Dead butterflies, p.14
Dead Butterflies, page 14
Motherfucking hell!
“I know this sounds bad, Derek, but in essence, Kinley may be our pathway to finding CD. There’s a good chance she could have met him at some point, or at least recall his real name.” Sean contemplates me while I take a swallow of water and hope this nausea in my chest doesn’t end up all over the table. “I’m going to ask again. Have you fallen for this woman? And by fallen, I don’t just mean a couple of nights of fucking.”
“Doesn’t matter how I feel. I have no plans to see her again. There’s no place in my life for a woman, certainly not this one. Not now.”
“Have you fucked her?”
I could have walked away, and should have. I should have ignored the softness of her skin and the way she smelled. I should have forgotten how she awakened every nerve inside me when her body went lax as I put my hands on her, or how natural it felt to kiss her mouth. I’ve done terrible things. Heinous things. I’ve tortured, killed, smiled as I watched dead bodies turn to ash, and I could break this little spitfire’s spirit in less than two seconds.
I’m a fucking fool.
“And why is that important, Sean?”
“That’s what I thought,” he replies with a deep sigh. “Look, man, I don’t have all the answers. I wish I did. But one thing is clear. You care much more than you’re admitting. It’s in your eyes, your voice, and all over your ugly mug.” Humor flashes in Sean’s eyes, but only for an instant. “But in all seriousness, you need to put some thought into this. She could go to the cops. Christ, she practically works for the legal system. Get rid of the files, Derek. Gut the shed if you have to. And last, never let your dick control your brain.”
With a jagged inhale of breath, I tug at the sides of my hair. “I destroyed the files thirty minutes after she left and just before I called you. She has no proof.”
“She has enough proof to tell one of her ex-DPS bosses that you have a small apartment out back that reeks of burning flesh and had file folders with dead males. She saw names and photos. She does background checks for a living, for fuck’s sake. She could easily find out that those two men are missing and presumed dead. She may already have.”
“Jesus,” I say so bitterly that spit flies from my mouth. “This is the same shit that happened before. The same reason I swore I’d never get close to another woman. But here I am fucking up again and being irresponsible.”
“This is nowhere near the same as before, Derek. Lynn Martin was nothing but a money-hungry cunt. She was out for one thing only—your bank account.”
“Ya think?” I answer angrily.
“Fuck that woman and her predatory pussy. I hated her the instant I saw her.”
“I’m pretty confident she knew as much,” I say sarcastically. “You weren’t exactly cordial when she was around.”
“Forget that greedy bitch. Let’s just focus on how you want to handle this thing with Kinley. If we can get a lead on CD and end this thing once and for all, your mind can finally be at ease.”
“My mind will never be at ease, Sean.”
My hands continue tugging at my hair.
I’m so fucking pissed at myself. I never let down my guard, never take such ridiculous risks. Yes, I’ve had women in my home and hosted company gatherings on the patio. But I’ve allowed very few to walk through the burn shed, and I’ve never wandered off and left the goddamned door unlocked.
How motherfucking senseless can a man be? I run an automobile empire, for Christ’s sake!
“But yes, I care for her. I cared the instant I laid eyes on her. Am I falling in love? I don’t have an answer. All I know is that for the first time in my adult life, I can’t get a woman out of my head.”
“All I needed to hear, Derek.”
“What are you implying, Sean?”
“What I’m implying is that there’s only been one time I couldn’t get a woman out of my head. And I married her.”
“Fuck me,” I respond through gritted teeth. For close to two decades, I’ve concentrated on one thing only—revenge—and now all I can do is ponder about all the ways I want to kiss this woman, fuck this woman, love this woman, and care for this woman. I want her powerless underneath my body. I want her breathy and timid, begging and pleading with me to let her come. I want my cock inside every opening of her beautiful body. I want to see her smile at me every morning and everywhere in between. For the first time, I want more, yet the idea is beyond the bounds of possibility. I made a pact with my brother, to my mother, and to myself. I cannot and will not end this all but twenty-year-old manhunt.
Even it if means threatening a woman I’m falling in love with.
I rake a hand through my hair. “I won’t pursue Kinley romantically, regardless of any feelings. I won’t encourage someone I care for into this lifestyle. What I will do is find out what she knows about CD and where we might find him. No matter what it takes. Just give me your word on one thing, Sean. Should I end up behind bars, or worse, take care of my father.”
“Derek, we won’t let that happen. I might even have an idea. Not sure it’s a good one, but it could be a start if you’re willing to let me deal with it.”
“I’m listening.”
“Okay, first we offer Kinley money to keep her quiet, then perhaps put her spendthrift mother up in a nice condo with a comfortable monthly salary.”
I huff out a laugh. “Money? Kinley Hunt doesn’t give a flying shit about money or condos any more than I do. Offering her cash will do nothing but piss her off even more.”
“You sure about that?”
“Unquestionably.”
Sean nods. “Well, one thing I’ve learned in this life is that if anything will keep a person quiet, it’s the almighty dollar. Kinley might not give a fuck about money, but her mother damn well may.”
“Make no mistake, Sean. I absolutely did not know who she was. If I had, I wouldn’t have laid a hand on her. But Christ, it kills me knowing I’ve hurt her and that I could bring her more pain.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s too late for that now. We just need to offer the money, then proceed to step two.”
Frustration boils inside me. “Step two? As in offer her a wad of cash over sweet tea and crumpets while telling her I proudly tortured the fuck out of her uncle, then burned his body and sent it downstream in White Rock Lake? Then threaten her? Force her to give up information on CD? And expect her to keep her mouth shut? I’m sure she’ll be very responsive.”
“Listen to me, Derek. You’re too close to this. Let me handle it. The outcome may not be pretty, but we’ll do whatever we need to. Through thick and thin, buddy.”
Sick dread snakes through me. “I’m afraid to ask, but what exactly is step two?”
“Rachel,” he answers boldly. “The woman can talk the fucking talk. She can squeeze blood from a dead turnip. Didn’t you tell me that Kinley’s mother is unemployed?”
“I did.”
“Perfect. Then let Rachel invite Kinley over for dinner, claiming she wants to discuss job possibilities for her mother. Should the mother already have employment by now, Rachel will insist on finding something better. In the meantime, she’ll have Kinley chirping like a bird while doing what she’s done to me for nine years—mindfuck the hell out of her.” Sean looks at me sternly. “We’ll end the evening by putting just a small thread of fear in her mind.”
“I don’t know, Sean. I don’t like it.”
“Look, I’m not implying that we threaten bodily harm. I simply want her to keep what she saw to herself.”
“This is a complete shit show. None of this would be happening if I’d only…”
“Don’t! Don’t even say the words. You know damn well I loved Dalton too. Probably more than you realize. For weeks after his death, I thought of suicide many times. Like you, I blamed myself for not realizing how deeply into the white powder he really was and not doing more to help him. But I know in here,” he says while tapping at his chest, “that Dalton Kinnard wouldn’t want anything for either of us besides happiness.”
“Jesus, could there really be a way out of this hell after all these years? After nothing but fucking dead ends?” Angelica brings our food along with fresh focaccia, which all nauseates me. I push the plate of fragrant shrimp to the side.
“I don’t know. Kinley was young and years have passed. People move. They lose touch. Fuck, CD may not even be alive. Derek, if you want Rachel and me to do this thing and pursue Kinley to see what we can get out of her, we will. But only if you’re certain. Foremost, I am your friend. I care about your happiness and your heart. But I also care about keeping you out of prison.”
“I made a vow,” I blurt out. “I devoted my life to finding him, Sean. Dalton and my mother are in the cold, dark ground because of my selfishness, and I’m nothing but a ruthless killer if I don’t complete this mission.”
“Aren’t we both?”
A long stretch of silence passes between us, neither of us touching our food.
Sean pushes his plate away and gives me a stern look. “I understand your guilt and vengeance. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have been your partner for all these years. I also understand your need to find the last piece of this tragic puzzle. But there also comes a time in a man’s life when important, life-changing decisions need to be made. Dalton is gone, Derek. He’s not coming back. Nor is your mother. And there’s a huge possibility that we will never find CD. If we pursue Kinley only to end up where we’ve been for close to twenty years, knowing nothing, maybe that’s your sign to let go of all this anger and move on to the next phase in your life before the grudge in your heart disintegrates what’s left of your soul.”
“And how in hell do you expect me to do that, Sean?”
“I don’t know, Derek. But in the end, is this what Dalton would want? To carry out the rest of our lives full of anger and watching our backs every fucking day? I know damn well it’s not what your mother would want.”
“Jesus, Sean. Even if we find CD, I don’t think I can change. This vengeance is engrained in me. It’s all I know. It’s who I am.”
“Amigo, you’re strong. You’re intelligent. You run a multi-million automobile empire, for Christ’s sake. You can change the world if you want it badly enough. Hell, maybe Kinley Hunt came back into your life for a reason. Maybe she’s enough to make you try.”
I return Sean’s hard stare. “You’re my best friend. You’re like a brother. You’ve stood by me through thick and thin and I trust you. Get Rachel to invite Kinley over. Share a meal, have some conversation, and let Rachel do her thing. But don’t ruin what you and I have. Don’t hurt this woman. Even if I can’t have her, she means something to me.”
Is this what Dalton would want for you? I know damn well it’s not what your mother would want. Maybe Kinley Hunt is enough to make you try.
Sean is my closest friend and a man I trust with my life. He’s been by my side since day one and never criticized. Never judged. Never tried to turn me into someone different.
Perhaps he’s right. Maybe it’s time to heal. To end this revenge and take a hard look at what life can still be and wind down the clock on what it could have been.
Could one woman be my savior?
Could she turn the monster in me into someone else entirely?
Could Kinley Hunt be my pathway to freedom?
18
Kinley
I’m still scared, angry, and overwhelmed with gut-wrenching hurt. There was only one other time I didn’t care about food, water, work, or my appearance.
Mom once told Keri and me that to live life to its fullest, we need to experience love at least once, but dwell on peace, grace, and forgiveness every day. Today, those words of advice seem like an ugly, cruel joke. Why is every aspect of my life difficult?
Why are my hopes and dreams fading?
Why do I feel like I’ve had dirt thrown in my face?
Why does my body still ache with the same perpetual burning need?
Why… everything?
Derek is tangled up in something illegal, morally unjust, and deeply wicked. I felt it before.
I’m sure of it now.
Problem is, I’ve no idea why or how deeply his involvement is, which has my head spinning with a hundred different scenarios—none of them pretty, and none of them legal. But damned if I can’t still deny the fact that it hurts like hell knowing I may never see him again.
With Mark in Houston assisting an attorney and Clayton in Denton conducting a polygraph, the office is quiet, and I’ve spent a big part of the day looking over recorded footage from the Carey Smith missing person’s file. “Your eyes are a lot younger than mine,” Mark told me over the phone. “Play with it. Maybe you can see something I didn’t.”
With the camera quality far from great, same as Mark, I’m unable to make out a license plate number, and with the Tahoe’s windows being tinted in limo-grade black, the driver isn’t visible. After watching three times, the only thing I’m able to verify is the Kinnard logo on the exterior of the SUV.
I jot down what little I’ve found, then spend a few minutes paging through Mark’s notes, where I come across his list of potential witnesses. Four names were obtained from Carey Smith’s most recent call list on his phone, which was found inside his home, all presumed to be local drug dealers. Dennis Johnson. Miguel Lopez. Chantal D. Dawson. Jonathan Hicks. While reading over the background information on each, one grabs my attention for no good reason other than it’s a female. Chantal Deshee Dawson. Forty-one years of age. No known relatives. No criminal activity. Two bankruptcies filed within the last eight years. Lengthy list of judgments. The lady clearly has financial issues, but no known criminal or civil activity.
Just as I finish reading over her profile and returning it to the file, a stab of curiosity hits me, and I reach for the report again and the list of aliases. Three are listed. Chantal D. Dawson, Chantal Deshee Dawson, and CD Dawson.
Startlingly, the hair on my neck lifts, and an uncomfortable tingle stirs in my belly. Could my sixth sense be telling me I’ve come across something substantial? Or is this weird intuition just a false hunch? With my emotions on end, I don’t trust much of anything I’m feeling.
I scan through the profile again, then Google Chantal Dawson. I’m led to an assortment of images, most of which do me no good. Beneath are links to Facebook and LinkedIn, which I review and still find no vital information. Again, I thumb through the same pages and stop at the list of past employers. That’s when I notice it. Top Twenty Record Shop. The name is familiar, so I Google it as well. The record shop and concert ticket outlet are no longer in business but were in the West End in the same building where a Dallas police officer was shot dead during a potential robbery some years ago. Adrenaline races through me at the realization of why it sounds familiar.
“No way.”
Kace mentioned this place a few times, and strangely, I don’t recall him ever speaking of attending a concert or listening to music on anything besides the radio. Of course, all of this could be coincidental and Top Twenty Record Shop could have simply been a hangout to meet and visit with friends. Then again, something in my head says it isn’t.
This is growing stranger by the minute.
With my mind spiraling a million different directions, I set aside the Carey Smith file and start doing my own research… on Jeffrey Chapman and Freddie Gallow. As hard as I’ve tried to forget what I saw in those folders, it hasn’t left my thoughts for a single second. My God, how could anyone forget something so savage? Derek can threaten me to forget what I saw until he’s blue in the face, but I won’t rest again until I know what happened to these two men and how Derek was involved.
Both are clearly deceased, so I start with obituaries but find nothing. I search and dig for anything of importance on Jeffrey Chapman, yet also hit a dead end. Common names can be near impossible to track down without a date of birth, social security number, or some kind of vital information, and unfortunately, North Texas has a long list of Jeffrey Chapmans.
Freddie Gallow, on the other hand, isn’t difficult to find.
There’s a $25,000 reward for any information on his disappearance. The reward has a photograph and, incidentally, his age. After conducting both state and national criminal searches, I find a small trail of unimportant civil activity on Gallow, yet nothing besides a couple of traffic citations on his criminal. The guy appears to have a clean record from what I can see.
After a bathroom break, I grab a Diet Dr. Pepper and a granola bar from the third-floor vending machine, then return to my desk to notice the phone blinking with unheard voice mail. After I return both calls and schedule two integrity interviews for Clayton, I jot them down on his calendar, then do one final background check—on Rachel Hernandez.
The call had come as a big surprise. While claiming to be a long-time close friend of Derek’s and in the job placement business, she’d said she wanted to visit with me about my mother and job possibilities. Of course, that entire line of bullshit immediately struck me as weird. And untrue. Why hadn’t she simply called my mother? And why would she even give a hoot about her welfare? Furthermore, why would she ask a stranger into her house when Derek and I have parted ways?
And the real kicker... why the hell did I accept the invitation?
Nice as she came across on the phone and just because her background is squeaky clean, I’m no fool. Rachel Hernandez may be half-owner to Ahead of the Hunt employment agency, but she has more on her agenda than job possibilities for Mom. But what? And why?
Could Derek really be involved in the disappearance of Freddie Gallow? Could this Rachel be involved as well? Should I take what I know to the authorities or tell Mark that Derek could be the driver of the Tahoe in the recorded footage?
Or should I do what my inner voice is telling me and keep my mouth shut, even though I may very well be involved with a homicidal murderer?
