Justice Overdue: A Private Investigator Mystery Series (21 page)

His men still questioned possible acquaintances of Lucas in an attempt to come up with some information, but to date it was a dead end. Lucas had been transient, never spending more than a couple of years in any one place, and his trail of friends was sparse.

Brewer needed a break soon, something to go on. In the meantime, there wasn’t much use in hanging around Haddleburg.

At first, he’d planned to head north early that morning, but the uncertain information Dunkirk had provided was not encouraging. He decided to make the trip to the town where Lucas was arrested. If any information was forthcoming, he wanted to be there.

It was a good two-hour trip, but it seemed right now, unless one of the teams in the service helicopters came up with something soon, he had lots of time to get there.

This would go down, one way or another, and when the ground assault on Lucas’s hideout by tactical troops was finally activated, he had plans to be present.

Chapter 45

Sunday, 6:44 AM

ANNIE STRUGGLED at the rope that held her hands. The bonds were tight; not so tight they hurt her wrists, but secure enough to keep them from slipping off. Any attempts she’d made only resulted in chafing her skin, and with her arms behind her back, her movement was severely constricted.

She maneuvered herself into a sitting position, her back against the wall, her feet extending out over the edge of the cot. She had but one concern for herself—to get free from the ropes, and then escape the cabin.

But her chief concern was for Jake and the boys. The maniac, Varick Lucas, had mentioned some kind of game he was playing. She expected its end result would be an attempt on Jake’s life, an attempt that might succeed, and she agonized over the thought. She was uncertain how her freedom could thwart the madman’s plans, but was determined to get away, thoughts of her family driving her on.

It occurred to her the only reason he kept her alive at the moment was as a pawn in his game. She expected he would eventually use her against Jake. But how? If he wanted to kill her husband, he surely could’ve done so by now. Why would he need her?

At first, she’d feared he would attempt to rape her, or worse, but as time went by, she realized his plan involved much more than temporary physical pleasure, and certainly not longtime containment of her as a prisoner, but rather, something more sinister and immediate.

She assumed, as a convict on the run, his first priority would be to evade the law and remain hidden. In disregarding that, he exposed himself as a highly unstable and dangerous maniac, and she was frightened more by the unknown than by what she knew.

The horrific thought spurred her on, giving her determination and a single-minded purpose—freedom. She cleared her mind and squinted through the murkiness at her surroundings.

The cabin was in total darkness other than a small amount of sun creeping through cracks in the shutters, painting a dozen parallel slashes across the wooden floor. Some light came down the chimney, barely enough to illuminate the cold ashes and the stone hearth in front.

She slid forward on the cot until she could bend her knees and touch her feet on the floor. She tried to stand, but lost her balance and fell back onto the bed. Had her abductor not tied the rope from her wrists around her waist, she could’ve slipped her bound hands under her feet, then out in front.

Her only option was to attempt to remove the ropes from her wrists first, and then she could untie her feet, and then—

She slid off the cot and crumpled to the floor, managed to roll, and finally position herself with her back to the fireplace. She rubbed the ropes at her wrists against the sharp edge of the hearth, up and down, up and down.

She paused, raised her eyes upward, and listened intently. The unmistakable sound of a helicopter was barely visible through the thick wooden roof, but it was a helicopter, no doubt. The sound faded, and with it, her hopes they’d finally come to rescue her. She took a deep breath and continued with her task.

It was hard to maintain the steady motion. Her shoulders grew tired, her wrists were sore, her fingers numb, and she rested often. She celebrated silently as each of the dozens of small strands making up the nylon rope snapped. It was slowly wearing through.

She started and held her breath as she heard a thump, then the patter of small feet. She breathed freely; it was just a squirrel on the roof. Perhaps a pair of squirrels, playing in the sunlight, enjoying the freedom she’d taken for granted and now struggled to reclaim.

A final snap, and the ropes fell away, her arms free. Then it was a simple matter to remove the rope from her waist, and she flung the tattered cord across the room and massaged away the pain in her wrists and shoulders.

The cord holding her ankles was next. The slick nylon rope clung stubbornly to itself, difficult to untie. She peeled off a broken fingernail with her teeth and continued her battle with the cord. It took her several minutes until finally it loosened and fell away. She flung it into the corner with the other one and stood to her feet.

In the near darkness, she stumbled to a cupboard near the sink and groped inside. She knew Lucas kept a box of matches in there somewhere; she’d watched him as he lit the lantern earlier. She found them and struck one. The light from the match lit up the small room and made it slightly more bearable. She lit the oil lantern by the fireplace and welcomed its warm glow.

She went to the window and pushed against the shutters. They were solid—very solid, intended to keep intruders out rather than in. The door was likewise sturdy, inches thick, and padlocked securely from the outside. It seemed unlikely she could break through either the shutters or the door without a tool of some kind.

There were a handful of utensils in the drawer, but nothing sharp. Cans of beans and other preserves occupied the lower cupboard. She rummaged through boxes and trunks, but found nothing to serve as a battering ram or crowbar.

She turned her attention toward the ceiling. Fishing rods and tackle were useless to her. There was a small canoe, holding a pair of oars, but they would snap before the shutters ever did.

The floorboards were solid, immovable. The walls were built to last and none of the strong logs would budge with her desperate attempt. The stones on the well-built fireplace and sturdy hearth were unyielding. Even the flimsy cot was useless.

Her search continued in vain until finally her assurance of escape ended, her determination faded, her hopes now dead.

She dropped onto the cot in despair. She had loosened her bonds, tasted freedom, and yet, still remained a prisoner.

Chapter 46

Sunday, 6:55 AM

VARICK LUCAS approached the camp of the teenagers with the stealth of a seasoned hunter. He was getting good at this, and starting to enjoy the game, even with its ever-changing rules. But since he wrote the rulebook himself, he was free to change them whenever he saw fit.

And right now, he saw fit.

His plan was to get rid of the two guys there, and that meant killing them, but as he crept toward their campsite, he was disappointed to find it vacated. It didn’t appear they’d left completely; the tents were still there. Perhaps they were sleeping the day away.

He stole forward and peeked inside the closest one. A pair of backpacks lay on the floor, right next to their sleeping bags.

The other tent was the same—two backpacks, and two sleeping bags. An empty wine bottle and candy bar wrappers littered the floor. He stepped back. They were likely here somewhere.

He crossed his arms and looked around, unsure what to do. Turning abruptly, he kicked aside an empty potato chip bag, strolled down to the beach, and went to edge of the lake. He peered left, then right. Nothing. Nobody around.

A small heap of beer bottles lay beside a large, flat rock serving as a makeshift bench. He scowled at a couple of broken ones, the pieces scattered about the patches of sand and grass.

He turned and went back up to the campsite; he would have to come back later. Right now, time was wasting away and life was short. So short.

The sound of a helicopter somewhere above the trees caught his attention. He gazed upward, attempting to spot it through the thickness of the leaves, until the sound faded away. He crossed his arms, frowned, and continued to glare upwards. That was the second helicopter that had flown over, more than a bit unusual. Perhaps Annie was right, and they were looking for her.

He forced the matter from his mind. Maybe he would go see what the rest of the Lincoln family were up to right now. He strode into the forest with the intent to circle around the lake through the trees, and sneak up to their campsite from the far side.

He picked a path carefully around a fallen tree, and then raised his head to the unexpected sight of a girl, not ten feet ahead. She was surprised by his sudden appearance and stopped short, her eyes wide, then stepped forward and smiled. “Hi, I’m Rosie.”

He avoided the introduction as he scrutinized her, his eyes roving over her skin-tight pants, her revealing blouse, with a seductive pose and a teasing look in her eye that was more than friendly.

He knew who she was, of course; he’d seen her at the campsite earlier. He didn’t like her then, and he didn’t like her now. She reminded him too much of those slutty women he used to hang around with, back when he and Otis were the best of buds and had nothing better to do.

“Were you coming to our site to visit?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “I was just in the area.”

As she gazed at him, her eyes narrowed. “You look familiar.”

He shrugged.

Her hand covered her mouth and she gasped. “It’s your eyes. You’re … you’re the killer who escaped from prison a few days ago.” She stood still, unable to move, and then turned to run.

He caught her by the arm and gave it a brutal twist, forcing her around to face him, then grasped her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length.

She trembled and he saw terror in her eyes. She tried to break free, striking at him with her hands. He gripped her arms, forcing her to stop, but she kicked at him, screaming, “Let me go.”

He freed one hand and swung a fist. It connected with the side of her head and she went down onto her back and lay still.

She held up her hands as if to ward off further blows. “Please,” she begged. “You don’t have to do this.” She dropped her hands and forced a smile, another attempt to seduce him, this time to save her life. “I can give you much more than you ever hoped for.”

Her solicitation only served to increase his anger—furious at the stupid girl who’d recognized him, annoyed at himself for being seen before he was ready, and burning now with a desire to end her useless life.

This new feeling astounded him. He’d never killed a woman before and the impulse to do so now caught him totally unaware. He hesitated, unable to move, and unwilling to act on this strange new urge.

She must have sensed his abhorrence of her proposition. Before he could clear his mind and make a decision, she rolled, scrambled across the forest floor on all fours, and then stumbled to her feet.

She was getting away and he couldn’t let that happen.

“Come back,” he called, striding forward.

She had found her voice again, and as she tore through the trees, the bushes grabbing at her, she cried for help. She pushed through branches and briers, their prickly thorns tearing at her jeans.

He avoided the obstacles she had blindly encountered in her uncontrollable urge to escape, and followed her with long strides.

Now on her hands and knees, she clawed her way up a bank, gaining ground, then sliding back.

He stooped down and caught her by a leg. She kicked at him in vain with the other one as he dragged her backwards. A shoe came off in his hand and he flung it aside, retrieved his grip on her ankle, and in a moment, she lay helpless and trembling at his feet.

“I can’t let you go,” he said.

“I … I won’t say anything.” She implored him with her eyes. “I promise. Just let me go and I—”

He dropped his right foot onto her throat, cutting off her pathetic words. With both hands, she struggled to remove the heavy boot choking off her air.

He removed his foot and she breathed again, panting for breath, unable to speak. She held up her hands for protection against further onslaught as he knelt at her side, slipped the hunting knife from the sheath, and held it up for her to see.

Her eyes grew wide as she stared at the fearsome weapon. “No.” She choked out the words. “No. Please.”

He smiled. “This won’t hurt.”

The perfectly honed knife descended toward her throat, gripped in his right hand while he held her down with the other.

Her arms flailed uselessly toward his face, coming short of their mark. Now weakened and unable to fight, she ripped at his shirt, at his throat, his chest, her nails gouging his flesh, drawing blood.

He didn’t feel the pain she inflicted on him as he finished the task, the knife sinking deep into her flesh, her throat severed. He dodged the upward spray of blood and when it finally subsided, he rose to his feet.

The shower died to a trickle, and then stopped, the green moss below her head now stained a bright red.

Her unseeing eyes still reflected the terror and hopelessness she had felt. He didn’t like to see it. It disturbed him. He rolled the lifeless body over to hide the face, wiped the knife clean on the back of her blouse, and stood.

He gazed at the body a few minutes, sighed, and walked away.

He hadn’t enjoyed that as much as usual. It made him feel uncomfortable. He shook off the strange feeling and picked up his pace, leaving his troubled thoughts behind him with the fresh corpse.

Chapter 47