No Escape

by Mary Burton

  Sadie rocked her head from side to side. “Mister, you don’t have to do this. If I did something wrong, I’ll make it right.”

  He tossed the dirt on her chest and face. Her nose filled with dirt, and she snorted several times to clear her nostrils.

  “I wish my father could see me now,” he said. “He’d be proud.”

  She spit out dirt. “He wouldn’t like this. He wouldn’t.”

  His smile was tender. “No, he’d be proud.”

  “Jo would hate this!”

  “I know. She wouldn’t understand.”

  A clump of dirt hit her face, landing in her nose and eyes. She tried to shake the dirt from her head but more dirt walloped her face until she could barely breathe.

  The drugs didn’t stem the panic, which now cut through her like a razor. As more dirt hit her face, her last thought was she was a nobody. There wasn’t a cavalry coming. No last-minute rescue. She was lost to the world forever.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Wednesday, April 17, 11:00 A.M.

  Luke and Tommy should have been in school. Today they were supposed to take the midterm in history. But after a long, cold winter, the warm weather had been too tantalizing. Each had been talking about skipping and going fishing at Sweeney Lake, and last night when Luke had heard the weather forecast, he had decided today would be the big day. Today they’d skip. He’d opted not to tell Tommy last night because the kid couldn’t keep a secret worth shit. He’d waited until this morning when he knew Tommy was eating his bagel and watching Cartoon Network like he did every day.

  It’s the day!

  Tommy had laughed when he’d seen the text. He’d been scared. He’d worried. He’d almost said no but Luke’s next text had arrived. Pussy?

  Tommy had laughed and known he couldn’t back down. They’d talked about this day for months. So he had kissed his mom good-bye, taken his lunch and headed out as if he was taking the bus to school. Luke had picked him up in his older brother’s truck at the corner, and they’d headed out of town.

  Now as they sat on the dock jutting into the lake, neither one could have designed a more perfect day.

  Tommy cast his line into the water. “What do you think those poor slobs are doing in school right now?”

  Luke closed his eyes and tipped his head toward the warm sun. He’d wedged his pole between the open slats of the pier. “Staring at the clock and counting the seconds to the lunch bell.”

  Tommy laughed. “If they could see us now.”

  Luke’s stomach grumbled as he thought about lunch. He’d already eaten the school lunch his mother had made and was ready for more food. “We should go get some burgers.”

  “God, man, we just got situated. Soon we’ll be snagging fish.”

  Luke sat up and stared over the calm, clear waters of the lake. “We’re gonna toss ’em back. Not like we could eat them.”

  Tommy turned the handle on his reel. “All you think about is food.”

  Luke shrugged. “And sex with Rene Rogers. God, what I wouldn’t give to suck her tits.”

  Laughing, Tommy dug in his pocket for his can of dip. “I’d definitely pay money to see those tits. You think they’re real or is she all padding?”

  “My sister says they are real.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  Tommy pulled a wad of tobacco out of the silver can and wedged it in the side of his cheek. He’d offered the can to Luke who did the same.

  Minutes passed before Tommy reeled in his line a little more. This time it caught. “Hey, I’ve got something.”

  Luke yawned. “Catch the big one and toss it back, then we can go get something real to eat.”

  Tommy reeled the line in more, noting the heavy tension weighing the line. “Yeah, sure. Get off your ass and help me with this one.”

  Luke stretched his arms before reaching for the net, ready to scoop up a fish.

  The fishing line bent and groaned and a couple of times Tommy had to release tension for fear it would snap. “This one has to be the granddaddy of all fish.”

  Luke’s eyes snapped with more interest. “I heard there are twenty pounders in the lake.”

  “Cool. If I catch one.”

  Luke pulled his cell from his back pocket. “I’ll take a picture and post it.”

  “Yeah. And every douche in the county will know we skipped.”

  “Good point. I’ll post it on Saturday.”

  Tension stretched Tommy’s line to snapping. “That’s a plan.”

  Luke leaned over the dock and stared at the end of Tommy’s line, which pulled from the water as if an anchor were tied to it. “God, is that like the creature from the Black Lagoon?”

  “Shit. I think you’re right.”

  Luke watched Tommy struggle, and the fishing line growing tighter and tighter. “It can’t be a fish.”

  “Maybe it’s an old tire.”

  Tommy frowned. “I think I see something.”

  Luke stared at the surface and the black object rising toward it. He lay on the dock, his belly flat, as he reached for the object. His fingers brushed wet canvas. “It’s a bag.”

  Tommy grimaced as he backed up, pulling the bag closer to the dock. “See if you can grab it.”

  Luke reached out and with long fingers grabbed a fistful of canvas and hauled the waterlogged bag to the dock.

  Water gushed as Tommy unfastened his hook from the bag. “What the fuck?”

  Luke’s heart raced with excitement. “Think it’s loaded with money or something?”

  “That would be awesome. But it smells like shit.”

  “Nobody tosses a bag like this in a lake if they aren’t trying to hide something.”

  “Like stolen money.” His grin froze. “Or maybe it’s a body.”

  Luke laughed. “Yeah, right. Shit, man, nobody tosses a body in Sweeney Lake. It’s like the most suburban lake in the world.”

  His lips compressed. “Yeah, well who would toss money?”

  “I don’t know. But it’s gonna be one bitching story either way.”

  Tommy set his rod aside and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Open it, and let’s see.”

  “You open it.”

  “I caught it.”

  “I dragged it in.”

  Tommy shoved out a breath. “You’re such a pussy.” He knelt and reached for the zipper, only to discover it had been sealed with a plastic holder.

  Luke pulled a knife from his back pocket. “Kinda drastic.” With a flick of the knife blade he released the bit of plastic and unzipped the zipper.

  Tommy peered in the bag for a split second before he recoiled. “Fuck!”

  Luke leaned over his shoulder and looked. “Shit!”

  Inside the bag was the headless torso of a woman wrapped in plastic. Her arms and legs were gone and her skin was a grayish white texture and she looked more like a prop from a horror film than anything close to human.

  Both boys scrambled off the dock, each knocking into the other as they rushed toward dry land.

  Tommy was breathing so hard he nearly hyperventilated.

  Luke turned to his side and vomited up the lunch he’d just eaten.

  Brody arrived at Sweeney Lake after one. Cop cars, lights flashing, crowded the open land around the lake and the dock had been roped off with yellow crime scene tape.

  He was annoyed he’d been called away from his desk, where he’d spent the better part of the morning reading up on Dayton and digging into his past. He’d found nothing to link Smith and Dayton. Evidence didn’t link the two killers but that didn’t mean Dayton wasn’t deadly. The Austin cops were certain he’d killed his wife, but just couldn’t prove it.

  Before he’d left Jo’s early this morning, he’d made her promise she’d call if she saw Dayton. He didn’t care how benign the circumstances. If she saw him, he wanted a call.

  Brody put on his hat and moved across the open land toward Santos. “Why the call?”

  Sa
ntos squinted as the sun bounced off the lake. “You said you wanted any information I could dig up about Dayton.”

  Behind Santos, attendants lifted a black body bag onto a stretcher. “You found Sheila Dayton.”

  A half smile that held no humor twisted the edge of his lips. “Looks like it.”

  “I heard all that the boys found was a torso.”

  “With a distinct tattoo on the right shoulder blade. Twin butterflies and the initials SD.”

  “Sheila Dayton.”

  “They’ll need to run DNA, but right now it’s looking like we found her.”

  “She’s been missing for two months.”

  “Vanished late February.”

  “Has anyone told Dayton?”

  Santos shook his head. “I asked local PD to hold off making a notification. Thought we might want in on it.”

  Brody flexed the fingers of his right hand like he used to before a pitch. “I want in on it.”

  “Thought you might.”

  Brody drove to Dayton’s office with Santos trailing behind in his own SUV. He’d been itching for a confrontation with this guy since last night. And as much as he’d like to take the guy apart, he would keep his cool. He owed it to Jo and Sheila Dayton.

  He and Santos got out of their cars and entered the medical building. Dayton’s office was on the third floor, and soon they stood in Dayton’s office presenting their badges to the receptionist.

  Dayton quickly emerged from an exam room. He wore suit pants, a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a loosened red tie. “Rangers. I can’t say I’m glad to see you. Something tells me you don’t have good news.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Rangers don’t make social calls.”

  “There a private place we could talk?” Brody said.

  Dayton’s face constricted with worry. “The conference room.”

  Under the watchful eye of the receptionist, Brody and Santos followed Dayton to a small consultation room. As plush as the rest of the off ice, it sported a long, mahogany conference table surrounded by a dozen upholstered chairs. A flat-screen television dominated the back wall and the sleek credenza under it displayed a crystal decanter and glasses.

  “Let’s have a seat,” Brody said. He studied Dayton’s body language, looking for the most basic signs of deception—a nervous flexing of the fingers, a shifting gaze, sweat, or rapid breathing. He saw none. Dayton was calm and composed.

  Dayton’s expression turned grim. “I’d rather stand.”

  If it had been anyone else Brody might have cut him or her some slack. The news he was about to deliver was a punch in the gut. But this son of a bitch had crossed the line when he’d shown a perverse interest in Jo.

  Brody shot straight from the hip. “We found a torso today in Sweeney Lake. No head. No arms or legs. But the body sported a butterfly tattoo that was exactly like your wife’s.”

  Dayton blinked before closing his eyes. He fisted his hands at his side as if he were trying to hang on to control. He met Brody’s gaze. “All you have is a tattoo?”

  “The medical examiner is running DNA tests today and we should have a solid answer soon. But the tattoo is distinctive.”

  Dayton pulled out a chair, sat and buried his hands in his face. “I was sure she’d be found alive. I thought she’d run away as she always did in the past.”

  Brody had seen lots of tears in his three years as a Ranger and DPS officer. Some had torn at his heart. Others had left him cold. Dayton’s tears didn’t stir a flicker of emotion. “When was the last time you saw your wife?” Brody asked.

  At first Dayton acted as if he didn’t hear, but he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dried his eyes. “I know you have to ask these questions. You are only trying to help Sheila. But right now I can barely think.”

  “You’re gonna have to push yourself, Dayton.”

  He stared at Brody with red-rimmed eyes. “How long am I going to have to answer these questions? I’ve spoken to the police more times than I can count.”

  “I keep asking questions until the killer is behind bars.”

  “I told the cops about her mystery lover. He is the man you should be trying to find.”

  Santos pulled a notebook from his breast pocket and flipped through notes. “According to you the man was a vagrant. African American. Over six feet. In his late twenties.” Santos glanced up from his notes. “Austin PD never found anyone matching that description.”

  “That doesn’t mean he wasn’t out there.” No hint of frustration or anger tinted the words, as if they’d been spoken and rehearsed too many times.

  Brody shook his head, folding his arms over his chest. “Would have been nice to have found him.”

  “Would have been nice to have found my wife alive,” Dayton snapped. “You two have made your death notice or whatever it is you want to call it. But I’m not up for another round of grilling. Not today. Not now. I need to grieve.”

  Brody clapped his hands. “That was a mighty fine performance, Dr. Dayton. Those actors in Hollywood ain’t got nothing on you.”

  Dayton’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t like your tone, Ranger Winchester.”

  “Too bad, because it’s gonna get a lot nastier. I’m not giving up the hunt until I prove you killed your wife.”

  Dayton raised his chin, his eyes narrowing. “I need to call my attorney.”

  “From what I hear, he didn’t take you on. Didn’t like the report on you. But there are lots of attorneys out there that aren’t as particular about who they represent.”

  The mention of the report triggered a slight widening of Dayton’s eyes. “I know how the cops work. You pick a suspect and rush in with blinders.”

  Brody pressed. “It’s a matter of time before I prove your guilt.”

  Dayton’s jaw tightened. “You can’t prove what is not true.”

  “That report on you says you’re capable of cold-blooded murder.” He hadn’t read it, of course. Jo wouldn’t breach professional courtesy. But he wanted to push any button that might make Dayton lash out and say the unplanned.

  Dayton’s jaw tightened and released. “I won’t be made a patsy because I’m convenient. Now if you don’t mind, you need to leave the building.”

  Brody smiled. “I spoke to the medical examiner’s technician on the scene. She figures whoever cut Sheila’s arms and legs off used a hacksaw. The blade couldn’t have been so sharp ’cause it tore the hell out of her flesh. The head, she figured, was hacked off with a hatchet.” Brody shook his head. “Hell of a mess.”

  Dayton’s face tightened. “Christ, man, don’t you have a conscience?”

  Brody unfolded his arms and absently slid his hand to his belt loop, inches from his gun. “When it comes to men who hack up women, my soul is blacker than coal.”

  Dayton’s controlled expression slipped for a moment, revealing raw anger and hatred. “Get out.”

  Brody smiled. “You haven’t seen the last of us.”

  Santos shoved his notebook back in his pocket, his face a mask of controlled fury. “Don’t know about you, Ranger Winchester, but I’m looking forward to catching this killer. This kind of hunt makes me hard.”

  Brody smiled. “I smell blood.”

  Dayton straightened. “If you think you are going to intimidate me, think again. I’ll be lawyered up in the hour. I’ll have you both brought up on conduct charges.”

  Both Rangers laughed and turned to leave.

  Brody stepped back, stopped and retraced his steps back to Dayton. He lowered his voice so that not even Santos could hear. “If I hear that you go near Jo Granger or any of her family again, I’m coming after you.”

  Dayton’s gaze reflected cold steel. “What’s that pretty little liar saying about me now?”

  Brody’s teeth bared in a snarling smile. “I won’t warn you twice.”

  Candace’s hand trembled as she raised the cigarette to her mouth. She inhaled deeply, letting the smoke b
urn through her. She looked at the letter on the kitchen table. The neatly handwritten letter had come yesterday. It was from an attorney, and she’d had to sign for it. Now she regretted ever opening the envelope.

  She rose, and from the kitchen cupboard pulled out a bottle of whiskey. She filled a coffee cup to the brim before taking a liberal sip. For over thirty years she’d been running from her past, doing her best to make up for her sins. Most days were filled with so much activity that she fell into bed at night exhausted. And most days she didn’t think back.

  Now her days of running were over. The past had caught up.

  After Brody had left at sunrise, Jo had received a call later that morning from Rucker about the message she’d left on his phone last night. He’d been in surgery when Jo had called and not checked messages until the morning. He’d not been in her house. Was she all right? Did she need anything? She’d told him about Dayton and calling the cops. He’d listened quietly and told her he’d be keeping his phone close for the duration.

  The next message on her phone had been from Ellie. She was home, safe and pissed. “Jesus, Jo, the first nice guy I meet in months and you have to ruin it. Shit, stay out of my life, okay?”

  Jo stared in her bathroom mirror. She traced the line of her eyebrows, studied her nose in profile and peered into green eyes her mother always credited to her father.

  “But which father?” she muttered.

  She reached for the plastic DNA container, pulled out the cotton swab and rubbed it against the inside of her cheek. Satisfied she’d collected enough cheek cells, she replaced the swab in its plastic holder and dropped it into the mailing envelope. One way or another she’d have her answers in a couple of weeks.

  She turned from the mirror, dragging the packet with her. Minutes later, she was in her car and driving to the post office where she deposited the sample in the box. She had enough friends in the police department to get her DNA done locally and faster. But she didn’t want to face the inevitable questions, and God help her if Smith was her father and the results leaked out.