by V. B. Tenery
Unable to sleep in the SUV, she watched through the Land Rover’s tinted windows as they traveled through mostly desert country. She caught a glimpse of the Chisos Mountain’s Casa Grande peak, and knew she was in Big Bend country, the largest protected area of Chihuahuan desert landscape and ecology in America. Mountains and canyons made a great place to hide.
She gave an involuntary shiver. Big Bend National Park was hostile country. It sat on more than a million acres that bordered one hundred and eighteen miles of the Rio Grande and covered two counties—an area larger than the state of Rhode Island. The climate could only be characterized as one of extremes. Too hot or too cold.
As a teenager, she’d hiked the many trails and through temple-like canyons carved in limestone by raging rivers of the past. She’d walked through deep gorges with nearly vertical walls and loved every minute of it. But it wasn’t a place you wanted to be stranded, especially on foot and without supplies.
The chilled, cloudless afternoon revealed what looked like an old Cavalry fort. A high wooden fence covered acres of arid land. A catwalk with gun towers around the perimeter stood stark and menacing. Mass paranoia in full bloom.
The gate swung open, revealing hundreds of mobile homes of every size and condition, from new to old and rusted. She wondered where the financing came from for an operation of this size.
“So what do you think, Luc?” Hank asked.
She didn’t answer. She was too busy figuring out how she was going to escape.
The first whiff of air inside the compound told Lucy where part of the money came from. The unmistakable stench of a meth lab filled the enclosed area. The second clue was a paint shop with six luxury cars parked outside.
A lab meant most of the folks here were likely meth users, with an unlimited supply. And the bad teeth and skin on the two in the Hummer she’d met confirmed her suspicions.
Not good news.
As the car moved farther into the compound, children played kickball among various species of cactus and a few desert marigolds that added color to the otherwise dreary landscape.
The kids stopped their game and watched as the car passed. Visitors were probably their biggest form of entertainment. Without electricity, there would be no television or games in this remote area. Generators would have to be used to power the meth operation.
The driver parked the car in front of a new double-wide with metal skirting and a wide deck. Hank grabbed her arm, dragged her across the seat, then shoved her up the steps through the front door.
The place was nice and clean, even though cheaply furnished. It was very clean. But that was one of Hank’s fetishes. His second wife must be his new slave.
A thin, almost skeletal, woman sat at the dining room table, drinking from a ceramic mug labeled Don’t worry, be Hopi. Long, stringy hair framed her sore-marked face, the tell-tale signs of a meth addict.
The glance she sent Lucy’s way held unabashed hatred. “So this is the ex-wife.”
“Yep,” Hank said, and then to Lucy, “this is Abby.”
“You want some coffee?” Abby asked.
“Pour two cups and we’ll join you.”
The woman stood and slammed her chair back in place. “I’ll pour yours; she can get her own. I’m not going to wait on her.”
Hank was enjoying his wife’s discomfort. “Her hands are tied, stupid. Pour two cups and don’t give me any lip.”
Abby stomped away and returned with the coffee, which she banged on the table in front of Lucy.
Hank removed the cuffs and Lucy took grateful sips. The coffee was surprisingly good. When she’d finished, Hank lifted her out of the chair by her arm and pushed her down the hallway into one of the bedrooms, then closed the door behind him. He leaned back against the portal, holding her arms. “Just like old times, Luc.” One arm slid around her waist, his other hand behind her head, jerking her closer. He placed a hard, cruel kiss on her lips.
Past memories flooded her mind, and she was filled with revulsion and uncontrollable anger. She brought her heel down on his instep with all her weight.
He cursed, drew back his hand, and slapped her across the room. It happened so fast, she had no time to brace for the impact. Her head bashed into the bed frame, sending fingers of hot pain through her temple. She forced her eyes open and fought off the nausea, warding off the blackness. She must remain conscious.
Abby screamed from the other side of the door. “Hank, what are you doing in there?”
He chuckled and called back. “Just making sure she won’t get free.” With a tight grip on her shirt, he lifted Lucy from the floor, pulled a pair of restraints from his pocket, secured her wrists and ankles, and then pushed her to a sitting position on the bed. “I don’t want you going anywhere. I’ll see you later. Now, I’m going to get my sons.”
CHAPTER 14
Twin Falls Police Station
Twin Falls, Texas
Matt left Sara asleep at six that morning and headed back to the station. He, Davis, and Stein had stayed at police headquarters until after midnight. He felt guilty about leaving Sara alone so much. They’d been married less than a month and he’d come in late too many nights after she’d gone to bed. Not the way he’d wanted his marriage to begin. Thoughts of retirement were beginning to look good. But sleeping in today wasn’t an option. With the Davenport case still open, and Lucy missing, it was a gathering storm of no small proportion, and he and one of his people was dead center in the eye.
Davis pulled into the parking lot just ahead of Matt. They exited their vehicles and met at the station’s back entrance. Davis wore his usual showroom style, but his face was haggard.
“Anything new on the Davenport case?” Matt asked.
“Chris and Cole are backtracking Bauer’s and Eden’s cell phone calls and looking at car rental agencies. Grunt work, but other than that we’re stalled.”
They found Ben Stein already brewing coffee in the conference room, his eyes puffy, and looking like he’d spent a night as sleepless as Matt’s own. He’d heard rumors that Stein and Lucy were an item. Stein’s miserable countenance appeared to confirm it.
Sheriff Joe Wilson and FBI agent Alan Forbes showed up right behind Matt, followed by Detectives Chris Hunter and Cole Allen.
Matt sent the younger detective out for donuts and sandwiches. He didn’t want any of the players to leave until they had a plan of action in place to find Lucy. He prayed to God they weren’t already too late.
Everyone grabbed coffee and donuts, then Forbes took the lead as they chose a seat around the conference table. He opened a thin folder he’d brought with him, removed photocopies, and passed them around.
“We’ve had Hank Turner on our radar for a while, but not under surveillance. Until now, he hasn’t broken any laws we’re aware of. The sheet I passed out lists the locations of some known supremacist camps.” Forbes walked over to the large map on the wall and picked up a pointer. “A couple in the piney woods of East Texas, a couple in the hill country, and one near Big Bend. All of them are stockpiling weapons. No surprise there. Except for a few local clashes with town folks, they’ve kept their noses pretty clean. I alerted field agents in those areas to check leads to Turner’s whereabouts. My people can ask to look inside their property, and if they agree, all is good. At present, we don’t have sufficient grounds for a search warrant unless or until we sight Turner or can tie them to him.”
“Thanks, Alan. We appreciate the information. It’s a place to start,” Matt said.
Joe Wilson leaned back in his chair. His bulk made the springs squeak. “I’ve sent out a BOLO and copies of Turner’s mugshot to the sheriffs in these counties. The skinheads have to go into town to buy supplies. With any luck, deputies or nearby townspeople may know where Turner is holed up.”
Matt glanced sharply at Ben Stein. “You think he’s coming back for his kids?”
“I’d lay money on it,” Stein said.
“Then we need to prepare for that. Pla
nt decoys in Lucy’s home. Any of our officers small enough to pass for a twelve-year-old boy?”
“Maybe a couple of women, if he doesn’t look too close,” Stein said.
“We’ll make sure he doesn’t get that close.” Matt pushed back his chair. “See what you can find, Ben. Put one of our guys inside with the impersonator, and a couple of unmarked cars in the neighborhood. Keep them there in rotating shifts until we find Lucy.”
Matt folded the sheet the agent had given him and placed it inside his jacket pocket. “Thanks, Joe, Allan, for your help.” He glanced around the table at his people. “We all know what we need to do. Let’s get to it.”
Supremacist Compound
Near Big Bend National Park
Lucy awoke stiff and thirsty. With her hands and feet tied, movement had been restricted, and her mouth felt like it had been packed with sponges. She’d searched the room last night for something to cut the plastic ties until, exhausted, she’d fallen asleep. Bars on the one window made her wonder if they’d been installed just for her. For now, her kidneys were sending an urgent message.
Rolling to a sitting position, she struggled to her feet and hopped to the door. “Hey, Abby. I need to use the bathroom.”
No answer.
She tried again. Knocked, and then yelled. “I know you’re out there and I need to use the toilet, bad.”
This time she heard hesitant footsteps. The door creaked opened. The poor woman looked worse than she had yesterday. Her hair was mussed and the clothes she wore hung on her thin frame as limp as if on a clothes hanger. The gray tint to her skin underscored her unhealthy condition, and her pupils were pinpoints, eyes glazed over. She was feeling no pain
Abby stepped back from the door. “Come on, I’ll show you the way.”
“I can’t follow you. You need to untie me.”
“No way. I can’t do that.”
“I can’t walk with the ties on my ankles. You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
Abby gave a sardonic laugh. “No, I’m afraid of him.”
“Come on. I need to go, bad.”
She gave a weary shake of her head, then stepped into the kitchen, brought back a knife, and cut the ties. “He’s going to beat the crap out of me.”
When she finished in the bathroom, Lucy came back into the dining room.
Abby sat at the table, coffee in front of her, head resting in her hands, tears rolling freely down her gaunt cheeks.
“May I have some of that?” Lucy said, indicating the coffee.
Abby didn’t answer, just waved a hand towards the counter.
Lucy grabbed a cup, filled it, and then sat across from the frightened woman. She knew that, with little effort, she could overpower Abby and leave. Heck, a five-year-old could take her. But she felt only pity. Besides, getting out of the trailer wasn’t the problem. Getting out of the compound was the major hurdle. “What changed your mind? You were so angry with me yesterday.”
“Who says I changed my mind? I had one of my lucid moments last night and realized you were no threat to me. You used to be in the same situation I’m in, but you got lucky.”
“Not exactly. I wasn’t into drugs, and he wasn’t into white supremacy. Where does Hank’s money come from? I know about the meth lab and car thefts.” Lucy waved her hand around the room. “But I doubt that’s enough to pay for all this.”
“He’s also into human trafficking. He even sends those poor people to help me keep this place spotless.”
“Why don’t you leave him, Abby? It will never get any better; you have to know that.”
Arms crossed on the table, she lowered her head, and sobs shook her thin shoulders.
Lucy came around the table and stroked the woman’s hair until the tears were gone. With swollen eyes, her face red and puffy, Abby raised her gaze to Lucy. “Look at me. Just look at me. I’m an addict, and I’m so ugly I couldn’t even make a living as a hooker.” She gulped back another sob. “I don’t have anyone, except my no-account brother who’s worse off than I am; except he doesn’t get knocked around by a bully twice his size on a regular basis.”
Lucy placed her hand over Abby’s rough one. How long had it been since anyone had shown her even a tiny bit of compassion? “Crack does some ugly things to the human body, but it’s reversible once you get clean. Help me get out of here, and I’ll get you into a detox program. That’s the only chance you have.”
Abby snorted and her mouth twisted downward. “And why would you do that?”
“Because I’ve been where you are.”
“If I help you,” she closed her eyes for a moment before continuing, “you’ll have to take me with you. Otherwise, he’ll kill me.”
Lucy went back into the kitchen, brought out the coffee pot, and filled both their cups. “Deal. This is your playground, so how do we get out of here before Hank returns? Do you have a phone?”
“Are you kidding? You think Hank would give me a phone to call someone for help?”
“Dumb question. There wouldn’t be any land lines here or towers for cell service.”
“Hank has a sat-phone, but he keeps it with him.”
Lucy downed the last sip of coffee. “Before we make a break for it, I need a shower.”
“I have some clothes I think you can wear. I used to be about your size.” She went to her room and returned with a pair of leopard print slacks and a low cut black sweater. She handed them to Lucy.
Eyeing the outfit, her distaste must have registered on her face.
“I know it’s not your style, but it’s all I’ve got. Take it or leave it.” Abby reached to take the clothes back.
Too late, Lucy realized she’d offended her new partner. She hugged the outfit to her chest. “I’ll keep it. I was just thinking I should be as inconspicuous as possible.”
She showered and dressed quickly, slipping her jacket on over the sweater. The least of her worries was that the fashion police would catch her in this outfit.
She wasn’t completely sure she could trust Abby, but her reluctant agreement to help seemed sincere. The woman didn’t have to cut the restraints. She could have called for help to come escort Lucy to the bathroom. She could also have had someone re-apply the plastic cuffs and leg restraints, which seemed to be abundant in the Turner household. But the most significant reason Lucy was inclined to trust Abby… Hank’s new wife had that desperate look that abused women wore...a badge of courage.
Twin Falls Police Station
Twin Falls, Texas
There was a note to call Sheriff Gates on Matt’s desk, when he arrived at the station that morning. He punched in the number and waited while a deputy made the connection. “Walt, this is Matt Foley returning your call.”
“Thanks for getting back to me. We did some checking on Dr. Russell’s financial situation, and he’s strapped. He pays hefty child support, and his practice overhead is heavy. He recently took out a second mortgage on his home. Bottom line, his parents’ death came at an opportune time. The inheritance will put him in the black for the rest of his life. He’s an only child, so it all goes to him.”
“I haven’t met the doctor, Walt. What does your gut tell you?”
“Experience has taught me you can’t build a case on hunches, and the facts certainly make him our number-one suspect.”
“But?” Matt said.
“I don’t think he did it. Nor does he appear to be the kind of guy who would know where to hire a hit-man.”
“Has he taken the second polygraph?” Matt asked.
“Yeah,” the sheriff said. “The same results as last time. Inconclusive. It’s not unheard of. Some people are just impossible to get a good reading on. That’s why they’re not allowed as evidence in the court room. Any news on your kidnapped detective?”
“Nothing yet. We’re hoping for a break soon.”
“I wish you luck. I know Lucy Turner. We met at a couple of functions here. She’s a good cop.”
“That she is,” Ma
tt said. “Thanks for the update. I’ll let you know if anything breaks here.”
Supremacist Compound
Near Big Bend National Park
Heart in her throat, Abby made her way to the meth lab in search of her brother, Clint. She had a feeling this escape plan was going to go south and leave her at Hank’s mercy, and he couldn’t even spell the word.
If Clint suspected what she was up to, he wouldn’t hesitate to hold her and Lucy until Hank returned, and then Hank would kill them both.
The room was unbearably hot, with four stoves covered with boiling pots of meth. She wondered if the drugs were making her schizophrenic. Sometimes she thought she heard voices, like now. Not actual voices, but thoughts that flooded her mind. Run. Go back home where it’s safe. You owe Lucy Turner nothing. She’s just using you like everyone else. And on and on they went until she wanted to scream. She’d lived with debilitating fear for so long, it was all she knew. A new life free of Hank and drugs was a dream she’d never dared to consider. But what Lucy told her was true. If she didn’t leave Hank, eventually he would kill her.
Clint must have seen her when she came in. She held her breath and watched him cross to her. He marched across to where she stood, stopping her from coming any farther into the room. “What are you doing here? You need a hit?”
She screwed up her courage and quelled the tremor in her voice. “No, I’ve got plenty at home. I need a car.” The request wasn’t too unusual. She’d done it before; not often, but often enough that it shouldn’t send up any red flags.
“What do you need a car for? You didn’t leave that woman unattended, did you?”
“Yes, but she’s tied and locked in her room.”
“Abby, if she gets away, Hank will gut you and throw the remains to the cougars.”
“I know that, don’t I?” she said. “Where can I get a car? I need to get away from here. He has some nerve bringing his ex-wife into my home.” She hoped her acting was better received by her brother than it had been with Hank.