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“Why are you doing this?” Tom asked, interrupting his thoughts and bringing him back to the present.
“Shut up and walk,” he warned.
“Does this have anything to do with Ra--?”
He yanked the handcuffs upward and Tom squealed. “I said don’t fuckin’ talk and I meant it.” He also applied more pressure to the knife pressed against Tom’s back.
The man went silent.
Just a hundred yards into the woods, the itching from the mask became so fierce, he couldn’t stand it. As he reached to readjust it, Tom suddenly sprinted.
It took him a second to realize what was happening. But quickly he was on the man’s tail. He chased the man as he zigged and zagged through the tall trees, screaming for someone to help him. Tom was fast, but handcuffed, he had trouble keeping his balance.
Catching up with him, he sank the knife deep into Tom’s spine. The man let out a thunderous yelp and tumbled forward, blindsiding a tree. Then he fell to the ground with a loud thud.
He hovered over Tom who lay wheezing and stinking of urine. Pale moonlight that had made its way through the tangle of giant trees lit the area just enough for him to make out the terror on Tom’s bloody face.
“Please. I’ll do anything. I. . . I have children.”
“You should have thought of them while you were fucking their babysitter,” he said, taking the bat from its harness.
“No, please,” Tom pled, wide-eyed. Pathetically, he inched backward on his rear end as though there was hope of getting away. “Please. I have money. I can pay you.”
He raised the bat above his head.
“Oh God, no. Please. No.”
Tom screamed the first few times the bat made contact with his head. But then the screaming quickly stopped.
He stared down at Tom’s body, his head nothing now but blood, bone and tissue. An exquisite calm entered him. But oddly, as the calm came and the rage dissipated, so did his energy.
He became lightheaded as something bright flickered meaninglessly behind his eyes. He yanked off the mask but it did nothing to help. He felt drunk and was desperate for rest.
He stumbled a couple of yards away from the body and its offensive odor and sank to the ground.
***
HE AWOKE TO daylight and instinctively wiped the dried saliva from the edges of his lips. He blinked. There were trees. Birds were singing. Above him a chattering squirrel leapt from one tree to another.
He tensed as he remembered. He was in the woods, laying a short distance from Tom’s body. He’d fallen asleep.
He’d fallen asleep!
He glanced at his watch and his heart pounded. This was dangerous. Very dangerous. The woods were too well-traveled with the investigation going on.
There was a rustling and he rose to his feet. He looked around woozily, his neck snapping left to right. He turned in a circle, his eyes darting every which way, taking in everything possible.
Then he discovered what the noise was. On the ground to his right lay a martin bird. Its wings and beak were squashed as though it had been stepped on, but it was still alive. Its beady black eyes were open and it gazed up at him, quivering.
He knew some believed that seeing a wounded bird up close was as unlucky as shattering a mirror or having a black cat cross your path. They believed it was an omen for something bad happening, a very unfortunate turn of luck. Luck. . . that he never had in the first place.
Spooked by his presence, the bird began to flail its better wing. It managed to scoot around in a 180, but after a few seconds it stopped. It watched him and began to tremble again.
He couldn’t stand it. Its helplessness. Its pain.
Gazing up at the sky, he pleaded for forgiveness, then took a step forward, thrusting his foot hard into the bird’s skull. . . and its suffering immediately ended.
Tears filled his eyes and his insides screamed. As far as he knew, the animal had been i
He averted his eyes from the dead bird and started towards Tom, who hadn’t been i
A branch snapped close by. He stopped and his body went rigid. Someone stood a few feet away from him. His hand shot to his back pocket to rest on his knife.
“Hel-lo,” he said, as casually as he could when he saw who it was.
“Howdy,” Chris replied, looking dumbfounded.
He’d seen Chris, the man who owned Luke’s, in the woods twice before. “You’re out awfully early. It’s barely seven o’clock.”
Chris glanced around, but said nothing.
He eyed the binoculars hanging from Chris’s neck. “What are the binoculars for?”
The man’s face went red but he didn’t answer.
“Don’t you worry, I won’t tell anyone that I saw you out here with those.”
Chris closed his eyes.
Sweat formed at his temples. The only option he had sickened him. “You lonely, Chris?”
Chris’s eyes opened. At first it looked like he was going to argue, but then he just looked resigned. “I. . . yeah, I reckon I am. But I’m no killer. That’s not me. I just have me a little problem. Since Luke A
“Been peeking into folks’ windows, right? Since your daughter died you haven’t been able to help yourself.”
Chris’s forehead creased with worry. “Yeah, but that’s all. I have nothin’ to do with those girls goin’ missing.”
“I understand. See, I’m lonely, too.” His grip on the knife tightening.
“You?” Chris studied him and he saw the man notice the blood stains on his arms.
He went for the knife.
Chris turned to run, but he didn’t get far.
Chapter 60
ERICA TRAILED FAR behind Guitreaux. Far enough away, and he’d think her sounds were nature’s, she reasoned. But five minutes after she began following, Guitreaux abruptly stopped.
He stood still for a second. Then, without bothering to look back, he called, “C’mon, Danielle Steele. You’ll get hurt out here by yourself. Might as well join me.”
Erica felt her face fill with blood as she walked toward him. But she knew she’d have to play along to get what she wanted: the experience of the investigation firsthand.
“What are you doing?” she asked, now by his side, hoisting her backpack higher on her shoulders.
“Now I don’t want you blabbering to the FBI like you did with me. Got it?”
Erica nodded.
Guitreaux gri
“We’re going there? Why?”
Erica thought of Rachel. Did he suspect her, like those girls in class had said? Her husband, Tom? Rachel hadn’t even been home for days. She’d left shortly after Erica had seen Mac’s truck at her place overnight.
“The missus reported seeing someone in her backyard on a couple of occasions. And her kid saw someone in the woods near the house. So I’ve been watching their property regular. If someone’s been out here, he’ll come back.”
Erica remembered sitting on the Anderson’s swing set that night and watching the house herself. “Who do you think it could be?”
“Du
He pulled a low-slung branch out of the way and motioned for her to go ahead.
Track killers? So far, Erica and the rest of the town hadn’t seen him track a thing.
“You ever catch anyone?” she asked.
Guitreaux laughed. “You kidding me? In the three months since I made detective, you mean?”
“It doesn’t bother you that everyone thinks you’re really bad at this? All this time not being able to figure out what happened to Tiffany Perron?”
“Sweetie, not much bothers me. Besides, I didn’t ask for this job. Not really. It just kinda landed on my lap.”