The River Runs Dry (17 page)

Jack stood up quickly, planting his hands on the desk. “That's him, that's got to be him! What was his name Bill, do you remember his name?”

Bill ran his hand through his patchy brown beard as he so often did when he was thinking hard. “Trey something....um Trey.....Trey Hunter. That's it, Trey Hunter.”

“Trey Hunter,” Jack repeated. “That's him. That's our killer. What about the other woman, the woman who was stabbed?”

Bill shook his head. “Oh it's too long ago Jack, I remember the boy, but not her. I'll have to check and let you know.”

“OK, OK,” Jack said, thinking. “We have a name, we have a description. Let's run it through the database and see what comes up.”

Jack turned and moved straight towards the door, opening it fast and walking down the corridor to the main office floor.

He paced quickly towards Carla's desk, leaning in over her shoulder. “I need you to run a search Carla,” he said, causing her to jump suddenly in her chair.

“Jesus Jack,” she said, arching her neck around, “what's got you all worked up?”

“Just run the search, all right. Trey Hunter. Run it for the town's database.”

Carla set to work, loading up all the names of the people in town. “No Trey Hunter I'm afraid Jack.

“Fuck,” Jack said. “OK, it wasn't going to be that easy. Check back to 1994.”

Carla followed his instructions, the program once more running through the names. “OK, there it is. Trey Hunter, 9 years old, no siblings, mother, Chantelle...”

Carla turned to Jack again as she read the names. “Shit, that kid murderer? You think it's him?”

Jack nodded. “I
know
it's him. Can you find out where he was sent. I know he was sent away after the incident.”

Carla turned back to the computer. “Right, says here that he was sent to live with his uncle on his father's side in Texas.”

“And the uncle's name?”

“Clifton Banks.”

“Is he still alive?” Jack asked fast.

“He still lives out there according to this. On the outskirts of Navasota in Grimes County.”

“Right,” said Jack, “Get in touch with the local PD out there are find out if this guy still lives there, and anything you can about Trey Hunter. Also, the incident involved another woman, who was stabbed and left town. I need you to find out her name, see if she's still breathing and, if so, where she lives.”

“Sure Jack, I'm on it.”

Jack turned and walked straight back into Bill's office, who still sat behind his desk, rattling away on his computer.

“I wanted to ask sir,” Jack said, “why did no one do anything about the boy's abuse sooner? Someone must have known?”

Bill looked up. “It's a sad story really. This boy, Trey, no one knew about him. The mother was a drunk, lived there under a fake name, in that shack. She left his father and took the boy with her when he was only a baby.”

“But surely his teachers would have noticed?”

“There were no teachers Jack. His mother kept him at home, locked in the basement, and abused him. She used his as a toy, as her own little plaything. It wasn't the fact that he'd killed her that disgusted people round here, it was how
she'd
treated
him
. No, that woman got exactly what she deserved.”

The memory seemed fresh in his mind now, an old wound opened. It was this woman, this devil woman who'd spawned the son of Satan. She'd shaped him into what he was today, and perhaps the only piece of justice in this entire fucked up situation, was that he'd killed her first.

…

An hour later Jack sat at his desk, just finishing up a phone call. His own resources at the Burgess PD were woefully insufficient to go about tracking this Trey Hunter, so he'd been talking to an FBI agent to gain access to their more comprehensive databases.

Naturally, there were dozens of Trey Hunters scattered across America, but with the additional name of the mother, as well as his uncle's name, he was able to track him.

He'd found that he moved from Burgess to Navasota when he was nearing 10, as Carla had quickly found out, but from there little else was known about him. The trail went cold, with no extra home moves from there.

He didn't show up as a child on any school registers, and his social security number wasn't traced to any employment. Trey Hunter, it seemed, had become a ghost.

Jack sat there now, working things over in his head. Finding a name, even an identity, was one thing. Finding that person was a whole different story. And he knew that this story was still far from over.

His door opened without a knock and Carla walked in, holding a printout. She started speaking almost immediately, Jack's eyes barely having time to lift and reach her own.

“All right Jack, I've called around about this Trey Hunter and, well, the trail goes cold...”

“I know, I know,” Jack cut in. “I called a friend in the FBI and he told me that there's nothing on him past going to live with his uncle. Is that what you got?”

Carla nodded.

“What about the other woman, the friend of the mother.” Jack said friend, but he was sure she was more than that.

“Yep, got it here. Tracy Blackman, lived in Burgess her whole life until the incident. She left in 1996 and moved to LA where she worked as a waitress.”

“OK, what else?”

“Well,” she said, dropping her voice, “this is where it gets bad.”

“She's been found dead?” Jack asked quickly.

“Dead, no. She's missing. Reported missing over 3 months ago by her boyfriend in LA.” Carla was reading from her notes now, her eyes skimming across the page. “She was last seen leaving the bar she worked at late on the last Saturday in April. She left at about 3 in the morning, according to a colleague who'd been drinking with her after closing. Her boyfriend never reported her coming home, so she must have been taken during that time.”

Jack leaned forward in his chair. “Jesus, it's him, it's got to be him.”

“So you think there's another body out there, missing its eyes and hair?”

Jack nodded, slowly. “I'd bet my house on it.”

A weight hit the room between them, Jack sitting in his chair, thinking things over.

“What about the boy's father?” he asked after a pause. “Do you know anything about him? I assume he was dead, otherwise the boy would have been sent to him rather than his uncle.”

Carla nodded as Jack spoke. “He died when Trey Hunter was only a toddler. His name was....Joshua Banks. I guess the mother never took his name to give to her son.

“No, Bill told me that she'd been living under a false name. Hunter, that wasn't her real name?”

Carla skimmed down the page, checking the additional details she'd gathered. “No, she was born Chantelle Page, both parents died when she was young, so she was sent to foster care. As an adult she dropped the name and took up the name Hunter. I guess she did it to distance herself from her past or something.”

“And she had no extra family? No brothers? Sisters? Nothing?”

“Nope. She was the last of her line, an only child with no parents or grandparents. I guess she wanted to end her family name right there, so gave her son another name.”

“Jesus, sounds like she had a messed up life.”

Carla huffed. “That's putting it lightly. So, what are you going to do...to find him?”

Jack set his eyes on her. “I'm gonna take a little trip.”

Chapter 20

Jessie walked down the dimming streets as the sun began to slowly dip down below the horizon. It was light, still, but the dark of night was threatening its approach. If it had already been dark, there was no way Jessie would be out walking alone.

She was just returning home from work, and a weariness was already beginning to set inside her. She'd been helping to cover Darcia's shifts, given that she was currently incapacitated and unlikely to return, so even worked on her days and afternoons off.

For her the dream of starting college in September was still slowly pushing through, despite everything that was going on around her. She wasn't going to let that dream fade away, whatever the hell happened, and was getting extremely tempted to accept a recent offer she'd been given with regards to her house to help make that happen.

The offer wasn't from a regular buyer, but a property developer. They were happy to purchase the house from Jessie with the aim of extending it and selling it on at a higher price.

The catch? Well, they were only prepared to pay way under the asking price. If Jessie waited, she knew she'd be able to get more for the house, and there was a niggling feeling inside her that, as bad as selling her family home was, selling it for way below it's value would be going a step too far.

Yet it looked to be her only choice right now. No viewings were forthcoming, and no one was going to buy at this time, not to set up a home anyway. A developer would buy the place, extend it, and then wait until the time was right to sell. They had no urgency, and could happily wait years to sell if they needed to.

But for Jessie, there was an urgency. If she was to change her life, get out of this town, and finally begin to move past everything that had happened, she needed to act. She'd been told by the colleges that financial aid was unlikely, and that she needed to go through to the bank to get a loan. That wasn't possible. No, it would be selling the house or nothing. There was no other way.

Jessie continued down the street, a wonderful orange glow beginning to appear along the distant horizon. Out here you always got spectacular sunsets, the rocky outcrops in the distance silhouetting against the burning sun along the flat plains. It was truly beautiful, an image that contrasted with the town's current fortunes.

A couple of people down the street were still out in their front yards, mowing their lawns or watering their plants. It almost looked quite idyllic, but Jessie knew that in half an hour or so, the town would transform into a ghost town, hardly a soul on display.

When she stepped through her door she almost stumbled on a small pile of letters that had been slipped through the mail slot. She leaned down to pick them up before turning and double locking the door.

Then she went straight through into the back, making sure the back door was locked as well. Over the last couple of weeks she'd even taken to checking every room of the house, one by one, a baseball bat in hand. It was a symptom of living in fear, and half the people in town had started to do the same.

Once she'd done her checks she poured herself a glass of wine and moved towards the living room, setting her post down next to her on the sofa and flicking on the TV.

She sifted through the letters, one by one putting them to the side. A couple of bills, some sort of contest, not much else.

But then her eyes fell on one letter, unmarked on the front and back. It was completely blank, and can only have been hand delivered.

She quickly opened it, a frown deepening above her eyes, and lifted out a small piece of paper. As she read it her heart-rate slowly increased, her breathing with it.

It only contained a few words, difficult to decipher, as if they'd been scribbled. But as she stared at it, Jessie knew exactly what it said.

I''ve seen you with her.

The one who killed her brother.

You're both going to die.

Jessie's hand began shaking as she read, her eyes widening on the words.

She turned quickly, looking over her shoulder towards the kitchen, her heart beating out of her chest. She turned the TV off, the house going silent. There was no sound, just the light rumble of a lawn mower still chugging away outside.

She stood, her mind rushing.
Did she check the house? Did she check everywhere? Did she lock the doors, the windows?

Yes, she was alone in the house, she knew she was. But she had to get out, she had to get out now.

Jessie quickly grabbed her purse and stepped out towards the front door, pausing briefly before unlocking it. She stepped through quickly, shutting and locking it from the other side, before quickly turning to look out on the street.

The sun was quickly descending now, the dark of night approaching. Jessie moved towards her car and stepped in, before sitting for a moment to steady her heart rate.
Was the letter real? Was it a hoax? The killer hadn't done this before? Maybe it was just a sick joke?

The questions ran through her mind as she started the engine and began moving down the street away from her house. She felt eyes on her as she went, as if she was being watched. She'd had that feeling before, but just thought it was paranoia.

Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was real.

…

Jack sat in his office, his mind still working fast. There was a bag packed by his door, just a few overnight clothes and necessities. In a few hours he'd be on a plane, heading south east across the country.

He was itching to leave, itching to keep digging and digging until he found this enigmatic Trey Hunter. He had a bite now, he had something concrete to grip to, and he wasn't going to stop until he reeled that big fish in.

It was starting to grow dark outside now, his office quiet away from the hustle and bustle down the corridor on the main floor. There, several officers were working to dig up as much info as they could on Trey Hunter, trying to trace his past, to fill in the puzzle that was beginning to take shape.

But information was scarce. The boy had become a ghost since leaving Burgess and going to live with his uncle. Jack had called the man himself, Clifton Banks, but hadn't managed to get an answer. He'd spoken to the police in Navasota, asking them what they knew, if anything, about the man.

Details on him were scarce too. He lived a quiet life out of town, working odd jobs here and there. The police had investigated him for growing and selling drugs in the past, although no conviction had ever gone through.

Jack wondered why a boy as troubled as Trey Hunter would have been sent to a man who had no relationship with him, and who himself wasn't a model citizen. From the scant details Jack had managed to dig up, he didn't seem a particularly stable person.