Resolution: Evan Warner Book 1 (22 page)

A rowboat.

I tightened the sling on my rifle so that it hung snug and vertical against my torso. Went over and lifted the red canoe. Carried it to the sandy beach. Set it down halfway into the water and stepped in. Sat down with an oar. Pushed it hard into the sand. Heard the sand scuffing on the bottom of the canoe and felt it begin to move smoother as it moved out into the open water.

The river wasn’t wide. Maybe thirty-five or forty feet across. Flowing slow and smooth and dark. I crossed it with a few firm strokes of the oar. Beached the canoe and stepped out and climbed a small grade. Knelt down and peered off into thousands of acres of nothingness.

Amid the grass and ferns along the riverbank I noticed a fresh trail. I could smell the sweetness of young broken ferns.

My heart rate started to climb. I had to breathe and tell myself to keep calm. I couldn’t just go thundering after whoever was out there. This wasn’t a brawl. I had to keep calm. Move slowly and see exactly who and what I was up against.

I started off slowly. Taking short steps. Getting a feel for the ground through my boot before shifting my weight. I went on that way for a few minutes. Moved into dense trees and pitch darkness. The obvious trail ended. The ground was all packed pine needles and leaf litter. Springy and difficult to find a track in. No way could I switch on a light.

Kneeling, I took a few deep breaths and checked through my night scope. Way off in the distance I caught a glimpse of light between the trees and brush. I lowered the rifle and watched carefully. I could just barely see the flicker of a distant fire. It wasn’t the flame itself, it was the dance of flames. It was moving on the underside of the heavy treetops. There was virtually no wind. I couldn’t smell a fire. But there definitely was one.

It took me another five minutes of careful walking to get close enough to smell the fire. It was a pine fire. But there was something else to it. Something I couldn’t identify. I could barely see the flames low to the ground. I guessed someone had gone through the effort to dig a deep pit. Maybe with little vent tunnels to fan the flames. Make it burn extremely hot, with less smoke. It would be harder to spot from a distance.

Another two minutes. Now I was close enough to see a figure. It was Tommy Brady. I recognized his posture, his outline. He was alone. Moving around the pit. Working the fire with a long poker stick. There was a spade stabbed into a pile of dirt a few yards away from the pit. Beyond him I saw what looked like a pile of tarps. Some were wrapped, all folded. Some were unwrapped and thrown aside.

I waited there, kneeling. I watched him working. Stirring the fire. Adding wood. Lifting his shirt to wipe his brow. He was working hard.

Then he dropped the poker stick. Bent down and started dragging one of the tarps to the fire’s edge. The fire was raging down in the pit. The pine wood was snapping and hissing and popping. The tarp was crackling and scuffing on the ground. Tommy was straining and breathing hard, unloading the tarp’s contents into the fire.

Which meant he couldn’t hear me. Didn’t have a clue that I was behind him until I was right on him.

He turned his head away from the fire a split second before my arm closed around his neck. He jumped away and I grabbed at his shirt. He flailed and got away. Lost his footing and went down on his stomach. Spun onto his back and kicked at my leg. Spun again and scrambled to his feet and tried to scurry away.

I lunged forward, drawing back my right arm. Clenched my fist, twisting my torso as I moved forward. Swung forward and landed a huge hit. It was the hit I’d been waiting to land on Brady since first grade. My fist smashed into his back, right between the shoulder blades. I heard all the air go out of him in one big burst. His head snapped and he collapsed. Fell forward on his hands and knees and then rolled over on his side, wheezing. He was lucky to be breathing at all. Lucky not to be paralyzed. Lucky I needed information from him. He’d be paying some chiropractor for the rest of his life and still probably wouldn’t have a normal spine again.

Brady was down. Wheezing. Immobilized. So I went over for a closer look at the tarps. Bent down and pulled back one edge and unfolded it. I saw a dead pit bull. I had expected it. But I hadn’t expected to see it hacked to pieces. The head and legs had been severed and the torso was halved. Its long tongue hung out from the wrong end of its mouth. There was blood pooled in the bottom of the tarp. Maybe Brady had figured the bodies would burn quicker if cut into smaller pieces. Maybe they were easier to transport that way. Or maybe he just enjoyed that sort of machete work.

I forced myself to check the next tarp. I found Simon the boxer. I recognized his face from Kendra’s flyers. He was dead. In pieces. No sign of his collar. Which meant I couldn’t even give Kendra his collar and tag.

It was an unforgettable sight. I knew right away that after just a glimpse I’d never be able to un-see it. They had all died horrible deaths. It must have taken multiple blows to completely sever their heads and cease consciousness. Some must have witnessed the others being hacked apart, knowing that they were next.

The heat from the fire was intense. It was like a furnace. I could smell blood and burning hair and flesh. I broke into a clammy sweat, in spite of the cool night air. My head whirled and my stomach turned over. I staggered a few yards away. Put my hands on my knees and vomited. Spat and tried to inhale fresh air through my nose.

Then I heard Brady groaning. Looked over and saw him crawling away. Like a worm. He got slowly to his feet. Started picking his way through the woods, back to the river. I tried to follow him but had to stop once more for a second round of heaving.

The next few minutes were like a cross country race at half speed. He was breathless and wobbly, and I was weak from nausea. We both struggled ahead as best we could. Neither of us wasted our breath on words. He made it to the river a few yards ahead of me. He was climbing into the rowboat, trying to push it off the shore. I took a huge breath and put in a final effort. I caught him and hauled him out with one hand on his neck and the other on his arm. Dumped him hard on the grassy riverbank. Kneeled on his chest. Let my weight crush down on him.

“Where’s the girl?” I panted.

He responded with a sound that was like a mixture of laughter and sobbing. He could hardly breathe. “You,” is all he said. Like he was in disbelief.

I shouted, “Where is she?”

More of the same. Sobbing and broken words.

I stood up. Let him breathe. Put the flash guard of my rifle right in his face. Pressed it hard to his forehead. All I had to do was flip the safety and gently squeeze the trigger. No more Brady.

“Tell me,” I said. “Where is she? Tell me. Or someone will find your carcass next week floating twenty miles downriver.”

Then all at once there was a bright ball of light surrounding me. Like in a UFO movie when someone gets taken away. I looked over my shoulder and was blinded by an intense LED light from the opposite shore.

31

“Did you kill him?” I heard Uncle Danny ask.

“No,” I said. “Not yet.”

He lowered the flashlight and said, “Get him in the boat and get him over here.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked.

No answer.

“Did Willie call you?”

He said, “You’ve got Willie involved in this?”

I said nothing more. I’d already answered.

“Get Brady over here,” he said. “Hurry.”

I took a few more deep breathes before bending and lifting Brady and dumping him into the rowboat. Climbed in and rowed us across the river. Uncle Danny helped me lift him out. We flopped him on the sandy beach. Brady moaned. Uncle Danny knelt and checked his eyes. Sat him up and asked him a few questions to check for a concussion. Then he stood up and looked at me. Said nothing. Turned and walked toward the house without a word.

I looked at Brady for a moment before following my uncle. I was still mildly nauseous and now, on top of it, I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my gut. I could see the anger in my uncle’s stride. The tension in his shoulders. He wasn’t shocked or confused by my presence. The man who had made a career of conducting himself with professional ease was furious beyond words.

“What the hell?” I said.

He didn’t respond. Just kept walking. He didn’t stop until he reached his cruiser. Opened the door and found his pipe and started packing it.

I stopped a few yards from him. Watched him packing the pipe with far less care than usual. He lit it. Puffed it hard a few times. Finally he spoke.

“You couldn’t let it go, could you?”

“Good thing I didn’t.”

“God damn it, Evan. I told you stay out of this.”

“Did you know about the dogs? Or just the girl?”

I could tell instantly that he didn’t know anything about the dogs. He took in a quick shallow breath. The way people do when they’re struck by an unanticipated revelation.

“Brady has been fighting dogs,” I said. “He’s got a big pen hidden behind the garage. Been using daddy’s land to host fights and heroin peddlers. I just caught him out in the woods, burning the remains of his dogs on state property.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Now you do.”

It got quiet. We were both angry and full of questions.

I reached into my cargo pocket and got my tea bottle. Rinsed my mouth out and then took a long drink.

“So,” Uncle Danny said. “You were out here looking for dogs, not Lucy?”

“To begin with, yeah.”

“What tipped you off?”

“You first.”

“I was antsy after you called,” he said. “Just had a feeling. Figured I’d come out here and check on the Bradys. Check on Lucy. Then swing by the campground.”

“Cozy,” I said.

“Don’t give me any self-righteous shit. How did you end up out here?”

I told him about the Bensons and how I’d stashed their Escalade on the trail. How I’d come back and found it missing. Then I filled him in on the other clues, without naming whose dog I’d originally come looking for.

He took a deep breath and said, “All right.” From there he went on calmly to explain everything from his end. How Thomas Brady Sr. had called him to the house the previous June, a few weeks before Lucy Kurtz had gone missing. In effect Lucy had been offered up for sale, not so much held for collateral. The gossip was close but no cigar. The Kurtz sisters were in crisis mode. They couldn’t maintain their lifestyle. Didn’t care to face reality without chemical assistance. So they made an offer to Tommy when he tried to collect on them. The price for Lucy was one hundred and fifty grand. Paid in installments.

As I listened to his account, I couldn’t help but recall news articles about dogs rushing in and out of burning houses to rescue their pups. Dogs taking care of discarded human babies found in garbage dumps. Wolves raising feral children in Russia. And here were human beings, supposedly the highest forms of life, selling their offspring to keep the party rolling.

“That morning at the campground,” I said. “When Lucy disappeared. How did you act so surprised?”

“I was surprised. I never met the sisters. Wasn’t informed of the final plan. I didn’t want to know. So I wasn’t acting. When I realized what was happening, disgust took over. I didn’t have to fake anything. The whole thing made me sick.”

“How did old man Brady convince you to go along?”

“Didn’t have to work hard. There are things you don’t know, Evan.”

I got out a cigarette. Lit it and waited for him to resume.

“It’s nothing like you think.”

“I’m waiting,” I said.

“Tommy isn’t an only child,” he said. “Did you know that?”

I shook my head.

“He had an older sister once. She died as an infant. They found her in her crib early one morning, unresponsive. I responded to the call a few minutes ahead of the ambulance. The poor girl was beyond help. She was ice cold. There wasn’t a thing I or anyone else could do. It was a nightmare, Evan. A goddamned nightmare. And Lisa Brady has never been the same since. Spent damn near a year institutionalized before they leveled her out with meds and sent her home. That’s like a bandage on a broken bone.”

“Then Tommy came along,” I said.

“Yeah. He made her existence bearable for years.”

“Then he grew up,” I said.

“Since he got old enough for school, his mother has basically lived like an old shut-in out here.”

“So Tommy took the opportunity to get his mother another girl.”

He nodded. “And get the girl before someone worse ended up with her.”

I said nothing.

“I’ve kept an eye on Lucy,” he said. “I check on her welfare at least once a week. She’s loved here, Evan. I know you hate Tommy, but his parents are kind people. They treat Lucy very well. They call her Angela and she calls them Mommy and Daddy. She sleeps well. Doesn’t cry. Doesn’t seem to remember anyone from her old life. She was slow when she arrived. Behind in her development. Probably due to lack of attention. Now she’s doing great. She talks and laughs constantly.”

I thought for a moment.

“What happens when she goes to school? They buy more kids?”

“That’s beyond my control.”

“How on earth are they going to keep her hidden here?”

“They’re not. That’s why I was so angry to see you here. The Bradys were supposed to be gone by April at the latest. Now here it is June. Everything was planned. New names, new identities, new start. New place all set up and waiting for them in Canada. I have no idea where. Don’t want to. But as you see, they’re still here. The plan has hit a few financial speed bumps.”

“So that explains Tommy grubbing for extra money.”

“I guess so. They had savings, of course, even after paying for Lucy. Then they took out a big equity loan on the house. Figured they’d take the cash and let the bank auction the house later. But in the meantime some of the equipment could be salvaged and sold off to help fund a comfortable new start. There’s a lot of money tied up in all this.”

“Yeah,” I heard Tommy Brady say. “Sure as hell is.”

I turned and looked at him. He was leaning against the corner of the attached garage, propping himself up. He still hadn’t regained all of his wind from the big hit.

Uncle Danny stepped around me and moved toward him.

“He attacked me, Danny. You gonna let him get away with that?”

“You stupid little shit,” Danny growled. “You would’ve been fine if you hadn’t attracted his attention with this dogfighting nonsense.”

“You said you’d cover us.”

“And I have been. I didn’t know you’d do something so stupid for a little extra cash. You’re sitting on millions in equipment here.”

“It ain’t selling fast enough,” Tommy said. “That’s the problem. You know that. Look around. Most of it’s still here.”

“You’ve got plenty of cash to start with.”

“Easy for you to say. We moved one truck at half its value all spring. Nothing has been as simple as we hoped. I had to get deeper into the side projects because the money was guaranteed. No paper trail. Easy.”

Uncle Danny took a long breath to settle himself. Asked, “Where are your parents?”

“Gone,” Tommy said. “Across the border. They got out early. I’m just here to clean up and then Amy and I will catch up with them.”

He looked at me. “You leave that Escalade on the trail, Warner?”

I nodded.

He shook his head. Took a hard breath.

“You’re the last person I expected to be out here.”

I nodded again.

“What happened?” Uncle Danny asked him.

Brady said, “We panicked, that’s what happened. I figured someone offed those Benson idiots and thought they might be sending me a message. Hell, I don’t know. Maybe the Kurtz sisters were getting someone else to shake us for more money. They’ve blown right through most of the payments we gave them.”

“Well done on their end,” Uncle Danny said. “And yours. By upping your little side deals you’ve managed to blow us all out of the water. Congratulations, Einstein. I hope the extra cash was worth it.”

“They don’t know about you,” he said. “We’re the ones with our asses on the line.”

“You’re even dumber than you look,” Uncle Danny said.

I smiled for the first time in hours.

Brady looked hard at me. Bit his lip. Glared. Kept quiet.

“More bad news,” I said to him. “I’m here for the stolen boxer. You bought him from those halfwit brothers. You killed him. So now you’re gonna pay.”

“Bullshit,” Brady scoffed.

I looked at Uncle Danny. Asked, “You gonna stop me from collecting?”

He shook his head.

I stepped towards Brady. He looked at me and tried to keep a brave face.

“I know you’re not keeping it in the bank. Where’s your cash?”

“I need it,” he said.

“Tell me. Or else Amy will be joining your parents alone.”

“You can’t,” he said. “I’ll talk. I’ll go to jail. I’ll take Danny down. You hurt me, Amy will talk. You’ll lose anyway, Warner. My parents are long gone. I won’t give them up. They’ll win and you’ll lose.”

It was a half-hearted little speech. He wanted to mean every word of it. But I didn’t buy it. Obviously what he wanted most was to avoid another beating. Wiggle away like the worm he was. Go live his new life.

I went forward. He didn’t try to run. I put my forearm into his throat and pressed him hard into the garage. He couldn’t breathe. His legs were kicking and his face was all distorted in pain.

“Where is it?”

Brady finally gasped an attempted answer. I dropped him and he lay on his back in the dirt. He coughed and wheezed and finally told me where to go.

In the big garage I found his stash. The cash was stacked in an old wooden toolbox under one of the workbenches. All hundred dollar bills. Rubber bands holding little stacks of two thousand each. I set aside two stacks and took the rest. Walked back outside with at least fifty grand stuffed into all my pockets and mag pouches. Brady was on his feet again, leaning against the wall.

“Left you a little travel money,” I said.

“Go to hell, Warner.”

“Don’t blame me. You made all this possible.”

He swallowed hard. Said nothing. There was no one there to stick up for him or offer an excuse. That’s what he was used to. That’s what he thrived on.

“Did you keep the collar from the boxer?”

He shook his head. “Why would I?”

“Asshole,” I said. “Get back out there and finish the job.”

“I was almost done when you arrived.”

“Go finish it. Now. Or I’ll finish what I started with you. Dump you right in your own fire pit. And after tonight I don’t want to see you ever again, Brady. Get Amy and get the hell out of my town. I’ll keep my mouth closed on that condition. For the little girl, not you.”

“What about the Escalade?” he asked, looking from me to my uncle.

“Guess you better chop it up and sell the parts fast,” I said.

“I ain’t got time for that.”

“Bury it. Burn it. Dump it somewhere else. Doesn’t matter to me. Not my problem. Jared Benson may or may not come looking for it. He ratted you out to me. He might sing to the cops. Someone might come out here to check things out. That might be your next problem.”

“Hard to say what Franklin will do,” Uncle Danny stated. “I’ll hear from them if they decide to act. You might not have much time. Better get busy.”

Brady glared and then slowly turned away. Started dragging himself along the garage wall towards the river. He was moving like he was ninety years old.

“Hey,” I called.

He stopped. Turned back.

“Was it you that took the girl last summer?”

“Amy,” he said. “Angela didn’t make a peep while Amy carried her. Right past your place. No one heard a thing. It was perfect.”