Repent, page 13
Billy had disappeared somewhere between the bus stop and the store. That information was crucial. If only the police had been told he had nothing to do with the fire bombs, they would have taken Mrs. Tanner more seriously. Still, Nikki empathized with Jack and was even more awed by Billy’s courage. And his loyalty. Mrs. Tanner certainly had raised two unique boys.
She whipped around another corner, peppering gravel against the bottom of her car. Fortunately there was no traffic. A black truck sat on the narrow shoulder, but so far it was the only vehicle they’d met.
She glanced idly at the pickup in her rearview mirror: a late model Ford-150. The license plate was coated with dust but the parking decal in the window was familiar.
She braked so sharply Sparky slid forward, his paws scrambling for traction between the two seats.
“What is it?” Jack asked, swinging out his arm and rescuing Sparky.
She didn’t answer. Just backed up in front of the deserted pickup, stepped out and peered through the driver’s window.
It was definitely Smitty’s truck. Empty coffee cups littered the floor and the GPS was mounted in the same spot. There were more cups in the back. The bed was empty of hay but four bales had been stacked on the side of the road, barely five feet from the tailgate and close to a locked gate with a “NO TRESPASSING” sign.
The passenger door clicked as Jack stepped from the car. He sauntered over, glancing at the truck, then the hay. “What’s up? Yo, look at that dead deer.”
He cupped his hands around his eyes and peered through the tinted window. “No one’s hurt. Why’d you stop?”
Nikki pulled out her phone, checking for reception. Nothing, not a single bar. Besides, she couldn’t call Smitty and ask why he was parked on the side of the road. Lara said he was a community volunteer. Perhaps he’d hit the deer then pulled over to move the carcass off the road. If that was his practice, it would explain why his truck bed was stained with blood. Still, the fact that he was cruising around Billy’s neighborhood, less than twenty-four hours after she’d questioned him, raised all sorts of questions.
Jack walked behind the hay, expertly appraising the deer. “Lot of meat on that doe. Let’s tie it on your roof and take it home. Gran will be delighted.”
Nikki studied the rutted driveway, her mind whirling. This wasn’t even close to Smitty’s home. Earlier she’d pinpointed his address in relation to Billy and it definitely wasn’t this far east.
“Any idea who lives up there?” she asked.
“No idea,” Jack said, tugging at the deer’s hind legs. “But we gotta grab this deer. Finders keepers. Got any rope?”
Nikki pivoted, eyeing the chain link fence with the high wings extending into the brush—an expensive gate out of place at the bottom of the narrow driveway. Someone wanted privacy. She couldn’t help but wonder why.
“Hey, help me out here,” Jack called. “What are you doing?”
Alerted by her silence, he released his hold and the deer’s hindquarters thumped back to the ground. “Oh, hell,” he said. “You think this pickup has something to do with Billy?”
He sprinted around the truck and dropped to his knees beside the front bumper.
“Come here!” he shouted. “Bring a light. There’s brown hair. And blood. Oh, hell.”
“It’s okay, Jack,” she said. “I examined this vehicle last night. The grill wasn’t cracked. The driver probably did that today when he hit the deer.”
Jack rose from his crouch, relief washing his face. Then his eyes narrowed. “So you were already suspicious of this guy? That means you think he was involved. Or else you wouldn’t have stopped.”
He raced back, skidding to a stop mere inches in front of her. “Whose truck is it? Tell me. Bet it belongs to one of those asshole cops, the horse police. That’s it, isn’t it?”
Jack was too smart. And she still wasn’t sure what to make of Smitty being parked here. It was probably nothing. Admittedly if Smitty wasn’t a cop, her radar would be quivering even more than it was now.
“Tell me,” Jack demanded.
“It’s probably nothing,” she said, repeating the words that were going through her head. “But I’m going to wait by the truck so I can talk to the owner. How far away is your house?”
“Too far to walk,” he said, his eyes blazing. “I’m staying with you.”
“No, I need to be alone for this. I’m just hanging around to talk to an acquaintance.”
“No,” Jack said, studying her face. “You have a different expression. Like you’re onto something. It’s the same look as when you thought I was hurting Billy.”
Nikki sighed, regretting her earlier suspicions. No wonder Jack distrusted authority. “I know you didn’t have anything to do with your brother’s disappearance,” she said. “You’ve been a big help today.”
“So, let me stay.”
She sighed. “Okay, but only if you don’t jump to conclusions. Remember this is probably nothing. And you have to wait in the car when I talk to him.”
“No sweat. I’ll be as quiet as Sparky.”
Nikki glanced back at her car. At least, they’d be able to give Sparky a longer walk and let him stretch his legs. The dog was so placid, it was easy to forget about him.
Only Sparky wasn’t so placid now. He was wheeling circles in the back. Then he scrambled onto the driver’s seat and poked his head through the lowered window, whining in excitement.
“He smells the deer,” Jack said, shaking his head in exasperation. “He’s a pain about food.”
Sparky jumped up, scratching at the window with his front paws.
“Useless mutt,” Jack said. “Sorry he jumped on your seat. I’ll tie him in the back where he belongs.”
The dog’s whining turned to a high-pitched yip. He abruptly squeezed through the opening, landing awkwardly on the gravel. Then he raced toward the deer, half yelping, half barking. Nikki had never heard such strange noises before. Of course, she’d never seen a beagle around a dead deer either.
But Sparky didn’t stop at the deer. He leaped over the carcass and charged into the woods, his yips turning into a series of eerie howls.
“Sparky!” Jack hollered.
The dog reappeared on the other side of the gate, nose in the air, tail straight out. Ignoring Jack, he bolted up the gravel drive and vanished around the bend.
Jack shot forward but Nikki grabbed his arm, stopping him from chasing his dog. “Does Sparky usually come when you call?”
“Usually. Unless he’s on a scent. But he never barks weird like that. And he didn’t even look at the deer. It’s gotta to be Billy.” Jack’s voice rose. “I’m going to climb that fence.”
She tightened her grip on his arm. No way was she letting Jack go up that driveway.
“If Billy’s up there,” Jack said, his mouth set in a mutinous line, “he needs me. Right now.”
Nikki silently agreed. If Billy was there, the arrival of a strange dog would surely trigger panic in his abductor. If that happened, Billy’s life might hinge on precious minutes. But they needed backup, needed to let the police know their location.
“Here,” she said, pulling out her keys. “Take my car. Use your grandmother’s land phone and call the police.”
“Yeah, right. They might show up...next week.”
Nikki froze, absorbing the truth to his words. Mrs. Tanner had a history with the police; so did Jack. Who knew how long it would take authorities to respond.
She unlocked her phone and thrust it at him. “Go home and call Justin Decker. His number is on the screen. Tell him I need help. I’ll get Sparky.”
Jack started to protest but must have seen something in her expression.
“That’s the best way you can help,” she said. “Otherwise we both get in the car and find some hill where we can call. But that will take even more time.”
She could feel the tension humming through Jack’s body. Along with his indecision. But he pulled in a calming breath and she felt his muscles relax. She released her grip on his arm, ran to her car and pulled the Glock from her bag.
“So you do have a gun,” Jack said, his eyes following her every move. “I guess you’ll be all right alone?”
“Absolutely,”
She gave him a reassuring nod, waiting until he nodded back. Then she turned and charged into the dense brush, following Sparky’s route around the locked gate.
It was slower going than she anticipated. The brush was thick, a mixture of woody eucalyptus and junipers that choked out the young deciduous trees. She ducked beneath a rotting oak and almost tripped over the remains of a rock wall. Thorns grabbed at her shirt, slowing her further. This trail might be passable for a tough little dog but it was painful slogging for humans. It almost seemed as if the brush had been deliberately planted in order to discourage potential trespassers.
She caught a glimpse of blue sky, a welcome beacon in the thick bush, and used it to guide her toward the driveway. Something larger than her had bulled through recently, leaving a wider trail to follow. She pulled free from one last clinging bramble and scrambled onto the gravel clearing. It felt like she’d been bushwhacking for a while, yet she was still only a stone’s throw from the gate. At least now she was on the other side of the fence.
Jack spotted her and pressed closer to the steel mesh, one hand gripping the wire, the other wrapped around her phone. Even thirty feet away, his concern was obvious.
“Go,” she called, jabbing a thumb at her car. “Drive somewhere. Call Justin.”
She didn’t know if it would be quicker to go to his grandmother’s house or back to Lena’s. That was his decision. She only wished he’d move faster.
She gave another impatient gesture then wheeled and sprinted up the driveway, following Sparky’s trail.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The man whistled while he worked. Earlier he’d been angry about something, leaving the blood-stained chopping block and returning with a thunderous scowl. But now he was back in the barn, relaxed and happy again. Occasionally the buzzing saw stopped, and he stepped out of view, usually to croon to the pigs as he tossed them...food.
Billy gagged. He pressed his hands over his mouth, swallowing back the bile, trying to absorb this fresh horror. But his mind was sluggish, along with his coordination, and he couldn’t stop shivering. He bit the side of his hand, hoping the pain would jumpstart his brain.
He shouldn’t even be here. This was a mistake. He’d never starve a dog to death, not like the poor man Mr. Psycho was currently cutting up. It had to be about the police horse. But Radar was alive. He had some burns on his back, bad burns, but he was alive.
Understanding dawned and Billy’s hands shook so hard they no longer would cover his mouth. His captor was recreating each scene. He’d starved the prisoner who’d been in the adjacent stall but given Billy hay, grain and water. Just like Radar. That meant the man planned to burn him first. Smitty had always warned that hay was flammable.
Oh, God, no! A choked sob escaped. This wasn’t fair. Maybe he could talk to the man, explain. But that wouldn’t stop anything. No way he’d let Billy go. He’d just find someone else to stick with his syringe and torture in his pig barn. Maybe he’d go after Jack. Then Gran would be left with no one.
Dammit. This wasn’t right. He hadn’t even done anything.
But after a moment, Billy pulled in a shaky gulp of air. Squared his shoulders. Feeling sorry for himself wouldn’t help. He didn’t want to be like the broken man in the next stall, now being carved up into pig fodder. He wasn’t going to meekly surrender. He certainly didn’t want his back burned. How would Psycho Man do it? Toss in a firebomb?
Billy thought for a moment then shuffled to the back of the stall. The first thing he needed to do was get rid of the hay.
He scooped up a handful and jammed the stalks through the wire mesh and into the next stall. It was agonizingly slow but after seven days of being locked up, at least he had a constructive way to spend his time.
Ray Gibson switched off the meat cutter. Human hair gave pigs indigestion so he liked to shave the heads first. However, Smitty’s visit had taken some time, and there were still some highway carcasses that needed pickup.
He pushed the wheelbarrow closer to the pens and tossed in the last of the leg bones. “Don’t eat so fast,” he admonished Betty, his favorite pig. “There’s plenty more.”
She continued ripping at the bone, not bothering to lift her snout. He was glad she’d nabbed a juicy piece. Lately, Doris, one of the younger females was pushing Betty around, and it hurt to watch their squabbles. Animals and humans needed to get along. They shared this planet and they should be equals.
He watched the pigs eat for a moment, enjoying their contentment. Betty was so close, he could reach over the low fence and scratch her hairy back. When she was little, he used to keep her in the house but the other pigs had turned jealous, and now he’d learned to hide his favoritism.
“I’ll bring you more food later,” he crooned. “Some tender young meat that’s cooked.” He still wasn’t quite sure of the appropriate punishment for the horse torturer. He’d tried to pump Smitty for more details about the firebomb but as usual the officer refused to talk about his work.
It might have been impossible to even find out the torturer’s name if it hadn’t been for Ray’s internet friends. Everyone agreed the teenager should atone for his sins. They’d practically begged Ray to do something. Sure, they never came out and actually asked, but Ray knew the animal groups depended on him to make things right.
This was the first time Ray had ever disciplined a youth. Tracking down the underagers was frustratingly difficult. But the kid had been more than happy to climb into Ray’s truck. It was as if he just knew it was time to repent.
Ray frowned and turned away from the slobbering pigs. He needed more tranquilizers. He’d used the last on the boy and probably had the dosage a little high. At the time, he hadn’t known the boy’s weight. But he didn’t want his pigs eating tainted meat. He was always particular about what he fed his animals. Some drugs could harm the liver, and it was important to be careful about additives.
However Smitty would be drug free. And the boy had been here a full week. The tranquilizer would be well out of his system by now. It was time.
Whistling, he returned to his bench and assembled a glass bottle, a rag and some gasoline. This wouldn’t take long. He just wanted the torturer to apologize, to recognize the error of his ways. After that, everyone could move on. He was certain that in the teen’s next life, the boy would be much kinder to animals.
He soaked the rag in oil and carefully taped it to the gas-filled bottle. Then he walked to the front of the stall. But he jerked to a stop, so confused he almost dropped the bottle. The hay was gone, the entire two flakes.
Had the boy eaten it? Oh, no. This wasn’t good. He shook his head in dismay. Smitty said there was alfalfa in Radar’s trailer. It had caught fire and caused much of the horse’s terror. The punishment wouldn’t work if the torturer didn’t share Radar’s fear.
The boy glared up at him. Ray didn’t appreciate the look in the teen’s eyes. He didn’t look at all sorry, not like the scores of people who’d been here before. Even the fancy judge had repented. Maybe the boy had been given too much grain. It was high energy, laden with protein. Smitty said they fed it to all the police horses.
“I like animals,” the boy said.
“No talking,” Ray snapped. He cupped the gas-filled bottle, wondering how this was going to work. He’d never used a firebomb before. What if the bottle bounced off the boy and burned harmlessly on the floor? It might not be possible to exactly duplicate the boy’s crime. Ray certainly didn’t want his barn to burn down.
The boy was trembling, sweating with fear. Good. He needed to understand how the horse had felt.
But no. His hair was too slick.
Frowning, Ray opened the stall door and checked the water bucket. It was empty. So it wasn’t sweat that dotted the torturer’s forehead. The boy had soaked his hair. And his clothes too.
Ray’s jaw clenched. It would take hours for it to dry. And he needed the skin to sizzle—just like Radar’s.
“Take off your shirt,” he snapped.
The boy didn’t move.
Ray scowled, then turned and hurried back to his work bench. He pushed aside the stained meat cutter. Buzzing flies lifted in protest, their bodies slow and swollen with blood. He bent beneath the bluish cloud, unlocked the lower drawer and gathered his tools.
Stun gun, handcuffs and blowtorch. That should do the trick. The blowtorch would be safer than a firebomb. And the teen was terrified of the stun gun. Ray only wished he’d remembered to pick up fresh batteries.
He paused, then replaced the stun gun, selecting instead his six-foot cattle prod. It had more kick, and he could place it exactly where he wanted. The last time he’d used it was when he’d cut off the dog torturer’s ears.
Happy once more, he headed back to punish the teen.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Billy sagged. His arms ached and his legs refused to coordinate with his brain. But the handcuffs kept his naked body stretched against the wall.
He tried to balance on his toes and take the weight off his wrists. At first he hadn’t thought any shock could be worse than a stun gun, but the electric cattle prod had quickly widened his horizons. His back still seared from where Psycho Man had pressed it. And the air reeked of burnt skin.
He groaned, unable to form coherent words. The man had left, temporarily satisfied with the pain he’d inflicted. But the blow torch still sat by the open stall door. That would be next. The final punishment. Billy doubted he could endure more than five seconds of that torch. He’d scream any apology the man wanted, might even admit it hadn’t been him who burned Radar.
