what you came for.”

  She shrugged slightly. “There are no guarantees in life, are there?”

  “No, ma’am, there are not.”

  The rest of the trip passed in silence. When they got to the jail, Holly busied herself with helping Bud, so by the time they got to the interrogation room, some of her nerves had settled.

  Then Whit walked them through a door and pointed. From where they were standing, they could see Mackey sitting at a table. He was handcuffed and shackled and, to Holly’s horror, staring straight at them. It took her a moment to remember that he was looking at a two-way mirror and couldn’t tell who was on the other side.

  He looked strange without his ponytail, and it gave her a good deal of satisfaction that, thanks to her, his nose was still taped and both his eyes were black.

  The bandage on his nose gave him a macabre appearance, as if he was hiding part of himself behind a mask, which seemed fitting, since he’d shown a mask to the world for years.

  Holly frowned. “So he’s alone.”

  “He didn’t want the lawyer there when he talked to you,” Whit said. “But there will be a guard with you when you go in.”

  “Nice pair of black eyes,” Bud said. “Way to go, honey.”

  “I slammed the door in his face,” she said, but took a step backward just the same.

  “He can’t see us,” Whit reminded her.

  “He doesn’t have to,” Holly muttered. “He knows we’re here.”

  Bud put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you ready for this?”

  She turned and buried her face against his neck.

  Bud leaned his cheek against the crown of her head as he gave her a strong, one-armed hug; then he pushed her away, forcing her to meet his gaze.

  “Holly Slade, you are the strongest woman I know. Don’t let that bastard know you’re scared.”

  “I won’t.” She turned to Whit. “I’m ready, and Bud needs a chair.”

  “Right, I’ll bring one just as soon as I let her in,” he said.

  Bud watched them walk out the door, then turn a corner. A few moments later the door to the interrogation room opened. A very large armed guard appeared, followed by Holly. Bud’s gaze went straight to her face. He knew her better than anyone on the planet and he couldn’t tell from her expression what the hell she was thinking. That was when he began to relax.

  “Way to go, baby,” he said softly.

  Whit came back with a stool. “The chair would be too short for you to see in. Is this okay?”

  “It’s fine. Can we hear what they’re saying?”

  Whit flipped a switch beside the window. They watched as Holly headed for the table, but instead of sitting across from him, she grabbed the chair and pulled it to the far side of the room before she sat down.

  Whit smiled. She was already setting the tone by reminding Mackey that she was the one in charge.

  But Bud knew something Mackey didn’t. Holly wasn’t doing it because she was afraid. She was putting distance between them because of her disgust.

  Mackey curiously eyed the woman entering the room. She was tall compared to Twila and didn’t look anything like she had as a child. As she moved in front of a barred window, the sunlight caught in her hair. That hadn’t changed. It was still thick, and a dark, rich auburn.

  There was a moment when the thought ran through his mind that a beautiful piece like that would have been a valuable addition to his trophies, and then his focus scattered when she grabbed the empty chair and dragged it to the opposite wall. The back legs made a loud, screeching noise, like fingernails on a chalkboard. There
was nothing subtle about her feelings. No solicitous silence from her. “Hello, Harriet.”

  Holly sat. “I go by Holly now. Nice haircut.”

  It was the studied smirk on her face that gave her away. It was her! By God, she was the one who’d cut off his ponytail. The bitch!

  Harold waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. In fact, the stare she was giving him was so intent it became unsettling. He didn’t like being on the defensive and challenged her, his voice loud and angry.

  “They said you wanted to talk, so talk.”

  “I don’t intend to talk to you. I have one question to ask you. Just one, and then I’m gone.”

  “Then ask.”

  “What did you do with my mother’s body?”

  The question itself wasn’t a surprise to Harold, but the anger in her voice was. It took him a moment to accept that she wasn’t scared of him. Not even a little bit. His estimation of her rose even more. She’d fought back in the hotel room. It was part of why he’d gotten caught. Pride swelled within his chest. If he had to go down, it felt right that it was because he’d had a worthy opponent.

  “You are a fine, strong woman,” Harold said. “You got that from me.”

  Holly wanted to scream. It took everything she had to stay seated, but she got to him when she laughed. The shock in his eyes was worth the effort it took to make it happen.

  “You are so full of shit,” she said. “I got nothing from you. In fact, you took everything away from me that mattered.”

  A red flush swept up Harold’s neck and face.

  Holly glared back. “I repeat. What did you do with my mother’s body?”

  “Don’t you want to know what happened?” he asked. “Don’t you care to know that she had to beg for her life because of you?”

  Holly stood abruptly. When she came out of the chair, Bud stood up, ready to invade their space should the need arise.

  Whit touched his arm.

  “She’s good, she’s good,” he said softly. “Let her get it all said.”

  Holly was livid. She pointed at Mackey. “I didn’t kill her. You killed her. And I ask again, what did you do with my mother’s body?”

  In growing rage Harold yanked on the chains anchoring him to the chair.

  “You snooped where you didn’t belong. I told you not to tell or you’d be sorry. I told you if you did, you’d never see your mother again.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Whit muttered.

  Holly was so mad she was shaking. “I was five, you dumb-ass. Five-year-old children know only one thing. If you get hurt, tell Mother. If you get scared, tell Mother. If someone threatens your life, tell your mother. You did all three to me. You yanked my hair, slammed me up against the wall and then threatened my life, so I told Mother. What did you do with her body?”

  Harold’s eyes were bulging, and there was a droplet of spittle at the corner of his mouth.

  “She came back from that damn church without you. I knew the minute she walked in the door alone that you were gone. She wouldn’t tell me where you were. I kept asking, ‘What did you do with my kid?’ but she wouldn’t talk. I tried to beat it out of her, and she still wouldn’t talk.”

  Holly felt sick. Hearing how her mother had suffered wasn’t unexpected, but hearing him say it without any emotion other than anger was shocking.

  “Where is she?” Holly yelled.

  Harold shuddered. He wasn’t used to rage. He’d always prided himself on being the one to use anger as a means of control. But he had to admit, his girl was tough. He leaned back in his chair, and just like that, his own rage was gone.

  There was a knot in the pit of Bud’s belly, but his admiration for Holly had just gone up another notch. Damn, but she was an amazing woman to be able to trade barbs with that animal and hold her ground.

  “You know what?” Harold said. “I’m glad I didn’t kill you. I’m glad you grew up. I don’t even mind so much that it was you who brought me down. You’ll carry my blood when I’m gone.”

  The thought made Holly sick. “Where’s my mother’s body?”

  Harold smiled. He looked like an animal showing his fangs, and still Holly wouldn’t give way.

  “You know what Twila did that sealed her fate?”

  Holly stared.

  Regardless of her silence, Harold continued. “I asked her again, ‘Where’s my kid?’ She slapped me and laughed. She said you weren’t even mine. I didn’t believe her then, and after seeing the guts you exhibit, I know for sure that she lied. You get your toughness from me. But it was that lie…that’s when I broke her damn neck. There should not be lies between a man and his woman.”

  Holly stifled a gasp. If even the remote possibility existed that he wasn’t her father, it was the best news she’d heard since this nightmare began. But she’d had enough. Her hands curled into fists, and she started toward him.

  Again Bud came off the stool. Even Whit got antsy.

  The guard in the corner of the room tensed, as if trying to decide to stay put or move forward.

  Holly walked across the room. Bracing herself against the table with the palms of her hands, she leaned forward. With only inches between her face and Mackey’s, she looked straight into his eyes and screamed the same question again, slapping the table between each word. “What…the…hell…did…you…do…with…my…mother’s…body?”

  Harold recoiled, his eyes narrowing. “She’s in the basement of our old house, right where our life came undone.”

  “Thank you, God,” Bud said softly.

  “I’ll be damned,” Whit muttered. “I didn’t think he was going to tell her.”

  Holly straightened, then turned around and headed for the door.

  “You’re one fine woman,” Harold said. “You deserve to live.”

  Holly paused at the door and looked back.

  “You don’t.”

  Seventeen

  Holly was shaking so hard she couldn’t breathe. She saw Bud coming through the doorway and all but fell against his chest as she wrapped her arms around him.

  “Oh, my God, oh, my God, I feel sick,” she said.

  Bud was choking back tears. “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you, and I’ve never been so proud.”

  Holly’s heart was hammering so loudly that she could barely hear him as she kept her face against his chest.

  Whit Carver was in awe. “You are something, lady,” he said quietly, patting her awkwardly on the back. “I’ve got some questions of my own to ask before I turn Mr. FBI loose on him, but after the reaming out you gave him, I think you’ve softened him up for me. I have four more bodies to locate before I can completely close this case, but the bad guy is behind bars, and he’s never getting out until we put him in the ground.”

  Still held within the shelter of Bud’s arms, she looked up.

  “Could I ask for one more favor?”

  “Anything,” Whit said.

  “If I give you a DNA sample, can you have it tested against his? If there’s even the slightest chance that I’m not his daughter, I have to find out.”

  “You’ve got it,” Whit said. “I’ll have someone from the lab come up and take it, then an officer will take the two of you back to the hotel. In the meantime, I assume you want to be on hand when I take the crime scene team to your old residence?”

  “I have to be there. Finding out what happened to my mother is what brought me back to Missouri. She meant to come back for me. I won’t let her down.”

  “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. I’ll call with a time. You’ll be on hand from the start.” Whit glanced at Bud. “You look like shit. When you two get back to the hotel, let your woman put you back to bed, and don’t get up until you hear from me again.”

  Within the hour they were back at the hotel and on their way up to their suite.

  Ida Pacino was watering her begonias when she saw a dark sedan turn a corner, then come down the street, followed by three police cars and a big van.

  The seda
n pulled into the driveway of the house across the street. The police cars pulled in along the curb out front, and the van pulled into the driveway behind the sedan.

  People spilled out of the vehicles in twos and threes. When she recognized Holly Slade, she almost called out, wondering what could possibly be going on.

  When Cecil Fairfield let them into his house, her confusion grew.

  Holly got out of Carver’s car and glanced over her shoulder. She saw Ida in her yard but didn’t have time to acknowledge her. She was too concerned about Bud making it out of the car. She was worried about him. He hadn’t slept well last night and was patently miserable, but she hadn’t been able to convince him to stay behind. All she could do was make sure he had his pain pills and find him a comfortable place to be.

  For Whit Carver, telling the current homeowners, Cecil and Loretta Fairfield, what lay hidden in the basement of their house had not been pleasant. He was pretty sure from the horrified reaction they’d had when he’d called on them last night that they would be moving before long. He felt sorry for them. The police department was about to make one hell of a mess, for all intents and purposes turning their nice little house into a crime scene.

  Cecil met them at the door with a resigned expression on his face.

  “Detective Carver.”

  Whit shook his hand. “Mr. Fairfield, this is Holly Slade and her fiancé, Robert Tate. Holly lived here with her parents as a child, and it is Holly’s mother who we believe was buried in the basement.”

  Cecil paled as he nodded at Holly. “I’m very sorry.”

  “So am I,” she said. “I appreciate how difficult this must be for you and your wife.”

  “Loretta went to her mother’s last night.” He looked at Holly strangely. “She remembered talking to you several days ago. Said to give you her condolences.” Then he motioned to the people crowding up the porch. “You might as well come in and get this over with.”

  Within minutes the house was crawling with a crime scene crew, several detectives and a couple of techs from the crime lab. Holly peered curiously down the hallway before following the others into the kitchen. The house felt different, and yet the basic layout was the same as she had come to remember.