Jack Stone - Deadly Revenge (12 page)

Twenty-Four.

The
sheriff ushered Stone inside the house and Stone’s eyes took it all in quickly. He was standing in a small living room. The walls were wallpapered with a gentle floral pattern, the dark wood floorboards covered with thick rugs. The furnishings were minimal; just a two-seater sofa and a huge old leather armchair that was worn and loosing its stuffing from constant use. There was a lamp on a small table and a glass-fronted cabinet that stood to the height of his chest. It was an old antique piece filled with the kind of china ornaments that grandparents used to collect.

To Stone’s right, through an arched opening, was a large kitchen lit by the bright glare of fluorescent bars. The area was evidently well used. There were pots, pans and plates in a sink. The bench tops were cluttered with appliances and Stone could hear the noisy hum of the refrigerator, loud in the silence.

The sheriff raised his arms in an all-encompassing gesture and glanced at Stone.

“My wife died two years ago,” the sheriff said
heavily, as if the passing of his wife explained the untidy kitchen and the bare living room area. Stone simply nodded.

The sheriff led him through a dark hallway. There were doors left and right. He pushed open one door and suddenly they were standing in a small office.

The walls were dark wood paneling. There was a single narrow window shuttered against the night. The furnishings were all dark; old bookshelves lined with rows of carefully collected editions of cheap western novels that had probably been bought through a subscription service decades ago. There was a bulky winter coat hanging on a stand in the corner. The coat was one of those plaid-lined pieces men wear when they go and do things like duck hunting. It was worn at the elbows and grimy around the collar with constant wear.

In the center of the room t
here was a big black swivel chair on heavy castors tucked in behind a steel desk that looked like it had been bought from a government supply sale. There was a straight-backed wooden chair right across from it. On the desk was a framed photograph – one of those small wooden things with a cardboard tongue on the back to stand it upright, and spread out all around it was a stack of cardboard folders and medical charts lit by the soft yellow glow of an old desk lamp.

The sheriff sagged back into the chair behind the desk and waved Stone to sit down.

“You’ve been busy,” the sheriff said, rocking the chair back on its springs with his big hands clasped across the expanse of his stomach. “You’ve been in town just a couple of days and you’re already raising hell.”

Stone said nothing. He locked eyes with the man across the desk.

The sheriff reached into the stack of folders at his elbow and found the one he was looking for. It was a slim, flimsy cardboard thing, still stiff along its folds. Stone saw his name written in black marker pen along the spine.

The sheriff flipped the folder open, laid it flat on the desk. Stone saw three or four pages; typed reports, military documents. He sat patiently and waited while the sheriff went through the pretense of
apprising himself of the report’s contents. Stone didn’t doubt the man knew every word already.

Finally t
he sheriff looked up.

“Your military record is outstanding,” he said, and his voice was inflected with a tone of grudging respect. “And it seems you’ve been in no real trouble with the law since mustering out.”

Stone said nothing.

The sheriff sighed. “So why are you in
Heston’s Cove suddenly raising hell?” he frowned accusingly. “I’ve spoken to detective Harrison. He tells me you broke into an apartment unit. I’ve also had a report that someone fitting your description was involved in a physical altercation at a local waterside bar…”

Stone said nothing.

“And now I have a report that there was a disturbance at an adult club in the Cove earlier this evening. Do you have anger issues, son? Or is there another reason all this trouble seems to have followed you into my town?”

Suddenly the sheriff leaned forward and slammed the folder shut, the sound of his hand on the table a loud ring in the silence of the night. He stumped his elbows on the tabletop and peered hard at Stone.

“I came here to help find a missing woman,” Stone said evenly.

The she
riff sighed. “Katrina Walker.”

Stone nodded. “And when your detective told me she was dead, it turned into a search to find her killer.”

The sheriff shook his head heavily. “And your idea of a ‘search’ is to fight your way through every bar and club in Heston’s Cove?”

“No,” Stone said. “I’ve
already found the man who killed Katrina Walker. Now I just need you and your officers to get off their fat asses and do something to bring the man to justice.”

Another long silence, this one bristling with hostility like an electrical charge.
The sheriff pushed himself to his feet and leaned over the desk, a big intimidating mass that would have cowered most men. Stone didn’t budge.

“Now you listen to me, Stone,” the sheriff said slowly. “You have no right to go around my town putting your nose into things that you know nothing about. No right at all,” the sheriff hissed.
His body was suddenly racked with tension. “You are fucking up my investigation.”

“Into who, sheriff? Who are you investigating for the murder of Katrina Walker?”

“The Dom, you reckless damned fool. Dominic D’Astinga. And just because my officers don’t go around breaking chairs and beating down doors, doesn’t mean we aren’t doing our job. Son, do you know what it means to be subtle?”

“I only know what it means to be effective,”
Stone said.

The sheriff shook his h
ead in frustration. “I am right in the process of preparing a case against the Dom,” he snarled. “I have him on sex-trafficking, drug matters, intimidation, extortion…” he counted the points off with his fingers.

“What about murder?” Stone cut the sheriff off. “You’re forgetting about Katrina Walker.”

“No, damn it. I’m not!” suddenly the sheriff’s voice was a bull roar. His face flushed red as an angry rash rose from beneath the collar of his dressing robe and surged up the length of his neck.

He bit down hard on his temper. Did a thing with his mouth like it was a physical effort not to keep shouting. Mentally he counted to ten and let out a long steady breath. Lowered his tone until it was just a strained whisper.

“I’m asking you to walk away,” the sheriff said. “I’m asking you to leave town, Stone. Forget about Heston’s Cove – and I’m asking you for the good of everybody concerned.”

Stone shook
his head. “I can’t do that. It’s a question of honor. I gave my word to Katrina Walker’s sister. I told her I would help, and I won’t stop until The Dom is brought to justice and made to account for his actions. Either the legal way…. or my way.” He said it in a quiet matter-of-fact voice, not moving. Just stared back at the sheriff calmly.

Sheriff Ripley nodded his head slowly, like he knew Stone’s answer before he heard it. He looked across the desk for long seconds and his expression seemed almost sorrowful. Finally, he
kicked back his chair and stomped out of the office. Stood standing and waiting impatiently in the hallway until Stone slowly got to his feet. Apparently the issue was closed. The sheriff waited, simmering in the hallway like a volcano ready to erupt.

“You have jeopardized everything. Put everything at risk. I hope you’re happy.”

Instead of heading back towards the living room, the sheriff turned the handle of the door opposite. He pushed the door open slowly and then stood back to let Stone walk into the room first.

Stone froze
. Felt sudden shock jump down his nerves and wrench them tight.

“Say hello to Katrina Walker,” the sheriff said.

Twenty-five.

Katrina Walker was laying in a big double bed. She was wearing a white gown and nothing else, propped up into a kind of sitting position by several pillows.

Both of her legs were in thick plaster casts. Her right arm was slung across her body like a broken wing. Her arms were red and inflamed with open cuts and abrasions, and her face was swollen and bruised so that she was barely recognizable. Both her eyes were blackened, her features pale and sunken.

On one side of the bed was an iron post on a wheeled stand, hung with plastic fluid bags and attached to long clear tubes that were bandaged to her wrist. On the other side of the bed was a woman in her late forties, or maybe early fifties, wearing a nurse’s uniform. The woman was writing notes onto a clipboard. The nurse looked up at Stone standing in the doorway and frowned. She set the notes down on a bedside chair and came quickly across the room.

They were standing in a spare bedroom. Stone saw a wide window in the wall to his left, with black heavy material tacked up to block daylight. There were no furnishings in the room apart from the bed and the chair, and a shaded lamp on a stand in the corner. The floor was covered in worn carpet, and Stone could see dents and ridges in the flooring where
heavy furniture pieces like chests of drawers and maybe wardrobes had stood until recently. The room smelled of talcum powder and pine disinfectant.

The sheriff clutched at Stone’s arm. “
Katrina was found at the bottom of a twenty foot drop along the coastal road on Monday,” he explained. “She was in a bad way, but luckily she had been thrown from the car as it was going over the edge of the cliff. When my officers arrived on the scene she was lucid. She told them she had been run off the road. We brought her here. She’s testifying against The Dom, Stone,” the sheriff said suddenly, his voice rising with his intensity. “She knows all his dealings – every sordid deal he has been involved in. She said she told the Dom she wanted to go back to Ohio, and he didn’t take the news well. It was his men who tried to kill her. For the past three days we have been slowly building a case against him, with Katrina as our star witness.”

“Why isn’t she in a hospital?”

“Because I can’t protect her in a hospital,” the sheriff said. “She wouldn’t be safe. That’s why we told you she was dead. And that’s why it is important the Dom thinks she’s dead. It’s the best way to keep her safe for the next week until she is well enough to testify to the relevant authorities. Once the State police and the FBI have spoken to her and the Dom has been arrested, we can get her into a protection program until it goes to trial. But for now, she is here recovering because it’s the best way I know to keep her alive.”

Stone glanced at the nurse. “How bad are her injuries?”

“I’m just the night nurse,” the woman said. “We have a doctor and two more nurses here working in shifts from 6am until 10pm each night. The doctor would be the best one to speak to about her condition.”

“But what’s your opinion.”

The nurse shrugged. “She’ll live,” the woman said confidently. “I don’t know about her legs, though. It’s going to take a long time for them to heal. There were multiple fractures. She may need the support of a cane for the rest of her life. But she will live.”

Stone nodded.

“Is she awake?” the sheriff asked the nurse in a whisper.

The nurse nodded. “She’s just had more pain medication.”

The sheriff frowned. “Is she up to talking – even just for a few minutes?”

The nurse looked mortified.

“It’s important.”

The nurse paused for more long seconds and then nodded reluctantly. “Just for a minute.”

The sheriff led Stone over to the bed. Katrina was laying on her back, and up close Stone could see more clearly the extent of her injuries. Her face was badly bruised and swollen, like it had been bent out of shape. There were dark purple marks along her jaw and across her mouth, and her left eye was bloodshot red. The skin across her face seemed drawn tight, sunken beneath her cheeks and below her eyes.

The sheriff gently touched Katrina’s shoulder and her eyes fluttered open, uncertain and reluctant, as though the weight of her eyelids was too heavy to bear.

She turned her head a little, licked painfully at swollen lips.

“Katrina, this is Jack Stone,” the sheriff said softly. “He is a friend of your sister. He came to town to help look for you.”

At the mention of her sister, Katrina’s eyes seemed to become more focused and attentive. She looked at Stone for long seconds.

“Is Celia all right?” Katrina’s voice was a croaked whisper.

Stone nodded. “She’s fine,” he said. “We’ve been in town for the last few days looking for you.”

Katrina nodded slowly.

“The Dom did this to you?” Stone asked.

Katrina nodded, and it took another moment before she was able to find her voice. “His men,” she said. “I told the Dom that I wanted out. I wanted to stop being his submissive…” she lapsed into another long silence, like every word was an effort. “But he doesn’t let any woman go.”

Stone nodded. He could feel the black unholy rage returning. That same vengeful anger that had burned through him when he had confronted the Dom across the card table. Now it was there again, simmering red and wild behind his eyes.

“Did you know all of the Dom’s girls?” Stone asked gently.

Again Katrina simply nodded.

Stone reached into his pocket and pulled the photograph of Susan from his wallet. He held it up to Katrina, and his hand was shaking.
The photo showed a pretty teenage girl with smooth clear skin. She had long blonde hair, and big eyes. She was smiling shyly at the camera, perched on a back-yard swing set, wearing a floral dress that was rucked up around her thighs.

“Do you recognize this girl?” he asked. “It’s my sister, Susan. She was a girl like you – trapped into sex-slavery.”

Katrina’s eyes turned to the photo and she frowned for long seconds. She licked her lips and a flash of pain from her bruised jaw made her grimace.

“I…. I’m not sure…” Katrina said vaguely. She looked again. Stone held the photo a little closer. “She looks like a girl who came to the club a long time ago, but she was only there for a couple of weeks.”

“Was her name Susan?”

Katrina shook her head.
“She didn’t know her real name,” she said. “She was called Tink, because she looked like Tinkerbell from Peter Pan.”

“Is this her?” Stone urged. He felt a hot surge of emotion, and his voice was suddenly thick and strained.

Katrina nodded. “Yes, it is,” she said. “Her hair was shorter… but that’s the girl.”

Stone took a deep breath. Crushed down on everything that was boiling up inside him and kept his voice calm. “What happened to her?”

Katrina shook her head. “I don’t know. She was only at the club for a couple of weeks,” she said again. “Last year, maybe. She was heavily drugged. The Dom had her in a pleasure room, tied to a bed, for the guests to use. Then one day she was gone. I think she went back to the Animal Trainer.”

Stone knew that name. The Animal Trainer was the man he was hunting. He was the man at the
center of the sex-slave trafficking business. The man he also knew as Harper.

Stone put the photo back into his wallet. He clutched Katrina’s hand and held it. “Thank you,” he said softly.

The sheriff patted Katrina’s shoulder and his touch was surprisingly gentle for such a big bulky man. “Go back to sleep,” he said softly.

They went from the room quietly. Stood in the hallway with the door still open so Stone could see the nurse bent over the big bed, tending to Katrina and then adjusting the flow of the intravenous drip. Making more notes on the chart.

“Now you understand?” the sheriff was toe-to-toe with Stone.

Stone nodded. Said nothing.

“I can’t have you running around Heston’s Cove raising three kinds of trouble when I’m doing everything in my power to keep Katrina Walker safely out of the Dom’s hands until she is well enough to provide a full statement to the state authorities.”

Stone nodded again. He was torn. He wanted nothing more than to go back to The Cage and tear the Dom’s arms off
, and then beat him to death with the wet ends. Katrina had seen his sister at The Cage. That meant the Dom knew what had happened to Susan – the girl Katrina had called Tink. Stone knew that he might never get another chance to find out about Harper the Animal Trainer. If the Dom was arrested, there would be no opportunity to get him alone and ask in him Stone’s unique persuasive way exactly where Susan was. Exactly where the Animal Trainer was. And yet he knew also that if he took matters into his own hands it was going to jeopardize the police case against The Dom – and that might put the safety of more girls like Katrina and his sister at risk.

And then, in the early hours of the morning as the two men stood in the darkened hallway, Jack Stone’s phone rang, and all of the sheriff’s careful planning suddenly went to hell.