Chapter Thirty-Nine
We loaded the car full of boxes, putting most of them in the trunk, the rest stacked so tall in the back seat that they blocked the rear window as we drove off.
“You see the look on her face?” CJ said, once we were on the road.
“You mean toward the end? When she was talking about Bill?”
“Yeah.” Staring out her window now, shaking her head slowly. “She’s terrified.”
“And with good reason. He’s one bad dude.”
She nodded, deliberated. “But she didn’t get us any closer to connecting Samuels and Williams.”
“Cowboy hats and cigarettes…could be lots of men in these parts,” I agreed, “but it still does match.”
“Think he’s even still alive?”
I glanced at her, then back at the road. “Guys like that don’t often go away very easily.”
“And he sounds like an expert at flying under the radar.”
“Which reminds me.” I grabbed my mobile phone, dialed Sully’s number, and got his voicemail immediately. Clicked it off and shook my head.
“Your contact?”
“Yeah,” I said. The irritation must have been evident.
She sat up straighter and started counting on her fingers. “So Williams kidnaps and kills the son, then he starts visiting the mother in the mental hospital. Then she assumes his identity before he kills her?” She paused a beat, shot me a blank look. “Reality really is stranger than fiction.”
“And don’t forget Lucas,” I added. “We still don’t know how he got sucked into this.”
She nodded. “Yeah, there’s that.”
When I glanced over, I saw she was staring into the rearview mirror.
I said, “What is it?”
Still looking, squinting, “That car was behind us when we left Ruth’s, and it’s still there.”
I couldn’t see a thing—all the boxes obscured my view. I adjusted the side view mirror, saw a late model SUV with black, tinted windows. Looked ominous as hell. CJ shifted nervously in her seat. “Pull off at the next exit. See if he goes with us.”
I glanced ahead. There was one coming up. CJ saw it too, and with urgency in her voice said, “Take it.”
I did. Drove up to the stoplight at the end of the ramp, looked in the side view mirror. But the SUV hadn’t followed. I gazed over the railing and saw it go flying down the freeway. Then I looked over at her.
She shot me a suspicious glare and said, “You think I’m paranoid.”
“After what we’ve been through these past few days? All that we’ve seen? Do I think you’re overreacting? Nope. Not a bit.”
She revealed a shadow of a smile.
I tightened my grip on the wheel, felt the sweat in my palms as I merged back onto the freeway. The urge to list was overwhelming me. I struggled against it, fought it back.
Not now. Not in front of CJ.
But the pressure was almost unbearable, and I knew where it came from. It was becoming a way of life for us: always looking over our shoulders, always afraid someone was on our trail.
Hunting us. Like animals.
***
CJ insisted on finding another motel in a different town. She’d had her fill of Jerome—come to think of it, so had I. Next stop: Virginia, Texas, about fifteen miles up the road.
After realizing we hadn’t eaten all day, we picked up Chinese takeout, then checked into our new digs, the Desert Inn. At least it was clean. Seemed to pass CJ’s inspection.
Then we got down to business, sifting through the multitude of paperwork.
“She said this stuff wasn’t organized.” CJ shoved a pile of papers away. “She wasn’t kidding.”
“What a mess.” I reached for another stack, started shuffling through it. “Most of it I can’t even read. Looks like bunch of chicken scratch.”
“A whole lot of nothing. Even the so-called references to the boy that Ruth mentioned—most of them aren’t even on the same page as the ones about Jean. Hardly as incriminating as she seemed to think. Could’ve been talking about anyone.” She held up a sheet, stared at it, then tossed it aside, shaking her head. “God, it’s sad.”
“What is?”
“Losing her daughter,” she said. “Knowing who killed her and not being able to bring him to justice.”
I said, “It happens every day.”
“I know. Still, no matter how many times…”
I looked up at her. “Got something?”
“I’m not sure,” she said, examining a sheet of paper. Then she handed it to me.
I took it. Read it. And felt a burn in the pit of my stomach.
“Patrick?” CJ asked.
Her voice was nothing more than a distant echo. I tried to zero in on her but only saw white.
“Pat? What’s going on?”
After finally gaining focus, I said, “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Chapter Forty
The names in the note weren’t spelled out, but they didn’t need to be. I knew exactly who it was to, who it was from.
B-
Meet at 5:30pm
Usual place.
-W
I recognized Warren’s handwriting, and as cryptic as the note was, it seemed clear to me. A letter from Warren to Bill. Usual place: it wasn’t their first meeting, either.
It was the one thing I hadn’t shared with CJ—about my mother and Warren, that I knew they were somehow involved in Nathan Kingsley’s kidnapping and murder. A big thing, and I needed to tell her. So I did. I also showed her the note and the necklace.
“So let me make sure I understand you correctly,” she finally said once I was done, “this Warren guy—the senator—is your uncle?”
“Right.”
“And all this time you suspected he was behind this...along with your mother?”
I gave a single nod. “Also correct.”
“And the reason you’re just now mentioning it?”
“Because of this note.”
She looked at me for a long time, biting her lower lip, and then, “Yeah, I get that. Now tell me why you held out on me. This information is kind of important, Pat, kind of relevant. And you didn’t share it until you absolutely had to.”
“It’s not like that…”
She crossed her arms and tilted her head. “Really?”
“No.”
“Then tell me, what is it like? Because I need to tell you, Patrick this one-way relationship thing—it’s not working for me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“This.” She held the note and necklace up, one in each hand, giving them a single shake. I saw veins sticking out of her forehead. “This is what I mean. You sat there and lied to me, Patrick. You told me it was just a damn news story! It wasn’t—this is all about you.”
“What was I supposed to say? Yes, I think my mother and uncle are involved, but I don’t have a thing to prove it?”
Her smile looked angry. “You know, it’s funny. I wasn’t aware that we had an agreement to only discuss what we can prove. I must’ve been absent the day you sent the memo out because I clearly don’t remember.”
“C’mon, CJ. Give me a break here,” I said, hands spread out, shaking my head. “You know what I mean…”
“No, I really don’t. So please enlighten me. Tell me why you haven’t been honest. Tell me why I’ve been spinning my wheels, working my ass off on a story with someone who doesn’t reciprocate, who won’t share the most important facts of this case.”
I stood up. “I did share. I just told you.”
“Sooner.”
“Huh?”
“You should have told me sooner. Much sooner. And the only reason you did it now was because the note forced your hand.” She walked to the vanity area, placed both hands flat on the counter, locked her elbows, and stared at her angry reflection in the mirror.
The silence that stretched between us only added to the pressure I was feeling
. I threw my hands up. “Okay. I apologize. I was wrong. I should have told you. You’re right.”
She spun around to look at me. “I’m about this close to making you a memory. As in, history. As in see ya’. Do you get what I’m saying here?”
“Don’t do that.”
“Give me a reason why I shouldn’t.”
I didn’t have one.
“God!” she said. “You’ve got walls around you that are stronger than steel.”
I looked away, shook my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, yes, you do. You know exactly what I mean. It’s not even anything that you say, more what you don’t…like some unspoken language. I can’t even describe it…like you carry a wound so deep it’ll never heal. What the hell happened to you?”
It was brutal, it was honest, and it was truthful. It made me feel exposed and vulnerable and raw. The pressure inside me was almost too much to bear. I said in a choked voice, “Look, I’m sorry. I mean it. It won’t happen again. I promise. It’s just…I’m not used to working with other people. I’m used to going at it alone, and I get scared sometimes. But I’m trying, I really am, and believe it or not, I’ve shared more with you about this story than I’ve done with anyone else. Ever.”
“All I’m asking is that you—”
My phone rang.
I looked down at the caller I.D. “It’s Sully. I’ve got to take this call.”
Grudgingly, she nodded her approval.
I cleared my throat, tried to act unaffected. “Hey, Sully.”
CJ got up and moved slowly across the room. She took a seat on a chair. Sully’s voice pulled my attention away from her.
“Think I got a location on your boy Bill Williams,” he said.
“Talk to me.” I put the phone on speaker so CJ could hear.
“Now this isn’t confirmed, so you’re going to have to do some legwork here. Write this down.”
I grabbed the pen and paper from the nightstand. “Go ahead.”
“Telethon, Texas.”
“Say what?”
“Exactly. Near the Mexican border. Population 455 at last count about six years ago, but I can’t imagine they’ve had a baby boom since then. We’re talking the middle of nowhere.”
“What makes you think he’s there?”
“Couple things. He has a cousin there by the name of Nancy Skinner. And believe me, Skinner’s a real winner. She’s a tweaker, and her rap sheet reads like a never-ending story. According to the police report, your boy Bill was at her place when she got popped for a probation violation.”
“When was this?”
“June of last year. That’s why you’ll need to do some legwork. He may be long gone by now.”
I said to CJ, “How far is Telethon from here?”
“About seventy miles,” she replied. “A little over an hour’s drive.”
“Thanks, Sull,” I said. “Anything else?”
“Actually, yeah.”
“Shoot.”
His voice got deeper. “This Bill guy is one nasty son of a bitch.”
“Yeah, we’ve heard …”
“No, I mean bad. Real bad. If you do find he’s there, do not approach him. Call the cops. Or call me.”
I started writing the word shelter down repeatedly. “He have priors or something?”
“Negative. He’s too smart for that. But he’d just as soon kill you as look at you, and you’d never know what hit you. Neither would anyone else. He’s that bad.”
I glanced at CJ. Her eyes were wide and blinking fast. Back to Sully: “How do you know all this?”
“I got people.”
“I need details, Sull.”
He paused and then, “The bureau’s been following the guy for years but can’t get him on anything. He’s a suspect in several murders.”
“How many?”
“A lot.”
“What about—”
“Nothing with the Kingsley case. I checked. But I’m telling you, he’s dangerous as hell, one bad-assed bastard.”
“Sully. The details, please.”
“Okay, okay…one of the stories goes like this: a couple of agents came looking for him at his mother’s house one evening, and she made the mistake of telling them he was at the local bar. When they walked into the place, he darted inside the John, escaped through the window.”
“And this makes him dangerous?”
“Hell no. It was what he did after that.”
“Which was?”
“Put it this way. It was the last mistake his mother ever made. They found her the next day, floating in a lake. When they pulled her up, her larynx had been cut out. His way of telling her to shut up, I guess. Permanently.”
“Jeeze.”
“At first they thought he’d taken it with him. But the M.E. found it during the autopsy.”
“Where was it?’
Sully paused. “Shoved up her ass.”
Chapter Forty-One
Up and down. Up and down. My life had turned into a sickness seesaw, one episode following on the heels of another. I was tired, depressed, and fed up. Fed up with my mother, fed up with my life.
Fed up with everything.
During the spring semester of my senior year, another round of symptoms hit, this time so severe that I ended up missing school for several days. But being at home wasn’t exactly restorative, so I went back to class as soon as I could; although, I was hardly up for it.
It was my first day back. On my way out of the building, I stopped in the bathroom, gazed in the mirror, and barely recognized myself: dark circles under dull and lifeless eyes, pale skin surrounding them. I looked like the walking dead.
Out of the building and through the courtyard.
“Patrick?”
Without turning around, I recognized Tracy Gallagher’s voice. If there had been a rock to crawl under, I would have been there in a heartbeat. Of all the times for her to see me. I pretended not to hear her, kept my eyes ahead, kept walking.
“Patrick.”
I turned around and saw the shock register on her face, but I was equally bewildered. It had been years since she’d spoken so much as a word to me—not since the social order had shifted.
“Patrick?” she said once more, head jutted forward now, as if trying to see if it was really me. “What happened? You look horrible.”
“Thanks.” I looked at the ground.
“No, I…” A bashful smile, pushing her hair behind one ear. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. Really. It’s just…are you okay?”
“Fine,” I said, and then after my lie, “Why?”
She moved closer, still staring at me. “You don’t look like it.”
I started feeling dizzy and nauseous, stumbled to catch my balance. Tracy lunged forward and caught me just in time.
“Patrick,” she said, “what’s going on?”
I turned my head away, tears filling my eyes.
She placed a soft, gentle hand on my shoulder; still, I couldn’t look at her.
“Patrick?”
“I’m fine.” But my voice broke, despite my attempts to sound strong.
She leaned in. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Eyes back toward the ground now, I shook my head, saw a lone tear splash onto my shoe.
She placed her hand under my chin and gently pulled my head up so we were face to face, then looked into my eyes; hers were so gentle, so worried… and in a soft, low voice, said, “What is she doing to you?”
It was the first time in so long that someone had showed concern, actually cared, let alone touched me with a loving hand.
And it was her.
I lost it.
She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me in close, her shoulder muffling my sobs, neither of us saying anything for a long time. It felt warm, like coming home, and in that instant, there was no social order, no division, no time that had passed between us. Just her and me. I wanted to tell
her everything. I felt like I could.
The sound of screeching tires startled us both.
A car came driving up, kids screaming and laughing, horn honking. I looked inside and saw a cluster of letterman’s jackets and bright, attractive faces.
“C’mon, Trace, we don’t have all day!” one of the Jackets yelled to her.
She glanced at me, then at him. “In a minute, Rob. I’m in the middle of something.”
“You can pick up with Pasty Face later,” he said. “Not like he’s got anywhere to go except home to his loony tunes mother.”
Laughter all around from the Jackets, the dagger hitting me square in the chest.
“Shut the hell up, Rob!” she said, then turned back to me.
“Jeeze!” he said. “Sorry, babe! Didn’t mean to interrupt your charity work.”
Dagger.
More laughter.
I looked at the Jackets, looked at her. Saw white and felt another wave of nausea sweep through me. Then panic. Something inside told me to run as fast and far as I could.
And that’s just what I did.
I made it as far as the shrubs about twenty yards away before I threw up. Heard a roar of hysterical laughter from the Jackets.
“Check it out! Pasty Face is bush-barfing!” One of them said.
More laughter.
“What’s the matter, Pasty? Get a look at yourself in the mirror?”
Laughter again.
Then, they all starting singing, “Tracy and Pasty sitting in a tree!”
The laughter grew louder; it struck me like wicked thunder. I bowed my head and squeezed my eyes shut, forcing tears to roll down my cheek. Wanting it all to go away.
Then I heard tires squealing, looked up, and they were all gone.
Tracy, too.
Chapter Forty-Two
CJ was right next to me in the passenger seat, but so lost in thought that she might as well have been a hundred miles away. The conversation with Sully and his frightening news about Bill had managed to upstage our disagreement, her annoyance now replaced by fear.
The Lion, The Lamb, The Hunted Page 15