Down the Darkest Road

by Kylie Brant

  Clearly anxious to change the subject, he said, “No one inside recognized either photo. This was a bust.”

  “Not totally.” She told him about Janice’s theory. He was silent while she consulted the GPS on her phone before pulling out of the lot.

  “She made some valid points,” he allowed finally. “So are we shifting our priorities here?”

  “I agree with Janice. There’s a lower probability of Forrester being recognized in clubs than by prostitutes working alone. Plus, they’re most vulnerable. Let’s go talk to some working girls.”

  Chapter 37

  Ryder wasn’t totally surprised to get a message from Cady saying she’d be late. And that she had nothing to report for the day’s efforts. A triangulation of ten square miles was almost useless.

  He’d been busy at work, but the scene last night was never far from his mind. Cady was as self-contained as anyone he’d ever seen. But poring over that file of the night thirty years earlier had to have been an exercise in misery. Especially the new information about her father putting her life at risk.

  Some men were a waste of oxygen, and Lonny Maddix fit that description, Ryder thought grimly. He had no regrets about the man’s death. Except when it came to the burden Cady bore because of it.

  The file hadn’t shed new light on the night Lonny was shot. The thought had gnawed at him all day until an idea had occurred. He’d take advantage of being alone this evening to put it into action.

  It had taken only the most innocent of questions to some of his staff to elicit the information Ryder needed. He stepped inside Country Meadows Nursing Home at 6:15. The woman who’d answered the phone when he’d called earlier had assured him that mealtime would be over. She’d also given him Harvey Klatt’s room number.

  Ryder made his way down the appropriate hall and paused in the doorway of Haywood County’s former chief investigative deputy. There was only one bed and dresser inside. The elderly man was dozing in the recliner in front of a TV.

  He knocked loudly on the opened door. “Mr. Klatt?”

  With a start, Klatt straightened. Looked his way. “Don’t just stand there,” he said querulously. “Come in.”

  Ryder approached him and stuck out his hand. “Ryder Talbot, sir. I believe you knew my father.”

  “Damned if I didn’t.” Klatt’s grip was surprisingly strong. “Met you a time or two as well. You weren’t very old. Seven or so. Go ahead and pull up that other chair. Gotta say, it’s a pleasure just to see the uniform again.”

  Ryder did as he was told and settled into the seat. “I’ve noticed your name on old files. You were chief investigative deputy before your retirement.”

  Klatt nodded, reaching up to fix the thick glasses more precisely on his nose. His white hair was sparse, and the cane beside the chair told its own story. But the man looked fit otherwise. Ryder hoped his memory was in good shape as well.

  “For twenty years or so.” He shook his head. “I was first hired in the late fifties. Things were different then. You didn’t have to deal with all the PC bullshit thrown at law enforcement officers these days. The sheriff was still king of the county. Way it should still be, you ask me.”

  Ryder smiled. “It’s different now, that’s a fact.”

  “Why, I remember once, early sixties it was . . .” And the man was off. One story melded into another, and Ryder listened intently to each. There was little doubt that whatever else had brought Harvey Klatt to the care center, his mind, at least, was intact.

  After twenty minutes, the elderly man paused. “Bring that water pitcher over here, would you? Way you let me drone on, I’m parched.”

  Ryder got up and fetched the pitcher and a cup. Took them to Harvey, who poured himself a glass. “Want one? Got another cup somewhere.”

  “No thanks.” Ryder waited for the man to drink and lower the glass.

  “Your daddy was a good cop too. Tough but fair. He did his best by this county, and that’s what got him reelected over and over again. I knew him well enough to know how pleased he’d be that you followed in his footsteps.”

  Suppressing a wince, Ryder said, “Thank you, sir. You had some big cases when the two of you worked together, didn’t you?”

  “God, yes. Never a dull moment in our line of work, am I right?”

  “That’s a fact. But the reason I came to speak to you isn’t very exciting, I’m afraid. I wanted to ask you about some files I found in my dad’s house. Half a dozen of them and they look like they’ve been there awhile.”

  “Official files?” The man frowned, pulled at his chin. “How old?”

  Ryder told him the range of dates. “I can’t find any connection among them. Just wondered why my dad would keep them out of the system. One of them is the Lonny Maddix file.”

  “Maddix.” Klatt made a sound of disgust. “What a piece of shit that prick was. Your dad and I spent way too much time on that son of a bitch. Got what was coming to him in the end, though. Saved the taxpayers a fortune to just bury the asshole instead of putting him away.”

  A chill worked over Ryder’s skin. “Pretty random way to die. His little girl shooting him like that.”

  Klatt smiled, revealing snowy-white dentures. “Sometimes the trash takes itself out, son. Other times, you have to give it a push.”

  Although Ryder probed further, the elderly man reversed his earlier loquaciousness. They traded small talk for several more minutes before Ryder took his leave. As he strode to his vehicle, silent alarms were shrilling through him—because Ryder couldn’t be completely sure that Harvey Klatt hadn’t just admitted that he and Butch Talbot had somehow been involved in the way Lonny Maddix had died.

  Chapter 38

  Bruce blared his horn at a dumb-ass in a slow-moving truck. Throwing a glance in the review mirror, he changed lanes and sped by the driver. Another boring day staking out a grocery store had frustration churning inside him. He’d thought his luck had finally changed when he’d watched the kids coming out of school. Had even followed a guy and girl for several blocks. But in the end, he hadn’t been able to ID the teenage boy. Damn kids all wore hoodies and hats, making it nearly impossible to tell one from the other. He’d swing by the storage shed he rented and find the binoculars he kept there to use tomorrow.

  Thirty minutes later, he pulled to a stop in front of the unit. It was twenty minutes from the place he and Eric lived. The other man didn’t know about it, and that’s the way Bruce was going to keep it. He retrieved the flashlight from the glove compartment and found the key on his key ring. He switched on the light and got out to unlock the padlock. He raised the overhead door and stepped inside, sliding it down behind him.

  He walked to a pile of boxes in the corner and rummaged around in the top one until he found the binoculars. Setting them aside, he unstacked the cartons until he could access the bottom one. Lifted out a lockbox. With the aid of the beam, he dialed the combination and lifted the lid. Two more sets of fake identification sat on top. He reached beneath them and removed one of the stacks of cash. Shoving it in his coat pocket, he locked it up and replaced the boxes.

  Because he was there, he walked over to the pile of blankets in the opposite corner and unwrapped them for a quick check. The extra stash of weapons was accounted for.

  Satisfied, he recovered them and picked up the flashlight, then crossed to the door. There were rules to being prepared. One was to have everything in order in case he needed to move fast.

  The other was to leave no witnesses behind.

  Chapter 39

  “How you like them mashed potatoes?” Teeter scooped up another helping and dumped it on Dylan’s paper plate without waiting for an answer. “Always think they taste better with cheese added to them.”

  The man was right. Dylan brought a spoonful to his mouth. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a home-cooked meal. Mom was rarely here, and when she was, they usually had pizza or some other frozen stuff.

  “Where’d you learn to c
ook like this?” The hamburgers his uncle had made weren’t as good as those from the restaurant the marshal had taken him to, but they weren’t bad.

  “Worked in a diner for a while. Now, that’s a pain-in-the-ass job. When it’s busy, it’s hard to keep up. Everyone always yelling at you. Better equipment, though. Your mom don’t have shit in the kitchen for pans. She left some money, so I went to the store and got some and more food. All you got here is junk.” T took a big bite from his second hamburger. Chewed. “That how you usually eat?”

  Dylan lifted a shoulder. “Mom works a lot. And she isn’t always around on her days off, either.”

  T snapped his fingers, his mouth full. After a moment, he swallowed and said, “That reminds me. Your mom won’t be back after work tonight. Said she had to meet a friend for a couple of days.” He winked at Dylan. “Betting the friend is a guy, am I right? Your mama always did have at least one man on the string.”

  Appetite suddenly gone, Dylan pushed away his plate. So this was going to be the way it was now? His mom not even bothering to tell him herself what she was doing?

  “C’mon.” T gave him a playful punch to the shoulder. “Ain’t that bad. A woman’s got needs, right? Your mama works hard; she plays hard too. When you’re growed, you’ll probably do the same.”

  He didn’t want to talk about his mom’s “needs.” “I guess.” Dylan got up and folded the plate over the rest of the meal. Stuffed it in the trash.

  “What the fuck you doing, boy?” Moments later, Dylan was grabbed by the back of his shirt. Shaken violently. “What’s wrong with you, throwing away good food like that?” He was released and then shoved with enough force to knock over the trash can, landing in a heap in the corner next to it.

  Scrambling to his feet, he shrank away when he saw T standing over him, fists clenched, his face a mask of rage.

  At first, Dylan’s mind went blank. He’d had nothing left on the plate but some potatoes and a couple of bites of a hamburger. But whatever the reason, he knew when he was about to get his ass kicked. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ll pick it up. Put it in the fridge and save it for tomorrow.”

  “Damn right you will.” Teeter towered over him as he retrieved his plate and the other garbage that had been strewn in the altercation. Dylan rose warily and got a second paper plate to put over the one in Teeter’s hand. Shoved them in the refrigerator.

  “Get me a beer while you’re in there, would you?”

  Dylan obeyed, setting it on the table next to Teeter.

  “You help me clean up the kitchen, and then I’ll whup you in Call of Duty.” T winked at him. “Betcha don’t know your old uncle T has been playing video games since before you was born.”

  “Okay.” Like he wouldn’t agree to anything at that point. But the man’s temper seemed to have faded as quickly as it’d flared. He was back to ol’ easygoing Uncle T. Leaving Dylan to wonder what the hell had just happened.

  Dylan didn’t know what time it was, but he guessed nearly midnight. The snores from the next bed could drown out a jackhammer. This was bullshit. His mom’s bed was empty for a couple of nights, and there was no reason he needed to suffer in here.

  Quietly, he got out of bed and moved stealthily from the room. The cat shot out from beneath his bed and took a swipe at his ankle, claws extended. Shit. Fuck. He hopped out of the room, jaw clenched on the curse words blazing through his mind. He’d seen a bandage on T’s wrist, and he said it was from the animal scratching the hell out of him. The damn cat was as schizophrenic as Teeter.

  Easing the door shut behind him, he flipped on the light in his mom’s room and limped to the side of the bed, where he assessed the damage. There were three red scratches above his foot. Like this night could get any more bizarre.

  Gingerly, he settled himself in the bed and pulled up the covers. The hours he’d spent playing video games with Teeter would have been halfway fun if Dylan hadn’t been waiting for him to go off again. Dylan had mostly let him win—damn straight he had. It was worth it to keep the man in a good mood.

  Not for the first time, he wondered how long it had been since his mom had seen Uncle T. Dylan didn’t remember enough about him to say for sure, but if Tina had known how crazy T was, he was pretty sure she never would have invited him to stay here.

  He turned to his side. Punched the pillow into a more comfortable shape. Dylan let his mind wander to far more pleasant things. Like the time he’d spent after school with Grace.

  His body went hot. T had agreed to pick him up after school, and Dylan had figured they’d work in the library there. But Grace had had other plans. She’d started talking in history class about doing their work at Johnny’s, a nearby teen hangout. The suggestion had been as tantalizing as a desert mirage to a thirsty man. And completely out of the question. Just thinking about it had him in a cold sweat all day. He’d spent hours trying to figure out how to tell her no.

  But in the end, what came out of his mouth had been yes.

  Even after everything that had gone down in the past, with a killer still after him, he’d taken clear leave of his senses. And damn if the risk hadn’t been worth it.

  He smiled, recalling how excited she’d been, practically skipping the two and a half blocks to the place. She’d teased him about insisting on walking on the outside of the sidewalk. Called him gallant, whatever that meant. But really, he’d just wanted a good view of the street and the vehicles on it. His heart had been thumping so hard on the way there, he’d been certain she could hear it. But once inside the diner, he’d relaxed. And it’d been fun, watching the craziness of the waitstaff. He’d saved the bulk of the money his mom had given him so he could pay for their order. And he didn’t think it was an ice-cream high that had him figuring he’d been right earlier about one thing. Grace liked him.

  He’d watched some of the other kids at the tables scattered around. It was easy to tell which were friends and which were more than that. The way she touched his arm when they were talking about the paper . . . the way she tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled at him real slow . . . that meant something. He might not have been quick on the uptake, but when he’d been walking to shop class, he’d passed another guy from history who’d said, “So, you and Grace, huh?”

  Dylan had mumbled something about being project partners, and the kid had laughed. “Blind man can see the vibes she’s putting out. Better catch some of that before she moves on.”

  Then the kid had walked away, leaving Dylan stunned.

  So it wasn’t just his imagination. And after hearing that, there was no way he wasn’t going to do exactly what Grace wanted. Even though his palms were pools of slippery sweat and a loud muffler on a car had him practically diving behind something to take cover.

  “You’re jumpy,” Grace had teased. But then she’d slipped her arm through his as they walked, and his focus had shattered. The kid at school was right. Dylan was pretty sure he had a chance with Grace.

  And he wasn’t going to do a damn thing to screw it up.

  Chapter 40

  Cady made regular stops at drive-throughs because she knew the key to keeping Miguel’s mood stable. The hours were spent in mind-numbing tedium. Many of the addresses for the working girls didn’t pan out. And when they found one that did, oftentimes the women were less than cooperative. But they had gotten a few who recognized the photo of Forrester she’d shown them.

  The real shock had come when two of the ladies had recognized the picture of Loomer.

  “If we learn nothing else tonight, just getting closer to verifying Loomer and Forrester are together will have been worth it.” Cady pulled into a trailer park and cruised down the rows, looking for the next address on their list.

  “That might be overstating things.”

  When she saw she’d gone too far, she checked the in-dash backup camera and reversed. Her personal car had the same feature, but her previous USMS vehicle had not. She waited for Miguel’s sarcastic comment, but he just lo
oked past her when she stopped.

  “Someone’s home. There’s a light on inside.”

  She parked, and the two of them approached the steps to the home. The door rattled under Cady’s knock. When it was answered, a woman in a figure-hugging bodysuit and thigh-high boots answered. “Angela Stryker?”

  She looked from one of them to the other. “You look like cops. And I ain’t done nothing.” The door started to close.

  Cady spoke quickly. “Deputy US marshals, and we’re not here because of anything you did.” The door paused an inch from shutting completely. “We’re looking for someone. Maybe you’ve seen him.”

  The crack of the door widened enough to show the woman’s face. It was devoid of makeup, and her hair was pinned close to her head. They’d obviously interrupted her getting ready for the evening.

  “I doubt it.”

  Cady took the two photos from her pocket and handed them to her. “Do either of these men look familiar? We have reason to believe this one”—she tapped Forrester’s photo—“was in this general area as recently as last night.”

  The woman’s face went pale. “He was? Where? Fuck, if he’s close by I ain’t going out tonight. Ain’t worth it.”

  “You know him?”

  The door came wide open again. And the woman framed in it had lost the edge with which she’d greeted them. Now she looked genuinely frightened.

  “We only have an approximate idea of where he was.” Miguel’s voice was soothing. “We can’t pinpoint it exactly. Maybe you can help us with that.”

  Angela was already shaking her head. “Nope, I can’t, because wherever he is, I make sure I’m not. If I see him, I head the other way.”

  “Tell us how you know him.”

  “Just a minute. I need a smoke.” She disappeared from sight for a moment but returned with a lit cigarette. “So it was three years ago first time I was with him. No, four years. I made the mistake of sitting down next to him at a bar.” Her hand trembled as she brought the cigarette to her lips. Inhaled deeply. “We got to talking, and he wanted all night. That don’t happen very often. And he seemed good for it, too, ’cuz he showed me the money up front. Said half before and half after. It took me a while to agree, but the idea of that much cash . . .” The rest of her sentence trailed off. The implication was clear. Angela wasn’t exactly living in the lap of luxury.