Then he looked at the crime scene photos that had been brought to him less than an hour ago. The pictures of Lottie Lynam's bloody, nude corpse turned his stomach.
Addressing the photo of Matt Burnwood's wife, Pepperdyne muttered, "Lady, you'd better hope I find you before he and his daddy do."
And what the hell was John doing all this time?
Chapter 29
John watched from the front door as Kendall drove out of sight, then he hobbled into the bedroom where Kevin lay on his back in the playpen.
"Look, uh, I'm on a tight schedule. So I need your full cooperation, okay? You'll be all right here by yourself. I won't be gone long. I can't be gone long. Just, you know, chill out until I get back."
He hesitated, as though he might get an argument from the baby. Kevin blew bubbles and waved his fists, giving no indication that he was upset over being left alone.
"Okay then," John said, backing away.
He left the house and was halfway across the clearing when he halted, thinking he'd heard a noise. Was it a choking sound? A whimper? He considered all the horrendous possibilities.
Fire. Wild animals. Insects. Asphyxiation.
"Shit."
He retraced his crutch-assisted steps. "Okay, sport. I hope you're up to this." Then he added beneath his breath, "I hope I'm up to this."
He slipped on the sling that Kendall sometimes used to carry the baby against her chest. Propping his crutches against the playpen, he balanced on one leg and bent down to lift Kevin out.
"Yeah, yeah, this is lots of fun," he muttered when Kevin gurgled happily. Once Kevin was comfortably positioned, he retrieved his crutches and set out again.
"Not a word of this to your mother, understand? She's a clever lady, your mother. She's got my weapon again, so I can't hold her at gunpoint and demand that she drive us out of here. I could drive myself, but she would be gone by the time I returned."
He glanced down at the child. "I don't suppose you know where she hid my weapon, do you? She's too smart to have thrown it away, but damned . . . excuse me, darned if I can find it. I've turned the house upside down."
He quickly covered the distance to the main road, where he paused to catch his breath. Sweat was already pouring from him. It trickled down his forehead and ran into his eyes, stinging them. Wiping them with his sleeve was difficult when he needed both hands to maneuver the crutches. He had known this expedition was going to be physically exerting, and he hadn't counted on carrying Kevin's extra fifteen pounds.
He struck out for the house he had spotted the day he'd gone to town with Kendall. "Frankly, I think your mother is too smart for her own good," he said, huffing. "She should return my pistol to me. I'd know better how to use it if the need arose."
He talked to keep from thinking about what a long shot it was that this expedition would meet with success. He wasn't in condition for this much exercise, so his breathing was labored. It was a hot, sultry afternoon. Although he took advantage of every patch of shade along the road, even they provided little relief.
He was working under a deadline. He had to return to the house before Kendall did, and he had no idea how long today's errand would take her. The day he rode with her to town, he had mentally clocked the distance. One way it was twelve miles, give or take a few. On the curving roads, and factoring in time spent on errands, she couldn't possibly make the trip in under half an hour. He'd given himself only that long to try to get help.
But his pace was slow, and he was out of shape. If luck was with him, a car would come along and give him a ride to the nearest telephone. That's all he needed sixty seconds on a telephone.
He glanced at his wristwatch. Seven minutes had elapsed since she'd left. The muscles in his back and arms were burning with the strain, but he pushed himself to move faster.
His efforts were rewarded when he topped a rise in the road and spotted the house he had made note of. It was a quarter of a mile away, maybe less. Distance was hard to gauge because of the heat waves rising from the pavement and distorting the landscape.
"If I push myself to the limit, I might make it there in four minutes," he said to Kevin. "Five, max. In any event, I'm crazy for talking to someone who can't possibly understand me. Maybe I'm still in a coma and having one hell of a dream.
That's it. You're only a dream. You"
Suddenly John began to laugh. "You're peeing on me, aren't you?" The scalding stream trickled down his chest. "Well, that's one way of convincing me that you're real."
The one-sided conversation had helped keep his mind off his protesting muscles, the blistering heat, and the distance he had yet to cover. He was enormously grateful when he reached the driveway to the house. The incline nearly killed him. When he got to the porch, he collapsed.
Leaning against a support post, he called out, "Hello?" To his surprise, the word came out as a dry croak. He took several deep breaths, swallowed all the saliva he could work up, and tried again. "Hello!"
Kevin began to cry. "Shin. I'm not shouting at you." He patted the baby's butt reassuringly. Kevin stopped crying, but his mood was tenuous. The corners of his mouth were turned down, and tears hovered in his eyes.
"I know how you feel, buddy. I might start crying myself."
Now that he had taken a closer look at the house, it became apparent that no one was at home and hadn't been in a long time. The potted plants on the porch had turned to brown, leafless stalks. All the window shades were lowered. Spiders had set up housekeeping in the corners of the doorjamb.
Now what? His clothes were soaked with perspiration. He might well dehydrate before he got back to Kendall's house.
And the baby Christ! If he was this hot and dry, Kevin had to be, too.
He remembered having heard something about babies having a higher body temperature than adults. He pressed his palm against Kevin's forehead. His skin was hot; he was burning up.
Galvanized, John slipped one of his crutches beneath his arm and leaned on it heavily as he stood up. Using one of the terra-cotta flower pots, he broke out a windowpane in the front door, reached inside and undid the lock, then opened the door.
He didn't care if a silent alarm alerted the local police. Now that he knew he wasn't a fugitive guilty of a crime, he wanted to be caught. In the meantime, he had to get some fluid into him and the baby.
It wasn't a large house. The rooms hadn't been occupied in a while and showed obvious signs of neglect. But John moved through them so quickly, he scarcely took in the appointments.
He located the kitchen within seconds, moved to the sink, and turned on the cold water tap. Nothing.
"Dammit! "
But then there was a knock, a rattle and a ping, and water gushed from the faucet. It was rusty at first, but after several seconds it ran clear. John scooped handfuls of it into his mouth and swallowed greedily. He ladled water over the back of his neck.
Then, wetting his hand again, he smoothed it over Kevin's ;
head. "Feel better? Cooler?" He bathed the baby's red cheeks But Kevin needed fluids inside him, and it suddenly occurred to John that he didn't have a means of conveying water into the child. Kendall sometimes gave him a drink of juice or water from a baby bottle, but of course John hadn't thought to bring one along. There was glassware in the cabinets, but if he tried pouring water down Kevin's throat, he might choke.
The kid only knew how to suck, so how He didn't even think about it before thrusting his index finger beneath the faucet. He carried it, dripping, to Kevin's mouth and tapped it against the baby's lips. Kevin immediately began to suck.
The sensation was foreign and unsettling, yet oddly gratifying. "Not exactly your mother's milk, is it, boy?" he murmured as he wet his finger again and let Kevin suck the water from it.
John wondered what his friends and colleagues would think if they could see this bizarre scene. They wouldn't believe their approach.
"I'd like to have a baby, John. And I'd like you to be the father."
; "I'm flattered, but no thanks. I don't want a baby. Never have. Never will."
And Lisa? Forget it. Li sa had called him a selfish son of a bitch because he refused to give her a baby. He had refused even to discuss having a child. That was the disagreement that had caused their split.
"My biological clock is running out," she announced one evening.
"So wind it," he said from behind his newspaper.
She threw a pillow at him. He lowered the newspaper, sensing that they were gearing up for the battle royal, the Waterloo of their relationship. She had raised the topic before, but he'd always skirted it. That night she took the direct approach.
"Why not?"
"The reasons are too many to name."
She nestled her bottom more comfortably in her chair, the way a soldier burrows into a foxhole and psyches himself up for hand-to-hand combat. "I'm in no hurry. Let's hear your objections."
"For starters," he said, "it's an unworkable idea. We both travel and are rarely here."
"I'd take a leave of absence from the airline. Next obstacle?"
she said with an irritating flippancy.
"I don't"
He'd been about to say that he didn't love her. At the very least, he believed a kid deserved to be brought into the world by two people who loved each other.
A victim of divorce when he was less than two years old, John didn't remember living with a complete family. Until he was old enough to be independent, he had been shuttled back and forth between two distracted individuals to whom he was an afterthought, an inconvenience, and a reminder of their failed attempt at marriage.
His parents had diligently pursued their respective careers and had been successful. His father had attained tenure in the humanities department of an Ivy League university. His mother held a vice presidency in an architectural firm.
But as parents they had been abysmal failures. Beyond obligatory rails on holidays, he had little contact with them now.
They certainly didn't exercise any influence over his life, nor did they care to. Their infrequent conversations were polite but distant. From birth, he had been treated as an intrusion into their busy lives. That self-perception hadn't changed in forty-three years.
Consequently, he had developed a jaundiced regard for hearth and home. His dysfunctional family hadn't prepared him for long-term relationships, nor had it instilled in him a desire to be a father. Quite the contrary.
He had nothing against children. In fact, he felt compassion for them. More often than not, defenseless kids were stuck with rotten parents. So, if you knew from the start that you were likely to be a lousy parent, why have a baby?
Through his studies in psychology, he had learned what a handicap parents could be to a child's emotional development.
They could turn a perfectly good baby into a maladjusted adult at best, or into a serial killer at worst. To err this grossly, parents didn't necessarily have to be abusive or malicious, just selfish.
That's why he had refused to have a baby with Lisa he wasn't that selfish. He seriously doubted that he and Lisa would grow old together. It was irresponsible to have a child when you knew with a measurable degree of certainty that you would make his or her life miserable.
Added to that was the fiasco that had prompted him to resign from the FBI. As though reading his thoughts, Lisa touched on that sore spot: "Does this have anything to do with what happened out in New Mexico?"
"No."
"I think it does."
"It doesn't."
"If you would only talk to me about it, John, you'd feel better."
"I don't want to talk about it, and I don't want a baby. Period. End of discussion."
"You selfish son of a bitch!"
She pouted for several days before deigning to speak to him again. He didn't trust her not to get pregnant without his consent, so he scheduled a vasectomy and used condoms In the meantime.
Before he could have the surgery, Lisa got pissed over the condoms and exited his life forever. Shortly after that, he had been called to Denver to escort a witness back to South Carolina.
And now here he was, giving a baby a drink of water by letting him suck the tip of his finger. Three weeks ago, under threat of death, he wouldn't have gone near a baby. He wouldn't have touched one or even talked to one. What he was doing now wouldn't have been within the realm of possibility.
"Life's a bitch, huh, Kevin?"
The baby now seemed content and satisfied. John checked his watch. Shit. Twenty-three minutes had passed since Ken dall had left. He couldn't let her get back before he did. As long as she believed that he still had amnesia, he held the advantage. If she found out that he'd left the house in search of a Telephone!
In his rush to give the baby a drink, he had forgotten the reason why he was here. He turned off the water and rushed back to the living room. There it was, sitting on an end table, an old-fashioned black rotary-dial telephone.
John laughed out loud as he picked up the receiver. Then he realized that the line was dead. He jiggled the button, hoping that, like the water pipes, the telephone needed to be primed.
But it was no use, and now he was wasting time.
With Kevin tucked into the sling, John closed the front door securely behind him. "Sorry about the window glass," he muttered to the absent owners as he eased himself down the steps and picked up the crutch he'd left on the porch.
At least the return trip was downhill, but the heat was brutal, and his muscles, normally toned by two or three strenuous workouts a week, felt like jelly being spiked with nails.
When he reached the mailbox at the end of the drive, he leaned against it and sucked air into his burning lungs. The metal box was hot, and after a few seconds it felt like a brand against his arm.
Leave a note in the mailbox, you dumb jerk!
The discomfort was worth that burst of inspiration. He could write a note tonight, then sneak out and place it in the mailbox. He would address the note to the postman and tell him to summon the local authorities. He would also write down the telephone number of his office, and Pepperdyne's, in case the postman thought it was a prank and wanted to check him out. Then he would raise the red flag on the mailbox. With any luck, the postman would notice it tomorrow and stop.
Even better, he might catch the postman on his route.
Now that he had another plan in mind, he felt energized.
He covered the distance back to the house in half the time.
Even so, as he reached the porch he heard her car turning into the lane.
He dropped one of his crutches in the living room and limped down the hallway and into the bathroom. He locked the door behind him and pressed his head against it. His muscles were screaming in protest. His breathing was as loud as a thrashing machine. His clothes were sopping wet. And he stank.
If Kendall saw him like this, she would know he was up to something.
Although he was trembling with fatigue, he lifted Kevin out of the sling and laid him on the bath mat on the floor.
"We're in this together, right?" He pushed the stopper into the tub drain and turned on the water.
He heard her footsteps on the porch.
"John?"
Working frantically, he stripped to the skin and stuffed his sweaty clothes into the hamper, then he went to work on Kevin.
"John?"
"Yeah?" He had Kevin stripped down to his diaper.
"Where are you?"
"Kendall?") Off came Kevin's diaper. "Are you back already?"
John lowered himself into the tub, keeping his cast out of the water. It took some maneuvering, but he managed to bend forward far enough to duck his head beneath the faucet and thoroughly wet his hair, then he reached for the naked baby lying on the bath mat.
"You're a real sport," he whispered as he leaned back and laid Kevin on his chest. "I won't forget this, pal."
"John, what are you doing? Where's Kevin?"
"What? I can't hear you, Kendall. The w
ater's running."
"Where's Kevin?"
"He's in here with me." He splashed water over the baby, who cooed in delight and happily slapped his palms against John's chest.
"He's with you?"
"Of course. Where'd you think he was?"
She tried the doorknob. "You locked the door."
"Oh. Sorry," he lied.
"Open the door."
"I'm already in the tub. And it's a hell of a feat to get in and out of it with this cast on."
"I'm coming in."
He had guessed she would. He'd heard the panic in her voice, and it made clear to him that even though they were lovers, she didn't entirely trust him.
And she was smart not to.
Given an opportunity today he would have turned her in.
If the house had been occupied, if the telephone had been working, if he had been able to flag down a car, federal officers would be on their way now to take her back into custody.
He had failed today, but he would try again tomorrow, and the next day, and for as long as it took. Without his weapon, and with his busted leg, he could offer her little protection if any members of the Brotherhood came looking for her.
The government needed her testimony to put the Burnwoods away. Moreover, she didn't stand a chance against the secret society of vigilantes unless she had the government's protection. He planned to get it for her, although she would hate him for it.
The flimsy lock opened with a hairpin. Kendall burst through the door, then drew up short when she saw the two of them reclining in the tub. They made quite a sight he with one leg dangling over the side of the tub and Kevin looking small and smooth and pink against his chest.
"You're just in time to join us," he said, smiling up at her guilelessly "Although it might be a tight squeeze. Can you turn off those faucets for me? I think the water's deep enough "
"What are you doing?" Her voice was shrill with anxiety, as though she ha dn't heard a word of his glib greeting.
Looking puzzled, he seated the obvious: "Taking a bath.
"With Kevin?"
"Why not? I thought he would enjoy cooling off, too."
Sandra Brown Page 28