Footprints of the Dead (Tom Gabriel #1)

by Tim Ellis

  Henry turned and shouted, “What the –” and started up after her.

  She slammed the trapdoor shut, slid the bolt into its hole, and pressed down with all her weight, but Sally wasn’t built for keeping basement trapdoors closed – she was built for speed.

  He shouldered the trapdoor open. The two screws shot out of the keeper, the wood splintered, and Sally went flying across the room.

  Sweating and breathing hard, he lumbered out of the hole. His face was red, and his eyes were wide. He was coming after her, and he didn’t look at all happy.

  Oh no! What had she done?

  She ran up the basement stairs and into the house. She ran through the big farmhouse. Saw a picture hung on the wall of Henry with a fat woman and two fat children.

  He caught her by the wrist in the kitchen and nearly yanked her shoulder out of its socket.

  “After all I’ve done for you, this is how you thank me? I’m going to make you sorry, you little tart.”

  As she swung round, her hand came into contact with a knife on the kitchen-countertop. She grasped it, stabbed him in the arm, and would have pulled it out to stick it in him again, but he pushed her away.

  “You little fucking bitch.”

  The kitchen door opened slightly in the evening breeze. It beckoned her. It said: This way, hurry.

  She hurried through it into the darkness.

  I’m free. I’m free.

  She ran.

  Even though the man had taken her trainers – she ran like she’d never run before.

  She ran into the night like a wolf. Loping, arms by her sides, breathing easily through her nose. And if anyone knew how to run – it was Sally Stackhouse. She could run until she ran out of breath, until there was nowhere left to run, until . . .

  She didn’t look back.

  Her bare feet made no noise. She ignored the pain as the gravel and the rocks tore at her flesh.

  She ran, and ran, and . . . saw a faint light to her right. Without breaking her stride, she headed for the light.

  Sally Stackhouse was free – free as a bird, and if anyone knew about being free it was little Sally. Everyone always said, “That Sally is a free spirit all right.”

  ***

  Wednesday, September 19

  Mabel wasn’t speaking to him.

  “It wasn’t my fault, Mabel. Someone tried to kill us. Oh, I know that doesn’t mean much to you, and last week it didn’t mean much to me either, but . . . well, things have changed. We had to stay in a motel overnight, and don’t go thinking anything other than what’s right and proper. You know if I’d had any choice in the matter I would have come back to you, but I was just too tired. Anyway, I’m here now, and you’re still the only ghost for me.”

  But she wouldn’t acknowledge him. He shrugged. “We’re going out today. I’ll be back tonight, and I hope you’ll be in a better mood by then.”

  He was starving and railroaded Rae out of the apartment to the restaurant as soon as they opened up at seven thirty.

  “You’re a crazy old man. I need my beauty sleep.”

  “We have work to do, and I for one can’t work on an empty stomach.”

  Manuel arrived to fill up their mugs and take Rae’s order. He knew what Tom wanted – the same as he’d had for the past four or more years.

  “Don’t ya get fed up with eating the same thing day after day?”

  “Nope.”

  “Can I drive the Firebird?”

  “Nope.”

  “I knew you were going to say that.”

  “Why ask then?”

  “What work?”

  “Later, we’re going to be following Oscar Gilbert . . .”

  “A big red Firebird isn’t really the car to be following anybody in.”

  “That’s your fault, I should never have rented it. I should have gone with the Peugot 308 like I was going to. I’ll have to ask Allegre if I can borrow her old truck.”

  “What’re we doing before then?”

  “Eating.”

  “I don’t mean now.”

  “You’re going to the library, and I’m going to see Mona at the station. I’ll join you at the library when I’m done.”

  “And I’ll be in the library doing what?”

  “Katherine Everett.”

  “Of course! You want me to check how far this thing goes back and how many children are involved.”

  “I knew there was something rattling around between your ears.”

  ***

  “What do you want?”

  “Is that any way to treat an old friend?”

  He’d dropped Rae off at the library, which was only two blocks away from the station.

  “Stay in the main area, where people can see you,” he had warned her.

  “You’re not worried I might escape and go on the run?”

  “I think we can forget about that now.”

  “I don’t think so. I think everybody should know how you treat your partner. No wonder that Mona hates you, if you treated her the way you treat me. I have every sympathy with her.”

  “You’re not my partner.”

  “I see. I’m still the person Franchetti palmed off on you, am I?”

  “I think you’re a little more than that now.”

  “But still not partner material?”

  “You have a job; you’re a cub reporter. We’re just working together until we solve this case, and then –”

  “You drop me like a hot potato?”

  “It’s not a question of me dropping you. You’ll have a story to write, and I suppose I’ll have to set up as a private investigator.”

  “I see. And what did you say you were going to do while I’m in here doing all the work?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She turned on her heel and flounced off.

  Well, she wasn’t his partner. He was only telling the truth. Yes, she’d been invaluable so far, but she was a twenty-one-year-old reporter, a person from another time and place, and Senator Raeburn’s daughter. No, as soon as this case was over he’d . . . drop her like a hot potato.

  There were dark rings under Mona’s eyes. She’d been crying. If not today, then certainly over the past few days. She had no makeup on, which made her look as though she’d aged ten years since he’d last seen her.

  “You’re here because you want something, so let’s get to it, and then you can go.”

  “You’ve changed, Mona. I remember when you greeted each day with a smile, when you were eager for new challenges, and how you used to shrug off disappointment.”

  “Yeah, I recall those days. Then I got old and fat, you left, and that bastard cheated on me again.”

  “Your mother was right then?”

  “Wasn’t she always right? I hated her because of that. Anyway, you didn’t come in here to listen to my troubles.”

  “You’ve thrown him out?”

  “I walked out on him, and the bastard moved his whore in and changed the locks. It’s my house for God’s sake.” Tears ran down her face. She got up and ran to the bathroom.

  He followed her.

  “This is the ladies bathroom, you know.”

  “You have to take back control of your life, Mona. I’ll come with you now. We’ll break down the door, throw the bastard, his belongings, and his whore into the street. Where are you living?”

  “A friend’s house.”

  “No, that won’t do. Come on, let’s go.”

  “I can’t. I’m on duty.”

  “We’re cops, Mona. We can do whatever shit we want to. Well, what are you waiting for?”

  She went back to her desk, scooped up her hat and car keys, and together they walked outside.

  “I don’t know,” she said, holding onto the car door handle.

  “Yes you do. You’ve just forgotten you know. Get in the car and drive us over there.”

  It took all of twenty minutes.

  He leaned across her and flicked the catch for the trunk.

  “What ar
e you going to do?” she said.

  “He’s messed up your head. You’ve forgotten that you’re in charge of your life.”

  They got out of the car and went round to the trunk. He pulled out a sawn-off and passed it to her, took one for himself, and grabbed the battering ram.

  “Let’s go.”

  “You’re not even a cop anymore, Tom.”

  “No, but I’m your friend, and that’s worth more than a pile of beans in my book.”

  He smashed the door down.

  Found Jerry Manion humping a skinny, flat-chested tart in Mona’s bed.

  Rammed the two barrels of the shotgun up his anus. “Nod if you’re paying attention.”

  Jerry nodded.

  “I’m going to count to thirty, and let me tell you boy, I’m being generous. If you’re still here, if any of your shit is still here, if that hooker’s still here, I’m going to give you both barrels. Nod if you understand.”

  Jerry nodded again.

  “Two more things before I start counting. First off, I want thirty bucks on the bed for repairing the door, or I pull the trigger. Second, you start giving me any mouth as soon as I pull the barrels out of your butt, I pull the trigger. Nod if you understand.

  Jerry nodded a third time.

  He removed the barrels.

  “One.”

  Jerry jumped off the bed and started getting dressed.

  The woman pulled the sheet up to cover her nonexistent breasts.

  “Come on, bitch,” Jerry screamed at her. “Don’t just sit there looking stupid. Get dressed, and get the fuck out.”

  “Seven.”

  “Crap.” He ran through into the utility room, grabbed a couple of black sacks, ran back and started stuffing his shit into them.

  “Twelve.”

  “I’m going as fast as I can.”

  The woman stamped out. “Don’t call me and I won’t call you, you bastard.”

  “Twenty-two.”

  Jerry started dragging the sacks out into the street.

  An small audience had formed on the sidewalk.

  Tom pushed the shotgun under Jerry’s nose when he came back into the house. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”

  He reached round for his wallet, took out two twenties, and threw them on the bed.

  “Twenty-nine.”

  Jerry turned to make his exit.

  Mona stood in his way.

  “One last thing before you go,” she said and pistol-whipped him with the butt of her shotgun. “I ever see you again, I’ll blow your fucking brains out.”

  “Thirty.” Tom pumped two shells into the barrels.

  Jerry flew out the door, holding his bleeding mouth. Outside, he threw the black sacks into his beat-up Oldsmobile and drove off.

  The audience cheered and clapped. Tom guessed Jerry wasn’t a favorite in the neighborhood.

  “Thank you for stopping by folks, but the show is over now.”

  The neighbors started drifting away.

  “We just broke the law,” Mona said.

  He smiled. “We just broke his balls, more like.”

  They laughed and went inside.

  “I’ll have to fumigate this place.”

  “It’ll give you something to do instead of thinking about how your life could have been different.”

  She started crying again. “Thanks, Tom.”

  “You may have given up on me, but I never gave up on you.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He hugged her. “You got any decent coffee?”

  “I should get back to the station.”

  “You need to get your door fixed first. While that’s happening we can drink some coffee, and I need to tell you a few things.”

  “You’ve been working the case, haven’t you?”

  “Would I be the man you know and love if I hadn’t?”

  “If it’s not Jerry fucking up my love life, it’s you fucking up my career.”

  “So, what’s new?”

  ***

  Henry Appling pulled the knife from his arm, threw it in the kitchen sink, and tied a towel around the wound. It wasn’t deep, and would soon stop bleeding.

  “The little bitch,” he said out loud.

  She wouldn’t get far. He’d taken her trainers from her so she wouldn’t run, and there was nowhere to run to anyway. That was the beauty of it. He lived on a farm, miles from the town, miles from anywhere in particular. The nearest town was Rodman, and that was a good three-hour drive. There was no way in hell she’d get away from him.

  He’d been kind to her, hadn’t he? He’d treated her real special, and this was how she repaid him. Well, as eggs are eggs, she was going to get what was coming to her when he caught her.

  Thankfully, Muriel and the kids were away at her mother’s until tomorrow night. God knows what would have happened if the bitch had escaped while they were here. He’d just have to chain her up like an animal – that was the only thing he could do. There was no way in hell he could have her escaping every five minutes while Muriel and the kids were here.

  There were other farms nearby, and State Road - 19 had a fair amount of traffic on it. He’d better get out there and catch her soon.

  He went up to the bedroom and put some clothes on, took out his .270 Winchester hunting rifle from the closet, which he’d bought even though there was nothing much to hunt around there, and snapped on the night sight. Next, he slipped a couple boxes of cartridges in his jacket pocket.

  If he couldn’t catch her, he’d have to kill her – he knew he had no alternative. The idea of her telling a pack of filthy lies to anyone who would listen filled him with horror. Henry Appling was a decent man, a family man with a loving wife and two good-looking, smart kids, and no one was going to say otherwise, so help him God – especially not some grubby child from the wrong side of nowhere.

  He made his way downstairs. Left everything open. There was no one around to steal from him.

  Outside, he revved up the Jeep Wrangler, switched the spots on, and headed out after little Sally Stackhouse.

  He guessed she’d been out here for maybe ten minutes tops. She wasn’t country-smart. She’d run in a straight line for sure. He’d soon catch her and put her back in that hole. Then he’d do things to her that’d make her wish she was in hell.

  Time was passing, but he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her. Maybe she wasn’t as stupid as he’d first thought. She’d managed to escape from the hole, and from him. None of the others had been able to do that. Maybe he was the stupid one.

  The nearest place to his was old Hank Giffey’s farm. He’d head over there and see what he could find.

  Giffey’s farmhouse was shrouded in darkness. He moved one of the spotlights over every square inch of the building, but he couldn’t see any movement.

  A light went on.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Giffey shouted as he came out of the front door carrying a shotgun.

  “It’s me, Hank. I’m tracking a wolf.”

  “A wolf! When was the last time you saw a wolf around these parts, Henry? You’re as crazy as a loon.”

  “I saw one tonight. That’s what I’m telling you, Hank.”

  “Well, there ain’t been no wolf hereabouts, so get off my property before I fill you full of buckshot.”

  “I’m going. Goodnight, Hank.”

  “Yeah.”

  Hank went back inside the house and switched the light off, but Henry knew that the old man hadn’t gone to bed. Nobody went to bed fully clothed with their boots and suspenders on.

  He backed up, turned around, and headed away from Hank Gifford’s property, but then he circled round, went the last part on foot, and lay down in some bushes to wait with Hank’s old Chrysler pickup in sight.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “You’ve been busy,” Mona said once he’d told her everything he and Rae had been up to over the previous seven days.

  The carpenter was replacing the door, hammering and ba
nging with a chisel and mallet to fit the lock, the safety chain, the hinges, and the door knocker. It also needed an undercoat, and it was going to cost seventy bucks. Tom said he’d stump up the extra thirty. He’d guessed at thirty, got forty off Jerry, but should have taken everything the bastard had in his wallet, and then he wouldn’t have been out of pocket.

  “We found the second guy in a dumpster,” Mona added. “Well, what was left of him. His name was Juris Balodis. He and Lemontov came from Latvia and set themselves up as hired killers. We haven’t found his head or his hands, but we recognized the body anyway.”

  “The price of failure.”

  “Maybe, but now you don’t know who’s coming after you.”

  “Speaking of which, I’d better get back and pick up Rae.”

  “What did you come into the station for? It wasn’t to hand yourself in, and it certainly wasn’t to get me back on the straight and narrow.”

  “No, that’s just a sideline I’ve got going, I’ll send you the bill later.” He smiled, and pulled the slip of paper – the one that Eddie Plaziuk had given him – out of his pocket and passed it to her. “License plate of the Hummer that ran us off the road.”

  “Oh, so I work for you now?”

  “It’ll be like old times.”

  “Not a chance. I earned my promotion.”

  “How many cases you working?”

  “I can’t count that high.”

  “I’m not getting paid for this case. In fact, I’ll be lucky if I’m not broke when I come out the other end of it. You could try to pass it to the Feds, but then you’d have to tell them where you got all the information from, and the Feds would take all the credit.”

  “I’ve got enough to lock you up until the Republicans win the election.”

  “I’ll die in prison then.”

  “Probably.”

  He filled up his mug with coffee again. It wasn’t Blue Mountain, but it was passable. “Here’s the deal, Mona. Rae and I will work the case. Rae gets the story, you get the busts. I’ve made promises to people I need to keep, and if I’m going to be a PI afterward, then this case isn’t going to do me any favours. An unfaithful spouse would have been good, or twenty-five percent of a missing fortune even better. I could use cases like those to advertise my services, but this . . .” He shrugged.