Dead Even (31 page)

“No,” Simpson shook his head. “For Isaac. In his ramblings, he told me
he
had set the fire. Of course, he didn't know about the gas leak. He and Bobby were both caught when the house exploded. He managed to get out, and he ran for the woods in back of our home. But his actions had cost the lives of two people. I knew they would send him away. I—I thought he had been punished enough. He was all I had left. I didn't want to lose him, too.”

“And Bobby Kramer's parents? You have been sending them money all these years so they would think their son was still alive?”

Simpson nodded. “That—and to make up in some small measure for what Isaac had done.”

“Just one last question. Why does Isaac only kill in winter months?”

Simpson raised bloodshot eyes and looked at Mike. “He only goes on trips with me when the weather is cold. No one questions the face mask then. I—I always travel alone, never with other salesmen. I drop Isaac a few blocks from the motel, then he slips in later. It—it got him out of the house. I thought it was good for him to travel with me whenever possible. I always stayed at the motel, and that gave him a chance to drive around while I was at meetings—see the country—different sights.…”

Mike nodded. “Or case the area—decide where he wanted to take his next victim.”

Chapter THIRTY

Thomas Reivich couldn't believe his eyes. There was his pickup! Heading east on the interstate! There wasn't a question in his mind. Even in the dark, he could see the back end was piled high with firewood.

He slammed his hand down on the steering wheel. “You old fool! You blithering
old fool!
”

There was no place to turn around. The grass ditch separating east and west bound traffic was piled high with snow.

Thomas shook his head, glad that Sarah wasn't around to see what a dang idiot he had been. Well, there wasn't anything to do, except keep going on into Hays. He was only about a mile out, anyway. Maybe the police would be able to stop her somewhere along the way.

He remembered her words, “Now don't you worry, Mr. Reivich. I'll get your pickup back to you tomorrow, safe and sound.”

Right! By morning, that little lady would probably be in St. Louis—selling his new Ford to the highest bidder!

*   *   *

A young officer stuck his head in the door of the interrogation room. “Captain Markham, I think we've found the van.”

Butch and Mike exchanged glances. “Go ahead, men,” Markham said to them. “I'll stay here—see if I can get any more out of Simpson.”

Mike closed the door in back of him. “Where? Was there any sign of the boy?”

“No, sir. I mean, we don't know, sir. The call just came in. From a Philomena Leikum. She says the van is parked in her garage.”

“Have you checked it out? Did it sound like a crank call?”

“Sir, that is what I'm trying to tell you. She is still on the line. I thought you might want to talk with her.”

Mike hurried over and grabbed up the telephone. “This is Lieutenant Ramsey. I understand you have information for us?”

Philomena's voice came over the line, timid and frail. “Yes, sir. That van you are looking for. It's in my garage.”

“Are you certain? Dark blue, 1996 Dodge?”

“Well, I'm not certain about the color or make, but—”

Mike glared at the young officer. It was obviously a crank. He interrupted the old woman. “Ma'am, if you don't know the color or make, what makes you think it is the van we are looking for?” His voice was louder than he had meant it to be, but he was almost at the end of his rope. He didn't have time for every nut in the county.

Philomena heaved a big sigh. “Well, for goodness sake, if you would just let me finish! And don't yell at me. I'm blind, not deaf!”

Mike rubbed the back of his neck, and lowered his voice, feeling guilty. “I'm sorry, ma'am. Go ahead.”

“Now, as I was saying, that van is in my garage. Ivan left it there earlier this evening. At least he
told
me his name was Ivan, but the radio called him Isaac. Anyway, I got to thinking about it, because of the voice, and I got my coat on and went out to the garage. And that wasn't easy, what with the snow and all, and me being blind.”

“But—” Mike began.

“Now don't interrupt me, young man, or I'll never get this story told,” Philomena sounded annoyed. “You want to know how I could be certain it was the right van, and I'm coming to that. I felt my way around to the back, then took off my glove and traced over the license plate. It was TMY 643. That
is
the one you're looking for, isn't it?”

*   *   *

“Damn,” Audra swore under her breath as another car went around her, then came back over into her lane, blocking her view of the Studebaker. She glanced down at the gas tank. It was nearing empty. How much longer would he continue on this road?

She should have gone back for the police. Had she known Isaac would head for I-70 and stay there that would have been the sensible thing to do.

But she hadn't known that. For all she knew, Isaac could have taken off on a country road, and they would never have found him. Besides, maybe it was comforting Jason to know she was back here. She was positive he had seen her and would be watching to see if she followed.

As she drove, she tried to think what she would do if she
did
catch up with Isaac. How would she confront him? She glanced around at Thomas Reivich's gun rack and the rifle strapped to it. She hadn't even noticed it until a few miles back. Not that it would do her much good. She didn't know a blessed thing about guns.

That wasn't exactly true. She did know one thing. Nine times out of ten, it was the
victim
that got shot, not the criminal. How hard would it be for Isaac to take the rifle away from her? Her father had always hated guns—wouldn't have one on the place. He had always told her that an ordinary citizen hesitates to use a gun. The criminal knows this, and during those moments of hesitation manages to get the weapon. That's what the police told him had happened when they came to tell him Grandpa was dead.

Maybe she should stick with the firewood.

Ahead of her, Audra saw the Studebaker slow. The car in front of her slowed also, signaling a right-hand turn. Both vehicles were taking the Victoria exit.

She watched as Isaac drove up the inclined road to the stop sign, then turned right, toward the little town of Victoria. The sports car in front of her slowed to make the stop, but suddenly spun sideways, sliding out of control. When it stopped, it was sideways in the road, blocking her path. Snow was piled high on the shoulders beside the exit road. There was no way she could go around. Audra laid on the horn.

“Keep your shirt on, sister!” a young voice yelled back at her. “Or take it off!” another husky voice laughed.

Audra could see Isaac's taillights disappearing up the road. She jumped from the pickup. “I have to get by! I can't lose that car up there!”

Three young men got out of the car and came back toward her. They were each holding a beer can, and by the looks of them, it wasn't their first.

“We seem to be stuck,” the largest boy said, laughing. “Maybe you could pull us out?” He came over and put his arm around Audra's shoulder. “And then how would you like to go party with us, sweets?”

Audra yanked his arm from her shoulder and jumped back in the pickup, punching down the door lock. “You want out?” she screamed. “Fine. I'll get you out!”

She put the pickup in gear and drove straight toward the rear of the red Trans Am. She crashed into it, sending it skidding to the side of the road.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?” She could hear the boys screaming at her. She didn't slow, but careened on around the sport's car to the main road.

There was no sign of the Studebaker.

*   *   *

Thomas sat on a bench at police headquarters. They had told him to wait, and that they would get to him as soon as they could. Obviously, there had been a dreadful accident. He had overheard something about a policeman being shot, and a van burning with three men inside.

It was certainly causing a lot of flurry. Officers were rushing in and out, reporters were showing up—just general bedlam! He supposed he would have to wait. The man at the desk hadn't been too concerned when he told him about the woman who had stolen his pickup. “Please wait,” the officer had said. “We've got our hands full just now. I'll get to you in a few minutes.”

*   *   *

Audra followed the road on in to Victoria, a small town of about fourteen hundred, just ten miles from Hays. Her eyes searched up and down side streets for the yellow Studebaker.

Then she saw it. Right to the side of the road in front of her. She pulled up in back, but knew before she got out of the pickup that Isaac and Jason were gone. “Jason!” She screamed. “Can you hear me?”

Where can they be? Where could they have gone in such a short time?
Audra looked around wildly, trying to decide what to do.

She looked on up the road and her eyes fell on the famous church, its twin steeples rising high in the sky. St. Fidelis. At one time, the largest church west of the Mississippi.

Something was nagging at her, and she continued staring at the massive Romanesque structure. The Cathedral of the Plains.

Of course! That was it! That was what Jason had been trying to tell them! William Jennings Bryan! The great orator had been so moved by the sight of this church, that he had named it the Cathedral of the Plains! Jason had hoped the Cross of Gold would make them think of the church. And the two printed “t's” were not “t's” at all. They were crosses. The ones on top of the twin steeples.

She had brought her kindergarten class to see the historical church last September. And Jason never forgot anything. Of course he would remember the story of William Jennings Bryan! It was only she who had forgotten!

Audra ran back and jumped in the pickup. As she drove the short block to the church, she worked on the straps holding the rifle. If Isaac had heard one of those radio announcements, he could be harming Jason at this very minute. She needed something more than a hunk of wood to scare him off.

She pulled into the parking area beside the church, shut off the motor, and searched wildly through the cab for shells.
Hold on, Jason! I'm coming!

“Dad,” she spoke the words aloud. “If you're up there watching, don't let me make the same mistake Grandpa did!”

*   *   *

“It
was
the right van, wasn't it, officer?” Philomena asked.

“Yes, ma'am,” Mike answered her. “No question about it. And I can't thank you enough for taking the time to go check, and insisting I listen to you.”

Philomena smiled. “I almost had a heart attack in the garage when I felt that number. All I could think about was getting safely back in the house to call. I was terrified I would fall, and not be able to help that poor little boy.”

“Did Isaac say anything to you about where he might go? Anything at all?”

“Just that he was going to the hospital for a checkup on his throat. He told me he had cancer. Said he didn't want to leave his car on the street. I suppose all of that was lies?”

“Yes, I'm afraid so. He figured the police would be looking for the van. He either had another vehicle close by, or walked the two blocks to his house. We don't know what vehicle he is using now.”

Philomena shook her head. “I just can't believe it. Ivan—I mean Isaac, always seemed like such a nice young man. He would come visit me late in the evenings, and we'd sit and visit for hours. Daytime, nighttime, it's all the same to me. I always just enjoyed his coming.”

Butch came in from outdoors, and shook his head at Mike. “There is nothing in the van to indicate where he might have gone. Jason's book bag is in there, but that's it.”

“I'm surprised he didn't take the Studebaker,” Philomena said. “I guess he was afraid the old thing wouldn't run.”

Mike and Butch exchanged glances. “The Studebaker?”

“Yes. Jacob's yellow Studebaker. His pride and joy. I've kept it all these years—couldn't bear to get rid of it, even when the tags and taxes skyrocketed after they re-classified it. My land, just because something is old, don't mean—”

Mike interrupted her. “Where do you keep the car?”

“Why, in the garage, of course. Didn't you see—” Philomena's hands flew to her face. “Oh, Lord help me! It isn't there, is it? He
did
take it! I'm sorry! It was on the other side of the garage. I—I just assumed it was there!”

Mike went over and put his arm around the old woman. “Now just take it easy, Philomena. You are doing wonderfully. This is the first big break we've gotten. Can you give us the license number?”

Philomena nodded. “Certainly. The grandkids, they wanted one of those new ones—you know, the cute little sayings? It is IMAJEWL.”

Mike grabbed up the phone and called headquarters.

*   *   *

Captain Markham walked into the squad room and faced a sea of reporters. Questions started coming at him from all directions as he made his way to his office.

“Is it true an officer has been shot?”

“What about the three men in that van that burned? We understand they were Papa Joe Gallinni's men. Is that true?”

“What about the Delaney woman? We heard she has been found, but Jason Miller is still missing. Can you confirm that?”

“Who is Isaac Simpson and what is the name of the boy he has hostage?”

Markham shook his head elaborately. “I'm sorry, you will just have to wait until later. I don't have the time now to fill you in.” He crossed over to his office, and shut the door behind him.