Crucified (8 page)

Dianne tapped
her pen on the desk. “Please, Ms. Stewart, this is extremely
important.”

“
Okay, here it is. 555-0738.”

“
Thank you. You’ve been most helpful,” Dianne said, ending the
call and dialing Mr. Cox. She couldn’t punch in the numbers fast
enough.

“
We’re sorry, the number you have reached is not in
service
.”

Her open hand
smacked the desktop. She jumped up and bolted for the door. Once in
the sedan she flipped open her cell and dialed. “Seth? I need an
address, stat! Jerry Cox.”

“
Hey, slow down. Who is Jerry Cox?”

“
He’s the last person to leave the post office. He has his own
key.”

Dianne heard
the click of his keyboard.

“
By the way, we just got the lab results back.” He yawned into
the receiver. “All they found were slight traces of
peroxide.”

She sat
straight up. “Peroxide, commonly known as bleach.” Adrenaline
coursed through her body. “Jerry Cox is the cleaning guy.”

“
Here it is. Jerry Cox, 378 Winding Road. Johnstown, New
Brunswick. Age, fifty-six. Height, six-foot-three-inches. Weight,
two hundred seventy-five pounds.”

“
How do I get to Winding Road?” She turned the key in the
ignition.

“
You aren’t going anywhere alone.”

“
I’ll be right over to pick you up.”

****

Taylor sat out
back of his house, breathing in the intoxicating scent of Lupins in
full bloom. He didn’t consider himself a flowery kind of guy by any
means. However, he did harbor a deep appreciation for nature and
all it entailed.

He tossed and
turned most of the night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the
sexy agent, or the sickening smirk of the demented hardware store
owner.

He took great
pleasure in smashing his face. If Dianne hadn’t been there, who
knew if he would have stopped. He couldn’t fathom how anyone could
hurt Casey. Sure she was a bit of a tease, but so was every other
red blooded teenage girl in Johnstown.

Dianne hadn’t
called him, so he assumed they hadn’t learned the whereabouts from
Ray. There was one thing about the guy that didn’t quite mesh. Of
all the photos he’d seen in his apartment, not one would be classed
as inappropriate. From what he saw, they were only pictures of the
kids in town standing in the street in groups of two or more.

If he took Casey, wouldn’t he have pictures proudly
displayed?
Maybe he flushed those types of
photos before Dianne burst in the bathroom door. Or, maybe they had
the wrong guy
. Was it possible he was still
out there stalking his next victim?

Taylor pondered the possibility as his eyes roamed the
panoramic view from his back deck. His brow creased.
Something is different
.

The picture
postcard view before him was etched in his mind. He’d spent many a
morning taking in the sight before him. He folded his arms across
his chest.

Smoke
.

Not the
billowing smoke of a fire out of control. If he guessed right, this
smoke came from a chimney.

Odd. A fire in the heat of summer?
He’d never seen signs of life out that way before. Shortly
after moving in, he’d taken MJ for a tour of what lay outside his
back door. He found a rocky incline between the field of flowers
and the ocean. The only evidence of civilization was a couple of
abandoned cabins once occupied by fishermen during the peak fishing
times.

He’d peeked in
a few windows and confirmed nobody had been there for a very long
time. Overgrown weeds climbed the windows. A broken pane served as
an entrance for stray animals. Small piles of evidence they’d been
there lay scattered across the dirty floors.

Taylor lifted his coffee cup and drained the contents. Not
that he needed an excuse to go for a ride. He walked inside and
scooped up his keys off of the kitchen counter
. I’ll just go take a quick look around
to make sure there isn’t anything on fire
.

There wasn’t a
cloud in the sky as he rode toward the ocean. He licked his lips,
able to taste the salt from the ocean. Seagulls soared above him
looking for a morning snack. The unmistakable scent of wood smoke
wafted toward him as he pulled over to the shoulder. An unkempt
gravel road led to where the cabins were. No way was he riding MJ
down the pothole-riddled laneway. He locked up his bike and walked
toward the spiral of smoke coming from the myriad of trees.

The hairs on
his arms stood on end. The roof of a cabin peeked above the
overgrown foliage. Unease and trepidation slowed his pace. There
wasn’t a legitimate reason why he was feeling this way, but the
sensation was so overpowering he took heed.

Taylor scooted
from tree to tree, safely hidden behind the tall, gnarled trunks. A
familiar, old, beat up van was parked beside a cabin where smoke
rose from the chimney. He remembered seeing it around town from
time to time. On the other side was a small stone building, not
unlike similar structures scattered along the oceanfront. The stone
kept the temperature ideally cool. Fishermen used to store their
fish inside them.

He caught
movement from inside the cabin. Slowly, he inched his way up under
the window ledge and peeked inside. A big man, wearing a long black
trench coat stood in front of an old cast iron wood stove. He wore
the collar turned up, and unruly red curls poked out above it. The
stranger had a slight bald patch on top of his head. His gloved
hands sorted through a stack of photos he held out in front of
him.

He’s got to be baking in that trench coat.
Goosebumps crawled up his arms. He half expected
him to turn around flashing a butcher knife.

A thick layer of dust covered everything except for a space on
the end of a table that had been swiped clean.
If he lives here, he didn’t take any time to clean up the
place.
A single chair sat in front of the
space. Animal droppings littered the floor and spider webs filled
every nook and cranny visible from the window.

On a small side
table next to the door sat half a dozen iron spikes, the kind they
use on the railways. A long handled sledgehammer sat propped
against the wall beside it, and hanging from a hook above the
table…a Polaroid camera.

Taylor’s heart
thrummed madly. Maybe he’s .just taking pictures of the ocean, or
the whales… His gaze traveled the length of the man.

He’s the
fucker who took Casey, I can feel it.

He dashed back behind a cluster of bushes, making sure he
could still everything. He thought about going back to town for
help, but quickly dismissed the idea.
If
Casey’s here, I can’t leave her alone.
How
am I going to get a look in the van and that building without the
guy seeing me?

The backs of
his legs started to throb, reminding him of his height and how
unhappy it was about being crouched down for so long.

The stranger
still stood in the exact same spot, shuffling through his photos.
Taylor carefully stretched his legs out in front of him at the same
time the stranger moved.

His massive
hand took hold of a long handled spoon that sat precariously on a
large pot on top of the wood stove. An unusual, yet familiar scent
wafted through the broken glass toward Taylor as he stirred the
pot. He’d smelled that scent before, but couldn’t for the life of
him put a name to it.

A twig snapped from behind him. Taylor wrenched his neck
trying to see without shifting.
Someone is
out there and they’re headed this way.
He
darted to the side of the cabin where he crouched down beside the
passenger door of the van.

He still had a
good view of the door to the cabin and the road he’d taken in. He
looked inside the van. Contrary to the paint chipped, rusted out
body, the inside was immaculate. There wasn’t as much as a speck of
dirt on the floor mats. Casey wasn’t inside.

The door to the
cabin flew open and banged against the side of the cabin. The man
in black carried the steaming pot by the handle. Although the pot
seemed made of cast iron and obviously full, he carried it with
ease. He walked over to a poorly constructed clothesline and set
down the pot. One by one he took the items of clothes from the pot
and hung them dripping from the line. The last item, a pink hooded
sweater Taylor recognized as Casey’s.

Why is he
washing her clothes?

Taylor tried to
get a glimpse of the psycho’s face. Between his high collar and
newly acquired toque he had pulled down low, Taylor couldn’t see
anything. Once the clothes were hung, he tipped over the pot and
lumbered over to the van. Its rusty hinges creaked as he opened the
door and slammed it shut behind him.

If he backs
out I’m screwed. If he pulls out, I just might have a chance, as
long as he doesn’t look in his mirrors.

The van clunked
and rolled away. Taylor dropped to the ground, and as soon as the
van passed him, he rolled in the direction of the small stone
building.

He sucked air through clenched teeth as he watched the van
drive out of sight. He then expelled his breath and stopped.
MJ. There’s no way the freak won’t see her on his
way out.

He had to act
fast. A long steel bar wedged in metal braces held the door to the
stone house shut. He tried to pull it up. The bar was wedged in
tight. He planted his feet and pulled with all his strength.
Finally, he felt it give a little.

Chapter
Nine

In the same
moment he felt the iron give way, the sound of the van’s wheels
spitting gravel resounded in the air.

“
Fuck!” Taylor set off running around to the back of the stone
building. He kicked over a plastic pail and spilled its contents in
his path. His foot slid out from under him and he landed flat on
his ass in the middle of a slimy puddle of fowl
smelling…“Shit!”

He heaved in
disgust. Someone had been using the pail as a toilet. He scrambled
to his feet and stifled the urge to throw up. The van door slammed
shut, jolting him back to the now. Taylor pressed his putrid
smelling body flush against the cool stone.

“
I know you’re here,” shouted the stranger. “C’mon out and face
me you yellow bellied piece of scooter trash!”

Taylor’d never
in his life backed down from a fight, but he was no fool. He knew,
as much as he felt like running out and letting loose on the sick
fuck, the guy wasn’t playing with a full deck.

“
Jerry Cox.” A loud, amplified voice seemed to come from every
direction. “This is the police. We have you surrounded. Step away
from the vehicle with your hands in the air.”

Taylor slid
along the wall to the corner of the building.

Jerry Cox threw
back his head and laughed hysterically, waving his hands above his
head. “Our Father in heaven is watching! Jezebel must pay for her
sins.”

Uniformed
officers swarmed in on Jerry Cox.

The cold shaft
of a gun pressed against his temple. “Hands behind your back,” an
officer shouted.

Taylor knew how
to pick his battles. This was definitely a battle not worth
fighting. He moved his hands behind his back and stepped away from
the wall. The officer took three steps back, but kept his gun
trained on him. He ushered Taylor down the side of the
building.

“
Jezebel is waiting for you, Scooter Trash.” Jerry’s face
twisted into a distorted grin. “Why don’t you officers dispose of
the sinners? Put them where they belong… in the
trash
.” He started to laugh again,
echoing the madness in his bulging eyes.

“
That’s enough. Get him in the cruiser.” Agent Mann guided
Dianne towards them.

“
Where is she?” She bolted toward Jerry, and grabbed the collar
of his jacket. “Where’s Casey, you crazy son of a
bitch.”

Jerry fell
quiet and glared at Dianne before he spat in her face.

Her knee came
up and pummeled into his balls. He doubled over, writhing in pain
for only a brief moment before tilting his face toward Taylor.

“
She probably had you, too…didn’t she, Scooter Trash? I’ve seen
that Jezebel hanging around your shop.” His face twisted in a
medley of pain and insanity. “Bet you liked it, too…didn’t you,
Scooter Trash?”

“
Okay, let’s go. Into the wagon, asshole.” Seth signaled for
two officers to come take him away. “Spread out! Find the girl,
now!” His command filtered through the officers, setting them in
motion.

Jerry Cox’s
laughter hung in the air long after the cruiser drove out of
sight.

“
I think she’s in there.” Taylor pointed with his cuffed hands
to the stone building.

“
Open that door,” Dianne shouted as she ran toward the
building.

An officer on
either end of the iron post lifted it up and placed it on the
ground. They swung the big door back, assaulted by the putrid
stench. It took a few seconds before he saw her—in exactly the same
position in the last photo.

Are we too
late?

One of the
officers turned away and doubled over to puke. The girl hanging
from the cross was a skeleton of the Casey who broke out in a fit
of giggles if he so much as looked her way.

Dianne jogged
over to the clothesline and snatched the overturned bucket. She ran
over to Casey and turned it over by her side. She stepped up and
pressed her ear against the girl’s blood caked chest. She jerked
back, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.