Dead Even (29 page)

Mike and Butch said a hasty good-bye to their pilot and headed for their patrol car. Mike picked up the mike on the radio as he started the motor and pulled out of the airport parking lot. They still had about a five mile drive into town.

“This is Ramsey,” he said, breaking policy by using his name on the radio. “Have they picked up Isaac Simpson yet?”

The dispatcher's voice crackled on the line. “Who? We have a Howard Simpson. Is that who you mean?”

“No. The son. Isaac. Is Markham around? Could you patch me through to him?”

The dispatcher hesitated briefly at the unusual request, then responded. “Sure, Mike. Hold on.”

It was about thirty seconds before they heard Markham's voice. “Yeah, Mike. What's up?”

He repeated his question. “Have you picked up Isaac Simpson yet?”

“Who the hell is Isaac Simpson?” Markham's voice thundered. “And what do you mean have I picked him up yet?”

“Oh, Christ!” Butch swore. “The son of a bitch didn't tell him!”

Mike was aware that he was yelling. “Didn't Windslow give you my message? About the son?”

“I haven't talked with Harry since this morning, Mike. I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Oh, God,” Mike groaned. “Then you haven't dispatched a guard for Audra?”

“She's missing, Mike. Her and a boy. Jason M—”

“Missing?” Mike screamed. “Oh, sweet Jesus! That bastard has her!”

Markham interrupted. “
Who,
Mike?
Who
has her? What the devil are you talking about?”

“Captain, it's the son.
He's
our serial killer. It isn't Howard Simpson. I can't explain it all to you right now, but get some cars over to Simpson's house. He might have them there. And find out where Harry Windslow is. I'm going to kill the son of a bitch!”

*   *   *

“No!” Isaac screamed. “They can't know about me! I'm dead. There's no way they could know!”

Jason's hands froze on the pile of books Isaac had placed on the floor for him to look through.
Mike!
That was Mike on the scanner—he would be here soon! It was going to be all right. Mike would find him!

“Jason! Get your coat. We have to go. Hurry!” Isaac began rushing around the attic room.

Jason searched through the stack of books and quickly tossed one to the middle of the room. He had already turned the page back to indicate the section. Maybe someone would figure out what he was trying to say.

Isaac came over to him, yanking him to his feet. “We have to go! Hurry!”

Jason walked across the room to the orange crate, bent down and retrieved the book, laying it open, next to the lamp. Quickly he made two marks in the dust. Isaac stood over him, but paid no attention to the squiggles. He grabbed Jason and headed for the opening. “It will be hard coming down with you. If you give me any trouble, I'll use the chloroform again,” he ordered.

“I won't give you any trouble—Father,” Jason said meekly.

*   *   *

Audra jerked the pickup into park, and headed up the driveway to Simpson's house. It occurred to her as she tried the door that she should have alerted the police first, in case Thomas Reivich had not been able to get through.

Audra pounded on the locked door with her fists. “Come out of there, you rotten son of a bitch!” she screamed. “You wanted me! Come get me!”

She ran back to the pickup, grabbed a small log from the pile, and headed around the house. She stopped in surprise when she saw the back door standing open. She walked cautiously toward it, and peered in.

The lights were on in the rear of the house, and she entered, holding the log as a weapon. The first thing she saw was the telephone on the wall of the utility room. She grabbed it up and dialed 911. “This is Audra Delaney,” she whispered. “Please send help. I'm at 2422 Castlebury. Hurry!” She didn't wait for a response.

She clutched the log in both hands and continued on through the rooms. When she saw the closet door standing open and the stepladder, she knew she had located Isaac's “secret place.”

“Jason!” she screamed. “Are you up there?” Her words echoed in the quiet house.

She could see the blue light coming from the attic room as she started up the ladder slowly, ready to swing the log at the first sign of movement.

She reached the top rung and stood looking in at Isaac's room. It was empty.

She felt a hand close around her ankle, then felt the gun push into her back.

Chapter TWENTY-EIGHT

“Hold it right there!” Audra recognized the voice.

“Mike! It's me!” She ducked down to where he could see her.

Mike pulled her from the ladder and into his arms. “Oh, God, Audra. I thought he had you—I thought—”

“He
did
have me. It isn't
Howard
Simpson, it's his son—”

“Isaac,” Mike finished her sentence. “I know. I figured it out today. I sent word back—but they never got it—I thought—” The words tumbled from his mouth in a jumble. He pulled her back to him. “I love you, Audra. I know this isn't the time or the place to tell you, but—”

Audra pushed away from him. “Mike. Listen to me. He still has Jason!”

“Jason? He isn't with you?”

At that moment Butch came in from the back, and Audra could hear the wail of sirens as more police cars began pulling up.

Butch grinned when he saw Audra. “I'm glad you're okay. The way I understand it, the whole town has been out looking for you and the boy. Thanks to Bess, there has been an announcement on the radio every fifteen minutes—even the snow crews have been on the lookout.”

Neither officer could fathom the look that crossed Audra's face. “Announcement? On the radio?”

“Yes,” Butch answered her. “That you, and one of your students, Jason Miller, were missing.”

Audra emitted a strangled cry. “Oh, God! We've got to stop them. We've got to make them quit! He mustn't hear Jason's last name!”

“Why?” Mike asked, at the same time Butch asked, “Who?”

With a sob, Audra tried to explain. “It was all I could think of, to keep Jason safe. I told him Jason was his son. I—I thought maybe then he wouldn't harm him. And Jason—he went along with it—convinced Isaac he was really nine years old. We fooled him. Isaac believed that Jason was his. But if he hears that announcement—”

Mike rushed into the kitchen, with Butch and Audra at his heels. He grabbed up the phone and called the police station, explaining briefly what they were to do.

*   *   *

Isaac could hear the sound of the sirens as he closed Philomena's garage door. Another few minutes and it would have been too late. He would never have been able to make it the two blocks carrying the boy.

“What are we going to do now?” Jason asked.

“Shut up!” Isaac screamed. “I've got to think!” Everything was falling apart—happening too rapidly. He needed time to plan—to work out the details. “Don't panic,” he spoke the words aloud without realizing it. “Keep calm.”

They would be looking for the van. He didn't dare use it. In the darkness of the garage, he noticed the outline of the Studebaker. The old lady had mentioned her grandchildren drove it when they were home. Maybe.…

He went over and opened the door on the driver's side, and the interior light came on. He checked the ignition. The keys were in it!

He stood staring down at the keys. What was it about—?

Shit! In his haste to leave the house he had forgotten the other key! The one to the room! He had stolen the blind lady's key months ago, and had a duplicate made. How could he have been so careless?

Think! He had to think!

“Get in the car, Jason!” he ordered. “In the back seat.” He went over to the van and removed the rope.

“Wh-what are you going to do?” Jason asked when Isaac opened the back door and got in.

“I'm going to tie you. I have to go in the house—get the key to our place. I—I left my duplicate in the attic! So foolish—so careless.”

Isaac quickly bound the small boy, then went back and opened the garage door halfway. He would start the old Studebaker and let it warm up while he got the key. His hands shook as the engine coughed and sputtered, then miraculously turned over.

*   *   *

Thomas Reivich slammed the telephone down in disgust. The lines were still down. What the devil should he do now?

Another thought hit him like a bolt from the blue. What if that little gal had cut his phone lines? Maybe it wasn't the storm at all!

He sat down on his couch and put his head in his hands. “Sarah,” he spoke his dead wife's name aloud. “I think I've been played for a dern fool!”

He unfolded the scrap of paper in his hand and read the words again.

Tell the police that Howard Simpson is not the serial killer. It is his son, Isaac. Tell them he still has Jason, and that I told him Jason was his son in hopes that would keep him safe. They should check Howard Simpson's house. I think Isaac was going there with Jason. He said something about a secret room.

Thomas sat staring at the words. How could he have been taken in by such a scam! Kidnapping! Serial killers! Secret rooms! Only a total idiot would have fallen for such a line! And he had given that little gal his brand new pickup! Just handed her over the keys as pretty as you please!

Well, by golly, he wasn't going to just sit here and let her get clear out of the country. If he waited until morning, she would be to hell and gone with his pickup—probably have it sold by then!

He got up off the couch and grabbed his coat. He'd take the car and go into Hays and pay a little visit to the police!

“You're a dern fool, Thomas!” he said as he went out the door. “Just an old dern fool!”

*   *   *

Philomena heard the noise from her bedroom and threw back the covers. She reached over and turned the volume down on her radio. Had that back door blown open again? She really should have that cussed thing fixed. She felt around for her slippers.

Isaac accustomed his eyes to the darkness. The old bag never did have any lights on—she could be anywhere. And he didn't have the time just now to kill her. His eyes moved around the living room. No. She must have gone to bed. He could hear music coming from the back room. He started to cross over to the curio cabinet, but stopped as he realized the radio was no longer playing.

Philomena walked into the living room. Something didn't feel right. “Is anybody there?” She felt foolish as she spoke the words.

Isaac stood frozen in his steps. Shit. He might have to kill her after all. He looked around for a weapon.

Philomena started across the small living room. She could feel the draft from the back door. “You silly old woman,” she spoke the words aloud. “It's just that dang door again!” She passed within three feet of Isaac as she walked back to close it.

Isaac moved swiftly over to the cabinet and eased open the door. His hand closed around the key just as Philomena came back into the room.

The old woman hesitated. For just a moment, she thought she had heard something. Breathing? No. She was just letting her imagination run wild. “Go back to bed, you foolish old woman.” The sound of her voice comforted her, and she returned to the bedroom.

*   *   *

Jason tried to make as much noise as he could through the wide tape Isaac had placed over his mouth. It was no use. Between the car's motor and the radio playing he knew no one would be able to hear him.

His eyes opened wide as he heard the music stop and the D J's voice. “We are still asking citizens in Hays to be on the lookout for two missing people. Audra Delaney, age twenty-seven, and one of her kindergarten students, five-year-old Jason Miller. Jason is the son of Katherine Miller, 203 State Street. Anyone with information should call—”

Isaac opened the car door and got in. Jason pushed with his feet against the back of Isaac's seat, and screamed as loudly as he could through the tape.

Isaac turned around to him. “All right. All right. I'll undo your mouth. But I'm going to have to leave you tied. I don't want you jumping out first chance you get!”

Jason closed his eyes in relief as he heard the music start in again. As soon as Isaac pulled the tape from his mouth, he said, “Why don't we talk, Father? Could you turn the radio off and we'll just talk?”

Isaac was pleased by the boy's words. He reached over and turned the volume down low. “I believe you're starting to like me, aren't you son?”

Jason took a deep breath. “Yes, Father.”

*   *   *

Mike and Audra stood looking down at the trunk filled with women's clothing, folded neatly in plastic bags. Audra shook her head, dazed. “He told me he still had my underwear, from ten years ago. He—he said he liked to get the clothing out and smell it—relive the experience.”

She turned away from the trunk, repulsed. She saw the book lying open on the orange crate. One page was turned down, creased almost in half, like a child would do. She picked up the book. William Jennings Bryan. The book was marked at his Cross of Gold speech. She looked back down at the orange crate. There were two small smudges in the dust. A child, printing the letter “t.”

“Mike, look at this,” Audra said, and showed him the book and the smudges. “Do you suppose Jason was trying to tell us something? A clue of some sort? He used to turn the pages of books down like this. I can remember getting after him about it.”

Mike shook his head. “Does it mean anything to you? It doesn't to me.”

“No,” Audra answered him slowly. “William Jennings Bryan. Why would Jason have even been reading it, though? There are a lot of other books over there that would have interested him more.”