He bent and picked up the photograph. Threw it at her. It landed face up in her lap. She turned her head away without looking.
Nobody else looked.
‘You’ve got ten seconds to pick that up and look at it with both eyes,’ Jackson said. He pulled a switchblade out of his pocket. Lifted his arm to look at his watch.
Carly kept her eyes in the air.
‘Seven seconds. After that you’ll only have one eye. But don’t worry, you’ll still be able to see the photo well enough.’
Carly closed her eyes tight. As if that would keep the blade of the knife out.
‘Three.’
Jackson took a step closer. Pushed the button on the knife. The blade snapped open, the sound cutting cleanly into the quiet of the woods.
‘Tick-tock, tick-tock. Time’s up.’
Carly made a small choking sound at the back of her throat. Felt blindly in her lap for the picture. Picked it up. Forced herself to look. Her head immediately snapping back. But it was enough. The whiteness in her face took on a green tinge. Her stomach lurched, cheeks bulged. She dived sideways. Threw up copiously in the grass.
Jackson let her finish coughing and sniffing. Vomit dribbled down her chin. Clogged her nose. Mascara ran in streaks down her cheeks. She spat. Cleared the taste of bile from her mouth.
‘Make no mistake, Carly, you are going to climb onto Diego’s shoulders. It’s up to you whether or not you look like Rachel when you do it.’
The emphasis he put on Rachel’s name hit her like a slap in the face. If it was possible to see somebody’s spirit, their will to live, drain out of them like dirty water going down a drain, Evan saw Carly’s leaving for pastures new.
‘On your feet Carly.’
She pushed herself onto her knees. Tried to stand. Her legs buckled. She collapsed in a heap next to Diego.
‘Help her up Evan. I know you don’t want to, even after everything she’s done to you. But don’t make me shoot you.’
Evan stood. Put a hand under her armpit. Felt the dampness and smelled the sharp odor of fear though her top. Hauled her limp body up. She slumped against him. Head hanging forward listlessly, chin on her collarbone. He held her in both hands until he felt her stand steady. Steady, apart from a whole-body tremor she couldn’t control.
He kept hold of her upper arm. Stepped away gingerly as if he’d just built a six-foot house of cards. Jackson seemed to hold his breath. As if he too was worried any slight movement would put them back at square one.
Without warning Evan pushed her sharply towards Diego.
Dived at Jackson.
Time slowed.
He felt detached from the events unfolding around him, watching another instance of himself as he flew through the air against a full-pressure fire hose trained on his chest while Jackson’s gun arm fell in a smooth arc towards him, slicing through that same air like a hot knife through butter.
Then everything exploded into real time.
The top of his head slammed into Jackson’s gut. Carly staggered backwards, arms windmilling, her shocked cry shattering the silence. Jackson’s legs went out from under him. He landed ass-first, Evan sprawled across him, his weight slamming Jackson onto his back, head smacking into the ground with a brain-loosening jolt, dazing him. Carly’s butt whacked Diego full in the face. Knocked him to the ground. Her feet caught in his flying legs, brought her down with him.
Suddenly everyone was screaming and shouting, writhing in the dirt and the tangle of limbs. Evan rolled to the side as Jackson tried to club him with the gun, his head still spinning, spoiling his aim. Evan blocked the blow, clamped his fingers around his wrist. Jackson looped his other arm around Evan’s neck and squeezed, unyielding muscle constricting Evan’s throat.
Behind them, Diego heaved Carly off his chest. Got his legs under him. Leapt to his feet. Carly pushed herself onto her knees, rocking drunkenly. Diego shoved her into the thrashing maelstrom that was Evan and Jackson. Then turned tail and fled into the trees as if he’d been scorched by a flamethrower.
‘For Christ’s sake, Evan, he’s getting away,’ Jackson screamed. ‘Let go of my arm.’
Evan turned his head. Saw Diego’s back disappearing into the woods. Lost concentration for a split-second. Jackson unhooked his arm from around Evan’s neck. Drew it across his body, drove his elbow backwards towards the side of Evan’s head.
With Carly still on top of him Evan jerked his head forward, Jackson’s elbow kissing his hair as it flew past, leaving him fully exposed. Evan snapped his head backwards into Jackson’s face, felt something give way. He heaved Carly off him, twisted his body on top of Jackson’s, fist drawn back.
‘They’re both getting away now, you idiot,’ Jackson yelled.
Evan pulled the punch, looked behind him. Carly was picking herself up off the ground, looking around her. Suddenly she jerked into motion.
Evan pushed himself off Jackson. Two fast steps towards her, launching himself at her retreating back. He crashed into her, punched the breath out of her body like he was beating a rug with a stick. Arms locking around her falling body, both of them sailing through the air with his momentum.
Smack bang into the gnarled trunk of the tree, Evan’s head leading the way. White light exploded behind his eyes with a crack as if the branch overhead had snapped and fallen on his head.
Six feet away Jackson staggered to his feet and set off after Diego, left Evan and Carly writhing in the dirt and the sweat and the blood.
Chapter 73
‘YOU’VE BEEN A BUSY boy, haven’t you, Earl?’ Detective Ryder said to Earl Monroe as he sat in the visitor’s chair next to Earl’s hospital bed. ‘You sure get around. At least, your pickup does.’
He pulled out a printout of the image Guillory had sent him, the one of the back of Earl’s pickup disappearing down the road at full speed. The one he knew Buckley had taken and given to Guillory to pass along.
‘Is that your pickup?’
Ryder pointed a chubby finger at the photo.
Earl nodded.
‘Nice bumper sticker, by the way.’
The worried look on Earl’s face was briefly replaced by a big grin.
‘Did you know a guy was shot the other night at exactly that spot?’
‘Uh-huh.’
Earl kept on nodding.
Ryder leaned forward like he was about to share some confidential information with Earl.
‘We got a lucky-ish break’—he rocked his hand from side to side—‘because there was a witness. He was a little way away so he couldn’t see everything that was going on, but he remembers seeing a beat-up old heap of a pickup driving off at the same time he heard the shots.’
He sat up straight. Smiled at Earl as if to say here comes the good part.
‘So we went to see him this morning. Showed him this photo of your pickup with the distinctive bumper sticker. And he says that’s the one, Detective.
Earl stared at him in silence.
‘So we can’t help thinking it was you who shot him, Earl. Did you shoot Dixie, Earl?’
Ryder watched as Earl tried to get the word no out. It just wouldn’t come. The nurse had explained that Earl’s tongue had been cut out. That explained some of it. Fear took care of the rest. He shook his head violently.
‘No?’ Ryder raised his eyebrows. ‘Even though you got into an argument with him the night before in Dexter’s. I heard they threw you out on your ear and let him stay inside drinking?’ He jabbed his chest with his thumb. ‘I’d be really pissed if they did that to me. Especially if I worked there too. I’d want somebody to pay.’
He leaned back, waited for Earl to form some words. Maybe get half a sentence out. He got bored waiting.
‘I know, I know.’ He patted Earl’s leg. ‘We’re so suspicious. Just because a guy has an argument with another guy one night and then happens to be sitting in his pickup at the exact spot the guy gets shot the next day . . . and so what if you’ve got a gun in your glove box.�
�
He shrugged like it was no big deal to him. Earl was watching his mouth as if he was trying to learn the words.
‘So what were you doing there, Earl? I don’t believe in coincidences like that. If you weren’t there to shoot him, what were you there for?’
He sat through a couple more minutes of silence from Earl.
‘Okay, let’s leave that for now. It’s probably not important. What scared you? What made you shoot off like that?’
Earl gave him a look that said and I’m the idiot?
‘I saw her shoot him,’ he managed to squeeze out.
‘Did you say her?’
Earl nodded so hard Ryder thought he might dislodge some of the tubes and needles sticking out of him.
‘You’re absolutely sure it was a woman?’
‘Same woman.’ Earl pointed to his shoulder. ‘Same woman who shot me.’
Ryder was planning on getting to that in a minute, but now seemed an appropriate time. He got Earl to describe what happened. Earl wasn’t big on detail, but he was clear enough. And it was a simple story.
He’d been stuck in his small apartment for a couple of days. Keeping his head down after what he’d witnessed. He’d eaten everything in sight including two tins of dog food. Now he needed to go out to get something else to eat. Not only that, he needed to take his dog, Creighton—named after General Creighton Abrams—out to do his business. Creighton had already peed in the corner. Earl knew it was only a matter of time before he disgraced himself completely.
He’d watched the street through the window for a couple hours. When he was confident there were no suspicious-looking vehicles or anything else unusual, he’d opened the front door. And the woman—the very one he was scared might come after him—was standing right there. With a gun in her hand.
Without a word she’d lifted her arm and fired. Luckily for Earl, he’d trained Creighton well. As soon as he saw the woman’s arm rise, the dog had leapt at her, knocked her aim off. Earl felt a blinding pain in his shoulder. He fell backwards into his hallway. Managed to kick the door shut again as Creighton chewed at the woman’s gun arm.
Luckily for the dog the woman couldn’t shoot him. But she’d poked him in the eye with her finger. Through the door Earl heard him yelp in pain. The woman pulled her arm out of his jaws, ran off down the street. Earl heard a car pulling away in a big hurry a second later. He hadn’t seen what it was. But he’d seen her. He’d have no hesitation identifying her. Nosir.
‘Definitely a woman?’ Ryder said one last time, a note of disappointment in his voice.
‘Maybe a man with long hair and titties,’ Earl said in his jumbled way. He laughed so hard the nurse rushed in to see if he was having a seizure. She gave Ryder a dirty look, left again as Earl’s laughter subsided to a gentle chuckle.
Ryder let him settle down completely.
‘Okay, we’ll get somebody to take a formal statement when you’re better. There’s just one more thing we need to talk about.’
The last traces of laughter melted away as Earl’s face took on the worried cast again.
‘It’s been a busy week for killings. We had a young woman sliced up with a carving knife in her kitchen.’
Earl’s face took on a green hue. His mouth dropped open more than usual.
Ryder smiled.
‘Don’t worry. We don’t think you had anything to do with that.’ He held up a finger. ‘However, on that very same day, somebody ran over another woman in the street right outside. Nearly killed her. She’s still in a coma. Just down the corridor, in fact.’
He paused, watched something going on behind Earl’s eyes although God only knew what it might be.
‘It seems the driver of the offending vehicle likes to put his foot to the floor and take off like a scalded cat. That sounds to me a lot like the way you drive, Earl.’
Earl wasn’t sure if an answer was expected. He didn’t have one either way.
‘And then, guess what? We find fibers from the poor woman’s clothes on the front fender of your pickup. Which, by the way, looks like somebody hit a herd of deer with it.’
Earl’s mouth opened and closed uselessly a couple of times.
‘You want to tell me about that too? And don’t say it was that same woman again who was driving. Or Creighton.’
Chapter 74
TODD HAD MADE IT down from the cabin without a problem. He’d joined the main road again when the rear end sagged and he heard a sound like a helicopter overhead.
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.
His initial reaction was panic. The bitch cop had escaped somehow. Called for reinforcements and they’d sent a chopper to hunt him down. He should never have listened to her. But then it struck him what it was. He had a flat tire.
He pulled onto the shoulder, got out to take a look. Sure enough, the rear tire on the passenger side was flat. Damn. He must have driven over a sharp rock when he was on the rough tracks leading to the cabin. He stood staring at it with his fists bunched on his hips. As if giving it a dirty look might make it reconsider its attitude and re-inflate itself, sorry for the inconvenience.
Todd wasn’t big on car maintenance. Couldn't even remember where the spare was. He supposed it was at the back. Underneath somewhere. He bent over and saw it stowed under there. Trouble was, he didn’t have a clue how to get it out. He was on his hands and knees trying to figure it out when he heard a vehicle approaching.
He stood up just as a new-looking Mercedes SUV pulled to a stop behind him.
Thank God for that. A Good Samaritan.
You didn't see nearly enough of that sort of behavior these days.
Then he did a double take. Gave the SUV a closer look. It was new, that was for sure, but it looked like somebody had used it for target practice. The driver’s door opened and an old Mexican guy climbed out. It suddenly struck Todd why it seemed so familiar—it was the lead car in the convoy he’d followed yesterday morning.
His stomach clenched. He had a bad feeling about this. When the cop had come running down the road she’d said something about an accident. But that wasn’t true. She’d made that up. If she’d been in the van and was suddenly out of it again and now the lead car was shot to hell—even Todd could work out they’d been ambushed. Somehow, she’d managed to escape.
That’d make you run so hard you couldn’t talk.
The guy who just climbed out didn’t look as if he’d been caught in an ambush involving automatic weapons. Just a little disheveled, is all.
‘Trouble?’ the guy said.
‘Got a flat.’
Something passed behind the old guy’s eyes. He walked around. Looked at the tire and smiled.
‘Well, how bad can it be? It’s only flat on the bottom.’
They both had a good laugh at that. Todd hoped he never got another flat, but if he did, he was going to remember to use that line if he got the chance.
‘I think that’s your problem right there.’
The guy pointed at the tire with his left hand.
Todd looked, couldn’t see anything.
‘I can’t see anything.’
‘There’s a hole right there. Surely you can see that.’
Todd didn’t know what the stupid old wetback was talking about. There wasn’t any hole. Sure, there must be a hole for all the air to come out of. But not a big one you could see.
He bent down to take a closer look anyway.
The old guy pulled a Glock G19 pistol out of his pocket, blew Todd’s brains all over the shoulder.
***
CHICO HEAVED TODD’S BODY out of sight into the trees. Then went back to change the wheel on the van, muttering something about the world being full of retards. When it was fixed he went back for Todd’s body, hauled it into the back of the van. He rolled the blood and brain spattered flat into the back as well, left it lying on top of Todd’s body. Then he drove the SUV as far into the trees as he could get it. He grabbed what he needed, climbed into Todd’s van and heade
d back into town.
Chapter 75
EVAN GROANED, HEAD SPINNING, eyes snapping in and out of focus. Underneath him Carly writhed and thrashed. Tried to get his weight off her, slapping at his head, pulling his hair. He went to push himself up onto one elbow. Unwittingly leaned into her ribs, squashing her breast right where Chico had cut her. She screamed, a demonic howl, an inch from his already ringing ear. The pain infused her with an inhuman burst of strength. She heaved, rolled Evan off her.
Evan’s face bit dirt as she scrambled out from under him. He pushed himself onto all fours, head hanging down, the ground swimming below him, swirling in and out. Carly was on her knees. Eyes frantically scanning the ground around them. Evan turned his head, saw what she was searching for the same time she did—her bag, lying on the ground where Jackson dropped it.
Their eyes met.
A very different Carly to the one he’d held shaking against his chest five minutes earlier stared back at him. The empty, despairing hollowness he’d glimpsed inside her now brim full of rage and hatred, looking for a way out.
She dived at her bag.
He threw out an arm. Tried to catch her ankle. Came back with a handful of air. She crashed into the ground, her body squashing the bag. She pulled it out from under her. Dumped the contents on the ground. A Sig Sauer P938 spilled onto the dirt.
Evan was on his knees. He’d never reach her in time. Next to him the loose end of the hanging rope hung down, motionless in the still forest air. He snatched at it. Wrenched it downwards. The thick twisted strands of the heavy-duty rope snagged, caught fast on the branch. The gun was in her hands. She fumbled with the safety catch, palms slick with sweat. He yanked the rope harder. It came free with a jerk. He crashed onto his back, the heavy coils landing on his face, as she fired.
The bullet hit the top coil, two inches above his nose. Pinged away into the trees. She staggered to her feet to get a better aim. Took her time. Fired two quick shots as he threw himself sideways, the rope in his hands. The bullets buried themselves in the tree trunk, a shower of wood chips spraying his eyes.
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