You Can't Escape (32 page)

“Bullshit. Hang on.” She looped an arm around him and reluctantly, he leaned on her, limping forward.

A young officer stood stiffly at the trampled entrance. “You can’t enter. This is police business,” he told them crisply.

“I’m the one that reported the body,” Jordanna told him, just as crisply.

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“Let me talk to Peter Drummond.”

“No, ma’am.”

Dance inserted, “Has the chief been informed?”

“It’s not for me to say, sir.”

Dance glanced around at the three vehicles, all with their lights revolving, blue and red strobes coloring the countryside. “I’m going to say yes,” he said to Jordanna. “I mean, how many officers and police cars does Rock Springs have?”

“I want to talk to the chief,” Jordanna ordered the young officer. “Chief Markum knows me. He’s good friends with my father, Dr. Winters.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the young officer said again, though he sounded a trifle less officious.

“You need to tell him I’m here,” she warned. “He’ll want to know.”

The officer looked at her a moment, then reluctantly moved to his walkie. Dance pulled Jordanna out of earshot. “Try to get him to tell you whose body it is. He’s going to want to shut you down, so be ready.”

“Oh, I know Markum,” she said.

It was about ten minutes later she saw the chief come from the direction of the cemetery into the glare of the revolving lights. She would have hurried forward to meet him, but the young officer held out his arms, as if she were a bronco that needed corralling.

“Jordanna,” the chief greeted her as he trudged her way. “Pete says you’re the one who called this in.”

“That’s right,” she said. “Who is it? Do you know?”

“Well, that’s the thing.” He grimaced and threw a glance back the way he’d come, then focused on Jordanna. “There is no body.”

She almost laughed. “Yes, there is. I touched it. I could smell it, even before I found it.”

The chief shook his head. “There was some soil disturbance, but the only bodies in that graveyard have been there a long, long time.”

“That’s not possible,” Jordanna insisted. “It’s only been a few hours since I was here!”

“The ground’s been raked. That’s about all I can tell you.”

“Well, then someone moved her.” Jordanna was positive, and growing angry. “And she was branded, just like the male vic whose body was found right over there.” She threw an arm out to encompass the whole area. “And there was an upside-down cross burned into her skin.”

That took him aback for a moment, but he recovered quickly. “I talked to Doc Ferguson. He told you about the cross.”

“Yes, he did,” she agreed. “And now I’m telling you it has to be the same marking.” When he didn’t say anything, she asked, “What?”

“He thinks you’re making up seeing the cross to match the facts of the original male branding victim,” Dance said drily.

“I’m not!” Jordanna was outraged, and suddenly aware that she was in a very precarious predicament. They all thought she was crazy already, and here she was, damn near giving them proof positive of that fact because someone had moved the body. “Who got here first?” she asked.

“Pete was here, with two other officers. All we had. Because we believed you, but there was nothing here.”

“I want to see for myself.”

“Jordanna, you’re trying my patience,” he said tiredly. “I came out here in deference to your father, who deserves a lot more respect than you give him. But there’s no body there. Maybe you should think about returning to Portland, or wherever you came from.”

“I’m not leaving,” she warned him. “Something’s going on here, even if you won’t let yourself believe anything bad can happen in Rock Springs.”

“I know bad things happen,” the chief barked out, then turned sharply to trudge on back.

Jordanna looked at Dance. She was so frustrated she could hardly speak. “Do you believe me?” she asked.

She’d let go of him for her encounter with the young officer and Markum, but now he slid his arm around her, pulling her close. “Yes. And even if there’s no body, the police know something’s going on. They’re not just sitting out there in the fog, waiting for spirits to rise.”

“Who moved her?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Someone who knew you found it.”

“But there was no one around.”

“Maybe there was,” he said.

A shiver started at the base of her spine and slid upward, cold as a finger drawing a line along her back. Her gaze darted in all directions, trying to pierce through the gray fog and dark night.

Maybe there was
.

The shovel rang against the stony ground like a bell in the thick night. He was sweating freely and he had a long way to go before he was done. He’d had to jog back to his truck, after moving the Treadwell girl’s car to the cliffs near Fool’s Falls, diving down into the steep slopes of fir and brush along the ditches whenever a car drove by, then had been shocked, stupefied, to see a man suddenly appear at the turnout above the falls. Todd Douglas. Lord above. He’d been ill with remorse when he’d realized who it was he’d had to smack senseless with the rock.

But God had reasons for his plans, he reminded himself. Todd had been there for a reason. His mind touched on the barred door in the barn. He’d had to do many things in His name that hurt him.

He dug some more, his muscles aching at the hard work. It was the appearance of the other Treadwell bitch that had nearly done him in, however. Where had she come from? How had she found the cemetery?
How?

She’s a daughter of Lucifer.

Seeing her there, he’d been jangled with fear. He’d driven the other Treadwell bitch to his barn, stuffed down in the footwell, covered by a blanket. Luckily he’d only encountered one other car on the road, one of the old Benchleys, he thought. Half-blind and barely herding her ancient Ford truck down the road. He’d purposely kept his speed down as she drove past, even though he wanted to tear to safety. The fear of being caught was a rush. At the barn, he’d wanted to pleasure himself with her, but had managed to refrain, though when he’d dumped her in front of the cold brazier, he’d stretched out upon her again and thrust against her twice before pulling himself back. She was dead. One of the lost ready to come home.

He’d just been congratulating himself on a job well done when he’d realized he was missing her cell phone.
How?
He’d been so meticulous, making sure the phone was tucked in her purse and that the purse and her overnight bag were stowed in the cab behind his seat. But when he’d hauled her body and belongings out, no cell phone.

Short panic. But he knew the phone wasn’t in the car he’d shoved down the mountain. He’d made certain of that before Douglas appeared. So, it had to be at the cemetery. He’d been forced to return and it was God’s will he arrived when he did, because that’s when he saw a woman traipsing down the road. She was turning toward the cemetery as Zach Benchley’s ATV zoomed the opposite direction back toward his family’s farm.
Who?
He’d thought, slowing the truck.

And then he’d seen the black RAV and he’d known. It was her vehicle. The Treadwell girl. He’d seen it outside the clinic that very morning.

He waited in his car, his breath coming fast. Waited until she’d had enough time to be far enough down the lane not to see his truck when he passed by. He drove several miles farther in the direction of the lookout, but then turned back, whipping the wheel around. That’s when the missing cell phone had skittered from under the seat and damn near jammed under his brake. He’d had to stop to remove it, and when he’d seen what it was, he pocketed it and said a small prayer. He almost chuckled at the miracle of timing. Instead of chancing running into her, he’d waited for nearly forty minutes, and by the time he drove back to that stretch of road, her vehicle was gone.

Had she found Bernadette? He couldn’t take the chance, so he bumped down the road to the cemetery again, jamming on the brake, the engine still running.

He had to move Bernie’s body. Couldn’t have Jordanna Treadwell call in the police, and that’s what she was bound to do. He was sorry she couldn’t stay there with the other lost souls. He needed to bring the afflicted ones to their family’s final resting place. That’s what God wanted. But the Treadwell bitch had foiled that plan, he thought, baring his teeth. He couldn’t let Satan win.

Now, in the stretch of woods east of the barn and between the fields on his own property, he dug past the pebbles and small rocks to the hard earth underneath, digging, digging, digging. It was temporary, just until he took care of Jordanna. Then he could move the sick ones away from the others.

You have to move them all. They’re coming for you. They’ll know.

Shuttering his mind to the edict, he kept digging and digging. Finally, he tossed down the shovel, threw back his head, and stared at the heavens, his heart thundering from exertion. He’d thrown off his shirt and perspiration slicked his skin. He took a look at the black holes he’d carved out of the stony ground. They were deep enough for now.

Trudging back to the truck, he pulled Bernie from the cab. Ten days dead, she smelled as putrid as her soul. He flung her into one of the pits and covered her up, dirt and pebbles raining down on her. The other pit yawned. The one for that other sorry, stinking bitch, Jordanna’s sister Kara.

Thinking of them, his mind flickered to the other sister, Emily, even though he’d told himself never, never, never to think about her again. He’d loved her like a soul mate. He’d saved her, as much as he could. But she’d been afflicted and nothing could have been between them. She hadn’t been responsible for her actions with other men. He knew that, but it had been so hard to witness her downfall.

Pulling his shirt back over his head, he reached down for the jacket he’d tossed on the ground, flinging it over one shoulder. He threw it onto the passenger seat as he climbed into the truck, then drove the short distance back to the barn. There were horses in the north field, just the few left from when the ranch had been in his father’s hands. The cows were in the south field and he glanced over where their dark humps studded the landscape. He heard one lowing in the dark as he reached the barn.

It suddenly started pouring rain, dispelling the last wisps of drifting fog, and he turned the truck around in a downpour, backing up to the yawning black hole of the open doorway. He’d hadn’t shut the door because he’d known he would be right back.

Once he was back in, he jumped out of the cab and strode straight to the brazier, lighting it up. He’d tossed a tarp over Kara’s body and left her on the barn floor. Now he eased the tarp back, looking down at her as he waited for the iron to heat. It took some time, but he was patient, staring into the oven heat of Satan’s furnace, watching the branding iron’s tip turn from black to molten orange.

He felt mesmerized, but was jarred out of his reverie by the merry ring of a cell phone. Her phone. In her purse still inside his cab. He loped back for it and waited for it to stop ringing, one eye on the flood of rain outside the open barn door. He hoped the hole he’d dug wasn’t filling up with water.

Picking up the phone, he carefully fingered the keys, pleased when the screen lit up and he realized it had no automatic locking mechanism. He read the name of the recent caller: J
ORDANNA
.

“Poor sick bitch,” he whispered. Though he’d known it wasn’t Emily’s fault she was such a slut, he’d also known she was doomed. Her family had made a pact with the devil long before and there was no coming back from that.

He scrolled through Kara’s last texts. Jennie had been asking her to come to dinner tonight . . . must be Jennie Markum. A downright shame that Jennie, whose soul was pure, wanted to keep in contact with the Treadwell whores. She should know better.

The idea took form slowly and he let it percolate. He’d been accused of being a slow thinker more than once, and he knew he had to think things through carefully or he could make a mistake. Finally, he decided it was a good idea and he texted Jennie back: sory cant make it gotta go to porland

Smiling, he then ripped the phone apart. He removed the battery, then threw the phone on the floor and stomped on it, cracking the plastic and metal pieces beneath the heel of his boot. Gathering them up, he threw what was left of the phone into the brazier. The fire might not be hot enough to melt metal, but it would destroy any part that mattered.

He started when his own cell phone began to ring. He’d zipped it into a pocket of his jacket and had pretty much forgotten about it. Now he went back to the cab again, pulled out his coat, and searched around till he had the phone in hand. He looked at the number, already knowing it would be her. “Yeah,” he answered flatly.

“Is it done?” she asked.

“Not completely.”

“What do you mean?” Sharp tone.

“I need to sear her flesh.”

“You didn’t touch her, did you?”

He thought back to those moments at the cemetery and then here in the barn, her body beneath him. To lie would be a sin, but he hadn’t done anything, not really. “I kept myself pure.”

“Your work is nearly done. You will be rewarded in heaven. There are so few left now.”

He licked his lips. “This one isn’t the reporter, but she’s a Treadwell.”

“What? What do you mean?” Even sharper yet.

“This one’s the youngest sister. She came to town and she recognized me.”

“Lord in heaven,” she whispered.

“It’s God’s will. He looks out for us.”

“He certainly does. But you need to take care of the other one. You need to hurry!”

He felt anger bubble inside him and he had to fight it back. He knew what to do. His next words were difficult, ripped from his heart. “Something needs to be done about Boo.”

“Stop talking about him.” Short and furious.

“He knows about the cemetery. And he might know about the burial grounds on our land.”

“Stop talking! Keep your mind off Boo and on our mission. Finish what you started with the youngest sister. Sear her clean.”