Dead Reckoning (11 page)

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Authors: Linda Castillo

BOOK: Dead Reckoning
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Army reservist Frank Matrone gives a thumbs-up as he arrived at Ft. Hood yesterday morning after spending seven weeks at a military base hospital in Germany. He was one of two American soldiers critically injured in a suicide bombing on March 20 while on leave in Jerusalem. A parade celebrating the safe return home of one hundred and fourteen other soldiers stationed at Ft. Hood is scheduled for Saturday.
 
Kate read the story twice. She’d known he’d gone overseas, but her knowledge of what had happened ended with that. When Mike had told her he’d been injured, she hadn’t cared. All she’d cared about was getting a good investigator for her case. Someone who could get the job done. For the first time it dawned on her that Frank might be more vulnerable than he let on. That he might be more human than she’d anticipated. That rough-around-the-edges ex-detective might have some issues to work through.
“Do it on your own time, Matrone,” she muttered as she shut down the computer.
But as she turned out the study light and headed toward her bedroom, she found herself wondering why he looked so damn sad sometimes. So . . . disconnected. She wondered if any of those things had to do with the time he’d spent in the Middle East.
 
THURSDAY, JANUARY 26, 12:13 A.M.
A sense of freedom overwhelmed her seventeen-year-old mind as she sat behind the wheel of her mother’s 1991 Gold Lexus and grinned out at the open road ahead. The windows were rolled down and REM was cranked up as high as the stereo would go. Michael Stipe was belting out a tune about losing his religion. Kate didn’t know exactly what those lyrics meant. All she knew was that she wanted to lose hers, too.
Next to her, Kirsten was sipping a Corona and slapping her palm against the door in time with the drum. The night was sweltering
—
typical for Houston in July
—
but neither girl cared about the heat. After days of planning, they’d finally done it. They’d sneaked out of the house while their parents slept. They had Mom’s car, a six-pack of beer, and a party to go to. Life just didn’t get any better when you were seventeen and as wild as the summer days were long.
Kate and Kirsten weren’t going to just any party. They were going to a frat party. A party Kate had been hearing about for weeks now. It was at a big house with a pool not far from the Woodlands. The parents were in Portugal. Mark Preston, a freshman at Texas A&M, had told her there was going to be a keg and plenty of hard liquor. Maybe even marijuana. Not that Kate planned on doing drugs; she drew the line at alcohol. But breaking the rules was so exciting!
She felt so grown-up. As if she were already in college and not some dumb high school senior and too young to matter. She couldn’t wait to get to the party. She’d never been to a frat party, and the thought of hanging out with an older crowd excited her until she thought she would burst. She’d worn her tightest jeans and heels that showed off her long legs. Beneath her snug T-shirt, she was wearing a push-up bra with a little bit of padding. She looked older than seventeen. She hoped nobody would hassle them once they arrived.
“Give me one of those Coronas, will you?” she asked.
Kirsten giggled as she pulled a beer from the six-pack and passed it to Kate. “Just make sure you hide it if you see a cop.”
“We’re not going to see a cop.”
They were sitting at a stoplight in a quiet industrial area. It was just after eleven P.M. and the streets were deserted. Kate glanced at her watch. If she pushed it, they could be there in twenty minutes. She and Kirsten had agreed to stay for an hour. Then they would leave, sneak back into the house
—
and no one would ever be the wiser.
Smiling, she took a sip of beer. Michael Stipe was now singing about shining, happy people. She sang along, knowing the words by heart. The beer was just starting to go to her head and she felt wonderful. They had the whole night ahead of them. She wondered if Justin Riley was going to be at the party. She’d met him last year when he’d been a senior, and she would never forget the way he’d looked at her. . . .
The car jolted violently, yanking her from her thoughts. “What the
—
”
“Some bozo hit us!” Kirsten blurted, turning in her seat to look behind them.
But even before looking in her rearview mirror, Kate knew they’d been hit from behind. She saw the headlights in her rearview mirror. Damn. Damn. Damn! Of all the bad luck!
“I told you we shouldn’t do this!” Kirsten exclaimed.
“Just shut up and stay calm,” Kate snapped. “And hide the beer.”
“How are we going to explain a dent to Mom and Dad?”
“I don’t know. We’ll think of something.” Kate bit her lip. She was gripping the wheel so hard her knuckles hurt. “I’m going to see how bad the damage is.”
Putting the car in Park, she swung open the door and stepped into the sultry night. She squinted, trying to see, but the headlights blinded her. She could make out the outline of a man. He was tall and thin with long hair. She hoped he was nice.
“Hello,” she said, trying to make her voice strong.
As she drew nearer she could see that he wasn’t too old. Maybe in his twenties. He wore a dark T-shirt with the sleeves
cut off and blue jeans. He was tall and wiry, but the muscles in his arms were big. He wore a blue bandanna over the top of his head.
“Sorry ’bout hitting you,” he drawled.
“How bad is the damage?” she asked.
“I don’t think it’s too bad.”
Kate walked to the rear of her mom’s car, careful to keep her distance, and looked at the bumper. He’d left his headlights on, and she could see that there was a dent in the shiny chrome.
Shit,
she thought, and felt a small flare of anger. That anger was smothered by something else when a second man got out of the car. This guy was big, and he didn’t look nearly as nice as the first man.
“I figure we can just exchange insurance information and get on down the road,” the first man said. “What’s your name?”
“Katie,” she said without thinking.
“Well, Katie, don’t you worry. I got good insurance that’ll pay for everything.”
He didn’t look like he’d have very good insurance.
“Good,” Kate said, but she was watching the large man walk toward the passenger-side door where Kirsten sat. Kate’s parents had taught her to be careful around strangers, and she was starting to get an uneasy sensation.
“We’re kind of in a hurry,” she said. “Let me get my purse.”
She was aware of the second man standing at the passenger-side window, bent at the hip and talking to Kirsten. Kate didn’t know why, but she didn’t want him there. She wanted him someplace where she could keep an eye on him.
She walked back to the driver’s-side door and spoke to Kirsten through the open window. “Hand me my purse, will you?”
“Sure.” Kirsten turned and grabbed the bag from the back seat. When she handed Kate her bag, Kate could see that her sister was nervous. “Hurry,” Kirsten whispered, leaning close. “This guy is creeping me out.”
“What are you girls doing out this late?” The fat man straightened and looked at Kate over the roof of the car.
“We’re going to a
—
” Kirsten began, but Kate cut her off.
“We’re meeting our parents.” Kate gave him her toughest look. “And we’re late.”
“Is that so?”
She jolted when the other man’s voice sounded directly behind her. She hadn’t seen him approach. For the first time it dawned on her that there wasn’t a soul around. That they were totally alone with two strangers in a desolate part of town and nobody knew where they were. In that instant Kate began to tremble inside. She knew something was wrong. She sensed danger. And she knew something bad was going to happen.
She turned to face the scraggly-haired man behind her. The initial fingers of adrenaline ripped through her when she realized he was standing too close. That he was looking at her funny. The way men did sometimes. A way that excited her and scared her at once. And suddenly sneaking out of the house to go to this party seemed like a very bad idea.
“What are you doing?” she asked, but her voice was breathless with fear.
The man laughed. “We’re going to have us a little party, Kay-tee.”
“We have to go.” Kate went with her instincts. Whirling, she grabbed for the door handle. But two strong hands wrapped around her and jerked her violently back. She started to scream, but the next thing she knew she was slammed against the car door hard enough to dent it. Pain radiated up her spine. Then the man with the scraggly hair was against her, pushing and grunting. She smelled body odor and cigarettes and breath that was tinged with alcohol. She felt the slick dampness of sweat against her skin.
Vaguely she was aware of the fat man pulling Kirsten from the car. Kirsten screaming.
They can’t do this,
she thought and screamed. “Run!”
The man tried to put his hands beneath her shirt. Wiry fingers tearing at her bra. Outrage and terror exploded inside her. Kate lashed out with both fists, hitting him on the head and shoulders.
The first blow hit her squarely in the forehead. Her head snapped back and hit the roof of the car. White light exploded
behind her eyes. Another blow just above her left ear shocked her system. Like a stick of dynamite going off inside her head.
She must have blacked out then because the next thing she knew she was lying facedown on the ground. Her mouth was open and full of dirt and grass. She spat mud and tried to roll over, but his knee was in the small of her back. She saw the bandanna in his hand and then he was using it to tie her hands behind her.
This isn’t happening,
she thought
. No. No. No!
“No!”
Kate woke to her own scream. For an instant she was seventeen years old and so filled with horror and revulsion that she wanted to die. Sweat slicked her body and dampened her pajamas, but she was shivering with cold. A cold that came from a place inside her that knew of unspeakable horrors.
It had been a long time since she’d had the nightmare. She didn’t know why it had come rushing back tonight. Maybe the pressures of her caseload were taking more of a toll than she’d thought. Kate tried hard to keep her past out of the cases she tried, but she wasn’t always successful. She knew that for better or worse, she would always be a product of her past.
Throwing back the down comforter, she got out of bed, pulled off her damp pajamas, and wrapped herself in her robe. A glance at the clock told her it was almost one A.M. Even though she was exhausted, she knew sleep wouldn’t come again. In the bathroom she opened the medicine cabinet and picked up the bottle of prescription sleeping pills. It had been over a year since she’d taken one. She didn’t want to take one now, and slid the bottle back onto the shelf.
But she could still feel the dark press of the nightmare, hanging on like a leech, sucking the lifeblood from her. Eleven years had passed since that terrible night. But some wounds never healed. The key, she’d realized, was learning to live with them.
The truth of the matter was she was lucky to be alive, but some days Kate didn’t feel lucky. She felt damaged and tainted. She thought of Kirsten lying in her bed in her overdecorated room at the Turtle Creek Convalescent Home and felt the old pain slash her with spindly claws. Her sister hadn’t deserved to have her life taken away.
Goddamn those sons of bitches who did this to us,
she thought with a vicious anger she was all too familiar with.
Giving up on the hope of going back to sleep, Kate crossed to her closet, pulled out a pair of jeans and a navy turtleneck sweater. Quickly she dressed and stepped into her boots. She ran her fingers through her hair, shrugged into her leather jacket, and grabbed her keys. She may not be able to sleep, but that didn’t mean she had to stay home and bounce off the walls.
There was plenty she could do tonight.
For what she had in mind, the wee hours of morning were the perfect time to do it.
 
THURSDAY, JANUARY 26, 1:56 A.M.
The wipers slapped rain mixed with sleet from the windshield as Kate parked on a narrow side street in a nasty part of South Dallas. Not bothering with her umbrella, she opened the door and stepped into the cold night. She took the cracked sidewalk to a three-story brick building bedecked with gang graffiti. A single bullet hole marred the storefront window of the long vacant furniture shop next door. She was keenly aware of a car idling slowly down the street and knew the driver was eyeballing her, wondering what a nice white lady was doing in that part of town at two in the morning.
If only he knew.
The wooden door creaked like old bones when she opened it and stepped into the dark foyer. Her boots thudded in perfect time with her heart as she crossed to the narrow wooden staircase. She took the steps two at a time. The second level smelled of garbage, marijuana, and vomit. Down the hall and to her right, a wino sat slumped against a wall, a bottle of rotgut in his hand, his bloodshot eyes glaring. A mangy cat looked at her from behind a garbage can, a dead rat hanging from its mouth.
Frowning, Kate continued on to the third level and took the darkened hall to a wooden door with an etched glass window. Like a Philip Marlow movie from the 1940s, a printed sign on the glass read: “Jack Gamble, Private Detective.” She almost smiled every time she saw it. Almost.
The light was on inside, but Kate didn’t need the light to know he was working. Jack Gamble was a night bird. By the time he opened his office for business, most folks were at home and tucked into bed. But then, she supposed Jack’s kind of work required the cover of night. That was precisely the reason she’d hired him.

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