Face Off (25 page)

“If you're so clever, why don't you tell me?” Jessie sassed. He was right. That was exactly what she had done. She remembered feeling Amy's panic at the rag going over her face, and Harry telling them that Clark used chloroform on some of his victims. The instant Clark had grabbed her, she knew what was coming. When he got her to the van, she inhaled as deeply as she could and did not breathe again. She had waited a few seconds, then slumped down as though the chloroform had worked. It was a good plan; however, she hadn't been able to get the door of the van open, and Clark had slammed on the brakes, sending her tumbling. He had reached around, grabbing her by the shirt, forcing her into the front seat.

“And don't think you can get that door open and jump,” he said. “At this speed on the interstate you would die immediately.”

“So what? Wouldn't that be better than what you plan on doing to me?” Jessie's voice was irreverent, loud and demanding. She had already decided she was not going to let him see that she was frightened. That was what he was used to, and expected.

Clark looked over at the young, brash redhead. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

“I'm Amy Matthews's sister, that's who I am. I've come to rescue her from you! And I'm going to, too! Just you wait and see.”

Randal Clark didn't have much of a sense of humor, but he threw back his head, laughing at the young girl. She had balls. He had to give her that. “What makes you think your sister is still alive? Maybe I've already chopped her into a dozen pieces and floated her down the Missouri.”

“I know—” Jessie stopped, catching herself. No. It was better that Clark didn't know about her psychic ability. As long as he didn't know, she might be able to use it somehow. “I just know,” she finished. “Sometimes sisters know these things. And besides, I know all about you. You don't throw the girls you kill in the river—you arrange them in some gross way for the police to find.”

“Oh, I do, do I? What else do I do to them? Do you know how I make them scream and beg for death before I kill them?” He gazed hard at Jessie, expecting her to recoil in horror.

Jessie tried to remember everything she had seen in her vision, and all that Harry had relayed to her. “I know about everything—the eyebrow, the makeup, the little gouges! I suppose you want a medal for that? Such a brave man, picking on all those helpless young girls.”

This time Jessie had succeeded in getting Clark's undivided attention. “How could you know about all that?” he demanded. “None of those facts have even been in the newspaper.”

Jessie rolled her eyes. “I have my sources. If you really want to know, then tell me where Amy is.”

*   *   *

Suzanne was starting to panic. “Oh, no. Oh, please, God, no!”

Harry held her by the shoulders. “We don't know that Cole was telling the truth, Suzanne. Maybe he just told you that Clark had Jessie to upset you.”

“No, Harry. Roy was much too unconcerned about where Jessie went. He didn't even try to follow her, or bring her back. He knew Clark was waiting. I'm sure of it.” She looked up at Harry trying to keep from weeping. “I told Jessie's parents not to worry, that I would take good care of their daughter and not let anything happen to her. And look, I've let the butcher get his hands on her! Oh, God, Oh, God, Oh, God!”

“Stop it, Suzanne!” Harry spoke the words sternly. “We
will
find her.”

Suzanne saw herself through the eyes of the two detectives. For the first time she fully realized why someone close to a missing person was almost worthless in finding them. Panic sets in. Panic and fear. No wonder her cool detachment was such a valuable aid to the police. She shook her head and took several deep breaths. She would calm down and think what to do. If she kept her head, perhaps she could find Jessie before something awful happened.

“I'm going to drive back out on Interstate Twenty-nine,” she finally said, coming to a decision. “If Clark is taking Jessie to the same place he has her sister Amy, we know that he took that route.”

“One of us will go with you, darlin',” Jim spoke for the first time. “We radioed for reinforcement on the way over here. I just talked to one of the units outside. One of us can take their police car and go with you, and we'll leave officers here in case Jessie comes back.” He turned to Harry. “Your call.”

Harry put his arm around Suzanne. “Jim knows the country a little better than I do, Suzanne. He had better be the one to go with you. I'll get back to the station and see what I can dig up on Cole. He might have an address we can check out.” He turned to Jim. “Does that sound all right?”

“Yeah. Don't forget to check the computer. I had just started the search for Let Freedom Ring when I was told about Jessie's call. I don't know what might have turned up. Oh, and you might give Ruth a call, if you get a chance. I told her I was on my way home two hours ago.”

Harry's arms went around Suzanne, drawing her close for a brief moment. “Be careful,” was all that he said to her.

*   *   *

“You aren't in a position to be doing any bargaining with me,” Clark spoke harshly. “I would suggest you watch your mouth, or I'll kill you now. But if you're a good girl, I might wait and let you see your sister first.”

When he spoke, Jessie concentrated hard. A picture of her sister began to emerge in her mind. She was lying down on what appeared to be a cement floor. There was gray tape covering her mouth, and her eyes were wide in fright.
That must be how she looked the last time Clark saw her. He's remembering it now.
Aloud she said, “Did you leave her any food when you left her, or did you plan on starving her to death?”

Once again Clark's eyes swung around to the young girl sitting beside him. Surprised, he answered truthfully. “I left her a few candy bars and a jug of water. Of course I intended on coming back in just a day or so. Who knows what condition she is in by now? Dead, more than likely.”

Don't react,
Jessie told herself.
You know Amy was still alive yesterday.
“So where did you put her? How do you know she hasn't escaped by now?”

Clark gave her a contemptuous look. “I killed my first person when I was fifteen years old. I'm now thirty-eight. I haven't gone all these years without getting caught by being stupid!” He gave a short laugh. “No. Your sister is right where I put her. Believe me.”

This time Jessie could see more as Clark thought about where he had placed Amy. It was some kind of a cement box or room. It was buried somewhere, covered with dirt. At least that was something.

“I don't think you're so smart,” she pushed. “If you were smart, you wouldn't have left my sister's purse in the Dumpster by your apartment. I'm only fourteen years old, but even
I
would have better sense than that.”

“Yeah, well, it was better than having the cops find it in my apartment, wouldn't you say? I got a tip they were coming after me. I only had a few minutes to ditch the purse and the Dumpster was my only choice, since I could reach it unnoticed from the basement. There was already a police car waiting out front of my building. I had to get rid of it fast.”

“Why did you even take that chance? What did you want with Amy's purse in the first place, that's what I'd like to know.”

Randal Clark looked over at the girl with a strange expression. “Sometimes the pleasure is worth the extra risk. Once in a while I hold the girls I take for two or three days before killing them. At home alone in my apartment, it is so much fun to watch the television blare out about another missing girl, while I'm sitting there fondling all of the personal items from her purse. I know where she is. I know she is alive. I know those people reporting the news would love to know I'm sitting there with all her things.” Clark reached over and turned the windshield wipers a higher notch to keep up with the increasing rain. “I guess I do it mainly because it gives me enjoyment.”

“Where did you get this van?” Jessie abruptly changed the subject. “The police don't know about it. They think you only drive a Taurus.”

“In case you haven't figured it out by now, the police don't know jack shit about anything.” Clark's voice turned hard. “Certainly not about me! I usually keep this van in a parking garage, or at the farm. I hot-wire a new one every six months or so, repaint it, and get tags from a guy I know at a body shop. Stupid damned kids don't always bother turning in their tags when they junk a car. He always has a supply around. They're usually good for a few months, then I get a new one.” Clark reached over and patted Jessie's knee. “Would you like to know what I did to your sister in this very van?”

His crassness took Jessie by surprise, but she managed to cover it as she shoved his hand away. “You didn't do anything. You just put her there in the back and drove to the farm. Right? Is that where we are going now?”

“Yeah, little one, we're going to the farm. You're going to buy it!” Clark tossed back his head and laughed at his quip.

“Dumb joke,” Jessie said, as she took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. If they were going to the area where Amy was, she had to get help. She also needed to slow Clark down. If Suzanne started after them, she would know to take Interstate 29. Without stopping to think of the consequences, Jessie quickly reached over, turning the keys to “off” and pulling them out of the ignition all in one fast motion. She threw them into the back of the van before Clark even realized what was happening.

“What the hell—!” Clark screamed at her. He grabbed on to her wrist as he brought the van to a stop at the side of the road. “You aren't jumping out, little lady. You can't get away from me. You might just as well learn that right now.” With his free hand he hit Jessie hard across the face.

It was the first time in her life anyone had ever raised a hand to her. Jessie's reaction was instant and spontaneous. She swung her hand as hard as she could at his face, returning the slap. She wasn't certain who was more surprised—she or Clark.

*   *   *

The ringing of the telephone awakened Betsy Moore. She looked over at the alarm clock next to her bed, wondering who could possibly be calling her at nine
P.M
. Everyone who knew her, knew she went to bed at eight o'clock sharp. She grabbed up the receiver. “Yes? What is it?”

“Is this Betsy Moore?” Harry asked.

“Yes, it is. Who is this?”

“Miss Moore, my name is Harry McDermott. I'm a detective with the Kansas City Police, and I'm afraid I need your help.”

“
My
help? At this hour?”

Harry glanced at his watch in surprise, double-checking the time. Miss Betsy Moore obviously went to bed with the chickens, because it certainly wasn't late. “Yes, Miss Moore. You're the Registrar of Deeds, and I need you to come down to the courthouse and run through some names for me on possible property ownership. It's an emergency.”

Betsy Moore pulled her sixty-four-year-old body up on the edge of the bed. “Certainly not, Detective! I will be at my desk in the courthouse promptly at eight o'clock in the morning. I imagine your big emergency can wait until then!”

Harry just managed to keep his voice polite. “No, ma'am. I'm sorry, but that won't do. I need you tonight. Now.”

“And I'm sorry, too, young man,” Betsy Moore snapped. “But my job description does not say I have to go out in a violent rainstorm in the middle of the night to accommodate our local police force!”

Harry decided he had better be totally honest. “Miss Moore, you have probably heard of the man known as the Kansas City Butcher. Well, he has taken a fourteen-year-old little girl, and we don't know where. However, we have just come up with the name of one of his accomplices. If that man perhaps owned property, chances are that is where the butcher has taken the little girl. Time is extremely important. Won't you help us out?”

Betsy Moore was already slipping out of her nightgown. “Oh, my goodness. Why didn't you say so in the first place? Of course, of course. I'll get there as quickly as I can.”

“You don't need to drive, Miss Moore. I've sent a police car to pick you up. Do you have a pencil handy?”

Betsy fished for her reading glasses on the nightstand. “Yes. Right here. Hold on.”

Harry could hear a drawer opening and the rustle of paper. “Yes, officer, go ahead.”

“These are the names I would like you to try. Roy Cole, Floyd Cole, Floyd Webb, Floyd Webster, and Carl Webb. Those are all names used by the same person. Try Floyd Webster first. We know he was using that name recently, so it might be the right one.”

“Yes, certainly. I'll do it as quickly as I can.”

“That's great. If you find anything, tell the officer. He can radio it right to me. That would be faster than the telephone tonight.”

“Yes, sir,” Betsy Moore said. “And I'll do one more thing. I'll say a prayer for that poor little girl!”

*   *   *

Randal Clark swore under his breath as he felt around in the dark for the keys. Both he and Jessie were on their knees in the back of the van, and even though he had a firm grip on her arm, she had almost succeeded twice in twisting away from him. He didn't dare turn on an interior light, for fear passing motorists might see the girl fighting against him.

Jessie's knee stayed firmly in place over the lost keys as she jerked her body back and forth, making it hard for Clark to keep hold of her and look for the keys at the same time. She could tell by the pressure on her wrist and the frozen set of Clark's face, that she had pushed him about as far as he was going to be pushed. “Oh, look, there they are,” she said as she reached down and brought up the keys. She handed them carefully to Clark.