The Lion, the Lamb, the Hunted: A Psychological Thriller (23 page)

“We just don’t know what might pertain to the Kingsley case,” I said, “and we want to be sure we don’t miss anything.”

She looked at me, looked at CJ, but still looked troubled. Said nothing.

“I promise we’ll take good care of them,” CJ said. “You have my word.”

A cautious nod. “All right. I suppose. But it’ll take you a while to go through them all. They’re not very organized, and there’s a lot there.”

“By the way,” I said, changing the subject before she changed her mind, “what did Bill look like?”

She rolled her eyes. “Quite unremarkable, as far as I was concerned. Never understood what Maddie saw in him. It was rather a sticking point between us. She always did go for the rough-and-tumble types. A beautiful girl, my Madison, could’ve had any man she wanted. Why she chose him, I’ll never know.”

“Rough-and-tumble?” CJ asked.

She smiled. “That’s a nice way of saying
redneck
, dear.”

CJ grinned.

“About six feet tall,” Ruth continued. “Brown hair. Blue eyes.”

“Did he wear a cowboy hat?”

“All the time. Don’t think I ever saw him without one. It was all part of his image, you know, tough guy, Mr. Macho. Made me ill.”

“Did he smoke?” CJ asked.

Ruth gazed at her with curiosity. “Like a chimney. Why?”

“Nothing special,” CJ said. “We’re just looking at a few loose ends that never got tied up in the case.”

I added, “Trying to figure out if Bill has any connection.”

“I see,” she said, nodding slowly, watching me a little more carefully now. “Well then, I hope the notes help you find what you’re looking for. I’ll call Sebastian to help move boxes, if you’d like.”

“Won’t be necessary, Ms. Johns…I mean, Ruth,” CJ said. “I think we can manage.”

We each grabbed a box, began moving them out.

“Just one thing,” Ruth said just as we reached the door.

We turned around.

She alternated her gaze between me and CJ, appeared to be stuck on a thought, and then, “I don’t know how much you really know about Bill … but the man’s evil. To the core. I knew it from the day I met him. If you find out he’s alive, stay away from him.” She frowned. “If I just could have convinced Madison of that, maybe she—”

“But it never stopped you,” I said. “I mean, knowing how dangerous he was and all, it didn’t stop you from going after him for your daughter’s death. Weren’t you afraid he’d come after you?”

She raised a hand. “Oh, I was plenty afraid. Still am.”

“But you seem just as determined as ever, dead
or
alive.”

She looked directly into my eyes, and hers began to glisten. “Do you have any children, Mr. Bannister?”

I shook my head.

“Then you may not understand this…or maybe you will. Losing a child is the most painful thing a mother can endure. It rips at your soul, like a part of your heart’s been torn right out. I truly sympathized with that Kingsley woman, I really did, and I suppose in some way, I identified with her, too. I know what she went through. It never seems to get better, either; in fact, it just gets worse every day. I guess what I’m trying to say is, sometimes even fear is no match for a mother’s love.”

I thought about that, and then, “So you’re not really
worried he’ll find out…”

“Oh, I’m plenty worried.”

“But not enough to stop.”

“I’ll never stop. I’ll go to my grave trying to see justice is served where my daughter’s concerned. I owe her that much. It’s just that I seem to go back and forth between pursuing the man and being scared to death of him.”

The reason, I now realized, for all the security precautions.

I noticed her hands trembling even more so than before. Then I looked up, met her eyes, and saw fear in them, plain and raw.

“If you want to know the truth,” she continued with a shaky voice, “I can’t tell you the number of nights I’ve sat up worrying that someday he’ll come back, and
I’ll
be the one floating in a lake…or maybe something even worse.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

We loaded the car full of boxes, putting most of them in the trunk, the rest stacked so tall in the back seat that they blocked the rear window as we drove off.

“You see the look on her face?” CJ said, once we were on the road.

“You mean toward the end? When she was talking about Bill?”

“Yeah.” Staring out her window now, shaking her head slowly. “She’s terrified.”

“And with good reason. He’s one bad dude.”

She nodded, deliberated. “But she didn’t get us any closer to connecting Samuels and Williams.”

“Cowboy hats and cigarettes…could be lots of men in these parts,” I agreed, “but it still does match.”

“Think he’s even still alive?”

I glanced at her, then back at the road. “Guys like that don’t often go away very easily.”

“And he sounds like an expert at flying under the radar.”

“Which reminds me.” I grabbed my mobile phone, dialed Sully’s number, and got his voicemail immediately. Clicked it off and shook my head.

“Your contact?”

“Yeah,” I said. The irritation must have been evident.

She sat up straighter and started counting on her fingers. “So Williams kidnaps and kills the son, then he starts visiting the mother in the mental hospital. Then she assumes
his
identity before he kills her?” She paused a beat, shot me a blank look. “Reality really
is
stranger than fiction.”

“And don’t forget Lucas,” I added. “We still don’t know how
he
got sucked into this.”

She nodded. “Yeah, there’s that.”

When I glanced over, I saw she was staring into the rearview mirror.

I said, “What is it?”

Still looking, squinting, “That car was behind us when we left Ruth’s, and it’s still there.”

I couldn’t see a thing—all the boxes obscured my view. I adjusted the side view mirror, saw a late model SUV with black, tinted windows. Looked ominous as hell. CJ shifted nervously in her seat. “Pull off at the next exit. See if he goes with us.”

I glanced ahead. There was one coming up. CJ saw it too, and with urgency in her voice said, “Take it.”

I did. Drove up to the stoplight at the end of the ramp, looked in the side view mirror. But the SUV hadn’t followed. I gazed over the railing and saw it go flying down the freeway. Then I looked over at her.

She shot me a suspicious glare and said, “You think I’m paranoid.”

“After what we’ve been through these past few days? All that we’ve seen? Do I think you’re overreacting? Nope. Not a bit.”

She revealed a shadow of a smile.

I tightened my grip on the wheel, felt the sweat in my palms as I merged back onto the freeway. The urge to list was overwhelming me. I struggled against it, fought it back.

Not now
.
Not in front of CJ
.

But the pressure was almost unbearable, and I knew where it came from. It was becoming a way of life for us: always looking over our shoulders, always afraid someone was on our trail.

Hunting us. Like animals.

***

CJ insisted on finding another motel in a different town. She’d had her fill of Jerome—come to think of it, so had I. Next stop: Virginia, Texas, about fifteen miles up the road.

After realizing we hadn’t eaten all day, we picked up Chinese takeout, then checked into our new digs, the Desert Inn. At least it was clean. Seemed to pass CJ’s inspection.

Then we got down to business, sifting through the multitude of paperwork.

“She said this stuff wasn’t organized.” CJ shoved a pile of papers away. “She wasn’t kidding.”

“What a mess.” I reached for another stack, started shuffling through it. “Most of it I can’t even read. Looks like bunch of chicken scratch.”

“A whole lot of nothing. Even the so-called references to
the boy
that Ruth mentioned—most of them aren’t even on the same page as the ones about Jean. Hardly as incriminating as she seemed to think. Could’ve been talking about anyone.” She held up a sheet, stared at it, then tossed it aside, shaking her head. “God, it’s sad.”

“What is?”

“Losing her daughter,” she said. “Knowing who killed her and not being able to bring him to justice.”

I said, “It happens every day.”

“I know. Still, no matter how many times…”

I looked up at her. “Got something?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, examining a sheet of paper. Then she handed it to me.

I took it. Read it. And felt a burn in the pit of my stomach.

“Patrick?” CJ asked.

Her voice was nothing more than a distant echo. I tried to zero in on her but only saw white.

“Pat? What’s going on?”

After finally gaining focus, I said, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Chapter Forty

The names in the note weren’t spelled out, but they didn’t need to be. I knew exactly who it was to, who it was from.

B-

Meet at 5:30pm

Usual place.

-W

I recognized Warren’s handwriting, and as cryptic as the note was, it seemed clear to me. A letter from Warren to Bill.
Usual place: it wasn’t their first meeting, either.

It was the one thing I hadn’t shared with CJ—about my mother and Warren, that I knew they were somehow involved in Nathan Kingsley’s kidnapping and murder. A big thing, and I needed to tell her. So I did. I also showed her the note and the necklace.

“So let me make sure I understand you correctly,” she finally said once I was done, “this Warren guy—the senator—is your uncle?”

“Right.”

“And all this time you suspected he was behind this...along with your mother?”

I gave a single nod. “Also correct.”

“And the reason you’re just now mentioning it?”

“Because of this note.”

She looked at me for a long time, biting her lower lip, and then, “Yeah, I get that. Now tell me why you held out on me. This information is kind of important, Pat, kind of relevant. And you didn’t share it until you absolutely had to.”

“It’s not like that…”

She crossed her arms and tilted her head. “Really?”

“No.”

“Then tell me, what
is
it like? Because I need to tell you, Patrick this one-way relationship thing—it’s not working for me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“
This
.” She held the note and necklace up, one in each hand, giving them a single shake. I saw veins sticking out of her forehead. “
This
is
what I mean. You sat there and lied to me, Patrick. You told me it was just a damn news story! It wasn’t—this is all about you.”

“What was I supposed to say? Yes, I
think
my mother and uncle are involved, but I don’t have a thing to prove it?”

Her smile looked angry. “You know, it’s funny. I wasn’t aware that we had an agreement to only discuss what we can prove. I must’ve been absent the day you sent the memo out because I clearly don’t remember.”

“C’mon, CJ. Give me a break here,” I said, hands spread out, shaking my head. “You know what I mean…”

“No, I really don’t. So please enlighten me. Tell me why you haven’t been honest. Tell me why I’ve been spinning my wheels, working my ass off on a story with someone who doesn’t reciprocate, who won’t share the most important facts of this case.”

I stood up. “I did share. I just told you.”

“Sooner.”

“Huh?”