Mortal Crimes: 7 Novels of Suspense (142 page)

“Look here.” He sat on the bunk, a shoebox filled with papers, photos, and personal mementos in his lap.

She sank down beside him and gazed at a faded Polaroid snapshot of a threesome—a thin-legged man in jeans and western straw hat, an ebony-eyed woman, her expression stern, and a dark-haired boy who looked fourteen but probably was only eight or nine.

Two newspaper clippings. An obituary: Jennifer Eckker, 25, died Monday in her San Francisco residence … surviving are her parents, Hanley and Emily Gates of Cold Creek, California, and a son, Joseph.

A two-inch article from the
San Francisco Examiner,
September 9, 1963:

WOMAN BEATEN TO DEATH, BOYFRIEND ARRESTED

Jennifer Eckker, 25, was found dead in her residence at the Colonial Apartments in the Tenderloin. Her live-in boyfriend, Charles Blackstone was arrested at the scene. Neighbors, hearing the woman’s screams, called the authorities, who were unable to respond in time to save her. Eckker’s eight-year-old son witnessed her death.

Robbi looked at the photograph of Hanley, his wife, and grandson again. The three were standing in front of a white wooden church.

Robbi closed her eyes. Another wooden church materialized in the recesses of her mind.

She heard faint creaks and groans. The walls of the chapel vibrated like a living creature breathing in and out. The ceiling sagged, opened up to the sky. What did it mean?

“The walls are coming down,” Robbi whispered. “The church is falling apart.”

Jake took her hands. “Which church. His church?”

“Yes.” Robbi saw the parishioners in the chapel waver, grow nebulous as they seemed to break up along with the building. The building was disintegrating. She saw weeds and wildflowers growing inside the empty shell.

“Ruins.” She spun around to Jake, grabbed his arm. “Not a church, but the ruins of a church.”

“On this mountain?”

Roberta jumped to her feet, charged by the probability.

They ran back to the house through the steady rain. Pomona had brought tea on a silver tray and was pouring.

“Mom, do you know of any old buildings, a church maybe, around here?”

“I’m afraid I’ve never paid much attention to the area. Your father is the one who knows this mountain inside and out. Before his stroke he traipsed all over—”

A distant voice shouted Lois’s name.

“That’s the mister now,” Pomona said. “Hanley, he usually put him to bed long ago.”

Lois rose slowly, looking weary. “Jake, could you help me with my husband?”

“I think it’s time you, Pomona, and your husband left.” He took her arm. “I’ll help you take him out.”

“Wait,” Robbi said, stopping them. “Give me a few minutes with him.”

“Honey, leave him alone. You know how difficult he can be.”

“We have no choice, Mom. He may know where she is.”

Lois nodded.

“I’ll bring the car around to the back door,” Jake said.

“Pomona will show you where the keys are,” Roberta said, hurrying from the room.

She had never been in his bedroom in this house, but she had only to follow a
tap-tap
and the string of curses to find the room and her father. At the end of the long hallway stood a pair of white enameled doors.

Roberta rapped lightly.

“Come! Come!”

She opened the door and stepped in.

Caught off guard by her presence, his jaw worked up and down. He recovered. “Lost?”

“No.”

“Then leave. Send Hanley.”

“In a minute. I—I need some answers.”

He looked past her to the doorway, where Lois silently stood. “What is this, a circus? Where the hell is Hanley? I’d like to retire, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Roberta forced herself to stay calm. “Tobie’s in trouble.”

“Her mother can handle it,” he said. “I want to go to bed.”

“Cameron,” Lois stepped into the room.

“Out. Both of you.”

“Dammit. It’s no use, you were right,” Roberta said to her mother, turning to go. “We’re only wasting time with him. I’m calling the police.”

Lois stopped her, turned to her husband. “Cameron, this is very serious. Tobie—”

“Is your responsibility,” he cut in brusquely. “If she’s in trouble,
you
get her out.” He swiveled the wheelchair around, putting his back to them.

Lois stood still for a moment, then bore down on her husband, anger twisting her face.

“You listen to me. You have a daughter. She’s thirteen years old. Right now, as we speak, a monster of a man has her in some godforsaken place in these woods, and he may kill her. Do you understand? You’ve been all over these hills.” Without taking her eyes from him, she said, “Robbi, tell him what you’re looking for.”

“A stone and log structure, probably the ruins of a church.”

Something in his eyes sparked.

He knew. The bastard knew.
Roberta felt a mixture of disgust and elation.

“Tell her where it is,” Lois demanded, gripping the wheelchair tightly.

“She’d never find it.”

Robbi ran from the room, oblivious of the tears welling up in her eyes.

She rushed into the gun room. On a bookshelf she found dozens of regional maps. Pulling them down, she tossed one after another aside until she found the right one.

She ran back into her father’s bedroom. Unfolding the map, snapping the crisp paper open, she put it on his lap, grabbed his hand, and slapped it on the face of the map. “Show us.”

He glared at her, defiance in his eyes. “Where’s Hanley?”

“Dead.”

His head jerked up.

“That’s right. Hanley’s dead, killed by the man who has Tobie. Killed by his own grandson.”

He looked from Roberta to her mother; a flicker of uncertainty flashed in his eyes. Then he seemed to deflate before her eyes. He looked down. His hand began to move slowly over the map. He stopped, his palm flat on the paper. Robbi recognized a portion of it as the Paxton land. Then, his hand curled, his shaky forefinger pointed to a spot south of the highway, national forest. “There,” he said flatly.

She circled it in ink. “How far from the house?”

“Two, three miles.”

“Is there more to the structure than the stone and log shell?”

“A basement.”

“Did you know he was there?” Robbi asked.

Her father stared solemnly at her with pale blue-green eyes. He shook his head. “No.”

Jake appeared in the doorway. “The car’s out back. Ready?”

“Jake, I know where the church is.”

“I’ll get the sheriff and Clark on the phone,” he said.

Robbi watched him go down the hall. She turned back to her father. He closed his eyes, refused to look at her.

She folded the map, wedged it down into the side pocket of her khaki shorts, then turned, hugged her mother. For now they could both savor this moment of victory.

In the hallway Jake stood with the phone to his ear, pressing buttons. He opened his arm and she moved into the space. He tapped the lever on the phone. “This phone’s out. Where’s another?”

She rushed into the gun room, yanked up the receiver, and listened. A flash of lightning streaked across the western sky. Thunder boomed. The lights flickered.

“Dead,” she said, going to Jake. “The storm?”

“Must be,” Jake responded, conviction lacking in his voice.

From the kitchen, glass shattered. Pomona screamed. The house plunged into darkness.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

The scream echoed through the large house.

In the dark, Jake fumbled on the desktop for the shotgun, grabbed it, and ran out of the room.

Robbi followed.

They found Pomona standing in the middle of the grayed kitchen, a broken lantern on the floor tiles, kerosene pooling at her feet. She pointed to a window next to the door. “Somebody … out there!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes—no. I don’t know. The lights go out and I think I see somebody at the window.”

Pomona put a shaky match to the unbroken lantern. Anemic yellow light blossomed outward. She turned the wick until the light brightened and flickered. Black smoke snaked from the glass chimney.

“Be careful of that match. Lower that flame.” Jake moved to the window and looked out.

Roberta lowered the gas in the lantern. From a shelf by the door she took down a flashlight and handed it to the housekeeper. “Pomona, tell my mother it’s time to go.”

Pomona followed the beam of light out of the room.

Robbi brought the lamp to the table, unfolded the map, and spread it out. She and Jake bent over it.

“There’s a boundary fence about here.” She pointed. “I saw it once while out riding. I think the best way is to head for the fence and follow it up. The map shows a body of water, a small lake or a large pond, just this side of where the old structure should be. It can’t be too far beyond that.”

“If for any reason we get separated, we’ll try to meet at the pond.”

Robbi shuddered at the thought. “We won’t get separated.” She folded the map and put it back in the pocket with the matches and extra shells.

Pomona entered the kitchen, pushing Cameron Paxton in the wheelchair. Lois followed, her face drawn. “I want to stay here,” Lois said.

“No, Mom. You’d be alone in the house. You have to go.”

“Where will you and Jake be?”

“We’re going to look for Tobie.”

After securing a rain slicker over the old man, Jake lifted him from the chair. Then, with Robbi at his side acting as shotgun, he carried the invalid out to the car and buckled him into the backseat. The two women got in the front, Lois behind the wheel.

“Lois, keep the doors locked and don’t stop for anyone,” Jake said. “When you get to Truckee, go straight to the police and tell them what’s going on here. Tell them to send every available man.”

Jake and Roberta hurried back to the house.

________

The horse trod carefully down the slope, its burden shifting awkwardly from side to side. The rider moaned, held his hand firmly against his chest to staunch the flow of blood.

The rider tipped, caught himself, his arms going around the horse’s neck.

Prince lowered his shiny black head and continued on, the steady rain beating down on both horse and rider.

________

Roberta laid the shotgun on the island counter, then moved to the sink to a box of wooden matches on the windowsill. As she reached for the box, a dark figure loomed up in front of the window. The broad face peered in at her.

She screamed.

The face disappeared.

Jake was beside her in an instant.

“It was
him,”
she whispered, backing away.

A moment later there was a powerful thud at the back door.

“It’s him!” Robbi shouted. “Shoot him! Shoot him through the door!”

Jake grabbed the .12 gauge and took a stance.

Panes shattered from high in the door, showering them with stinging bits of glass.

Roberta dashed to the island for her gun just as the door flew open, smashing against the water cooler. The Sparklett’s bottle crashed to the floor, sending a cascade of water across the tiles. A figure towered in the doorway, the gray, rainy night a backdrop for the enormous hulk. Still several feet from her shotgun, she realized she had put herself between Jake and the killer.

Robbi froze.

The man lunged at her, seizing a handful of her clothes. She felt her back pocket rip, heard the map and extra shotgun shells spill onto the floor. She twisted away, snatched up the shotgun from the counter, and tried to turn it on him. His hand wrapped around the barrel. Then he suddenly let go, his feet going out from under him as he crashed to the floor in an oily pool of kerosene and water.