Mortal Crimes: 7 Novels of Suspense (138 page)

Avondale felt a faint stirring. When was the last time he had kissed a woman like that? Or even had the desire to? Two years, five years? Hookers cared nothing for kisses. The last woman he had kissed, really kissed, had been in the evidence room at the station. Officer Cortney had followed him in and, taking his icy hand in her soft warm one, had led him to the back of the room, behind the tall stacks, where she had…

________

Robbi turned in Jake’s embrace, her arms reaching up to weave into the thick hair at the back of his neck. She felt so secure in his arms. Only a few minutes earlier she had watched as he came up the path from the dock, heading for the house, then suddenly he was gone. Panic had seized her. She had wanted to run outside, calling his name. And a few minutes later, when he opened the door and came in, she’d gone weak with relief. Fear, she realized, was making her crazy.

Now he was holding her, telling her not to be afraid. Telling her that they had police protection whether they wanted it or not and he had a gun of sorts and she didn’t care as long as he was with her and then, against her will, she was pulling away, leaving his warm body, leaving her own body and moving backward, backward, backward, seeing Jake and herself entwined in the living room, their images through the window growing smaller with the distancing.

She was out in the woods. She saw a man—Avondale, the cresting waves in his hair catching the light in a serpentine pattern—standing in the trees, staring into the house at her and Jake. What was happening?

Someone else was out there, closing in on the unsuspecting man.

A metal bar rose above Avondale’s head, then came down just as the detective whirled around. The bar crashed down on his shoulder. He cried out, staggered. His eyes, filled with agony, met the eyes of his attacker. He tried to raise the gun. The bar grazed the side of his head before smashing down on his other shoulder.

Avondale dropped to his knees, the gun locked in his long, thin fingers. He seemed unsure what it was, or what to do with it. He looked upward again, but did not blink or flinch when the bar came down solidly and with such force that it seemed to disappear into the deep, dark waves of hair. A sickening gurgle came from the dying man. Still on his knees, he fell forward, the gun buried beneath his chest, his forehead resting on the rapidly darkening carpet of pine needles.

Roberta moaned.

Jake held her tight. “Robbi?”

“Avondale,” she whispered hoarsely.

“He’s down the street in his car. I’ll signal him.”

“No!”
Robbi cried out, grabbing hold of Jake fiercely. “Avondale’s dead. He … he—oh, God, he just killed him.’’

“Are you sure?”

“I saw it.”

“Then he’s here—right here?”

“Yes. Hurry, hurry, we have to get out—now.”

Jake snatched up the phone, slammed it back down. “Dead,” he muttered.

He doused the lights, grabbed the flare gun, took her hand, and led her to the back door. Before opening the door, he lifted a key from a peg on the wall, pulled Robbi close, and pressed the key into her hand.

“Run for the dock. He’ll expect us to take the car. Do you know how to run the boat?”

“I’m not going without you,” she said vehemently.

“If we get separated, or anything happens to me, get to the boat and get the hell out of here.”

“Oh, Jake—”

“Do it,” he growled.

She nodded.

Jake quietly unlocked the door. The ensuing silence was nerve-racking. The killer stalked the house. He was out there, very close. What was he waiting for? Would he charge in, crashing through the door like an enraged beast, or was he biding his time, waiting for them to go out to him?

Jake gave her a brief but meaningful kiss, looked into her eyes. “Ready?”

She nodded.

He lifted the flare gun, opened the door, and whispered, “Go!”

Together they charged out. They ran along the narrow path, looking neither left nor right, intent on getting to the boat. At the end of the dock she turned, saw the big man crossing the sandy beach behind them.

Jake grabbed Robbi’s arm and lowered her down into the speedboat. He threw off the rope, ordered her to start the engine.

She scrambled over the seat, dropped down behind the wheel, and, with trembling fingers, shoved the key in and turned it. The engine roared.

Jake had one leg over the dock ladder when the killer reached him, grabbed the back of his neck, and flung him to the dock.

Jake rolled, the flare gun flew from his hand, then spun along the weathered planks, stopping inches from the edge. Jake leapt for the boat, but a massive arm knocked him back. The giant was on his knees, his long arm stretched out, fingertips brushing at the ends of Robbi’s hair.

Jake dove for the gun. The big man threw out an arm, barring his way. He abandoned his pursuit of Robbi and turned back to Jake.

“Robbi, go!” Jake yelled out. “Dammit, go!”

The engine roared. The man turned, arms spread out as though to seize both victims. The killer frantically pawed the air over the boat as it pulled away from the pilings.

Robbi saw Jake’s fingers close around the flare gun a moment before he rolled, toppling over the side of the dock into the water.

She cleared the dock, sped straight out toward the middle of the lake, then turned the wheel sharply. Jake was in that freezing water, and soon his body would become numb, making it impossible to swim or save himself.

She looked back to see Jake pulling himself through the water ten feet from the dock, his strokes strong. Her plan had been to circle, come in as close to him as possible, but she’d miscalculated, turned too soon. She realized that the boat, unable to cut sharp enough, would pass within reach of the dock.

The killer stood midway down the ladder, waiting.

Robbi hit the throttle full. The boat broadsided a piling with enough force to jar the dock and throw the big man off balance. He threw both arms around the ladder.

The impact slammed her against the steering wheel, knocking the wind out of her.

Jake, caught between the boat and the giant, flung an arm over the bow and attempted to pull himself up. Unable to help him, she watched in frozen horror as their attacker, looming over him like a tidal wave, caught hold of his ankle, lifting him up and away.

Robbi screamed, grabbed Jake’s hand, and held on.

“Reverse!” Jake called out hoarsely.

Robbi pulled back the throttle. The boat hit the dock again, causing the killer to loosen his grip just long enough for Jake to hurl himself into the boat. He landed on his back in one of the aft seats. His ankle was seized again, but now Jake had the advantage of leverage. He kicked out, catching the man squarely in the throat with his heel. A low grunt was the only sign that the blow had any effect on him. And now the massive hand that held his ankle was squeezing, twisting it savagely.

Jake groaned, trying to turn with the force to keep it from snapping in two. His face was contorted with pain, he struggled with the flare gun, finally bringing it up, and, with stiff fingers, he fired.

A boom, a whooshing brilliant flash, and flying sparks told her that the projectile had hit its mark. Robbi heard something like a growl, followed by a string of curses. The giant raised a blackened, bloody hand. He stared at the spurting wound. Releasing his hold on Jake’s ankle, he gripped the wrist of this grotesque, defiled appendage.

Frantically, Robbi thrust the throttle full forward. With a tremendous roar the boat shot away from the dock, leaving behind the howling beast swaying at its side.

________

He howled in pain and rage. With his arm between the rungs of the ladder, he grasped his bloody wrist and watched as the boat with its two passengers grew smaller and smaller on the lake’s black surface.

A moment later he climbed the ladder to the dock. Holding his left wrist tightly to abate the flow of blood, he strode down the dock to the sandy shore. At a point where the sand blended with the mountain soil, he reached down and buried his scorched, mangled hand in the dirt. The little finger was missing, and the tip of the ring finger. After several moments he pulled it out. Powdery dirt and sand thickly caked the flat stumps. He repeated the process until the blood no longer poured from the wound.

On his way back to his truck he wound around behind the house and stared down at the dead cop.

He then went through the open back door into the house. He saw little of interest there until he found her purse. That he took with him.

________

After docking at the public marina in Kings Beach, Jake, shivering uncontrollably, dropped coins into a pay phone at the 7 Eleven. He placed a call to the Reno PD. Clark, Avondale’s partner, came on the line.

Jake told him what had happened.

Clark swore. “You saw him kill Avondale?”

“No. Robbi saw it clairvoyantly. He had parked midway on the lane. He must’ve walked through the trees to the house. Look, check it out for yourself.”

There were a few minutes while this information was being assimilated, then passed on. A moment later Clark said solemnly, “Units are on their way now. Where are you?”

Jake ignored his question. “Any idea yet who he is?”

“His name is Joseph Eckker. He escaped from prison four years ago. We’ve got every law enforcement agency in a seventy-mile radius, California included, looking for him. If he’s hiding out in a church somewhere in the forest, we’ll have him in no time. A guy like that can’t be invisible.”

Invisible? Invincible? Why not? Jake thought.

“Where are you two?” Clark asked again.

“At the moment we’re safe. That’s all you need to know,” Jake said through chattering teeth. As he talked, Robbi stood close behind, trying to warm him by vigorously rubbing the gooseflesh on his arms. “We have a better chance on our own. Avondale led him to us.”

“That’s bullshit, Reynolds. Come on in. We’ll protect you, you have my word.”

Jake chuckled humorlessly. “You ever see the movie
Terminator,
Detective?”

“Yeah. But what the hell does—”

“Well, as far as I’m concerned, there’s not much difference between that character and the one we just tangled with, except that one’s real and one’s not. This Eckker character is injured again. He stopped a flare with his hand.”

“Dammit, Reynolds, that’s all the more reason to come—”

Jake hung up. Returned to Robbi, hugged her. “C’mon, let’s get a room with a fireplace.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

When Eckker had scrubbed away the dirt and sand on his hand, with it went the peeling black shriveled skin. The weeping burns concerned him little, but the raw stumps plagued him. He felt physically lacking, defective. And it was all her fault.

He poured hydrogen peroxide over the hand and fingers, and watched, fascinated, as the wounds erupted into a bloody froth. The stinging intensified his rage.

Lifting the ragged flaps of skin over the raw stumps, he smeared a tallow-colored salve over the wounds, then wrapped his entire hand in clean gauze. Blood seeped through the bandage.

When he finished, he pulled her handbag onto his lap and opened it. He lifted out each item, inspected it painstakingly before putting it aside and selecting another. He found her driver’s license and examined the picture in the upper corner. Then from one of the accordion sleeves of plastic that held her credit cards, he carefully lifted out a color snapshot of Tobie sitting bareback on her horse.

He studied both pictures. The two sisters were so much alike.

His pulse raced. He wanted them both. One would be his to have and hold. The other one would die.

________

At noon, Jake and Roberta left Lakeside Lodge and walked to a diner on the main street. Sitting at a table near enough to a window to see outside clearly yet back far enough to not be seen from the street, they ate ham and eggs, and read the newspaper. The composite of the killer, with and without the beard, looking every bit the monster he was, stood out starkly on the front page.

“We have to rent a car. We’re too damn vulnerable on foot.” He picked up the check and stood. “Ready?”