by Sandra Brown
"I guess a cigarette is out of the question."
She didn't even deign to answer, asking instead, "When are you going to tell us what happened? Has Oren Starks been captured?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"When I've had my coffee."
"You're just being mulish because I won't let you smoke."
"Sue me."
The drive-through line at McDonald's seemed interminable, but when they'd been fortified with steaming cups of coffee, Berry spoke from the backseat. "Now, Dodge. Start talking."
His summary of events was inadequate. Berry and Caroline began firing questions. "That's all I know," he said, talking over them. "Ski was called away before he could give me the details. He just said to get you back to Merritt, so that's what I'm doing. Besides, I want to get back there myself."
"You're tired of playing my babysitter."
He met Berry's eyes in the rearview mirror. "No. I just want to be there when this son of a bitch is captured. I didn't get face time with Creighton Wheeler, and I had a personal grudge against that guy for what he did to Maggie."
"Who's Maggie?"
"Derek's dog."
He told them the story of the Atlanta playboy who was now serving a life sentence in prison. "They've got him in a section for the really scary psychos, which is still too good for him. Kinda sad for his folks, though. For rich people, they're okay. Because of Creighton, most of their friends have abandoned them. Julie's good to them."
He rambled on. Berry realized he was doing so to keep her and her mother diverted during the drive to Merritt, but she didn't really mind. She now had a special interest in anything he said.
Having had her suspicion confirmed that he was her father, she'd found it hard to behave as though she was still in the dark about it. Even while rushing from the hotel, she had wanted to pause and study him. She was seeing him in a new light and wanted to learn everything she could about his life.
So she listened to his digressive monologue without interrupting, enjoying the sound of his gravelly voice, clinging to every word from his mouth, most of which were colorful, irreverent, or profane. Even though he talked largely about Derek and Julie Mitchell, Berry was able to piece together, from hints he inadvertently dropped, a few facts about his life. The picture that began taking shape in her mind was rather depressing.
As they approached their destination, he said, "Ski said we can join him at the scene if you can keep out of the way. Can you?"
She and Caroline promised not to do anything that would impede the investigation. Dodge rolled to a stop at the entrance gate of an RV park. A car with the sheriff's office insignia on the door was parked horizontally, blocking the road. A deputy got out and walked over to them, leaning down to address Dodge. "Mr. Hanley?"
"You got it."
"Follow this main road to the first fork. Go left. You'll see the commotion."
The deputy returned to his car and pulled it onto the grass long enough for Dodge to drive through the gate. The park was well maintained and pretty. Berry, thinking back on what Dodge had told them earlier, asked, "How old did Ski say they were?"
"Seventy-something."
"Lord," Caroline said. "Who could harm people that age?"
"Same person that could shoot a woman in the head, then zip her into a garment bag."
A hundred yards beyond the road fork, the tranquil RV park took on the appearance of an armed bivouac. Double the number of law enforcement agents were here as had been at the Walmart store the day before, and also twice the number of spectators, campers who had been awakened with shocking news.
Uniformed officers were questioning them in groups or singly. Others were speaking into walkie-talkies or cell phones. Some appeared to have nothing to do but were trying to look as though they did. A helicopter circled overhead, adding its noisy clapping to the scene.
Dodge got as close to the yellow crime scene tape as he could, parking next to an ambulance. Through its open rear doors Berry saw a man, who was much younger than seventy-something, being examined by an EMT. Dodge got out of the car and whistled shrilly. "Deputy!"
The young deputy named Andy turned, and, when he saw Dodge, his apple-cheeked face grew even redder with anger. He stalked toward them. Berry lowered her car window so she could hear what was being said.
Without preamble, the deputy said, "You got me in a heap of trouble with Ski."
Dodge didn't apologize for whatever the nature of the trouble had been. "Serves you right for being such a gullible bonehead. You'd be smart to learn a lesson from it. Where's Ski?"
"In the RV." Andy nodded toward a large gray RV with a bright blue wave painted on its side. All its doors were open. "Texas Rangers' CSU just finished in there. Ski's talking to them, but he told me to let him know when y'all got here." He reached for the walkie-talkie attached to his belt.
Dodge asked, "That the victim?" He was looking into the open ambulance.
The deputy shook his head. "They already transported the old folks to the hospital. That's the guy who found them. He had a spider bite. The ambulance was here, so--"
Ski's voice interrupted him through the walkie-talkie's speaker. "Go ahead."
"Hey, Ski. Andy. They're here."
"Five minutes."
They waited. A little more than five minutes later Ski stepped out of the RV. He spotted them immediately and came toward them, looking thin-lipped and grim. Berry got out of the car along with Caroline and joined Dodge just outside the yellow tape.
Ski ducked under it. His eyes searched Berry's for several seconds, then he said, "We know how Starks pulled the vanishing act from Walmart."
Talking in choppy phrases, he explained that Starks had hijacked the RV at gunpoint. "Elderly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Mittmayer. They'd just rolled in from Iowa. Planned on spending a couple days here before going down to Corpus Christi. They wanted to see Padre Island."
"What the hell were they doing at Walmart at three a.m.?" Dodge asked.
"They had planned to spend the night at a park in the Ozarks, but when they got there, it was overcrowded, no choice spots left, so they decided to drive on down here, their next scheduled stop. They pulled into the Walmart parking lot to pass the rest of the night until the check-in office here in the park opened the following morning.
"According to Mrs. Mittmayer, Starks limped up to their RV. He looked like he was in pain, in distress. Her kindhearted husband opened the door for him, despite her cautioning him against it.
"Starks lunged inside, hit the old man in the head with the butt of a pistol, knocked him out cold. He backhanded Mrs. Mittmayer and told her if she didn't stop screaming, he was going to shoot her husband first, then her. He bundled both of them into the back, tied them up, and gagged them."
Dodge dragged his hand down his face. Caroline was looking into the surrounding trees, shaking her head over the unnecessary cruelty. Ski locked eyes with Berry and held, then continued.
"At nine a.m. yesterday, Starks drove the RV here and forced Mrs. Mittmayer to go into the office and check in, as though nothing was wrong. He threatened to drive away and kill her husband if she gave him away."
"Where had they been in the meantime?" Berry asked. "Between Walmart and here?"
"Mrs. Mittmayer doesn't know. She was in the back, couldn't see out. Besides, she's unfamiliar with the area. All she knows is that they left Walmart, drove for about half an hour, then parked. Starks rummaged through their pantry, ate some bread and a can of tuna, drank two Diet Cokes.
"His leg was giving him a lot of pain, she said. When he raised his pants leg to examine it, she saw that it was grotesquely swollen and discolored. He took a handful of Advil he got from their medicine cabinet. Then he dozed."
"They didn't try to--"
Ski interrupted Dodge, shaking his head. "She was scared out of her wits. Worried about her husband. He was in and out of consciousness. His head was bleeding. She was afraid Starks would kill him if she so much as
moved.
"Starks roused himself at dawn. Ate some peanut butter crackers, drank another Diet Coke, took more pain reliever. Then he asked her where they'd been headed, and told her he would know if she was lying. She gave him the name of this park. He drove the RV here."
"Where it looked right at home," Berry observed out loud.
"They had a reservation and arrived as expected," Ski said, "so nobody was alerted to trouble. Once inside the park, Starks tied up and gagged Mrs. Mittmayer again. He dozed awhile longer, then washed up, exchanged his clothes for some of Mr. Mittmayer's, then locked them inside, unhitched their car, and drove away in it. This was about noon yesterday, while we were tracking him to the Walmart parking lot."
"He drove to Houston in their car. Made that call to Berry from near the stadium."
Ski agreed with Dodge's theory. "That's my best guess. We've got an APB out on the Mittmayers' car."
"How are the Mittmayers now?" Caroline asked.
"Your deputy told us that man there had found them," Dodge said.
The man with the spider bite was now talking to Andy. His arm was wrapped in gauze. "Neighboring camper," Ski said. "It took most of her strength, but Mrs. Mittmayer finally managed to worm her way over to a wall. She hammered on it with her fist. That guy had got up early this morning to go hiking, heard the pounding. He'd seen Starks unhitch the car and drive away yesterday, so he was curious as to who was inside the RV doing the knocking. He checked it out. Found them. She's basically okay, severely dehydrated. She's getting treated at the hospital."
Berry, along with Caroline and Dodge, looked at him expectantly.
He looked down at the ground, expelled his breath. "Her husband's skull was fractured. He didn't make it. He was seventy-six years old."
Dodge cursed. Caroline gave a sorrowful moan. Berry just stood there staring at Ski, futilely wishing none of this was happening.
"Mrs. Mittmayer identified Starks by his picture," Ski said. "The only good thing to come out of this is that he left indisputable evidence. Prints, DNA, an eyewitness. Add kidnapping to his other felonies. He'll be charged with a capital crime."
"Not if I catch him," Dodge muttered around the cigarette he was lighting, despite the bans against smoking in the area.
Ski said, "I wanted you to hear this firsthand, not on the news, not in snatches with rumors mingled in." Addressing Dodge, he said, "Take them home. There's a female deputy inside the lake house. Two outside patrolling the grounds and watching the lakefront. They're in constant touch with me and everyone else in the department."
Berry said, "For all we know, Oren is still in Houston."
"For all we know," Ski admitted. "But this indicates that he's going for broke. I'm not taking any chances."
"I'll drive them home," Dodge said, "but I'm coming back and joining the hunt."
Ski hesitated, then grudgingly agreed. Eager to get into the fray, Dodge hustled Caroline around to the passenger side of the car. Ski opened the back car door for Berry. "You okay?"
"Not at all okay."
"Since Friday night, you've received one shock after another."
Berry glanced over at Dodge and said softly, "They haven't all been bad."
Ski's cell phone rang. It was already in his hand; he raised it to his ear. "This is Nyland."
Instantly Berry could tell the call was urgent. He began talking rapidly. "Yeah. Yeah. Say again? Okay." He began walking quickly toward his SUV, then jogging. He ended the call and shouted back at Dodge. "They found the Mittmayers' car."
"My daughter says it's a sizable re-ward."
"Twenty-five thousand dollars."
The man smiled broadly, affording Ski a repugnant view of uneven, gapped teeth stained by chewing tobacco. "When can I collect?"
"Soon," Ski promised. "We're all a little busy right now."
"Trying to catch a fugitive from the law," the man said, nodding sagely.
"That's our priority, Mr. Mercury."
Ski had his cell phone to his ear. He'd been put on hold by his friend with the search dog business, otherwise he wouldn't be giving Ray Van Mercury-like-the-car this much of his precious time. The man was like a pesky flying insect, buzzing with seeming aimlessness but repeatedly coming back to the topic of Caroline King's reward like a housefly to a sugar cube.
"Ski, you still there?" his Army buddy asked into the phone.
"Give me some good news."
"Still trying to track somebody down. Instead of holding, want me to call you back?"
Ski impressed upon him the urgency of the situation.
"I hear ya."
His friend clicked off. "He has to call us back," Ski told Dodge, who'd had all of Ray Van Mercury-like-the-car he could stomach and had moved several yards away to smoke.
"Every minute we waste standing here, Starks is getting farther away," Dodge grumbled.
"Not if he's in there."
Ski looked into the forest. Footprints of athletic shoes, like the ones that Starks had bought at Walmart and that had been described by Mrs. Mittmayer as the kind of footwear he'd been wearing, led from the elderly couple's abandoned compact car into the densest part of the Big Thicket. No-man's-land.
The Big Thicket National Preserve had countless legends and mysteries associated with it, everything from a resident Sasquatch to capricious lights with no traceable source. Famous outlaws of Texas lore had eluded capture in its endless bogs and dense forests.
It was a popular destination for outdoor activities. There were campgrounds, marked trails, and waterways navigable by fishing boats and canoes, but many of the preserve's vast, off-limits acreage was composed of twisting bayous, monotonous swamps, and forests too dense for a gnat to wiggle through, much less a human being. It was a teeming habitat for poisonous snakes and other reptiles, biting insects, and carnivorous predators.
Dodge said, "I don't see why we can't just--"
"I've told you why," Ski snapped. "You don't know what it's like in there. We'd lose his tracks, and then I'd have men going in circles, getting lost, getting tangled up in brambles, getting bogged down--literally--looking for a needle in a haystack. Worse than that, actually."
Ray Van Mercury piped up. "Lucky for y'all I found the car. Or he'd've got clean away."
He was a tough, spry old man. Ski estimated he weighed no more than 130. He had a greasy gray braid that hung down his back to his waist. His lined skin was as brown and wrinkled as a walnut shell, and a lot of it was exposed because all he had on was a pair of grimy jeans unevenly cut off at his knobby knees.
"Yep, lucky for y'all I decided to go fishing this morning. You know," he said, lowering his voice to a confidential pitch, "you ain't s'pposed to go wandering off the trails in the Thicket. You ain't s'pposed to fish 'cept in designated areas. Them park rangers'll get you good, they catch you at it. But I ain't never got caught and I ain't gonna. I've been in the Thicket all my life. I've slithered through parts of it a pissant couldn't get through.
"My mama was one of the Alabama-Coushatta tribe. I know, I know, I don't look like one of them people. I took after my daddy. So Mama said. I never laid eyes on the man myself. He was an oil man. Weren't no good at it. Dry holes was all he ever drilled. Got on the fightin' side of some of his investors. One night under cover of darkness, he took off, leavin' my mama with me still in her belly. So anyhow..." He paused to spit some brown stringy stuff into the underbrush, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Where was I?"
"At the part where I'm gonna kill you if you don't shut the hell up," Dodge growled.
Mercury tilted his head at Ski like an inquisitive bird. "What's the matter with him?"
"He's worried that our fugitive will escape capture. Why don't you wait over there, Mr. Mercury, so you'll be handy if we need any further information."
"Over there?" he asked, pointing to the row of official vehicles parked along the ditch.
"Way over there," Dodge said.
"My daughter give you our ph
one number, right? So's you can call and let me know where I can pick up the re-ward?"
Ski patted his shirt pocket. "Right here."
He grinned at them again and set off in a bowlegged trot.
"Oil man, my ass," Dodge said. "His mama screwed her brother."
Ski's phone rang. He answered it, listened, then said, "I owe you one," and immediately hung up. "He's got a trainer on the way. Twenty minutes at the outside. I'll let the others know."
At the RV park, a deputy had been assigned to follow Caroline and Berry to the lake house and to see them safely inside, where the female deputy waited. In the meantime, Ski and Dodge had clambered into Ski's SUV and sped to the spot several miles away where Ray Van Mercury had found the abandoned car.
Mercury-like-the-car lived with his daughter and her three children in a mobile home less than a quarter mile outside the perimeter of the Thicket.
He'd been on his way to his favorite fishing hole when he discovered the car. Had his eye not been so keen and familiar with the Thicket, he might have walked right past without seeing it. It had been left in a jumble of brambles and dense foliage. Not one to interfere in other people's business, Mr. Mercury had continued on, fished until he had a plentiful catch strung onto his rope belt, then returned to the trailer, where he'd mentioned the car to his daughter as she was gutting the fish.
He'd told Ski she "flew into a tizzy." "I don't pay no attention to news shows because the only thing on TV fit to watch is Vanna White and old-timey westerns," he'd said. But his daughter caught the news each morning. She'd heard about the fugitive and the elderly couple he had left tied up in their RV when he'd stolen their car. She'd called the sheriff's office, and when Ski arrived at her trailer, Ray Van Mercury had shown him and Dodge to the car's hiding place.
Within an hour, Ski had mustered a sizable search party that included a number of reserve deputies, DPS officers, one man from Merritt's municipal police department who was a notch above the rest, two agents from the nearest FBI office, and several Texas Rangers.