Too close to home, p.22
Too Close To Home, page 22
part #3 of Thomas Cade Series
“Jesus,” he breathed.
“I think He was watching over me that night. Because I should have died. This kid was like a wild animal. He had a blade, but used his teeth just as much. Took me by surprise. I was down before I knew what hit me. Severed the tendons in my left shoulder, so I couldn’t lift my left arm. Damned near tore apart my left pectoral muscle. Shredded it almost. He could have killed me. But he didn’t. Took a last bite out of me and then ran off into the woods.”
“Ethan Nelson?” Cade asked.
“I believe so.”
“But what happened to him? After the accident, I mean?”
“Don’t rightly know. Had my suspicions. My boss said I probably disturbed a vagrant passing through town, sleeping rough. I thought maybe that’s what that poor boy had been doing all those years. Living out in the woods. That’s one of the stories that made this town an attraction for a while. That’s why Chief Tennant gets his nose all out of joint when he thinks he’s found another snooper. See, I needed the money, and I told a few local papers what happened to me. Got myself fired.”
Hanover shrugged. He glugged back the last of his beer and tossed the bottle off the porch.
“It’s impossible, though,” Cade said. “A boy that age?”
“I’m not done.” Hanover heaved himself up and went into the house, emerging with two more beers, even though Cade had hardly touched his.
“Don’t shame yourself now, son. Get that beer down you.”
Cade took a couple of swallows. “Don’t want to give Chief Tennant an excuse,” he said putting down the first, still half-full, bottle.
“Yeah, you have a point,” Hanover agreed gruffly. He settled himself in his chair and stared out from the porch. “Got another cigarette? I seem to have finished mine.”
Cade produced another, and Hanover began to talk again through a cloud of blue smoke.
“I went into that house after I got out of the hospital. The whole place was gutted. They found the remains of Sandra Nelson inside. Pretty much burned away to nothing, but there was enough left to identify her. The basement of the house was partly concrete and some of it survived. Well, I was curious. So I went into that basement and had a poke around. I’ll show you what I found.”
He went inside again, and Cade heard rummaging and clutter being rearranged. Hanover came back out with two objects in his hand, which he held up for Cade to see. They were two circles of rusted, blackened metal. For a moment his mind was blank, then he recognized them.
“Cuffs?”
“Sure are. Broken cuffs. Found these in that basement next to an old iron bedstead over in one corner. Now, you tell me what Sandra Nelson, the goddamned patron saint of lost children, was doing with handcuffs.”
“What do you think she was doing?”
“I don’t even like to think, son. But I know what I saw. That boy had the look of someone who’s been kept prisoner a long, long time.”
32
“Over there. I see a KTKR van,” Ashley called out.
She pointed off to the left of the street they were following, which ran along the periphery of Eleanor Tinsley public park.
“I see it. What’s it doing down there? Doesn’t look like a great spot for filming,” Rissa commented.
They were crossing a bridge over the Buffalo Bayou, the park spread out on the far side. It was a series of broad walks amid grass and trees. The downtown skyline loomed over everything, inescapable this close. A utility road on the far side of the bridge appeared to lead down into the park and toward where the station van was parked. A figure was standing beside the van, talking on a mobile phone, then leaning in to apparently talk to someone inside. A cluster of low brick buildings stood nearby, the road leading through a closed gate in the side of one of them. The brown-green Buffalo Bayou passed sluggishly by next to it.
“Probably just needed to park somewhere out of the way. If they use the public parking lot, the van tends to attract people. Sometimes it makes it hard to set up.”
Ashley was wearing a simple suit, which had, in fact, been cobbled together from a blouse of her own, grabbed when dashing from her house that night, and a jacket and pants belonging to Rissa. They had done their best to disguise the fact that the clothes weren’t a perfect fit. Rissa was slightly taller than Ashley. The sleeves of the jacket were past Ashley’s wrists, while the pants had been hastily pinned up.
“Can we just take down that chain?” Rissa wondered, pulling up at the utility road.
A red-and-white-painted chain had been strung between two metal posts. A sign stating ‘No Entry’ had been threaded onto the chain. Rissa got out of the car and walked over to one of the posts. The chain had been loosely threaded through a loop on top of the post. She untangled the metallic knot and moved the chain aside. Through the windshield, she could see Ashley checking her makeup in the passenger vanity mirror.
Ashley had no doubt convinced herself that the trouble was now over. Rissa had known Cade long enough that she couldn’t discount his instincts as easily as Ashley did. She got back in the car, but hesitated.
“Look, Ash. Last and final chance here. You’re about to expose yourself, well and truly. I know you don’t want to hear this, but if Tom is right…”
Ashley put her head back, closing her eyes. “We’ve been through this so many times, Riss. I really like you, and I really like Tom. But I think he’s becoming paranoid.”
“You’re actually wrong. He’s the most intuitive man I’ve ever met. For a backward, football-loving cowboy from the back end of nowhere, he’s pretty smart.”
“And you’ve never known him to get fixated on something,” Ashley said confrontationally.
She turned in her seat to face Rissa, challenging the other woman to meet her eye.
“He can be intense. But… oh JC, I don’t know.”
“I’ll walk down there if I have to, Riss. Or you can drive us down and keep an eye on things too.” Ashley pointedly stopped talking, waiting for Rissa to decide on her ultimatum. The tension was broken as Ashley’s phone began chiming and vibrating in her pocket. Taking the phone out, she checked the number.
“It’s Diane Turner. She’s one of the segment producers for the station. Hi, Diane… yep, yep. We’re on-site. Are you with the van? I can just see it… Uh-huh… we’re right above you, then. On our way down to you.”
Rissa could see a woman had gotten out of the van and was waving up at them, phone held to her ear. The other figure was still there, leaning against the side of the van. It made Rissa feel better.
“That’s her? You know her?” she asked, knowing the question to be redundant but wanting the confirmation. Too long spent hanging around with Tom Cade. Ashley was right—Cade could be suspicious to the point of neurosis at times. Ashley shot her a beaming smile and squeezed her hand.
“Yes, I know her. I’ve worked with her for ten years. That’s her. Come on, what are we waiting for?”
Rissa wondered if Ashley had been having her own doubts, despite her vociferous protests. Seeing Diane emerge from the van seemed to have left her relieved. She drove them down the narrow road and along the bayou until they pulled up alongside the van. As Rissa got out of the car, she realized that the cluster of buildings now effectively screened them from anyone passing by on Memorial Drive, the main road that flanked the park.
They rounded the van and saw the man, who was wearing a dark hoodie, jeans, and sneakers, was leaning in close to Diane as though whispering to her. Then Rissa saw Diane’s pale face staring with terror over the man’s shoulder.
“Ashley, get away. He’s going to kill you!” Diane screamed, the words tearing out of her.
Rissa and Ashley froze. The man was whirling around, one arm lashing out as though to strike Diane. A long, arcing jet of red lanced out from Diane’s throat. She was falling back, hands clutching at the yawning wound that had opened across the front of her neck. Rissa saw the blade in the man’s hand at the same time as Ashley screamed Diane’s name and made to run to her. Rissa just barely managed to grab Ashley’s arm, digging in her heels and pulling with all her might in the opposite direction.
“No, Ash. We can’t help her. We have to go. Ash, we have to go.”
The man started toward them as though he had all the time in the world. He had a round, almost babyish, face with a dark goatee beard. His hair was short and dark, lying flat to his head. His dark eyes were alive with malice.
Rissa succeeded in penetrating Ashley’s shock, feeling the other woman beginning to move with her. Ashley was sobbing the name of her friend over and over, but her eyes were fixed on the man stalking toward them. He was grinning. It was a look of complete happiness, utter contentment, and all the more horrifying for its innocence. As Rissa dragged Ashley back toward the car, she thought she heard the man begin to hum and even recognized the tune.
This old man
He played one
They reached the car at the passenger side. Rissa didn’t bother going around. She wrenched the door open and dove headfirst for the driver’s seat. As she righted herself behind the wheel, Ashley screamed her name. The man had darted forward and tangled his hand into Ashley’s hair, dragging her back by the head. Rissa grabbed Ashley’s hand with both of hers, holding on with all the strength she could find. She screamed Ashley’s name, feeling her hands slipping away. She screamed wordlessly, desperate for anyone to hear and know something was wrong.
No one heard. The sun was at home in a blue sky of harmless powder-puff clouds. The people of Houston, like many city dwellers, had conditioned themselves to look away from sounds of violence in case those sounds entered their own lives. The man pulled Ashley free of the car and, with one arm, flung her against the van. With his other hand, he stabbed her in the side, just above her hip. Ashley clutched at the wound and then screamed as the man plunged his hand downward across her face. A thin red line marked where the tip of the blade had slashed across her cheek.
Still pinning Ashley in place by her hair, the man turned back to face Rissa and reached into the front pocket of his hoodie. He produced a gun and pointed it at her. Rissa lunged for the open passenger door and slammed it shut. Gunshots shattered the window, showering her with glass. She pushed herself back, switching on the ignition and stamping hard on the gas. The car shot backward. The man tracked it with the gun, firing two more shots that blew out the windshield and shattered the passenger seat headrest.
Rissa kept her head down, holding the wheel straight and keeping the gas pedal down. Without warning, her entire world lurched. There was a violent impact from the rear, which flung Rissa forward, her head bouncing off the steering wheel. The front of the car was facing skyward, and Rissa’s center of gravity was behind her, yanking her forcefully toward the back of the car. In shock, her mind refused to comprehend what was happening until the second impact brought cold water flooding into the vehicle.
Head spinning from the first impact, Rissa grabbed for the driver’s-side door handle. She knew what had happened now. In her panic to escape the gunman, she had driven straight into the Buffalo Bayou. The door resisted her efforts to open it, the pressure of the water too great. Pushing with her feet against the seats, she forced the door with her shoulder. It inched open as Rissa fought to keep her head above the rapidly rising water. Finally, there was enough space to squeeze out and kick away from the sinking car.
As she broke the surface of the brackish water, coughing and spluttering, a lance of red-hot pain speared her shoulder. She couldn’t scream as the bullet tore through muscle and sinew. As soon as she opened her mouth, water rushed in. Her body felt cold and heavy. Shock was numbing her muscles. She fought to stay above water but was losing control of her limbs. She went under, forcing herself back up, only to submerge again, this time taking a mouthful of bayou water. Again, she regained the surface. Again, she sank.
A peaceful calm was spreading through her body now. Her hands and feet felt like blocks of ice. The effort of moving her arms or legs was too much. They stilled. Blackness rolled over her.
33
Cade pondered the story he had been told by Nelson T. Hanover. It was chilling in its implications. Sandra Nelson had kidnapped Ethan Mercer from the car wreck that had killed his parents. She had left Greg for dead and taken Ethan home with her, to the isolated farmhouse that had been the home of the Nelsons for generations. And there she had kept him imprisoned. Abused him. Tortured? Anything seemed possible. His stomach lurched at the thought of a child of two suffering in such a way.
His hands clenched on the wheel. A child that young would be unable to comprehend reasons; they would simply know consequences. Pain and fear. His teeth ground and he forced his jaw to relax. It was still only a theory, but it fit the facts they knew: Ethan escapes captivity and murders Sandra, burning the house down in the process. Patrolman Hanover stumbles across him and is attacked, his career over almost before it’s begun. Tennant’s Mill becomes infamous as the home to some creature haunting the woods. A creature with a taste for human flesh. A creature currently at large in the greater Houston area and stalking Ashley Fisher.
His foot pushed the gas remorselessly. He was over the speed limit, but there was a tightness in his chest that he couldn’t shake. Ashley wasn’t answering her phone. But then he had half expected that. Rissa wasn’t answering, either, and that was much more concerning.
He was nearing the intersection of two freeways that marked the beginning of the Midtown and downtown areas of the city. He had driven down from Tennant’s Mill in silence, alone with his thoughts. Now those thoughts were overpowering. He flicked on the radio, discarding any music he heard until he found voices he could focus on. It was a news broadcast. It was talking about an incident in downtown Houston. Shots fired. A woman injured or dead from knife wounds. Another pulled from the Buffalo Bayou where she had crashed her car. Eyewitnesses said two women were stabbed and one was shot.
The commentator was relaying information, apparently as it was put into his hands. The station frequently cut to the words of witnesses who talked in brave, wavering voices about the attacker. Cade was driving on autopilot now. He wasn’t conscious of steering for Rissa’s apartment. He listened to the speculation, the rumors, and the facts that were known. From it all, he began to see the pattern. He dialed Rissa’s phone again and again. He prayed, whispering to God as he listened to the dial tone. Nothing. He mind swirled for the next few minutes, and then his phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number.
“Tom.” It was Rissa.
“Rissa. What the hell’s happening? Tell me that wasn’t you and Ashley?”
“I’m sorry, Tom. I tried. I really tried.” Rissa sounded half-dead.
Her voice was a croak, but he could still hear the tears.
“It’s okay, Riss. It’s okay. Just tell me what happened.”
“It was him. He killed a woman in front of us. Slit her throat. Then he stabbed Ashley and started shooting at me. I ended up in the bayou. I almost drowned, but someone pulled me out.”
“Where are you?”
“St. Joseph’s.”
“I’m on my—”
“No, Tom. I’ll be fine. Flesh wound to my shoulder and a stomach full of bayou. He’s got Ashley. Tom, he’s got her. Please. You have to go after her.”
Cade knew she was right. Rissa was in the right place and would be in no danger now that Ethan had Ashley. Cade was sure now that Hanover’s theory was true. Ethan had been taken as a child, and this monster was the result.
“I’ll find her” was all he said.
He wasn’t aware of the yammering horns or the screeching brakes as he executed a complete U-turn in the middle of the freeway. He wove between oncoming cars and bounced over a median with more luck than skill and somehow found himself in the opposite lane. He gunned the engine and kept his foot flat to the floor. A murderous rage consumed him. All his compassion for the innocent child and what he must have experienced at the hands of Sandra Nelson was burned away in white heat.
Ashley was awakened by water being splashed in her face. Consciousness returned painfully. Her head ached. One side of her face was burning, and there was a pain in her side as though something was burrowing into her. She instinctively tried to touch those parts of herself and discovered her hands were tied. Her eyes flipped open as memory crashed across her. She wanted to call out to Rissa. She could see Rissa’s face, see her reaching hands and then the gun reaching back for her. She tried to speak, but something filled her mouth, gagging her.
Above her was a large, blackened slab of concrete. It was higher at one end than the other. Equally charred and blackened beams crossed it or were propped against it from the floor. It was dark, with a dim, flickering light from somewhere nearby providing the only illumination. Ashley lifted her head and saw that the light was coming from a TV set. It was an old TV, framed in wood, with a rabbit-eared antenna. Its tiny glass screen was showing cartoons with the volume muted.
The images on the screen were vivid and fast-moving, sending out strobing, jagged shadows. A wall to her left was concrete; shadows hid the remaining extremities of the room. She was tied to a metal frame. The edges of the frame dug painfully into her wrists and ankles. Then she saw the man who had thrown the water.
“Greg!” she screamed around the gag.
He was leaning close, holding a bucket of filthy water as though ready to splash more. On his face was a look of almost childish expectancy.
“What was that? Hmmm? Did you say something? Did you say a name?” he asked, words tripping over themselves in their haste to be spoken. “Say it again. Say it again,” he demanded.
But it wasn’t Greg. She could see that now, up close. His face had the same shape as Greg’s. He shared the eternal boyishness that Ashley’s ex-husband had possessed. But there were differences. His eyes were slightly farther apart, lips too full. He was a relative of Greg’s. His son might have looked like this, or his brother.
