Close but not too close.
And then her eyes fell on the one item in the cabin that didn’t look like it belonged to Payton Penn. On the mantel above the fireplace, between an empty beer can and an empty DVD case for something called Barely Legal: Volume 23, was a small antique clock, about the size of a tissue box, with ornate Roman numerals on the face. It didn’t strike Keri as Payton’s style. In addition, it read 6:37 and the time right now was 12:09.
She walked over and picked it up. It was much lighter than she expected and she could hear a rattle inside. She felt around the edges until her finger brushed against a small indentation in the wood on the bottom. She pushed it and the entire underside of the clock popped off. Inside was a small cubby holding a cheap flip phone.
Keri took it out and looked at the call log. Starting three weeks ago, several calls came to Payton from different phone numbers. She dialed them one by one. The first one was a payphone. The second one was a different payphone; same for the third, and the fourth. Then, on the seventh number, after six rings, the call went to a brief voicemail.
“Leave a message.” The voice was bland and unremarkable, but Keri knew this had to be Ashley’s abductor. She put all the numbers in her own phone, carefully returned Payton’s to the clock, put it back on the mantel, and left the cabin.
Once back in her car and driving down Payton’s endless driveway, she made three calls. The first was to Detective Edgerton, back at the station. He was the tech guru of the unit. She gave him all the numbers and asked him to trace their locations. She also gave him the Yahoo user name “bambamrider22487.” She was almost certain it was an anonymous account. This guy was much more careful than Payton. Then she put Edgerton on hold while she called Sheriff Courson. She kept it short and to the point.
“Sheriff, I’m headed out of town but I realized no one has secured Payton Penn’s cabin. Our CSU team won’t be there for another hour or so. I would hate for anyone, say a fancy LA lawyer, to head out there and ‘clean up’ the place. Maybe you could have one of your people secure it until our team gets there.”
“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Detective,” Courson agreed. “We’ll have someone out there in ten minutes.
“Thank you,” she said before switching back to Edgerton, who was ready with the information she needed.
Her next call was to Ray but it went straight to voicemail. That wasn’t a shock as he was probably making his way up through the mountains to Twin Peaks right now and in an area with limited service. She left a message anyway.
“Ray. I hope you get this soon. Payton Penn is involved. I found e-mails between him and a hired kidnapper in the cabin. I also found a burner phone with numbers in the log. Edgerton traced them for me. The last one had an address and a name—Alan Jack Pachanga, thirty-two. He’s been in and out of lockup since he was a teenager, mostly for assault, armed robbery, and other good stuff. But he’s stayed off the radar for the last couple of years. He lives on a farm near Acton. Edgerton can give you the exact details if you call him. I’m headed there now. At this time of day, with sirens, I figure it’ll take me a little over an hour. Maybe you want to join me? I’ll try to hold off until you get there. But you know me, always doing something dumb.”
She hung up and tossed the phone on the passenger seat, realizing she must still be a little pissed at her partner for not backing her up earlier. Or was there something more to it?
She pushed the thought out of her head. They’d work out their issues later.
As Keri pulled onto Highway 138 and headed west, she put the siren on her roof and gunned the accelerator, going as fast as the mountain road would allow.
Hold on, Ashley. I’m coming.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Tuesday
Early Afternoon
The quickest way to Acton from Twin Peaks was to take Highway 138 west as it cut through and skirted just north of the Angeles National Forest. Much of the way was only two lanes but with her siren on, drivers pulled quickly to the side and she was able to make decent time. In just over an hour she had merged with Highway 14 in the Antelope Valley and was nearing the outskirts of Acton, where Pachanga’s farm was located.
She passed the entrance to the place, which was gated and locked with a chain, and drove another quarter mile before turning around. She pulled off the road about a hundred yards from the farm and eased the Prius along the dirt shoulder, settling behind an overgrown high patch of bushes that would hide it pretty well unless someone got close.
She got out her binoculars and tried to get a sense of the farm. Unfortunately, the dirt road—more of a trail really—led up a hill and she couldn’t see what was on the other side of the rise.
She grabbed her phone to call Ray, whom she hadn’t heard from. Only then did she realize why. Now she didn’t have cell service. It wasn’t really a shock so far out. In retrospect, she should have called him when she was passing near Palmdale, where she surely would have had reception.
She noticed the blinking envelope icon and realized she had a text, although she hadn’t heard it come in. It was from Ray and read:
“Arrived Twin Peaks. Got your message. En route to farm. Don’t be stupid. Wait for me.”
The timestamp was 1:03, about a half hour ago. If he drove as quickly as she did, he would arrive in about thirty minutes, at just after two. Could she wait that long?
Keri’s thoughts went to Jackson Cave. Payton Penn had obviously spoken to him. What if he’d told Cave to contact Pachanga and tell him that capture was imminent and he should dispose of any evidence of their crime, including Ashley? It wasn’t a far-fetched concern. If that had happened, she might already be too late. Waiting another half hour would be irresponsible.
She had no choice.
She had to go in.
*
Keri grabbed her gun and binoculars, put on her bulletproof vest and a pair of sunglasses, and walked across the quiet road to Pachanga’s property.
Arriving at the gate to the farm, Keri noted that while it and the chain were rusted over, the padlock for them was shiny and brand new. A grungy sign read:
Private Property.
No Trespassing.
Rather than try to climb over it, she shimmied between the barbed wire fencing that ran along the entire property and started up the hill. She didn’t walk on the road itself, in case a car suddenly appeared, but about ten yards next to it, where she could drop into the dense shrubbery to hide.
When she neared the top of the hill, Keri got on her stomach and crawled the rest of the way. She poked her head up and saw the entire area.
At one time, it must have been a working farm. There were marked fields, a grain silo, a barn, and a farmhouse. But it clearly hadn’t been used for that purpose in many years. The fields were littered with weeds and several old tractors, silently standing guard. It fact, multiple rusted-out vehicles dotted the property. None appeared to be operational. The barn looked to be falling apart. And the silo was rusted over. A dry creek bed cut the middle of the property in half.
There wasn’t much cover for her to get down the hill and look around. She’d have to crawl another fifty yards through the brush before reaching a wooded area that ran along the creek to the farmhouse. From there she could use some of the trees and abandoned cars to hide her approach to the silo and the barn. It would be slow going but she could do it.
She checked her phone one last time—still no signal. She put it on silent as a precaution, slid the binoculars into her pocket, and started down the hill.
Ten minutes later, she reached the farmhouse. The front door was shut and locked. She circled the house, crouching, peering into windows, but didn’t see any movement. She headed for the barn, darting behind a wheel-less station wagon and several trees along the way.
She reached the entrance and looked in. She didn’t see anyone but in the middle of the barn, right below the hayloft, was a shiny red pickup truck.
Pachanga must be here som
ewhere!
He must have put the vehicle here in the barn to keep it hidden from the road. She carefully made her way over to it and looked in the open window. The keys were in the ignition.
Keri quietly pulled them out and shoved them in her pants pocket. At least now, if she found Ashley, she had a way to get her out. And unless one of those tractors could be fired up, Pachanga wouldn’t have a way to follow.
A loud metal banging sound shook her out her self-congratulatory daydream.
She hurried back out and around the barn to see where it had come from.
A man was working his way down the ladder fixed on the side of the silo. The sound must have been him closing the hatch at the top. She couldn’t see his face but his hair was sun-bleached blond. He wore jeans, work boots and a white T-shirt that contrasted with his deeply tanned skin. From what Keri could tell, he wasn’t especially tall, maybe five-ten. But his frame was thick and muscular. She guessed he weighed over 200 pounds and his biceps burst against the sleeves of his shirt.
Keri couldn’t help but wonder if this was the Collector. Was this the man who had taken Evie? He was blond and she had thought she saw blond hair under the cap of Evie’s abductor. But that man had a tattoo on his neck and Pachanga clearly didn’t.
Of course, hair could be changed and tattoos removed. But something didn’t match. This guy looked to be younger, somewhere around thirty. So he would have been in his mid-twenties when Evie was taken. But Keri remembered there were wrinkles near the outside of the other man’s eyes—a detail she hadn’t recalled until this very moment. Evie’s abductor was probably forty or older.
Keri felt herself sliding into one of her mournful reveries and shook herself out of it. This wasn’t the time or the place. She had a job to do and she couldn’t afford to have a grief blackout right now.
Pachanga reached the bottom of the ladder and turned around, wiping the sweat from his brow with his forearm. Keri was stunned at how handsome he was. He had azure blue eyes and a crooked smile. It wasn’t hard to imagine Ashley approaching the van just to get a closer look at him.
Pachanga glanced around the property for a moment, then disappeared into the base of the silo through a metal door that he closed behind him.
Keri moved quickly through the trees until she was just outside the door. There were no windows in the silo and she was pretty sure she couldn’t be detected. She placed her ear to the door and slowed her breathing so it wouldn’t interfere with her hearing.
She could identify a voice. It was male and the words were low and calm. She couldn’t understand what he was saying but he sounded almost playful. Then she heard another voice—louder, scared and female. She was mostly whimpering but spoke intermittently. Her words were slurred, like she’d been drugged. Keri couldn’t understand much of what she said. But two were clear:
“Please! No!”
Keri checked her weapon, removed the safety, took a long, slow, deep breath, and then quietly and slowly turned the door handle. She pulled the door open just enough to peek inside. She could hardly believe her eyes.
Ashley Penn was lying on what looked to be a doctor’s examination table, propped up forty-five degrees at the head. Her legs were strapped into stirrups and her arms were stretched down to the base of the table with leather straps. Her head was stuck in some kind of vise that prevented her from moving it. She was wearing only panties and a bra and her entire body was caked in blood and some brown substance. Something was wrong with her left wrist, which hung limply in its strap. Her right lower leg also looked bad. It was a deep purple and horribly swollen. A device next to the table beeped and Keri saw each strap tighten and pull on Ashley’s limbs about a half inch. She screamed in pain.
It’s like some automated version of the medieval rack. If this goes on much longer, her arms and legs will be ripped from her body.
Keri forced herself not to run right over to the girl. There was no sign of Pachanga. Keri poked her head around the door to see if he was hiding behind it—nothing. Then she noticed another door a few feet behind the table. It was slightly ajar. He must have gone in there.
Keri looked back at Ashley and saw that the girl was looking directly back at her. Keri put her finger to her lips to indicate silence and stepped inside. Ashley seemed to be desperately trying to form a word without success. Keri glanced at the little table by the door and noticed a small black-and-white monitor on it.
As she stared at it, trying to identify the image on the screen, Ashley managed to blurt out one word:
“Beeyyind!”
Everything after that seemed to happen all at once. Keri realized the monitor was connected to a security camera that was trained on the main silo door. And as she processed that Pachanga must have seen her on it, Ashley’s single word became clear in her head.
Behind!
At that moment, on the monitor, she saw an image flash into view and realized it was Alan Jack Pachanga—and that he was right behind her.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Tuesday
Early Afternoon
Keri saw the lead pipe in Pachanga’s hands on the monitor. He was holding it overhead, preparing to swing it down toward her gun hand, hoping to knock the weapon loose and shatter her forearm in the process.
She spun quickly to her right. The pipe came down hard where her hand used to be but now it was her left shoulder there. She felt a crunch as her collarbone gave way. She fell backward to the ground, screaming in pain, temporarily blinded by bright white flashes of agony.
As her vision cleared, she saw Pachanga bearing down on her, only steps away. She raised her right hand and fired. His howl told her she’d hit him but she wasn’t sure where. He collapsed on top of her and rolled to the floor beside her. For half a second she thought he was dead.
But he wasn’t. She saw him clutching at his right leg and realized she’d hit him in the upper thigh. She pulled the gun across her body to take a second shot. But he saw her move, grabbed the pipe, and swung it at her, knocking it out of her hand along with the pipe. Both went flying off across the silo floor and stopped under the table Ashley was lying on.
Pachanga leapt at her. Before Keri could stop him, the man had grabbed her arms, pinned them to the ground, and was climbing on top of her. He was unbelievably strong.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am. Sorry it’s under less than preferable circumstances,” he said before punching her in the face.
Keri felt her eye socket crack and once again a shower of light exploded in her brain. She prepared for a second punch but it didn’t come. Another scream from the corner of the room told Keri that Ashley’s limbs had been pulled another half inch apart. She looked up through watery eyes to see Pachanga smiling down at her.
“You know, you’re real pretty for a lady of your advanced years. I was supposed to keep the specimen over there unsullied for negotiating purposes. I could only do limited experiments. But I don’t have any such limitations with you. I think I may have to make you my special experiment, if you know what I mean. Do you know what I mean?”
Amazingly, he was smiling warmly, as if he’d just asked her out for a cup of coffee. Keri didn’t respond, which seemed to make him unhappy. His wide grin twisted into an ugly grimace. Without warning he reared back and punched Keri in the rib, the very same one that was already throbbing from her struggle with Johnnie Cotton.
If it wasn’t broken before, it definitely was now. Keri gasped for air, so shot through with pain that she didn’t know where to focus. She could hear Pachanga talking but his words were drowned out by the roar of anguish in her own head.
“…gonna get to see my True Self. Not many specimens have had the privilege. But I can tell you’re special. You found my Home Base all on your own. That must mean you chose to be here with me. I’m flattered.”
Keri feared she was going to pass out. If that happened, it was over. She had to do something fast to change the dynamic. Pachanga was prattling on in some kind of delusional ec
stasy, talking about home bases and true selves. She didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. His eyes were bright with madness and he was drooling slightly. He seemed oblivious to his leg wound, which was bleeding profusely. The wound—she had an idea.
“Hey,” she said, interrupting his speech. “Why don’t you shut it, you pathetic little loser.”
The rapturous fervor in his eyes disappeared, replaced by fury.
He raised his fist above his head again, ready to pummel her once more. But this time when he did, Keri dug her thumb hard into his bullet wound. He fell off her to the ground. Keri was prepared for that and rolled with him, keeping her thumb in the hole in his flesh, digging hard, rooting around, refusing to break contact. With her left hand, she pulled the pickup truck keys from her pocket, bunched them together and, ignoring the lightning bolt of pain that rocked her from shoulder to fingertip, jabbed down hard at Pachanga’s face. She got him once in the cheek, ripping a gaping hole in it, and once in the left eye before he managed to break free and scramble away.
As he did, Keri used the table to pull herself to her feet. She looked at her assailant. He was curled up in a ball, his hands to his face, blood pouring through his fingers. She started to make a move toward the gun but as she did, Pachanga dropped his hands and stared at her with his one working eye. He knew what she was after and he wasn’t going to let her get to it. Ashley screamed again as the machine stretched her limbs once more.
There were no good choices here so Keri made the only one she could. She turned and ran out the silo door.
*
She waited until she’d made it about fifty yards before glancing back at the silo. She knew she’d never be able to reach the gun. Her only chance to save Ashley and herself was to draw Pachanga away from the girl; to keep his focus on her.
A Trace of Death (A Keri Locke Mystery--Book #1) Page 18