Mortal Crimes: 7 Novels of Suspense (125 page)

Robbi glanced at Jake.

“Jesus, it’s true then.” He paced the length of the room, spun around. “If you didn’t see him catch her, then maybe she got away.”

Robbi didn’t respond.

“It’s possible, isn’t it?”

Roberta felt a crushing weight on her chest. She nodded.

“Did you see anything that would tell us where they are? Anything at all?” Carl asked, his voice charged with excitement.

“No. No more than before,” she answered helplessly. “I saw a forest…trees.”

“Christ, if she managed to get away from him, then she has a chance. Oh, God, she’s a smart lady, she’ll find a way out, I know she will.” Spinning on his heel, he crossed the room, his strides long and stiff. “I gotta get home in case she manages to get to a phone.” He jerked open the back door and rushed out, leaving it open behind him.

They both stared at the door.

“He killed her,” Robbi said softly.

Jake slipped his hand into hers.

“I couldn’t tell him. I just couldn’t tell him.”

“I think he knows, he’s just not ready to face it yet. You probably did the right thing.”

“Oh, God, Jake. It was awful.”

He rose, closed the back door then reached for the wall phone. “I’m calling the police.”

“Will they believe me?”

“There’s only one way to find out.” He dialed, spoke several minutes, gave Roberta’s address then hung up. “I talked to someone named Avondale. He’s on his way.”

Jake came back, stood behind her, and began to massage her shoulders.

She brushed the hair back from her face. In a quiet voice she said, “He chased her down, caught her, then carried her to this place, this deep hole in the ground, and then…then—” Robbi felt the tears burning her eyes. She forced them back, came to her feet. “I’d like to take a very hot shower,” she said. “I feel
…”

“Go. I’ll get the door when he comes.”

She crossed the room, paused at the doorway, turned, and said, “I told Carl she’d gotten away from him. Jake, he made her run. It was a game to him.”

Detectives Avondale and Lerner sat in Roberta’s living room. For the first half hour Officer Kathleen Lerner, a striking blonde with a deep tan, in her mid-twenties, had let her partner do the talking.

“You say this man abducts women off the streets, holds them against their will for a time, kills them, then deposits the remains in a hole somewhere out in the desert?” Detective Avondale said, looking from Jake to Roberta.

“Mountains, not desert,” Robbi said.

“Which mountains?” Lerner asked.

“I don’t know. I assume somewhere in the Tahoe National Forest.”

Avondale cleared his throat, glanced at his partner. “Do you see this sort of thing often? I mean, have you had these supernatural sightings all your life?”

She nodded tentatively. “Very infrequently, though, until the accident last month.” Robbi, in a pair of gray workout tights and a pink tank top, her wet hair pulled back loosely at the nape of her neck, sat on one end of the sofa yoga fashion. Jake sat on the other end.

Avondale grunted, wrote in a notebook. “It’s your belief that two women who the Reno PD have on file as missing persons may be victims of this man?”

“Yes.”

Avondale sighed, “We’ve got this problem.”

“My credibility as a psychic?” Robbi ventured.

“Naw, we’ve worked with psychics in the past. Right, Lerner?” He turned to his partner.

She smiled, sat up straight. “And quite successfully too. No, the biggest problem is the absence of a body. Until there’s a body, there’s no proof of homicide. No proof even of foul play. Granted, women have vanished, but they could be anywhere… safe and sound. If I’m not mistaken, the Sardi girl was a chronic runaway. I understand her own mother—”

“Filed the report after I insisted,” Jake finished for her. “She didn’t run, I know it.” He told them about his missing patient and the ankle bracelet.

Lerner leaned forward. “Now, there’s something. If that ankle bracelet turns up in someone’s possession— well, you see what I mean?”

“I see.”

Lerner went on. “Or, Miss Paxton, if you can pinpoint this area where you think he’s dumping the bodies, we’ll go out there with dogs, metal detectors, whatever it takes. Other than that, I’m afraid our hands are tied. Without witnesses to an abduction, without a body or physical evidence, without a confession…” She shrugged helplessly.

“I can’t pinpoint anything yet. Wait—I saw a church. One of those small, wood frame chapels common around the lake.” Robbi described it.

“We’ll check it out.” Lerner stood, brushed at a strand of blond hair.

Avondale unfolded his long frame from the wing chair. “Call us if you get anything new. We’ll work with you.”

Robbi showed them out. As she silently stood in the entry, it all came rushing back to her. She leaned against the wall, the palms of her hands pressed to her face. Strong arms wrapped around her, pulled her close. She buried her face in the crevice of Jake’s throat.

“She’s gone. Jake, she was right up here”—she tapped her forehead— “and I couldn’t do anything to save her.”

“Roberta, stop it. There was nothing you could do.”

“I lost her. Goddammit, I lost her.” The sobs came, at first tentative, mute, then unconstrained. Carl’s loss was hers as well. She had known Maggie, in her head, in her heart. A little part of her died with Maggie that night.

Jake lifted her, carried her to her bedroom and gently placed her on the bed. Moonlight illuminated the room with a quicksilver eeriness, glinting off the chrome-and-white-enamel bed.

She clung to him.

He disconnected the phone on the nightstand, slipped off his shoes and, fully clothed, stretched out alongside her. She curled around him, trying to lose herself in the warm, firm security of his body.

She was so tired. Jake stroked her comfortingly. After an indeterminable amount of time she felt herself finally drifting off.

Sometime later in the night, in a deep sleep, she dreamed of Jake, saw his clear blue eyes staring into hers. The color began to change ever so gradually until she was staring into black eyes, black as chips of flint, superimposed on blue, glaring at her maniacally.

Robbi’s eyes flew open. She bolted up, a cold sweat covering her. She had seen his eyes mirrored in the eyes of a dying woman. Black demonic eyes.

Jake wrapped her in his arms again. He whispered words of comfort in her ear and gently rocked her trembling body until she fell back into an exhausted slumber.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Monday morning Roberta woke to find herself alone in bed. Sensing another’s presence, she rolled over. Jake, in a wrinkled shirt, holding a steaming cup of coffee, stood in the doorway, watching her.

He smiled.

“Hi,” she said.

“Morning.” He started toward her. The doorbell rang. He paused. “Shall I get it?”

“Please.”

“You might have some explaining to do. What if it’s your mother?”

“It’ll serve her right. Besides, I lead a much too sheltered life.”

He crossed to the nightstand, set down the mug then left the room.

Normally a morning person, this day she could hardly drag herself from bed. Her sleep had been anything but restful.

“It’s Carl,” Jake said from the doorway as she headed for the bathroom.

“What’s he doing here?”

“I’m afraid it’s my fault.” Jake crossed to the phone, connected it. “I shut off the phone last night.”

“Tell him I’ll be out in a minute.”

“I have group this morning,” Jake said. “Will you be all right?”

“Yes. I’ll call you later from the office. Jake…?” She watched him turn again. “Thanks.”

He smiled, nodded and then left.

As she dressed she thought about Jake sharing her bed and holding her in his arms all night. Jake, just by being there, had helped to soften the horror of the nightmare. Then she thought of Carl waiting for her in the other room, and a heaviness invaded her chest. Everything she’d been trying to bury these past hours resurfaced.

She found him pacing in the kitchen. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. When he spoke, the stale odor of alcohol reached her.

“What am I going to do?” he said quietly.

She felt sick. She had to tell him. She had to tell him what she saw, whether it was real or not. She stared at him, trying to find the words. “Carl, I—”

“Look, now’s not a good time. I tried to call but no one answered. I wanted to make sure I caught you before you left for work. I hafta get back to the job now, but if you have something more to tell me, something you didn’t say last night…well, we could meet later for lunch.”

She paused, then, “There’s a deli next to your construction site. Do you know the one I mean?”

His expression froze. He nodded.

“Twelve-thirty okay?” she asked.

He stared at the floor, nodding his head woodenly.

Several minutes later as she backed her Jeep out onto the street, she saw Carl sitting in his pickup, staring out the windshield, his face devoid of expression. She felt a tremendous knot in her stomach.

________

Carl sat in the leather recliner that Maggie had given him for his birthday, the TV remote control in his hand. He stared absently at the screen, flipping from channel to channel indiscriminately, his thoughts on Maggie.

He lifted the beer to his mouth and drank until it was gone.

“Maggie, I haven’t given up. Don’t think I’ve given up. I’ll find you, babe. Damn right. I’ll find you if it’s the last thing I do.” He crunched the can, let it fall to the floor.

The big tomcat jumped up in Carl’s lap. It purred, watching him warily with large yellow eyes. The cat rarely came around Carl. Conan was Maggie’s misfit, one of an endless line of misfits that she’d taken in.

“Hey, guy, you gotta be awful damn lonely to seek comfort from me,” Carl said. He reached out and scratched the tom’s backside near its stubby tail. Carl remembered the morning he’d started up his pickup and nearly pissed his pants when he heard the damn thing screeching under the hood and saw orange fur flying to hell and back. Fan blade. Within an instant Maggie’s long-tailed cat turned bobtailed. He’d really gotten hell for that one.

“Miss her too, don’tcha?”

The cat kneaded Carl’s stomach, purred louder.

“I haven’t given up on her, ol’ guy. No way. No fucking w—” Carl’s voice caught.

He hugged the cat to him, buried his face in the long fur, and cried.

________

At the deli Carl looked no better than he’d looked at her house that morning. He looked worse.

Jake had called, offered to go with her, but she had declined. She couldn’t expect him to hold her hand through everything. She agreed to have dinner with him that night.

Carl brought a beer to the small table where Robbi sat.

She opened her meat loaf sandwich, lifted out the lettuce, and added catsup.

“You should eat something,” she said.

“Yeah, maybe later.” Carl dropped into a wooden chair. He gulped down half the beer before setting the bottle on the table.

She pushed half a sandwich toward him.

He smiled weakly, ignored it, and looked around the deli restlessly. His gaze came back to her. “He killed her, didn’t he? I mean, that’s what you saw?”

“Carl, I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t seem to hear her. He finished the beer and continued to swallow long after it was gone. He stared at the quartz wall clock, mesmerized, as though the vaulting second hand was beyond his comprehension. Then he laughed, a deep, humorless laugh. “Christ, we don’t know for sure if Maggie’s dead. I mean, you go into a trance and see someone who looks like my girl being killed by some psycho. Shit, you could be on drugs and I’m about to tear myself up over a hallucination.” He chuckled this time, shook his head like it was a good joke on him. “There’s no way we can be sure anyone was killed last night, especially Maggie.”

“That’s right, Carl.” She avoided his eyes.