by Carolina Mac
Her cell rang on the kitchen table and she glanced at the screen. Kingsley Veterinarian.
“Good afternoon, Miss Mulligan, this is Doctor Kingsley. I received a report from the lab on Hoodoo’s blood work and there seems to be a slight problem. It’s almost closing time, but if you could come over now, we could discuss it in detail. I want tell you about several different options available to us to treat his illness.”
“He has an illness?”
“I shouldn’t have called it that until after we’ve talked.”
“Should I bring Hoodoo?”
“Of course. I’ll see you soon.”
Tears welled up in her eyes as she turned off the stove and grabbed her jacket and car keys. She took the leash off the hook by the door and snapped it onto his collar.
Oh, my God. My worst nightmare. Hoodoo has cancer.
IT WAS ALMOST DARK when Blaine and Sheriff Cumberland called the search off for the night. Travis and Farrell had lost the scent at a creek that ran through the woods and the dogs couldn’t seem to pick it up on the other side.
“We were headed in a straight line to the trailer park,” said Travis, “when the trail went cold. He’s got to be there. Nowhere else he could be.”
“The sheriff has men doing a door to door,” said Blaine. “He won’t get far on foot with his leg not healed.”
“One of us should stay in the park,” said Travis. “I don’t want the fucker getting away again.”
“Okay, alternate four-hour shifts,” said Blaine. “You have to sleep too, Travis. Damn it, I wish we had our fourth man.” Blaine glanced at the message that had come in on his phone. “I’ll see if Jesse can spell you off. Hate being short like this. Fucks everything up.”
“We’ll manage,” said Travis. “You have to leave?”
“I’ve got to go interview Kingsley. I told Lopez to bring him in.”
DOCTOR KEN KINGSLEY sat in interrogation room four with his attorney, Bartley Winthrop. Winthrop, a short man in his late forties had lost most of his hair, but compensated with more attitude. Dressed in a black custom suit, he smiled as Blaine entered and offered them a beverage. “Mr. Blackmore-Powell.” Winthrop offered his hand and Blaine shook it.
Kingsley’s resemblance to the sketch that Misty and Celia had come up with was amazing. The first thing Blaine noticed was his large head and hands. Under six feet tall, but over two hundred pounds, dark hair and matching beard—he could have been a mountain man or a stand-in for Grizzly Adams.
“No times for beverages, thank you,” said Winthrop. “We’ve been waiting here an hour.” Quick glance at his Rolex. “My client wants to clear this up and go home.”
“Sorry, I was held up out of town,” said Blaine.
“Go ahead and ask your questions,” said Winthrop, “I’ll advise Ken which ones he can answer.”
Ken. That’s the name Misty said.
Blaine eyed Kingsley and he appeared to be relaxed, almost enjoying himself.
“During our investigation, we’ve discovered that the three girls who were murdered all used your veterinary services, Doctor Kingsley. Quite a coincidence, don’t you agree?”
“Not much of a coincidence when they all had dogs and lived in the west end of the city.”
“All the same,” said Blaine, “I hate coincidences.” He leaned closer and asked in almost a whisper. “What did you do with Sherry Finn’s Labrador Retriever?” Blaine studied Kingsley while he formed his response.
“Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Winthrop nodded. Ready to interrupt if he needed to.
“How well did you know Eve Partout?”
“Sorry, who?”
“Eve Partout. She was one of your clients. She owned a Chesapeake Bay Retriever. Remember her? You should. You have a dog the same breed, don’t you?”
“What if I do? Is that a crime?”
“Eve was the second girl murdered. Where were you the night Eve died in Zilker Park?”
“I don’t remember, but I can check my calendar at the office and give you something more definite—if I have to.”
“You’ll have to, Doctor Kinsgley.” Blaine flipped through his notes. “I’m curious about something, Doctor. What prompted you to change the venue when you raped and murdered Heather Stanley?”
Winthrop held up his hand. “Enough. If this is the route you’re taking, Mr. Blackmore, my client is leaving. You have nothing to charge him with or you would have done it by now.” He motioned to Kingsley and he stood up. “Let’s go, Ken.”
BLAINE PARKED IN the driveway of the old Victorian that he now owned. It looked huge and empty and all-too-similar to the house on the hill in Psycho. One of the old Hitchcock movies Annie liked and they had watched it together over and over. He wasn’t looking forward to living alone and rambling around inside like a hermit or worse yet—Norman Bates. The lace curtains upstairs had to go.
He glanced next door as he walked towards the porch with his briefcase in his hand. Misty’s car wasn’t there.
She’s driving her car today? It must run. I thought we were having dinner.
He went into the house, turned off the alarm and let Lexi out the back door into the newly fenced yard. The fence was gorgeous with its lattice trim and fancy post caps, but the flower beds had been sacrificed. Trampled into oblivion by the workmen who swore there would be no damage. What did it matter now? Carm was gone.
I’ll wait until spring and hire a landscaper.
He tried Misty’s cell and it went to message. He texted her.
“Is dinner off? Where are you? Call me.”
While he waited for a response, he pulled a cold Corona out of the fridge, sat down and stared at the gourmet kitchen he’d spent thousands on for Carmelita Flores. Why had things turned out like this?
Had Carm arrived in Brownsville? Had there been a fuckin train wreck? Why hadn’t she called? His whole fuckin world was tilting to the left.
ONCE DARKNESS FELL and the cops cleared out, Race skirted around the trailer park, dragging his throbbing leg and staying in the shadows. The temperature had dropped with the setting of the sun and he’d freeze to death if he didn’t soon find a spot to hole up until his leg was stronger.
Cops would be watching the park gate, so he stayed as far back from the highway as he could. On the street backing onto the woods, one of the mobile homes had a for sale sign out front. The brown grass was uncut—long and shaggy. Nobody had bothered with curb appeal for a long spell—not that there were any curbs.
He jimmied the back door, slipped inside and relocked the door. A musty closed-up smell made him wrinkle his nose, but he soon got used to it. Electricity could be on or turned off, but he wasn’t risking trying the lights to find out. He waited until his eyes adjusted to the dark, then felt his way around.
The place was partially furnished with some throw-away junk from Goodwill, but all he needed was water to wash the blood off his arm and a bed to lay down on. He struck gold. This place had both.
Race used the bathroom and cleaned up his arm. He opened the medicine chest over the small, square vanity, hoping for gauze or band aids and struck out. Empty. No towel either.
He felt his way next door to the bedroom, laid down on the bare mattress and closed his eyes.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Thursday, December 14th.
AT DAWN, LEXI nudged Blaine awake. She wagged her feathery tail when he opened his eyes. “It’s early, girl. Do you have to go out already?”
She whined once and ran to the top of the stairs.
First night alone in my Victorian mansion. Scary stuff.
He pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, grabbed his smokes and headed barefoot downstairs and through the house to the back door. With Lexi secured in the yard, Blaine rinsed the carafe and started the coffee maker. He padded to the front door and stepped outside, mainly to see if Misty’s car was in her drive. No car.
Where the hell can she be?
<
br /> He tried her cell again and it went to message.
Okay, girl. I’m freaking out now.
ON THE TRIP SOUTH to Fayette Memorial in La Grange, Blaine did nothing but try to figure out where Misty could be. When he knocked on her door, Hoodoo didn’t bark, so the dog was with her wherever she was. That was a positive point—if there was one. Why hadn’t he asked about her family or friends? He didn’t know a damn thing about her. No emergency number to call. She had a southern accent, but it wasn’t Texan, more like Louisiana. He hadn’t even bothered to ask where she was from? What kind of idiot boyfriend was he?
When he reached the hospital, he put thoughts of Misty aside and tried to focus on the job at hand. After an inquiry at reception in the lobby, he found the two Austin PD officers who’d been transporting Race Ogilvie. They lay in two beds, side by side, their faces black and blue from impacting the air bags, one with a cast on his arm, the other with casts on both legs.
“Morning, officers,” said Blaine. “Not a great morning for y’all, I guess.”
“You got that right,” said Haney, the one in the left bed. “Guess you want to know what happened, Ranger Blackmore?”
“Might help me find him, and then again, with Ogilvie involved, it might not.”
Haney told the story of the accident as he remembered it, then turned his head to Sam Raymore. “Did I miss anything, Sammy?”
“Nope. Once the fuckin herd of elephants hit us and we rolled, the rest was over in seconds. Never saw Ogilvie fly out of the back of the squad—nothing.”
“Thanks, gentlemen,” said Blaine. “Speedy recovery to you both.”
FROM THE HOSPITAL, Blaine headed north to Laguna Palms to spell off Travis and Farrell. They’d been there all night and last time he’d spoken to them they hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary.
“We took turns sleeping in the back seat of the truck, boss,” said Farrell. “Nothing happened, far as we saw. “Drove around patrol-like every half hour, and all the trailers were in darkness. Everybody was sleeping.”
“Sheriff Cumberland said they did a thorough search of the park,” said Blaine. “they talked to every resident and searched the two empty units.”
“Race must still be hiding in the bush,” said Travis. “He’ll come out sooner or later, or else he’ll fuckin starve to death.”
“That would be a bonus,” said Farrell. “No more Race.”
Blaine’s cell jangled. “Lopez, good morning.”
“Good call on Kingsley, Blacky. You were right on the money. We never should have brought the fucker in so soon.”
“Jesus Christ,” Blaine hollered at top volume, and Farrell jumped. “Where is she?”
“Zilker. Almost the same spot.”
“Half an hour.”
Blaine’s heart pounded, and he thought he might throw up.
Don’t let it be Misty.
“What boss? You went kind of pale,” said Farrell.
“Another murder in Zilker Park. Call Cumberland and get him to cover you off here. As soon as a squad arrives, catch up with me.”
“Yep. Right behind you, boss.”
“We gonna need the dogs?” asked Travis.
“I’ll call Jesse and have him bring the dogs to the park.”
RACE WATCHED from behind dusty gray drapes that covered the multi-paned front window. A woman came out of the trailer directly across from the one he was hiding in. She locked the door with a key, jumped into her rusty Toyota and headed for the gate.
“She’s going to work,” he said to himself. “I need food.” He waited ten minutes and there wasn’t another person stirring on the street of four trailers. He took a credit card out of his wallet and slipped it into the front pocket of his filthy jeans.
He opened the back door of the trailer he was in, stuck close to the wall and slunk around to the front. Still all clear. He ran across the gravel street and tried the woman’s side door. Locked. He fiddled with the card and the lock gave. He turned the knob and the lock wasn’t engaged, but the door wouldn’t open. “Fuckin dead bolt.” The sound of an engine coming closer made him turn tail and beat it back to his hiding place. He ran in, locked the door behind him and collapsed onto the floor. The pain in his leg was more than he could stand. He needed drugs and he needed food.
He’d have to wait until dark and try again.
EAST RIVERSIDE was blocked at the route one exit. Media vehicles were bunched up on the side of the road and reporters and camera men were being restrained by the boys in uniform. The news-hungry crowd spotted his truck and surged towards him like lemmings to the brink. Hundreds of questions were shouted at him as he drove through the barricade and headed deeper into the parkland.
He parked in a visitor’s lot and trudged along towards the spot where the last victim had been found. This can’t be Misty. If it is, I won’t be able to deal with it. Guaranteed.
He stopped beside an oak tree and tried her number once more and got the same result. It went to message. Before he clipped his phone back on his belt, it rang. Scott’s private number. “Shit. I don’t want to talk to you yet.”
He shook his head and pressed ‘talk’. “Yes, sir. I’m almost at the site.”
“I heard homicide had him in custody,” the Governor snapped. “Why in hell did they let him go?”
“Bartley Winthrop was with him, and we had nothing to charge him with at that time.”
“Fuck,” hollered a man who rarely cursed.
“I second that, sir. Can you give me an hour?”
“I apologize, son. This is not your fault.”
“We’re all on edge, sir. Me more than the rest, with Ogilvie on the loose.”
The Governor changed his tone completely. “Have you talked to Annie since yesterday?”
“Only to tell her about Race. I wanted to warn her and have Jose beef up perimeter security. Is something else wrong I should know about?”
The Governor blurted it out. “I asked her to marry me and forget about all her sadness.”
Blaine sucked in a breath so fast it hurt.
She refused you, right?
“And I was a happy man when she said yes. I hope you can be happy for us, son.”
Blaine inhaled twice and could barely project a sound. “Of course, I’m happy for you, sir. If this is what the two of you want, you should go ahead and work out the details.”
“Thanks, Blaine. I wanted your blessing.”
Jesus Christ, Mom. One mistake after another. The manure pile keeps getting higher. What the hell is wrong with you?
Blindsided by the Governor’s news, Blaine was almost on top of the corpse and the medical examiner before he realized it. He gazed down at the blonde girl’s face, twisted in the pain of death and silently thanked God it wasn’t Misty.
“Who found the body?” he asked Lopez, who leaned on a tree trunk talking to one of the techs.
“A skateboarder,” said Lopez. “Young boy—teenager. His parents had to come pick him up he was so upset. I have his statement.”
“Did the victim have any identification?”
“Uh huh. Julie Westover, twenty-eight years old. I’m on my way to do the notification. Come with?”
“Yep, I’ll do that, and Jesse can set the boys up with the dogs. He should be here soon.”
TRAVIS AND FARRELL arrived and caught up to Blaine. “Two of Sheriff Cumberland’s deputies are watching the trailer park, boss,” said Farrell. “Nothing going on there when we left.”
“Can’t think of anywhere else Race could go,” said Blaine. “He’ll have to show his face sooner or later.”
“What if he made it to the highway and hitched a ride?” asked Travis. “He could be out of state by now. We’ll never find the rotten fucker.”
“His trail led away from the highway,” said Blaine. “I figure he’s hurt worse than we think after being thrown out of the cruiser. Who knows what he hit when he touched down. He has to hole up and heal before he makes a run for
it.”
“Makes sense,” said Farrell, “and you’re usually right, bro. You have a better read on these assholes than I do.”
Jesse crossed a wide expanse of grass with the dogs on two leashes and he was noticeably out of wind.
Blaine pointed to one of the park benches along the gravel path. Jesse handed the dogs off to the boys and sat down. Blaine sat beside him. “I’m going with Lopez to do the notification. Come with us. You can’t be running around the park.”
“I want to be running around the park,” said Jesse, “but you’re right. I can’t.” Jesse took a couple of deep breaths and stood up. “Let Nielsen go with his partner to do the notification. You and I will go bring in the vet.”
Blaine raised a dark eyebrow. “Think that’s the way to go? Could have the same result as last time. He calls his lawyer and he’s out in an hour.”
“We need to keep on him, and besides, I want to see him face to face.”
“Okay, your call.” Blaine studied the set in Jesse’s jaw. “You have a plan. I can tell when the wheels are turning.”
ON THE WAY to Doctor Kingsley’s office building, Blaine put Jesse’s plan into action. He called Mary Polito.
“Nice to hear from you, Mr. Blackmore. Can I help you with something?”
“Yes, please, Mary. Meet me at this address and bring a photographer. Not a word to anyone, okay? This is a surprise. Not a good surprise for everyone, but a good one for the paper.”
“Okay, thanks. I’m writing down the directions. Should I come right now?”
“Yes, I’m on my way there now.”
“Is that the reporter you worked with on the sketch?” asked Jesse.
“Uh huh. Nice girl and she doesn’t badger me. She waits until I call her, and she prints exactly what I tell her.”
“Good to have an ally in the press,” said Jesse. “Someone who tells the true story and doesn’t try to turn the truth into the next miniseries on Netflix. The TV people are way over the top most of the time.”
