Her Last Breath - Debt Collector 9 (A Jack Winchester Thriller)

by Jon Mills

  He trudged back. “I saw the phone receiver hanging and thought…”

  “I was using the washroom.”

  He exhaled a sigh of relief. For a second there he thought she’d been scooped out from underneath his nose. They went back inside to collect her belongings before heading out.

  “Jack, sorry but unfortunately I won’t be able to take you to see that client’s cabin because they need me in early. Seems Bonnie didn’t show up for work this morning. She probably got held up with her kid. Anyway… I’ll draw you a map.” She leaned over the table and scribbled out a rough map on a napkin, jotting down the address and marking the location of the cabin before handing it over.

  “I’ll give you a lift back in. I have to drop by Peter Dixon’s house.”

  They ventured out unaware that someone was watching nearby.

  Back on the highway, the rain started again. A light mist grew thick the closer they got to Marlinton, stretching across like a ghostly apparition. He kept his distance staying one vehicle behind them at all times. His headlights did very little to illuminate the road before him. The dark, heavy clouds squeezed out what blue remained. He’d come so close to them, sitting in his vehicle outside, watching them through the window. How could he associate with that whore? Did they honestly think they could ensnare him? He hadn’t made it this far without learning how to deflect attention away from himself.

  No one was going to stop him from continuing his work. It was a calling, of that he was certain. Still, he didn’t like that they were getting close, snooping around and asking questions.

  He gripped the wheel tightly and glanced down at his passenger side seat. Organized in a small pile were a pair of leather gloves, a taser and some drug paraphernalia. He’d passed by her, smelled her hair and wondered what it would be like to take one in the daylight. He’d always been so particular about how he conducted business. Nothing could be left to chance. There could be no witnesses. No one saw him. No one heard him. He operated under the cover of darkness and had perfected the art, like with that bitch Brenda Norris.

  Oh, she was a sweet one.

  The first that had given him a real challenge. She wasn’t stupid like the others, but she sure as hell couldn’t outsmart him.

  As he followed the Shelby, excitement rose again. It would soon be nightfall. By now she would have got the message. He always offered more money than the rest of the johns. They usually nickel and dimed them. Not him. He hung money out like a carrot on the end of the stick. Two hundred was nothing. Four would entice them but he went far beyond that and offered them twelve hundred. None of them so far could resist it. One client. One night.

  The door would close behind them. They would slip into something comfortable.

  He would lay them back on the bed, hold their hands over their heads as if he was about to kiss their neck, and then they would feel the click of metal as cuffs locked around their wrists. Some of them kicked and screamed, those he subdued quickly. The others thought it was part of the game, part of the fantasy he had. And it was. Except they didn’t realize it ended in their death. Then, with them fully under his control and unable to escape, he would savor the final chapter of their life.

  Rain battered against the windshield, the wipers flipped back and forth, like his mind between the present and the past. His hands grew sweaty from reliving it. It didn’t take long to be back in the room, standing at their side with a needle in hand. He wasn’t sure what he relished more, the thought of their demise, or the anticipation of taking another. Slowly but surely he watched the eyes in their head roll back as they succumbed to the cocktail of drugs, then he would lean in and watch, listening intently for that last breath.

  It was always clean. No DNA could be left behind. He’d studied and learned how to avoid detection. It was a matter of attention to detail. Sometimes hours after the trash had been left beside the river, he would retrace his steps to ensure that nothing had been dropped, that nothing could lead back to him.

  The rainfall was steady on the top of his truck. He watched them veer off into Marlinton and he continued to keep his distance. It would soon be evening and once again he would get to pluck one of them out, cleansing the streets of the filth. Like a garbage man collecting black bags off the side of the road, it was his duty. They might not understand it now but one day they would.

  He couldn’t pinpoint the moment he crossed the line between the thought of killing and the actual act, only that it crept over him like a warm blanket, slowly enveloping him and reassuring him that it was the right thing to do — for society, for them and for him.

  Gravel crunched beneath the tires as he pulled off to the hard shoulder and watched her jump out. They exchanged a few words before she placed a handbag over her head and made a rush for the bar. He clenched his jaw and bunched a fist. Winchester lingered there a little longer. What are you doing? Can you see me? He thought to himself. The cold rain that pounded the ground like a distant train fogged his window up. Though it was still early in the day, the darkness of the storm was building in intensity and making it feel like night. A light came on inside the Shelby and he could see the silhouette of his figure reaching across to the glove compartment. This man was a problem and one that he would deal with once he had decided how. Minutes passed before Winchester drove away. He would have followed him again, but he had better things to do with his time. All he needed now was working inside. His eyes diverted back to the bar, the place that had become his home away from home. In the darkened corners he would sit with a drink, observing them from afar, watching how they interacted. Again he would do the same though this time he wouldn’t let her walk away.

  She was his. They all were, they just didn’t know it yet.

  Before getting out of the truck, he reached into the side compartment and pulled out a few personal items belonging to Brenda Norris. An earring, a bracelet, just small mementos from the collection of items he took from each of them — just a way to relive, and fuel his uncontrollable desire to follow through and give them what they so much longed for — peace.

  Chapter 23

  Larson slowed the car in the wet, murky darkness of Watoga State Park. Following close behind were two cruisers, one with a K-9 deputy. While Sergeant Berringer had given the go-ahead, he’d made it clear that while they’d drop the charges for the bar brawl, they wouldn’t guarantee that Merle wouldn’t do time for having known about the dead women. Forensics would have to rule out his direct involvement before any attorney could try to arrange a deal to ensure a lesser sentence. It didn’t matter to Larson, the way he saw it Merle and Aaron were going away for a long time.

  He still couldn’t believe that in an attempt to avoid jail time, he had unwittingly thrown his own brother under a bus, and screwed himself in the process. Of course, Larson wasn’t going to tell him that. He wanted him to believe he was going to get away without being punished, and in some ways he was, but not from this charge. A charge that he didn’t even know was coming. What a dumbass. Merle thought he was going to walk after he’d shown them where these bodies were. He knew the guy was stupid, but that was just mind-boggling.

  Had he been smart, he would have kept his mouth shut. Chances were the charges for what happened down at Ali’s Bar would have been dropped. Now he was giving Larson exactly what he wanted and more — evidence to be used against Aaron, and a reason to put both of them behind bars.

  “So you want to tell me how you came to know about these? I can’t imagine Aaron telling you. Why this place?” Larson asked as they got closer to the location.

  Convinced that Larson had agreed to his demands, Merle kept talking. Larson couldn’t have gotten him to shut up even if he had wanted him to. His hands were locked behind him and he was leaning forward, resting his forehead against the plastic divider.

  “We used to come up here when we were kids. You know — camp out overnight — drink a few brewskies, have some fun with the ladies and whatnot.”

  Larson eye
d him in his rearview mirror and nodded.

  “Anyway a couple of years ago, we were out here together, just him and me. He was acting all agitated, fidgeting and unable to settle. I thought he was taking some of the drugs he was selling but it wasn’t that. He tells me that things got out of hand with this one girl that he was pimping out. Her name was Kayla. Anyway, he knocked her around a little too hard and she didn’t wake up. So he brought her out here and buried her.” Just as he said that he motioned with his head. “Just keep going a few more minutes and this trail will come out into a clearing.”

  He nodded.

  “How many are there?”

  “With Kayla, four more from what I recall.”

  “So you were involved?”

  “Me? No. I didn’t do shit to those women.”

  “But you helped bury them?”

  “I just told you. I wasn’t involved. I learned about this recently from him.”

  “And yet you kept this from us.”

  “He’s my brother, deputy, what do you expect me to do?”

  “Still, you didn’t say a word.”

  There was silence for a minute or two, just the sound of the tires sloshing in puddles and mud spitting up against the vehicle. Larson knew the cogs in his tiny brain were clicking over. Slowly but surely it finally dawned on him what he had just done by admitting to where the bodies were.

  “They can’t hold that against me, can they?”

  Larson eyed him in the mirror without responding.

  “Larson.”

  “It’s not for me to decide.”

  “But you said I was going to get off.”

  “And you are. But this is an entirely different case.”

  “No. No! You can’t go changing the deal now. Deputy, you get back to your sergeant and tell him that we agreed to…”

  “Getting the brawl charges dropped. And we’ve done that.”

  “This is not what we agreed to.”

  “Of course it is.”

  His face contorted in anger. “You… You have twisted this. Used it for—”

  “I’ve done nothing except let you talk your way into a deeper hole.”

  “Then I’m done. I’m not telling you where the bodies are.”

  Larson chuckled. “You idiot, you already have.”

  And that’s why the dog came along. It was trained in finding human remains and had been used in previous situations where the information they’d been given was incomplete.

  He bounced in his seat a little as they arrived at the end of the trail which opened up into a clearing. Nearby was a fire pit, several logs on the floor and… a burnt-out husk of a vehicle. He parked and pushed out of his cruiser. The smell of smoldering plastic still lingered in the air. He ducked his head back into the cruiser and stared at Merle.

  “Well, looks like this place has had company. Now I wonder who that was?”

  He slammed the door closed, sealing in the noise of Merle’s protests and obscenities. Larson went around to the back of his trunk and pulled out a rain jacket. The rain was beginning to fall hard and turn the ground into mush. The other officers exited an SUV and a cruiser. The dog hopped out and began sniffing the ground. He covered himself up and pulled out some shovels. It was going to be dirty work, but he was confident that by the time they left that forest they would have enough to put away the Gance brothers for life.

  Peter Dixon’s home was located at the end of a quiet road, east of Seneca Drive. It butted up against the Greenbrier River. The property was part of a larger farm. A dilapidated red barn stood off to one side on the verge of collapse. When Jack pushed his way out of the car, he looked around but couldn’t see anyone. He approached the door of the home and gave it a knock. There was no answer. Jack peered in through the dust-covered window and stood there for a few minutes taking cover from the downpour that was churning over the gutters. He noticed near the small barn a white F-150 truck. Figuring he was going to have to return later, Jack stepped down off the porch and hurried back to his vehicle. That’s when he heard a door open behind him. Jack cast a glance over his shoulder and saw a young man no older than thirty holding back a storm door.

  “You need something?” he hollered.

  Jack returned, and the man stepped out closing the door behind him. He was dressed in a thin muscle shirt and a pair of cut-off shorts. His hair was tied back tightly in a man bun, and his jaw sported a goatee.

  “I’m here to speak to you about your wife, Rachel.”

  “Look, get the fuck off my property. I told the media to stop coming here.”

  He turned to go back inside and had his hand on the door handle when Jack continued. “I’m not from the media but I might have information that will help you find out what happened to your wife.”

  He paused and answered without even looking at Jack. “I already know.”

  “I mean who did it.”

  Jack figured that if he wasn’t guilty, and he cared anything for her, he’d want to know. And if he was involved in the disappearance of Rachel and the rest of the women, he’d be curious. Peter looked around for a second, pushed the door open and motioned for him to enter.

  “Come inside.”

  Jack stepped in and wiped his feet on the mat. From the second he entered he could tell the place was strange. There were clocks everywhere; small, large, modern, vintage and even a few grandfather clocks. All of them were ticking in unison. If that wasn’t peculiar enough the hall and living room had mounds of newspapers, some of them dating back to the 1950s. It was as if the owner had collected every daily paper since the beginning of time.

  “I’m sorry for being rude but I’ve had a lot of journalists from the local paper here since Rachel went missing, then even more after she was found dead.”

  He led the way down a narrow hallway. It was dingy and smelled musty like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. The walls were covered in a patterned wallpaper from the ’80s and dotted around in different spots were framed photos of family, and one of Peter and Rachel in better times. Jack paused and gazed at it.

  “That was taken a year after I met her. She was stunning, absolutely beautiful. Hard to believe that’s she gone.”

  He pressed on and they entered a kitchen. The sink was piled up with dirty dishes, the table covered in newspaper. Heaps of clothes that had been taken out of a hamper were strewn over the floor. He started scooping them up. A look of embarrassment crossed his face. A gray and white cat slinked inside and purred, sliding up against Jack’s calf.

  “Please excuse the mess. It’s my grandmother’s house. She tends to hoard things and since Rachel’s gone I haven’t been able to bring myself to do much of anything.”

  He cleared off a chair that was stacked with books and shoe polish and then offered him a drink. Jack declined, and he took a seat across from him.

  “What can you tell me about your relationship with Rachel?”

  He frowned, confused. “I thought you had information about her?”

  “I do. I’m curious. You met her through backpage, is that right?”

  “Not exactly. It was through a friend.”

  “Another escort?”

  He nodded.

  “Do you still use the escort service?”

  He cleared his throat. “From time to time. There’s no law against that.”

  “Well, that’s debatable. I think you’ll find it is illegal.”

  He snorted. “Whatever, man.” He got up from his chair, went over to the fridge, pulled out a can of beer and cracked it open. It hissed, and he chugged it back. “Look, I met Rachel, we seemed to connect and she moved in with me. I wanted her to get out of the escort business. It’s not a life for anyone but she had a lot of drugs and money problems. Both of her kids are with a foster mother so she was struggling. I told her I could help. You know, slowly get her back on her feet and whatnot.”

  “And?”

  “I managed to get her off drugs, and she even got a job working at a local conv
enience store for about eight months but… uh… well, she started to think that perhaps she could get her kids back. You know, be a mother again and so forth.”

  “And what did you think?”

  “I thought she could do it. Man, look, there are a lot of people that wrote her off because of what she did for a living but she was a good person. She just happened to fall in with the wrong crowd. She hated prostituting herself, but she continued so she could pay for her drug addiction. It didn’t help that Aaron Gance kept showing up and sticking that shit under her nose any chance he got.”

  “Aaron Gance. I’ve heard the name.”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know him. He’s bad news around here. Him and his brother. Word has it they were involved in the disappearance of several escorts. At least that’s what Rachel said. She was going to turn him in,” he said nodding. “Yeah, until she went missing. Anyway, that’s who I think did it but getting anyone to believe me is just pointless.” He sighed and took another swig.

  “People think you did it, don’t they?”

  He scoffed. “Hell, people have said a lot of folks in this town did it, all except the police. They are still treating it like a drug deal gone wrong, or an overdose. But I know the truth. Yeah…” He walked over to the sink, set his beer down, gripped the counter tightly and gazed out the window. Water streaked down the pane of glass like wriggling worms.

  “I loved Rachel.”

  “What can you tell me about those last days?”

  “After eight months of regular work, she got back in contact with the foster parent. Just said she wanted to speak with her kids. They wouldn’t let her. They told her that the kids didn’t want to speak to her.” He turned around and faced Jack. “That killed her. She took that personally. I tried to tell her that it was probably the foster parents and not the kids. It didn’t matter. It sent her back over the edge. The next time I saw her she had a needle in her arm. Two days later she was back turning tricks. Aaron Gance was back in the picture and within a week she went missing.”