Mortal Crimes: 7 Novels of Suspense (140 page)

He advanced on her, saying nothing.

She scooted backward on the rock and tried to make it to the pond. He reached out and grabbed her by the foot. She cried out.

He bent, picked up her clothes, and held them out to her.

She snatched them and held them in front of her.

“Get dressed.”

She quickly slipped the T-shirt over her head. He released her foot and she anxiously pulled her shorts on. When he reached for her again she tried to run. She fell on the rock, cried out when she scraped her knee, then she turned and lunged toward the water. He caught her, swung her around. His bandaged hand circled her throat. He squeezed, willing himself to go easy. He didn’t want to lose her after so long.

“Shhh, shhh,” he crooned softly in her ear. “Don’t be afraid, Tobie. I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you.”

She struggled, her arms and legs merely jerking in reflex now, then she collapsed.

________

“Why?”
Roberta asked, staring at the caretaker in disbelief.

Hanley shook his head.

In confusion she turned to look at Jake, who was moving her way. He covered half the distance, then suddenly it wasn’t Jake walking toward her, it was
him,
the killer.
The look in his eyes induced sheer terror like she had never felt before.

The massive, broad hand came toward her face and wound into her long hair. The other hand, wrapped in soiled, bloody strips of gauze, closed around her neck. Her breathing became labored, torturous. She heard harsh gasps and screams that came out mere squeaks.

Robbi gripped Jake’s arm, struck numb by the horror of what she was seeing.
The killer’s face pressed close to hers. His black eyes seared into hers, his foul breath made her sick as bright lights exploded before her eyes.

Then he was gone.

“He has her,” Robbi, filled with despair, whispered.

Jake held her, a soothing hand in her hair, stroking.

Her mother stood in her robe in the doorway to the kitchen. “Robbi, what is it? What’s happening? Someone tell me what’s going on here?”

“Mama,” Robbi said, shaking all over. “Tobie’s in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble? How do you know this?”

“I
know
it. Just like I knew Ronnie was in trouble. I see it.”

“Oh, darling…” Lois began sadly.

“Don’t start that,” she said sharply to her mother. “You never believed me. I wasn’t crazy then. And I’m not crazy now.”

Lois looked to Jake, questioning.

“It’s true, Mrs. Paxton,” Jake said. “Believe her.”

Roberta stormed into the house. In the kitchen she snatched the receiver off the wall and began to dial the number of the local sheriff. Hanley appeared. He pressed the lever, held his hand on it.

Robbi turned on him, shaking with rage.

“Calling the police won’t help,” Hanley said.

Then Jake was there. “What do you mean?”

“If he does have Tobie … he might kill her or … or let her die if he thinks…”

“What?” Robbi said.

“He won’t do nothing unless … unless…”

“Unless what?” Robbi wanted to shake the words out of him.

“Unless his back’s up against the wall. I made him promise he wouldn’t bother nobody here.” Hanley avoided her eyes. “I told him to stay clear of her. I threatened to turn him in if he did. I never dreamed … I—oh, Lord…” He shook his head ruefully, his gaze fell on Lois. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Paxton.”

Lois laid a comforting hand on the caretaker’s arm. “Hanley, please, what is it?”

Robbi felt a scream rising from deep inside. With it she felt fury, frustration, ineptness.

“Who is this guy?” Jake asked.

“He’s my grandson.”

The room became deathly quiet.

Robbi, disbelieving, recovered enough to turn back to the phone.

“No, please,” Hanley pleaded. “First let me tell you about him—about us.”

“Why should we believe you? You’re a liar. You told me you had no idea where your grandson was.” She punched buttons on the phone.

Jake stepped up to her. He took her by the shoulders and said, “Robbi, let’s listen to him.”

“There’s no time,” she said.

“We can’t afford to go off half-cocked. Hanley knows him. We have to trust him.”

She clenched the receiver, wanting to smash it down, wanting to scream and pound her fists against the caretaker’s chest. Instead, she inhaled deeply and slowly hung it up.

Jake put an arm around her. “Let’s all go into the other room and sit down.”

They started out of the kitchen to the front of the house. Hanley moved ahead. “No, not in there. This way. I can talk while I get ready.”

Lois, Jake, and Roberta followed him into the large open room that was her father’s den and gun room.

Hanley went to an oak case, removed a key ring from his belt loop, unlocked the drawer. After a moment’s deliberation, he choose a snubnose .38.

“Joe—that’s his name, Joseph Eckker—is my daughter’s son. Jennifer was fast and wild. She ran off in her teens, went to San Francisco. We lost track of her then. It wasn’t till we learned she’d been killed by some crazy, outta-his-head junkie that we even knew we had a grandson. There was nothin’ to do but take him in … him being kin.

“He was eight. Emma and me thought we had another chance to raise one right. Guess God didn’t agree. Joe was already too tainted. Stealin’, fightin’, and the likes.” Hanley went to a drawer in the tall rifle cabinet, unlocked it, and removed a box of shells. “And he was having these fits, epilepsy, I guess. Any fool could see the boy’d been mistreated.”

As he talked he carefully slipped a cartridge into each hole of the cylinder. “Emma took him to church every Sunday and I showed him how to live off the land. For a city kid, he sure took to the woods.” He popped open the snaps on his western shirt, slipped the gun inside, under his belt, then closed the shirt. The gun was undetectable.

“Then he got into a little scrap with the law and…” The words trailed off.

“He was arrested,” Jake said. “For what?”

Hanley looked as if he would not answer.

“I can find out, Mr. Gates.” Jake made a move to reach for the phone. “A few phone calls.”

“When he was sixteen he took a fancy to a little neighbor gal and … when she wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with him, he … well, he forced himself on her.”

“He went to prison for rape?”

Hanley looked away. “Attempted rape and assault.”

“What aren’t you telling us?” Jake said.

“This ain’t easy for me, Doctor.” Hanley cleared his throat. “Joe spent eighteen months in what they used to call a reform school. A month after he come home, that little gal just disappeared. Some said she run off, some said Joe got even. They never could pin anything on him, though they sure as hell tried.”

“What’s your opinion?” Jake asked.

“He’s my grandson. Dr. Reynolds. I hafta give him the benefit of the doubt.”

“What landed him in prison?”

“Same thing. Another gal. He don’t mean to hurt them. It’s just that he gets disheartened when they don’t take to him like he does to them. He don’t know his own strength. And he’s got a real short fuse.”

“So for years you’ve hidden him somewhere in these mountains?” Jake asked, incredulous.

“He gets around. Has his own truck. Earns money cutting trees and selling cords of firewood. He loves the woods. He’s a loner. Never liked being around a lot of people. I figured it wouldn’t hurt nothing.” He looked at Robbi and her mother.

“Where is he?” Jake asked.

“I can’t tell you—for Tobie’s own good,” Hanley said. “You go marching in on him and he’s gonna get mad. I know him, I know what he can do.”

“So do I,” Robbi whispered.

“I gotta be the one to go. He trusts me. I can find out what he’s done with Tobie, and then I can talk to him, reason with him. He respects me. And he knows I can turn him in to the law. But the important thing is finding out where she is. If he gets killed first, we may never find her.”

“A church,” Robbi interjected, “does he have anything to do with a church?”

“That’s enough questions,” Hanley said, picking up a skinning knife in a leather sheath, then discarding it.

Robbi stopped him. “Hanley, Tobie’s so young and trusting … if it comes to blood relation over—”

Anger flashed in his eyes, then disappeared. “I’ve known Tobie since she was just a pup. She’s like one of my own. She’s closer than my own. Don’t insult me, Roberta.”

Insult him? Robbi wanted to strike out at the man who’d allowed this evil monster to practically live with them. But hysterics wouldn’t do anyone any good. She bit her lip, looked away, nodded.

Lois Paxton stepped in front of him and spoke for the first time since the scene in the kitchen. “Hanley, what if you don’t come back? How will we find him?”

He picked up the Browning semi-automatic 12-gauge shotgun and a full box of shells. “I’ll be back.”

“Wait a minute,” Jake said. “You’ve got two hours, then we’re calling the police.”

Hanley paused, nodded. Then he was gone.

________

On the flat rock he squatted on his haunches, brushed the hair from her face, and looked at her curiously.

Her skin was smooth, flawless, the color of a ripe apricot. Beneath the damp shirt he could make out her thin form. The calves of her long legs were covered with a fine fuzz.

So unspoiled, he thought, quelling the excitement building inside him. She was young enough to mold to his way. The others had been too set in their ways—too worldly.

He lifted her, carried her to the horse and draped her forward across the saddle. Swatches of bright blood stood out on her throat and on the back of her T-shirt. He looked at his left hand and saw his own blood saturating the edge of the gauze bandage. Thinking about the missing digits turned his mood ugly again. Roberta Paxton would pay for that.

He led the horse in the direction of his sanctuary.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Hanley pulled off the logging road and parked his pickup behind a thicket of manzanita. He shut off the engine, grabbed the Browning, got out, and headed up the mountain on foot. Storm clouds were amassing to the south. A slight breeze rustled the collar of his shirt.

Thirty minutes later, only slightly winded from the long climb, he reached the pond, skirted around the west end, found the trail, and followed it. Another half hour and he neared the clearing. He quieted his steps.

From the tree line Hanley squinted and stared off in the direction of the wooden structure. Tethered to a quaking aspen was Tobie’s black horse. Hanley felt a twisting in his gut.

Staying within the cover of the trees, he made his way to the horse. Prince whinnied, tossed his head at the man’s furtive approach. Hanley patted his neck, spoke softly to quiet him. The horse recognized him, nuzzled his shoulder affectionately. “Good fella, good fella,” he whispered, stroking Prince’s coarse mane. The mane was wet and sticky with drying blood.

Hanley stared at the dilapidated church, the only remaining structure of a tiny logging settlement abandoned at the turn of the century. In a full chokeberry bush at the base of the tree he hid the shotgun. He patted the horse, spit a stream of tobacco juice into the bushes, then started for the ruins, his hand touching the metal bulge at his waist. A scraping sound reached him as he neared the building. Surreptitiously, Hanley circled until he found the source. At the rear of the church the massive, sweaty back of his grandson, bent to his task of digging, presented itself to him. Shovelfuls of dirt formed at his knees. The hole was five feet long and, at this point, no more than a foot deep. Sweat trickled down Hanley’s sides. He carefully drew back, then continued to the far end of the building. He lifted the trapdoor and quickly went down the steps, closing the door behind him.

The basement smelled of loamy earth, mildew, and burned coffee. The main room held an assortment of discarded furniture that, years ago, Hanley had supplied.