No Escape

by Mary Burton

  “I can be up and back to West Livingston in a day. Even if I have to drive. But when they go I want in.”

  “Brody Winchester runs a tight ship, Jo. If he’d have wanted you on this outing he’d have called.”

  “It’s not about what he wants. Smith was willing to talk to me on Saturday. He won’t talk to Winchester.”

  “Those two have a long history. Smith had said more than once he respects Winchester.”

  “Respect doesn’t mean much if he refuses to talk.”

  She reached for the phone on her desk. “Winchester is not shutting me out.”

  Dr. Anderson pulled off his glasses and cleaned the lenses with the edge of his sweater. “Why did Smith want to see you?”

  “I can only assume it’s my dissertation I wrote on him a couple of years ago or the subsequent presentations I gave. And there is an added element.” She explained her past connection to Brody.

  He raised a brow, but made no comment on the marriage. “I remember in your presentation that you said he wouldn’t consent to be interviewed.”

  She’d written him several letters, but she’d received no responses. “That’s right.”

  “And now he wants to talk.”

  “He did the other day at least. Now, let’s hope he will keep talking.” She cradled the phone under her ear as she looked up Brody’s number in her cell phone. “He’s running out of time.”

  Dr. Anderson shook his head. “I’m not so sure it’s about time. Smith always had a second and sometimes third motive.”

  Three messages from Jo blinked on Brody’s phone by five thirty. He’d listened to the first message seconds after it hit his phone, but he’d chosen not to respond. Jo wanted to see Smith again. She’d received updates on the case and hoped another conversation with Smith would reveal more. She wanted in on his next trip to West Livingston.

  Jo was smart, likely smarter than anyone he’d ever met, but he would not expose her to Smith again. The old man had stared at her with a lean, hungry look that had tested Brody’s patience. His smile had remained intact but instinct demanded he pummel Smith unconscious.

  Smith gave no information away for free and whatever price he expected for his assistance, he’d exact it from Jo.

  Brody understood too well how this psychopath could get into a mind. When Brody had been tracking Smith, he’d crawled inside the killer’s mind, hoping to anticipate his next kill. He’d done what he’d set out to do and trapped the animal but the cost had been high. He’d lost sleep. Cut off friends and family. His girlfriend had ended their relationship.

  Brody didn’t want Smith’s kind of ruin to burn its way into Jo’s life. She might resent him protecting her now when he hadn’t all those years ago. But she’d have to get over it. This time he would protect her. Whether she liked it or not.

  Brody closed his phone and got out of his car. He studied the mobile home surrounded by a chicken-wire fence adorned with Christmas lights. The dirt front yard was decorated with a collection of pinwheels, and aluminum foil covered the windows of the trailer.

  A car door slammed shut, signaling Santos’s arrival. Dirt kicked up around his boots as he moved toward Brody. “The home of Ginnie Dupont.”

  Brody caught a whiff of the garbage pile in the backyard. “That’s right.”

  “Can’t wait to meet her.”

  Hands on guns, they approached the trailer. Brody pounded on it with his fist and both men stood to the side while they waited. Footsteps sounded inside the trailer, the aluminum foil on the window closest to the door raised and the door opened.

  The woman standing there was in her midfifties. Thin, with wrinkled skin, her hair was as white as snow. She wore jeans, a flannel shirt and flip-flops. “Ranger,” she said.

  Brody touched the brim of his hat. “Ms. Ginnie Dupont?”

  Gray eyes narrowed. “That’s right. You come to talk to me about those letters again?”

  “We have.”

  She smiled and moved outside. “I was working on a new one. Been two days since I’ve written, and I didn’t want Mr. Smith to think I’d forgotten him.”

  “No, ma’am,” Santos said.

  “When’s the last time you heard from Smith?” Brody knew Smith had no outgoing communication, but sometimes asking a direct question awarded him an unexpected answer.

  “I heard from him last night.”

  Brody remembered the profile the warden had relayed on Dupont on the phone. “Is that direct communication or in your dreams like before?”

  “In my dream, of course.”

  “And what did he say, ma’am?” Santos said.

  She twisted a braided bracelet that wrapped around her thin wrist. “That he loves me, of course. And that one day he’s gonna come for me.”

  “And bury you like the others?”

  She smiled. “That’s right.”

  Robbie stared at Bluebonnet as she lay on her side, curled in a ball on the bed in his trailer. When he’d refused her sexual advances, she’d lain down on the bed, thinking he’d change his mind. He hadn’t and she’d slept while he’d gathered his resolve.

  He touched her on the shoulder. “It’s time to go.”

  She rolled on her back and stretched. “I need to get back. Daddy is going to be mad.”

  “Daddy?”

  “My pimp.”

  “Ah. Well, we wouldn’t want to upset Daddy, now would we, Bluebonnet?”

  “My name is Hanna.” She rose and slipped back on her jeans, top and boots.

  “Maybe, but to me you will always be Bluebonnet.” He pulled a silk bluebonnet from his pocket. For several seconds he twirled it between his fingers before he gently tucked it in her hair.

  She removed the flower and stared at it. “Pretty.”

  “Like you.”

  Outside, the sun blazed on the horizon, lighting up the land. Silent, both got back into his truck. He started the engine and headed down the dirt road and turned left onto the main road. Soon they were sailing. However, instead of taking the exit to the interstate, he kept on heading toward open land.

  “Where are we going?” Bluebonnet said.

  “A quick side trip.”

  “Daddy said one hundred dollars an hour.”

  He smiled. “We won’t be but a minute.”

  Pale blue eyes flickered with curiosity. Her emotions were flat, which he’d first thought was drug-related. Now he’d come to see that it was a quirk of her personality.

  “You’ll take me back?”

  “I’ll take you.”

  She faced him, the evening light across her face. “When?”

  “Soon.”

  “Daddy will want more money.”

  “I understand.”

  Satisfied, she settled in her seat.

  His spirits light, he wasn’t so anxious or nervous as he had been with Christa, and he saw the change as progress. They reached the main road and drove for another fifteen minutes before he turned into a development so new, no home had been built yet. There were a handful of foundations in place.

  Bluebonnet shook her head. “This isn’t a shortcut.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  She fisted her hands and frowned. “Keri says johns are tricky. I think you’re tricky.” She grabbed a hold of the door as if she wanted to jump out.

  He pushed on the gas. “You jump out now and you’ll break a leg. Don’t be such a worrywart.”

  She clung to the door as if it offered some kind of pathetic moral support. The car rocked and bumped as he drove deeper into the development.

  “It rained the other day. Makes for softer soil. Tough on driving but rain is good. This drought has been rough on Texas.”

  At the back of the development he parked at the end of a cul-de-sac. He turned off the truck and set the brake.

  She jerked on the door latch, but the door didn’t open. “The door doesn’t work.”

  “That door doesn’t open from the inside. Heck of an inconvenience. I’ll
come around and let you out.”

  “Out? Why would I want to get out here?”

  He slammed his car door and came around to her side. When he opened it she was clinging to the seat. “I am not getting out.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  She screamed as if someone, maybe Keri, had told her to do it.

  He winced and then shoved a rag in her mouth. He pulled tape from his pocket and flattened it over the gag. A second later he had handcuffs out of his pocket and on her wrists. She moaned and struggled. “Now, now, Bluebonnet. Stop your worrying. This isn’t going to hurt a bit.”

  When he’d killed Christa, he’d been awkward and afraid. Now fear didn’t overwhelm him. In fact, he felt energized and excited. Harvey would be pleased.

  He hoisted Bluebonnet up on his shoulder and walked toward the foundation frame of a house and into the center of the dirt square. He dropped her to the ground and before she could scramble to her feet, he tied her ankles together. “Be right back, darlin’. Need to get my shovel.”

  He hustled back to his truck, grabbed his shovel from under a tarp in the bed and hurried back to find Bluebonnet had rolled several feet away. He jammed the shovel in the soft earth before dragging her back by her ankles. The tape and gag muffled her screams.

  “Where you going, girl? Party is about to start.”

  It took him a half hour to dig a sizable hole. He’d have finished faster but a couple of times he had to stop and drag her back.

  A fine sheen of sweat covered his forehead when he finished his digging and he grabbed Bluebonnet under the arms and hauled her toward the hole. He pulled her upper body in first followed by her legs. Moonlight reflected off a gold charm around her neck and, unable to resist the trophy, he snatched it free and shoved it in his pocket.

  Thrashing against her restraints, desperation oozed from her. He grabbed his shovel and covered her in dirt. Harvey had taught him to cover the face last. The panic in the eyes was to be savored.

  That is the best part.

  He continued shoveling until all that remained uncovered was Bluebonnet’s nose and eyes. He stared into those eyes for long seconds before dumping dirt on her face. Within a minute she was completely covered.

  The earth cracked the tiniest fraction, and he heard her gagged moans.

  He smiled.

  The day had gone well and Harvey would have been so proud. “I promise, Harvey, there will be many more.”

  Hanna held her breath as the dirt plastered against her face, filling her nose. Heart pounding hard in her chest, she moved her head from side to side trying to knock the dirt from her face. But the weight grew heavier and heavier as her heart slammed her ribs and her lungs screamed for air.

  Keri had never told her about this. She’d said johns could be tricky. They could hit. Steal. Leave you to walk back to your corner. But Keri had never told her about this.

  Thump, thump, thump. Her heart thundered, ready to burst out of her chest.

  Unable to hold her breath any longer she snorted a breath but when she inhaled she pulled in dirt, which clogged her nose.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  Her heart labored now and her head spun. She wanted to scream but couldn’t.

  Keri, you never told me about this.

  “I love you, Bluebonnet.” His muffled voice reached below the earth.

  Keri!

  Her heart pounded.

  Her head swam.

  And then her mind went blank.

  Chapter Nine

  Monday, April 8, 7:30 P.M.

  The support group Jo ran for the at-risk teen girls was held in the basement of the Catholic church, located in east Austin. As Jo headed into the church’s fellowship hall, she checked her messages, expecting to see a note from Brody. Brody had done a fine job of ignoring Jo’s phone messages today. After she’d left the first, she’d assumed it would be a matter of time before he called her back. But when she checked the clock hours later and realized he’d not called, she’d made calls to a friend in the Rangers’ office and gotten his home address. She’d track him down after this meeting.

  Avoidance was his specialty when he didn’t want to talk. She understood that. But this was about the case. Not them. And she wanted to interview Smith one more time. So she and Brody were going to talk tonight.

  Jo shrugged off her coat and put down her bag of groceries. She had about twenty minutes to set up before the girls arrived.

  As she pulled sugar cookies from the bag and plated them, the back door opened to a petite blonde with scraggly hair and eye shadow so thick, it made her look as if she’d been bruised.

  Jo had seen her once or twice before in the last six months. She wore leather pants, red high-top tennis shoes, a tank top and a white, furry, bolero jacket that made her thin frame look fragile.

  “Sadie,” Jo said.

  A half smile tweaked the girl’s thin lips. “You have a good memory, Doc.”

  Jo searched her mind for details about the girl. Said she was seventeen but Jo would have guessed younger, closer to fifteen. She’d been on the streets about a year. She didn’t prostitute but made deliveries for the drug dealers and pimps. So far, Sadie had stayed away from using drugs but the streets chewed up young girls like her. The descent into drugs was often a matter of time.

  “I’ve brought cookies but haven’t had the chance to put the coffee on yet, Sadie.”

  The girl smiled. “I can do that.”

  Jo didn’t hide her surprise. “You can work one of those big coffeemakers?”

  “I wish I had a dollar for all the pots of coffee I made when I was a kid.” She shrugged off her jacket and laid it on a chair before vanishing into the kitchen and reappearing with the big steel coffeepot.

  Sadie had been cautious about opening up. In fact, this detail about her making coffee was the first Jo really had on the girl. As tempted as Jo was to probe the girl’s past, she didn’t. She’d made it a rule not to pry but to let the girls open up when they were ready. This was a safe place for the girls where she listened and answered questions without offering unsolicited opinions.

  As Jo arranged the chairs in a circle, Sadie made quick work of the coffeepot, filling the cylinder with water, setting the basket of grounds inside and flipping the switch. Within seconds it gurgled and popped.

  “Haven’t seen you in a while,” Jo said.

  Sadie picked up a cookie and nibbled on it. “Been working.”

  It broke Jo’s heart to think about the “work” the kid did. “I know it’s hard to get away.”

  “Lots of deliveries to make normally but tonight turned out to be slow.”

  “I’m glad you could make it. Have a seat. You’ve got to be tired.”

  Sadie shrugged and sat. “I’m okay.”

  “I love tennis shoes but my mother loves high heels. So does my sister. But I’m not so good in them. I’ve my favorite pumps, but I’m not sure on my feet in any other heel.”

  “Your mom wears heels?”

  Jo arched a brow. “Yeah. Mom’s always put a lot of care into her appearance.”

  The kid cocked her head as she studied Jo. “I’d think you’d have the practical sort of mom. You know, one that bakes cookies and shit.”

  Jo laughed. “Mom dusts off her stove every few months and knows the number of a dozen takeout places by heart. She hasn’t cooked in years.”

  “What does she do?”

  “Works in a beauty salon. She’s one of the best colorists in the state from what I hear.”

  Sadie stared at her, interest popping from her gaze. “She color your hair?”

  Jo sat in a seat across from Sadie and crossed her legs. “No. Mom wanted to color it more times than I can count, but I never let her. In the beauty department, I’m a big disappointment to her.”

  Sadie shrugged. “You’re cute enough. I know a dude named Daddy who could find you clients.”

  Jo laughed. “Thanks, I think.”

  “Your bones and cheek
s are pretty. Just need to glam it up a bit.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Jo watched the girl nibble the cookie and decided to break one of her rules. “Where did you learn to make coffee?”

  For a moment Sadie hesitated before saying, “At my dad’s church. He was a preacher, and Mama and I were always setting up for some social.”

  She’d mentioned her father at the last meeting. They’d had a terrible fight, which was why she’d left home. “Have you talked to your dad lately?”

  “Not since Mom died. It got hard to live around him.”

  “How long’s it been since he’s seen you?”

  “A year.”

  “Think he’s worried?” She didn’t assume her father missed her. A lot of the girls that came in here had families who’d tossed them aside like yesterday’s garbage.

  “I don’t know.” Sadie shifted, as if uncomfortable. “You close to your dad?”

  “My dad?” Her thoughts went first to Cody Granger, then to Smith and back to Granger. “My dad died five years ago. But when he was alive, we didn’t have a lot in common.”

  Sadie’s eyes widened. “Why?”

  “I liked my books. He was a man who didn’t care to read. He was an electrician and made his living with his hands.”

  Sadie studied her, her gaze keen. “Yeah, but he loved you, right?”

  Jo remembered a time when her dad had taken her to a bookstore and told her she could spend twenty dollars. He’d waited outside, uncomfortable in his muddy boots, as she’d run inside. “Yeah, in his way he did. He didn’t understand.”

  “I hear you.”

  The recreation room door opened and two gals dressed much like Sadie sauntered into the room. “Hey, Doc,” one of the girls shouted. “What’s shaking?”

  “Not much, Deidra. How about you?”

  Deidra was five months pregnant and had been ready to drop out of school when her school counselor had referred her to Jo’s group. She wasn’t making A’s but Jo was grateful at this point for the C minuses. “Can’t complain. No, scratch that,” she said. “Complaining is the reason I come here.”

  Immediately, Sadie stiffened and the easy openness in her gaze vanished. She rose and put on her coat. “Doc, I better get going. I’ve been here longer than I should. Folks is gonna be looking for me.”