The_Amazing_Mr._Howard (15 page)

Willard brought down his hand. He stood taller, his mind no longer on the carnage inside the auditorium. “Let me guess, Mr. Howard had a vision.”

“No, this has nothing to do with him.”

People streamed out the auditorium doors, disgust etched on their faces.
Sweet Jesus, I hope she didn’t kill anyone
. Doris would snort like a bull while threatening to crush him when he told her he needed to go. A threat he took most seriously. “All right, give me a few. I’ll need to drop my family back home.”

“Thanks. I’ll be in the office.”

He hung up the phone right as someone shrieked behind the closed auditorium doors. The wail of the siren grew louder. His right hand balled into a fist.

After driving his family home, Willard hustled out to his sedan. Eager to escape the nightmare of the recital, he burned rubber backing out of the driveway. On the interstate he weaved in and out of traffic, frustration from living with a bunch of wide-bodied fuckups blinding him to the danger of his actions. He tried to concentrate on what Killgood had told him. They might know where Stephanie Coldstone’s body is located.

Hallelujah!

The sooner he put this case behind him, the better. How did they come up with a location to find her remains? Oh well, at least Mr. Howard wasn’t involved… that was almost enough to make him forget Doris’s reaction when he told her they had to leave. As expected, she bowed her back and flattened her hands on her hips, ignoring the paramedics behind her on the stage treating the last girl Margo plastered.

“You love your damn job more than you love your family.”

He responded with silence which was tantamount to agreeing with her. She grabbed Dave and Margo by the hand and stomped down the aisle. On stage someone shouted, “Code blue.” Yeah, code blue all right, his entire life flushed down the commode like a giant turd. It didn’t help that the girl on stage was the daughter of a personal injury lawyer.

Shit.

He arrived at the police station and parked near the entrance. The sun was almost gone behind the foothills and the parking lot lights emitted a low buzz as they came alive. A cool front blowing in from Wyoming brought the threat of rain. Hands in his pockets, head down, he marched toward the building, ignoring the two uniformed cops who passed.

Willard slowed as he approached Killgood’s office. Killgood was sitting behind his desk. A young woman occupied one of the chairs in front of him. Willard guessed her age to be mid-twenties. She had short black hair that contrasted against the paleness of her skin. Her plain white T-shirt squeezed breasts that belonged on a centerfold.

Probably had a boob job.

When he noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra, his penis started to tingle. Damn, the last thing he needed was to walk in with a hard on. He retreated to a bench in the hallway and waited until his erection melted away. A single knock announced his arrival. He acknowledged Killgood with a nod and held out a hand to the woman. “Detective Willard, State Police.”

She hesitated before offering her own hand. Small fingers, soft warm palm—crap he felt his erection returning. Willard quickly sat and crossed his legs.

“This is Alicia Whitmore,” Killgood said. “Alicia thinks she can help us with your investigation.”

He considered her through narrowed eyes. She flushed, her chin sinking toward her chest. “Is that so? Did she witness something?”

“I’ve had dreams,” she whispered.

If he didn’t find her attractive, he would have groaned, instead, he cleared his throat to indicate his willingness to listen. “What kind of dreams?”

She continued to stare at her lap. “Nightmares really.”

“Oh?”

She viewed him from the corner of her eye. “I see a girl, alone and scared. She wants to go home but she can’t.”

“What’s stopping her?”

“She’s… in the ground. She doesn’t like it there. It’s dark and cold.”

Willard gave Killgood a hard stare. “Another psychic?”

The girl shook her head. “Both my mother and grandmother were psychics but I’ve never claimed to be gifted.”

He arms folded on his chest. “Until now.”

She looked down and chewed her lip. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

Killgood waved a finger to draw his attention. “Alicia thinks she can lead us to Stephanie.”

“Are you certain the girl in your dreams is Stephanie?” Willard asked.

“After one of my dreams, I saw her picture in the newspaper. It was definitely the same girl.”

He worked his tongue against the sides of mouth as he pondered his next move. While he’d always considered psychics to be frauds, he recalled Janssen saying that some of them seemed to be genuine. Perhaps this girl was one of the truly gifted. At least she was easier on the eyes than Mr. Howard. He pushed out of the chair and gestured toward the door. “I’m going to talk with Detective Killgood for a moment outside.”

She nodded without raising her head.

Killgood joined him in the hallway. “This is your investigation—what do you want to do?”

Willard walked to a window and pressed his forehead against the glass. The top pane stood open and hot summer air swirled inside, carrying the smell of wild barley that grew in an adjacent field. “You have more experience working with these people than I do.”

“I’ve never had two psychics simultaneously assisting in an investigation.”

“Does she seem legit to you?”

There was a moment of silence before Killgood answered. “I guess we won’t find out unless we let her take us to the body.”

He faced Killgood. “Fine, then let’s see what she can do.”

They returned to the office and sat. She squirmed in her chair, her gaze moving between the two of them. “So?”

“So,” Willard said, “we decided to let you help us.”

“I won’t go to jail if this doesn’t work, right?” she asked.

“You won’t go to jail,” Willard answered looking at Killgood who smiled behind his desk. “But, perhaps we should wait until morning to make it easier for you.”

Her head came up and she turned toward him. “No, we should go now.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Killgood drove. Willard sat on the front passenger seat with the girl in the back behind Killgood. Willard liked it this way because he could steal glances at her. She had one of those faces that would always look young and he imagined her in a cheerleader uniform without panties, skirt flying up to reveal a triangle of black pubic hair. If he concentrated, he could almost taste her.

Killgood stopped at the intersection with the main road. “Which way?” he said.

She hesitated for a few seconds. “Go left.”

“You want me to turn north?”

“Yes, north.”

He steered onto Timberline Drive and headed north. When they reached the intersection with Mulberry, she unbuckled her seatbelt, leaned forward between the front seats, and checked both directions. Willard edged close enough to smell her flowery perfume. “Where now?”

“Right… yes… go right.”

Killgood headed east on Mulberry, passing warehouses, auto repair shops, and various small businesses. Near the interstate, they drove by motels and pancake houses. Semis filled the parking lot of a truck stop. A cattle truck rumbled onto the road. Beyond the highway, the land flattened. Buildings gave way to farms. Willard continued to watch the woman. She pressed her face against the window as they came to Gillstrap, a small farming community. “He came this way.”

Willard exchanged questioning glances with Killgood. “Who came this way?” he said over his shoulder.

“The man… he came this way with Stephanie.” She flattened a hand against her chest and took several deep breaths. “He noticed the sky… the stars… and the smell.”

“What smell would that be?” Killgood asked.

She waited several seconds. “Manure, yes, he smelled the manure.” She lowered her window and thrust her head outside to stare at the night sky. “And the moon… he noticed that too.” She sat back in the seat, but left her window open.

“This man,” Willard said, “can you see him?”

She grimaced as if suffering a headache. “His hands are…” She began to massage her temples furiously, fingers turning in a tight circle, faster and faster.

Willard sighed. He wanted to believe her, but after experiencing Mr. Howard’s performance, found it difficult. “What about his hands?”

She stopped massaging her temples and sat straight up. “Wrinkled… they are wrinkled and pale like new snow.”

“Anything else?”

“He loved her,” she whispered.

Willard blinked several times as he digested her words. “Loved her?”

“Yes. In his own way, he loved her. And she knew it. She knew he struggled against his conscience. He took no pleasure in the thing he did.”

“What did he do?”

She pressed back against the headrest and closed her eyes. “You don’t need me to tell you that, Detective. It won’t be much longer now.”

“What won’t be much longer?”

“You’ll see.”

He looked at Killgood, who shrugged. “Is it like this working with Howard?”

“Well, I’d say—”

“It’s not like this with Howard,” she said.

They both stared at her. “Do you know Mr. Howard?” Willard asked.

“Mr. Howard,” she repeated softly without opening her eyes.

Willard turned around in his seat. “I’ll take that as a no.” He folded his arms over his chest and grunted softly. He could be home in bed, his head swallowed by a big fat pillow, dreams of… his big fat wife snoring beside him… ugh. Thinking of Doris made him want to puke.

The road belonged to them now. He hadn’t seen another car for several miles. If not for the glow of the moon, the surrounding darkness would be complete, and suffocating, like the space inside a locked toy box. Willard clenched his teeth.
Mama, Daddy, someone, please, please let me out of here. Please. I don’t want to die here. Someone open this thing. Can’t move, can’t breathe, this thing’s a coffin. Please help me!

“Stop!”

Killgood slammed on the brakes causing the nose of the car to dive. Willard pitched forward and slammed back into the seat. “Nice stop, ace.” She unbuckled her seat belt, leaned between the seats, and pointed toward a turn off. “This is the place he took her.”

“Are you sure?” Willard asked.

She nodded. “He turned off here.”

“All right,” Killgood said, instinctively checking for traffic before turning north. He drove onto a dirt road. Tires spit gravel while stirring up a gray dust cloud behind the car. He slowed to a stop, the car headlights illuminating an entrance sign for the Grasslands National Park. “He brought her to the park?”

“That’s just great,” Willard said. “This place belongs to the Feds, which means if she’s out here, the FBI will get involved. I hope you’ve stocked up on your K-Y, Detective.”

She massaged her brow, fingers dancing over her flesh like spider legs. “Notebook.”

“What about a notebook?” Willard asked.

She pinched her thumb and forefinger together and moved her hand as if writing with a pen. “He wrote something here. Something about the sign.”

“The entrance sign?”

She nodded.

He could tell from Killgood’s expression that he also wondered why the killer took notes about the sign.

“Go straight,” she said.

Killgood let off the brake and the car rolled forward. They crossed a cattle guard, a metallic rumble rising up through the floorboard.

“He wrote something about that too,” she said.

“The cattle guard?” Willard asked.

“Yes, he wanted to remember it.”

“Perhaps to help him relive the experience,” Killgood said.

She reached up to tap Killgood on the shoulder. “It’s dark.”

“Yes it is.”

“No, not that,” she said, “cut your headlights.”

Willard turned in his seat. “Why?”

“He did it… the man… when he brought her.”

Killgood cut the headlights and the world vanished as if someone had dropped a black cloak over the land. Willard squirmed with unease. “Are you sure he cut the lights? How could he see anything?”

“He sees everything,” she said, settling back in the seat.

They continued driving, moonlight bringing out the detail of a barb wire fence and an occasional yucca. She drew in a breath, which caused both detectives to turn, and pointed toward a solitary tree on the horizon. “There, that’s the spot. He buried her near the tree.”

“Are you sure?” Willard asked.

“Yes, this is the place.”

When they came parallel to the tree, Killgood stopped the car.

“No, not here.”

Killgood glanced at him, his left eyebrow arched, and then at the girl. “I thought you said this was the place?”

“Back up about ten yards,” she said.

Killgood sighed as he slipped the car into reverse. He finished backing up. “Is this where you want it?”

“He parked here.” She said, opening the door.

She was out the door so fast Willard barely had time to blink. “Maybe she needs to pee.”

Killgood grunted. “Hey, I don’t know anything about this girl, so don’t blame me if this turns out to be a wild goose chase.”

“I will most definitely blame you.”

They joined her at the back of the car. She faced the trunk, staring straight as if in a trance. Her hands clawed the air. “Her body…”

“What about her body?” Willard asked.

“He… pulled it…”

“What does that mean?”

She grabbed his arm so hard it hurt him. “He pulled her out of his car. Dark… black… maybe blue… with doors at the rear.”

Willard gently pried her hand from his arm. “Like a van?”

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yes, I believe it was a van.” Her eyes opened wide. “He talked to her.”

The detectives exchanged questioning gazes. “I thought she was dead,” Killgood said.

“Yes, she was dead.” She scurried toward the grassland beyond the road.

“Alicia, wait!” Killgood said and jogged to catch up. “Hasn’t anyone warned you about snakes?”

“He buried her on the other side of the fence.”

“How did he get her body over the fence?” Willard asked coming alongside Killgood.