by Erik Carter
Sadler stumbled back, badly shaken. The area around his eye where Dale had slugged him was violently pink, and some blue was already showing up. It was going to be one hell of a black-eye. Dale pushed off the truck and smashed into him.
There was another flurry of action as Dale struggled with the dazed Sadler, getting his arms behind his back.
Then there was a noise.
Dale looked up, saw the back door open again.
A uniformed officer stepped out, saw Dale.
“Hey!”
He ran toward him.
“Shit!”
Dale threw Sadler’s shirt over the guy’s head then ran back up the rocky hill.
He quickly lost himself in the trees and positioned himself around a trunk, plastered his back against it. He held still, listened.
The cop’s footsteps approached, getting louder.
Dale scooted around the tree, keeping himself out of sight.
The footsteps stopped. Paused. And then continued past him, growing quieter as they got farther away.
Dale stole a glance around the trunk and then headed back down the hill to the police station.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Bill Sadler’s pickup truck came to a stop across the street from the stately Arlington Hotel in downtown, a tall building that capped the end of Bathhouse Row. There was a pause then the door opened, and Sadler got out.
For several moments, the truck sat motionless. And then a tarp in the back rustled. Stopped. And then it flew to the side.
Dale’s head popped up. He peered out over the top of the truck bed. Scanned the area. He found Sadler and watched as he crossed the street, heading toward the hotel.
Dale sank back down into the truck’s bed and looked through the junk Sadler had stored back there. There was a rake, some rusty exercise weights, an old bird cage… He found a red flannel and stuffed it under his arm. He kept looking and came up with a filthy, sweat-stained trucker cap. He sniffed it cautiously.
“Eww.”
He hesitated for a moment then put the hat on and hopped out of the truck bed, onto the sidewalk. He looked around cautiously, scanning for people. Which was stupid. No one was out in the pouring rain. So he quite conspicuously went to the driver-side door and tried the handle. Unlocked.
He climbed in, getting out of the rain. He scanned in the gaps between the seats, the ashtray, under the floor-mats, and finally found what he was looking for tucked under one of the visors. A spare set of keys. He shoved the keys in his pocket, threw the baggy flannel on over his leather jacket, and went back out into the rain.
He crossed the street to the Arlington. There was a colonnade running along the front of the building with lots of fancy chairs and accompanying tables. He saw Sadler ahead, by the hotel’s entrance, talking to someone he recognized. A tall woman in her early sixties, silver-white hair, business suit.
It was Alberta Ventress.
Holy shit. They’d called in Ventress.
For a split second, he was proud of his roguishness—being able to pull in that kind of heat—but this pride was quickly replaced by a more rational reaction.
Ventress’ presence here spelled bad news for Dale.
Very bad news indeed.
Sadler and Ventress finished their short conversation and entered the hotel.
Dale continued on, getting closer to the front doors. He took a seat at one of the fancy chairs and grabbed a discarded newspaper from the small table next to it. He opened the paper, feigned reading. It served as a nice tool to shield his face while he watched the entrance.
Nash appeared around the corner.
Oh, no.
No.
They’d gotten to Nash before he could get out of town…
And, as he approached the hotel, he wasn’t alone. He was being escorted. Like a prisoner.
A very well-dressed black man—whom Dale didn’t recognize—had him by the back of the arm and guided him through the entrance.
A moment later, Dale’s boss, SAC Walter Taft, appeared around the same corner. It was such a nice surprise seeing the familiar face, that Dale’s instinct told him to run over and say hello. But instead he hid himself further behind the newspaper.
Taft’s presence made the fact that Alberta Ventress was there even more deadly to Dale’s situation. They’d brought Dale’s boss in. They were planning something big.
For a couple moments, no one else appeared. Dale stood, dropped the newspaper back on the table, and went into the hotel.
The moment he pushed through the doors to the Arlington Hotel, Dale’s heart ached even more at the travesty of Taft’s second-cheapest lodging policy. This was where Dale should be staying in Hot Springs. It was massive and grand and you could smell the history coming out of the place. Indeed, Dale knew that the Arlington had a fascinating history, and it would have been great to stay at the place and explore not only the building itself but also the small museum-style historical display he saw set up in the back.
But he couldn’t concern himself with what-might-have-beens at the moment because he saw the group he’d followed head to a door not far from the historical display and filter into the room beyond, taking their seats at a conference table. The door shut.
Dale crossed the luxurious lobby to the desk where a thin, balding man gave him a small smile and tried to conceal the fact that he was eyeballing Dale’s soaking wet trucker cap and red flannel.
“Excuse me,” Dale said. “The meeting room back there. I saw an old friend step in. Would it be possible for you to grab him for me? I’d just like to say hi.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the man said. “Once the door’s shut, we’re not permitted to interrupt.”
Dale nodded. He strummed his fingers on the counter, thinking. He spotted a stack of small, complimentary notebooks with the hotel letterhead on the top. Beside this was a cup filled with pens. He grabbed one of each.
“Would you mind getting a note to him when they break from their meeting?”
“Certainly.”
Dale scribbled out his note.
When he was done, he asked for an envelope, which the man provided. On the front he wrote: TAFT.
He gave the man the note, thanked him, and crossed back to the front entrance.
As soon as he pushed through the doors, the sound of the pouring rain greeted him. The fishy smell of never-ending downpours. At least there was the colonnade. He could get a few feet of protected walking before he had to get soaked. Again.
He took off down the colonnade. And he spotted someone at the far end. Coming his direction. Someone he recognized. A cop. In uniform.
It was Brennan.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Brennan. The young, thin, black cop who’d been stationed outside Mira’s hospital room. The cop Dale had lied to, sent away, before he took Mira.
By now, the whole of HSPD was certainly looking for Dale. And Brennan, surely, had a personal axe to grind—because there was no doubt the guy had gotten his ass chewed for allowing Dale to fool him and, thus, losing Mira Lyndon.
Brennan spotted Dale. His eyes lit up.
And he immediately bolted forward.
“Hey! Freeze!”
Dale didn’t freeze. He didn’t run away either. Instead he did something that was surely unexpected to Brennan.
He started running right toward him.
Talk about the element of surprise.
And when they met, Dale extended his arms, striking Brennan in the chest.
The cop let out an oomph and stumbled back.
Dale kept running, and he could hear Brennan’s footsteps hot on his heels, echoing down the colonnade.
It had been a nice attempt on Dale’s part, but he hadn’t gotten any separation. Brennan was right behind him. So Dale vaulted over the cement guardrail beside him and into some sopping-wet bushes, losing his balance and falling over into the branches.
Brennan landed beside him, nightstick drawn. He swung it the moment he
saw Dale, catching Dale in the stomach.
Dale bent in half.
Brennan grabbed him by the flannel, pulled him in close.
With one hand still on his stomach, Dale swung a fist, catching Brennan in the ribs.
This gave Dale a bit of separation, but Brennan still had hold of him by the flannel.
The flannel was flimsy and had been exposed to the elements in the back of Sadler’s truck, likely for a very long time. So Dale thought that if he pushed off hard enough, the sleeve might just rip right off, so he—
His train of thought immediately changed gear.
Because he’d spotted something.
The wall he and Brennan had vaulted—the guardrail of the colonnade—had a sign that read WET PAINT, which had been hung right below a green accent strip. Someone had started a job a couple days ago before the rain and not finished. Dale could be sure of this because a couple feet away from the sign was a quart-sized paint can with drips of dried green paint running down the sides.
And its lid was not sealed.
Dale grabbed the paint can and swung it toward Brennan. The lid flew off, somersaulting into the bushes, and the paint flung out in a bright green slice, slapping Brennan right in the face.
Brennan’s hands went to his eyes. He screamed.
Paint to the eyes … yeah, that probably hurt like hell.
His face was completely covered, and he clawed at his eyes, still screaming. There was a big stripe of green paint running diagonally across his dark uniform.
Dale’s instinct was to reach out and help. This guy wasn’t a bad guy, after all. He was a cop.
But Dale didn’t have a moment for moral reflection. He had to get the hell out of there.
He sprinted away.
He crossed the street, continued across a patch of grass, through some trees, and ended up on the brick pathway of the Grand Promenade area.
He looked down at the red flannel. It was marred by green paint and looked ridiculous.
And attention-grabbing.
He tore it off and stuffed it into the next trash can, beside one of the benches.
He lowered the trucker cap farther over his face, dropped his gaze to the brickwork, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and continued on, trying to look as casual as one possibly can strolling through the pouring rain.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“You didn’t have a goatee when you left,” Mira said with a smile, pointing at the impromptu grooming job Dale had done on himself when he was in town.
He smiled back. A weak smile. It was the best he could muster, even though it felt great to finally be back in the shelter of the cave after an afternoon in the rain.
“Enough about my fashion choices. Why aren’t you resting?”
Mira bit her lip. “Too anxious.”
“You need to take it easy and recover for a little while.” He paused. “Because tonight we’re leaving Hot Springs.”
“What are you talking about?”
Dale stepped farther into the cave. “All of law enforcement is holding a meeting at the Arlington. City, NPS, the FBI. And my agency as well. I saw Alberta Ventress. Which means we need to get the hell out of town.”
“You know her?”
“I know of her. By reputation. She’s what you might call a cleaner. She mops up sticky situations. They could very well be out to neutralize me.”
“Neutralize?” she said and stepped closer. “You mean…”
“Quite possibly. And if that were to happen, then no one’s ever going to catch Clyde Bowen. Sadler’s heading the investigation locally, and he’d make sure that your accusation will be found delusional, vengeful. The case will go cold—just like all the serial killers Clyde has been modeling—or, worse, it’ll get pinned on someone else. I can’t let that happen. We need to get out of town, regroup, and I’ll come up with a new plan of attack.”
“I’m not sure I’m in the best of conditions to hike for miles on end.”
Dale grinned. “No need.” He held up the keys he’d swiped from the truck. “Transportation courtesy of Bill Sadler.”
She smiled then brushed at the green paint on his leather jacket.
“You must be exhausted. Here.”
She walked over to the water jug.
“Mira,” he said with a small, disbelieving laugh, “I appreciate your concern, but you’re the one who needs to rest.”
Mira stepped back to him with a tin cup full of water.
He took it.
“Thanks.”
He took a sip. Looked to this side, thinking.
“We’ll sleep now,” he said. “And then we’ll take off in the middle of the night. It’s our best option. My only problem with everything is the amount of time it gives Clyde—and possibly Sadler as well—to kill another woman. Or women. It’s going to take time for us to get out of town, time to come up with a plan …”
He caught her looking at him. She shook her head.“You really let the weight of the world fall on your shoulders, don’t you?”
Dale gave her a grin.
“Sometimes it just lands there.”
He looked to the mouth of the cave.
“He’s out there somewhere. Clyde Bowen. That’s the bitch of it all. I’ve seen him twice now—once on the Promenade and once when he killed Ernie Plunkett. And both times he was so close I could have grabbed him. But otherwise, he’s been nothing but a whisper. I’ve been chasing a ghost. And once we leave town, I can picture that ghost fading away, just like all those serial killers in his book.”
Mira took the cup from him. Looked in and saw that he had finished the water. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think he’ll disappear. He’ll show himself again. Someday.”
“Why do you say that?”
She set the cup down and stepped back up to him.
“Because Clyde’s the kind of man whose needs escalate. One woman turned into two. Two turned into four turned into a dozen. Having his friend watch turned into watching his friend turned into joining with his friend. Spanking turned into slapping turned into beating turned into ... killing. He’ll never go back. Now that he’s been there, he’ll always need to kill. If you don’t catch him, someone else will.” She paused. “But I think it’ll be you.”
She smiled at him.
“Why does he do it? The escalation,” Dale said.
“Power. Plain and simple. Short Man Syndrome. Napoleon Complex. He’s so small. No taller than me. Both him and Sadler. Little, tiny men; big, giant egos. Taking it out on the women they feel inferior to.”
Dale realized then that there was something he needed to know. But he had to be careful about how he approached it. Very careful. He spoke cautiously.
“How did it happen? The attack.”
She didn't respond immediately. She looked away, to the floor. Her eyes opened more, moistened.
“It was the middle of the night. I heard ... I heard a bang from the front of my house. I bolted up in bed, went for the gun I keep in the drawer. But then he calls out to me, from across the house. Tells me it’s just him. So I laid back down, didn’t bother to turn the light on. Thought he was just stumbling over, looking for some action after things didn’t work out for him at Sullivan’s. I heard him approach the bedroom. And then…”
She stopped. Her mouth quivered. Her shaking hand went to her face.
Dale reached out.
“Please. Don’t finish,” he said. “I shouldn’t have asked yet. I’m sorry.”
She ignored what he said. Her eyes were glazed over, reliving the attack. “And then I didn’t hear anything for a moment. So I opened my eyes, and I see him just standing in my doorway. His silhouette. He had the knife in his hand. And ... I ... and …”
She burst into tears, both hands going to her face.
Dale stepped forward and put his arms around her.
“I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me to ask. I’m so sorry.”
Guilt enveloped Dale…
Mira cried on his chest for a few moments, arms folded in. Dale kept his arms around and rested his cheek against the top of her head until, after a few moments, the tears faded off and gave way to mild shaking.
She wrapped her arms around him, keeping her face pressed against his chest.
“Please tell me I’m not the only one,” she said. “Please tell me that other people have pain in their relationships. I don’t want to think that everyone else has found love and perfect happiness—while I chose a serial killer.”
“No relationship is perfect. There might not be violence, but everyone has their strife.”
She looked up at him from his chest.
“What about you and Allie? You sounded pretty perfect.”
“Oh, far from it.”
Allie and Dale. In her bedroom. It was the middle of the day. Both were dressed, and the bed was made. They glared at each other. There was several feet of separation between them.
“You’re really the most jealous man I’ve ever met. Do you know that?”
“You’ve broken up with me twice already. You’ll forgive my paranoia. Why’s he calling here, anyway?”
“None of your damn business.”
“I’m your boyfriend.”
“Oh, so that entitles you to anything? You want a copy of my phone bill? Should I have it forwarded to you each month?”
“Don’t be snide.”
“I don’t think I can avoid it right now. Let’s just hang out another time.”
“We have a day planned.”
“Oh well.”
“Allie, I’m only going to be home for two more days before I head to Charlotte.”
“I don’t care. I can’t see you right now.”
“Well, now your day’s free to hang out with him.”
“See?? You paranoid asshole. Get out of my apartment! Get out!”
Mira’s shaking had subsided. She was now perfectly still, resting comfortably against Dale’s chest. It seemed that hearing the story of discord in Dale’s former relationship was somehow a comfort to her. When compared to being attacked with a knife, Dale supposed he could see where she was coming from.