The Last Resort (A Kate Jasper Mystery) (34 page)

“For helping me with my perspective,” she answered. Her Volvo erupted into noisy life before I could ask what she meant.

“Give my love to Eli,” I called out.

She blew me a kiss and drove away.

It seemed even darker in the parking lot without Ruth. And once she was gone I felt the watcher’s presence again. Forget it, I told myself. But I couldn’t stop the trembling that took over my body. Just exhaustion, I assured myself, rubbing my arms vigorously.
Get back to the light
now, my mind screamed. I inhaled deeply, then turned and took a step back toward the safety of the porch.

I centered myself as I took my next step, stepping heel first as in tai chi. That was better. Stronger. My mind stopped shrieking fear.

Then I felt something slip lightly over my head.

IT GRAZED THE tip of my nose before settling down around my neck. I knew in an instant that it was a rope. And that it was tightening from behind me. And in that instant I could hear my tai chi teacher’s voice telling me not to resist. Telling me to go with the movement.

I stepped backwards quickly. And kept stepping, toe-heel touching the gravel lightly, until I felt the rope go slack. I took three more long steps for good measure, then turned to face the murderer.

Don Logan sat in his wheelchair, a few yards away from me in the moonlit parking lot. He gazed at me cheerfully. I could just see the broad smile on his face under the shadow of his cowboy hat. The other end of the rope that was looped around my neck was grasped firmly in his hand. He gave the rope a slight jerk that rippled up to my neck but didn’t tighten the loop. I stepped closer. Now I could see his eyes too. I estimated a yard or so of slack in the rope between us. I took a good look and saw that it was the same white nylon rope that was strung all over the spa to cordon off the construction areas.

“You’re not as stupid as the others,” Logan drawled. He whirred his wheelchair a few inches closer to me, then continued. “They all struggled against the lasso. I hardly had to jerk it, they were so quick to choke themselves. Stupid as a bunch of cows.” He laughed. He hadn’t looked this happy since I’d met him. “Lucky these wheelchairs come with seat belts,” he added with an sardonic wink. “The way the bitch struggled, could have pulled me right out of my chair.”

I brought my hands up to the loop of rope around my neck. The smile left his face.

“Don’t touch it!” he warned in a low whisper, jerking the rope again. The knot slid around to the front of my neck. Then the loop contracted. “I can pull it tight before you ever have a chance.”

I dropped my hands and looked up toward the porch. Was anyone watching? My heart was beating in my ears. I could feel sweat prickling all the pores of my body.

“And don’t scream either. They’d never get here in time.” His eyes were glued to my face as he wrapped the rope around his hand, taking up the slack.

I returned his look, all the time wondering if I could lift the loop over my head fast enough to beat him. I just wasn’t sure. It was still fairly loose around my neck. I was sure it would clear my head if I lifted it. But how fast could he yank it tight? His upper body was powerful. He was quick too. And I was no cowboy. Then I realized. Don Logan was.

That first day on the porch, Logan had even told me that he worked a ranch. And the cowboy hat! Why hadn’t I ever put it together? Cowboys, roping. All the victims had been lassoed. If you can’t reach someone easily from a wheelchair, what a great way to catch them.

“Isn’t quite like calf-roping,” Logan mused. “A little more challenge. But I can handle it.”

He smiled as he explained. “See, you ease out the rope, then jerk it!” He gave the rope around my neck an illustrative jerk, tightening the loop a half inch more, then laughed. A trickle of sweat ran into my eyes. I hoped the amount I was sweating would make the rope slippery.

“Then you play the rope while they struggle,” he continued cheerfully. “The bitch struggled so much, I was afraid I’d tip over. But I just kept moving my chair, synchronizing with her movements. This chair’s a lot like a horse in some ways.”

Logan focused on my eyes to see if I appreciated his lecture. If it kept him from yanking that rope tight, I’d be glad to listen to him all night long.

“What about Jack?” I asked.

He smiled broadly. “I thought he would be a mite more difficult. So I waited till he started his bike. Then I roped him and pulled him clean off it. The bike stalled, but that was no problem. I roped it too, and pulled it over on him. Thought they might think it was an accident.”

“But his head—” I began.

“Oh, that.” He whooped and slapped his knee merrily. “They leave the damnedest things out around here. Rope all over the place. Even hammers.” He paused. “I used a hammer on him before I pulled the bike over. Didn’t feel like toting him over to the mud bath.”

I shivered and sweated some more. Couldn’t someone hear us out here? But I didn’t dare look up at the porch to see.

I raised my voice slightly to ask the next question, hoping that Wayne or Felix would hear me. “How’d you get the other two into the mud bath?”

“It wasn’t easy,” he answered ruefully. He shook his head. “I could only get so close to the bath. Then I gave them the old heave-ho. But there’s only so much you can do from a wheelchair. That old man didn’t land right. He was too heavy.”

I remembered Eli’s twisted legs. Logan was peering into my face now.

“You found the old man, didn’t you?”

I nodded my head slowly, carefully.

“He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” I answered. Then I spoke with more bravado than I felt. “And he’ll remember you once the shock wears off.”

“Not likely,” answered Logan. He cocked his head as if considering the possibility. “First of all, I got him from behind. And his glasses went flying right off. By the time I dragged him over to the mud bath he was already unconscious. No, he never knew what hit him.”

Logan eyed me seriously. “You’re the only one I have to worry about,” he said. His voice had a hint of regret. He jiggled the rope lightly. I thought up another question fast.

“Why?” I asked. I wasn’t just playing for time. Afraid as I was, I was still curious. “Why did you kill them?”

He looked down at his own crippled legs in answer. Then he brought his eyes back to my face. But his eyes were out of focus now.

“You wouldn’t believe how your life can entirely change in a moment,” he said. His voice was low and bitter. “Two years ago we were heading back home from the in-laws. Over the Golden Gate Bridge. My wife was driving. She was in the center lane, trying to make time. There aren’t any dividers on that bridge, you know.” He focused his eyes on mine momentarily. Then he looked through me, and went back to his story.

“My son was sitting between us in the front seat, playing with his baseball cards. I was half asleep. Then I heard my wife shout. It was the last thing I ever heard from her.” He paused and swallowed. His eyes were shining, either with rage or insanity, or both. “I looked up and saw what she was shouting about. A Lincoln Continental had crossed the center line. It was coming at us, full speed. She swerved, but it was too late.”

Logan brought his shining eyes back to mine. His voice was hard as he spoke. “It was a long time later before I found out anything about the drunk that hit us. They kept me doped to the gills at first. I figured out my legs were paralyzed pretty quick. It’s hard to miss when they keep asking you if you feel anything and you don’t.” His bark of harsh laughter rang out like a shot in the silent air.

“Then they told me my wife and kid were dead. Just like that. I wanted to die, too.” He paused. Then a trace of a smile twisted his lips. “But I found a reason to survive. A reason to go through the torture they call ‘physical therapy.’ A reason to live in this goddamn wheelchair.”

He bent forward, peering into my eyes. “Do you want to know what I found to live for?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Revenge,” he whispered. His smile broadened. I shivered, shaking the sweat from my forehead into my eyes. I reached up a hand to wipe the sweat away.

“I told you not to do that,” Logan snarled and gave the rope another jerk. This time I felt the loop tighten more than an inch. I wasn’t sure that it was still loose enough to clear my head—if I decided to chance lifting it off. At least it wasn’t choking me. Not yet anyway. Logan bent his head up at me, glaring.

I took a big breath. “Why Suzanne?” I asked.

He smiled and relaxed in his chair. “I thought you’d figure it out,” he teased. “You were on the right track.”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Want a clue?” he asked.

“Please,” I answered softly.

“It was one of that bitch’s cases. You were right about that.” He gave the rope a playful tug. This time I moved my head with it so that the loop didn’t tighten. But with my head forward, I was off balance. “Can’t you figure it out?” he asked.

Suddenly I had it. “Drunk driving,” I whispered. “She defended drunk drivers.”

“Bingo!” he answered, infusing the word with all the good cheer of a game show host. “When I first got moving again I thought I’d kill the drunk. But he had already died in the accident. Then I thought of the drunk’s fat wife. But she was a pitiful woman. There wouldn’t have been any point to it.”

Logan sighed heavily, then continued. “So I sued the estate. The wife came waddling up to me afterwards in the courthouse corridor. She said she was sorry. She blubbered all over me. Told me she’d do anything she could to help.” He shook his head in disgust.

“Pitiful,” Logan repeated. “But she did do something for me that day. This tall blond bitch came walking by, all dressed for success. The wife said the bitch was Suzanne Sorenson, the one who had saved her husband’s license with some fancy legal bullshit.”

“And you killed Suzanne for that?” I asked in disbelief. I shouldn’t have spoken.

“Isn’t that enough?” Logan snarled. He looked into my eyes angrily as if it had been my fault. “The bitch got him his license back two weeks before he hit us! Two weeks before he killed my wife and kid!”

“I’m sorry,” I murmured. I really was. I wasn’t sure if Logan heard me, though. He jerked his eyes away from mine and stared out into the darkness over my head.

I listened to the sound of my own heartbeat in the silence. Then I thought I heard another sound. Something in the trees. My eyes wanted to look, but I knew that would be a mistake. I strained my ears but the sound wasn’t repeated. Had Logan heard it? He was still staring past me.

“Did you come here to kill her?” I asked. If there was anyone moving out there, I wanted to cover the sound.

Logan turned his eyes back to me slowly. Then he shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I came here to get away. To get past the anger. Doctor’s advice.” He laughed harshly again. “And there she was, the bitch who’d killed my wife and kid, bragging about getting people’s licenses back for them.

“I couldn’t decide whether or not to approach her. To tell her what she’d done. So I went for a little wheelchair ride.” Logan’s eyes were out of focus again, lost in the memory. “I had found some rope lying on the ground and I was fooling around with it—I can still do a lot of trick-roping even from this chair—when the bitch came jogging by. I waved at her but she didn’t stop. She just kept running on those long healthy legs. So I got her! Around the neck.”

He looked up at me, eyes focused now. “The bitch struggled against the rope, fighting me. And losing. That felt good. She might have been a winner in court, but she was a loser against my rope.” He smiled triumphantly. “She won’t help kill anyone else.”

Then he dropped his eyes to the ground and scowled. “I blew it on the old man, though. Who knows how many people have died because of him? Goddamn lawyer!” He spit the last words out.

I heard another rustle. This time I was sure of it. I just hoped it was human. Logan lifted his head and glanced at the trees.

“Why Jack?” I asked quickly.

“Why Jack?” he snapped, jerking his head back. “You heard him. ‘Get high and fly!’ Who was he going to kill, out there stoned on his motorcycle? Who was he going to cripple? I could give a shit if he killed himself. But what about the others?”

Logan made a fist of his rope-wrapped hand and banged it down on his knee. The loop tugged on the back of my neck, nearly pulling me off my feet. I scuffled my feet forward a few inches, hoping Logan wouldn’t notice.

“I ought to get an award,” he muttered, unseeing. “Wheelchair Avenger, clearing the state of scum!” He took a breath.

I heard something scuff the gravel on my right. But Logan didn’t seem to hear it. He was too wrapped up in his own words. I kept my eyes on him. He smiled again.

“I covered myself well. No one will ever find my bloody jeans. I even erased my wheelchair tracks with a branch, Indian style.”

Logan gave the loop around my neck a friendly tug. I took a full step forward. He didn’t object. I was within two yards of him now, and there was a little slack in the rope again.

“But you,” he whispered. “You had to figure out that it was one of her cases. Why didn’t you leave it alone?”

Good question, I thought. A drop of sweat trickled into my eye. I didn’t reach up to wipe it. I blinked. And heard the crunch of gravel on my left. Logan kept his eyes on me. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard the sound.