Waking the Dead (44 page)
“That lead is probably a dead end until we nail the UNSUB and take a sample from his property,” she admitted, looking out at the nearly empty Main Street. Then as memory flashed, she allowed herself a small smile. “Unless you happen to know of a place that not only possibly has hot springs but also keeps sheep. Or used to.”
He pulled at his long blade of a nose as he slowed to swing in next to her vehicle. “Know a couple places like that actually. Not right in town, of course. But Kathy Gerber and Rick Moses rent an acreage and keep a few sheep. Jodie Paulsen’s dad used to raise them years ago.” His voice went eager. “You want me to call them?”
With a shrug, Cait said, “May as well.” If nothing else, the soil samples would give Kristy a way to test the theory she’d concocted while ogling the NRCS employee. “But let’s not transfer the computers until we know whether we’re making more stops. I don’t want to leave them in my vehicle unattended.”
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.” Cait tucked her cell into her jeans pocket in case Barnes called and grabbed the pack she’d retrieved from her vehicle before getting out of the car.
“I know he’s here. I just talked to him.” Gibbs scratched one large ear. Knocked on the front door again. But no one answered it. “He spends a lot of time out in his shed putter ing.” He strode to the end of the porch and jogged down the steps, peering around the corner of the house. “I see a light out there. That’s where he’s probably at, all right.”
Wonderful. A fine mist had begun to fall. As if the air had exhaled, a slight wind followed. Cait trailed behind the deputy as they crossed the uneven yard, by a garden, a compost heap, and hulking shapes of old discarded machinery. Toward a wooden shed patched with bits of metal. Like he’d said, there was dim light coming from the tiny cracks between the wooden slats. But the door was padlocked from the outside.
“Well, he’s not in there.” In disgust, Cait looked at the deputy. She should have known this would be nothing but a time waster. “Just take me back to my vehicle. I’m going to ... ”
The wooden door splintered in front of her a fraction of an instant before she heard the shot.
She shoved Gibbs, hard. “Down, get down.” They dove in opposite directions, Cait drawing her weapon from its back holster to aim at the unseen assailant. Scanning the terrain, she saw nothing moving. “Call in on your radio!”
“It’s in my car!” Gibbs shouted back. She could see the outline of him, crouched low on the opposite side of the shed, only his head poking out. The shadows would give them cover, she figured, peering intently into the darkness as she dug her cell out with her free hand. As much as it did their assailant.
“Paulsen!” Cait’s voice rang out in the eerie silence. “We just came to talk. You invited us, remember?” She tried to shield the light from the screen of the phone while she dialed 9-1-1. Another shot split the night, close enough to feel the heat of the bullet kiss her cheek. Hastily she crawled to the other end of the shed and around the corner, jamming the phone back in her pocket for the moment.
She focused on the direction the last shot was fired from. The looming bulk might have been an old tractor. Massive enough for a man to hide behind it. She sited, squeezed off a shot. Heard the ping of metal. There was no sign of movement.
Staying low, she made the 9-1-1 call and, afterward, ignoring the operator’s direction to stay on the line, shoved the cell back in her pocket. Still no sign of Paulsen. Carefully she made her way to the opposite corner of the shed, peered around it. She needed to talk to Gibbs. Together they could . . .
Except Gibbs wasn’t where she left him.
Shit.
She did a crouched run along the wall. Heard the creak of rusty hinges. And when she whirled around the corner, in police stance, the space in front of the door was empty.
But the padlock was off the door.
“Gibbs,” she breathed. Looked frantically around. But the man had vanished. He was armed. At least that was a consolation. Because if they had to wait for backup to come all the way from Eugene, they just might be screwed.
She stared at the entrance to the shed again. Who had gone inside? Gibbs? Or Paulsen?
Using the door as cover, she drew it back to open it fully. Then dropped to the ground before it and rolled, coming to a halt with her weapon sited on the figure framed in its opening.
Her blood congealed in her veins when she saw not one, but two figures inside it.
Jodie Paulsen smiled beatifically. Pressed his pistol harder against Tony Gibbs’s temple. “Welcome to the party, Ms. Fleming.”
“You don’t want to hurt Tony,” she murmured, not lowering her weapon. She inched inside the shed where she could better navigate an angle for a shot. “You two are friends.”
“I’ve got lots of friends.” His voice was conversational as he dragged Gibbs farther back into the interior of the shed with one arm around his throat. “One less won’t hurt. And he’s not the friend that counts here, is he?”
“No, I’m guessing that’d be Del Barton.” She kept her eyes trained on Paulsen’s face. She couldn’t afford to focus on Gibbs’s wide-eyed panic. His empty holster. “He was the brains and you supplied the muscle, right? Had a nice little racket going siphoning off all those funds.”
“Have,” he corrected. “Nothing has changed. With you dead, Andrews will see that Sweetie couldn’t have had a thing to do with the whole mess. They’ll let him go. We’ll be together.”
Shock jolted through her. “So it’s more than business between the two of you.” She edged toward the left, hoping for a clear shot. But Paulsen was moving into the shadows. Away from the light spilling from a single lamp in the center of the shed.
“We’re in love.” Gibbs made a sound then, a choked sort of snort and Jodie lowered the barrel of the gun to shoot him in the knee. The man’s cry was hideous.
“Next time it will be your brain, not that you ever had one, you stupid fuck.” His voice was fierce as he whispered into the man’s ear, his gaze never leaving Cait. “Drop the gun,” he told her, his weapon pressed again against the man’s temple. “Or he’s a dead man.”
“Won’t be the first time you’ve killed, will it?” Keep him talking. It took one moment of distraction to catch him off guard. Cait circled around him so she could control his movements to some extent. Keep him away from the inner edges of the shed that were shrouded in shadow. “Which did you enjoy more? The men or the women?”
“I’m not a killer. I’m not. They were treated with respect. Given a decent send off with a fitting memorial. No one can say I was unfeeling.” Gibbs’s whimpers turned into a low keening sound. “I’ve always been too sensitive for my own good.”
“So that’s why you painted on the bones?” It was difficult to follow his reasoning, but that wasn’t unusual. A psychopath wasn’t logical.
“I commemorated their lives,” he corrected. “Which is more than my mother got. And more than you’re going to get.”
Something in his tone warned her and she dove, rolling away as a shot echoed and re-echoed in the interior of the shed. But she realized her mistake an instant later when she heard the thud of a body hit the dirt floor. Gibbs.
There was nothing to shield Paulsen now, and she fired her weapon as he headed for the shadows. Scrambled for cover when an answering shot came her way.
Drops pattered against the metal roof in an increased rhythm. The mist had changed to full-fledged rain now. Quickly she ran for the gloomy corner on the opposite side of the shed, passing through a glimmer from the light source as she ran. And felt the blood ice over in her veins.
The beetles and larvae covered the skeletal remains in the Plexiglas enclosure beneath the heat lamp. But from the size of the skeleton, she knew it was human.
There was a ninth victim.
She ducked as he shot again, and without conscious decision, aimed at the enclosure. Sprayed the glass with bullets.
Paulsen’s scream, when it came, was as agonized as Gibbs’s had been. “Nooooooo!”
Coolly she waited until he came toward the toppled enclosure, to where the beetles were pouring through the shattered Plexiglas. And this time when she fired, she aimed for him.
“Youbitchyoubitch. Oh, you fucking bitch!” His voice went strangled when her bullet caught him in the shoulder. His mewl of pain was surprisingly childlike. But he didn’t seem impaired when he fled for the door, firing behind him.
She chased him down. Away from the still-silent body of the deputy. Across the back of the property into the trees fringing it. And it wasn’t until she ran into the dense woods for several meters that she realized he’d led her into the forest.
This time she pressed Andrews’s number as she sprinted, trying to keep Paulsen in sight as he leaped over logs and dodged around stands of trees. “Gibbs is down. In the shed on Paulsen’s property. Chasing suspect through forest directly east of his shed.”
“I’ve got two cars on their way to Paulsen’s house,” the sheriff barked in her ear. “Estimated arrival time, ten minutes.”
“Send an ambulance.” She shoved the phone back in her jeans and continued running. She had a sneaking suspicion that an ambulance was too late for the deputy. But if he were alive, herding Paulsen off the property might keep him that way.
Cait wiped the rain from her face and tried to figure how far they’d gone. Spying a shadow of movement to her left, she headed toward it with renewed speed. When she wasn’t on a case, she trained at home. Ran five miles a day. The way her lungs were heaving, she’d gone nearly that far. And was totally and irrevocably lost.
She slowed, scanning the area ahead for a trace of Paulsen. If he was still there, he was hiding.
Halting behind a jumble of rocks, she hauled in a breath and tried to calm her breathing. And recognized just how easily she could be trapped here. The pines stretched overhead, an impenetrable wall of timber. Rocks and logs littered the forest floor, obstacles to the unsuspecting. The rain fell steadily from an uncaring sky to saturate the ground and slick the rocks.
And Paulsen had disappeared in the midst of it.
Squinting, she tried to get her bearings, but it was useless. In the shadows, the spot looked much like every mile she’d tromped with Zach. And as she scanned the area for signs of Jodie Paulsen, she had the fleeting thought that if she could have anyone at her side right now, it’d be Sharper.
When the bullet hit the rock beside her, a jagged piece flew up to hit her face. The next one caught her in the arm as she was diving away.
The bastard was behind her.
Circled around, most likely, waiting to ambush. Gritting her teeth against the gnawing agony tearing through flesh, she stumbled toward a large pine to take cover behind. And recognized in the course of that instant that the hunter had become the hunted.
The shots were coming faster. From a different weapon now. He had a shotgun.
She dodged from tree to tree, trying to find a good place for cover. A place to linger long enough to get a shot off.
But there was nothing but trees, many of the trunks too spindly to hide behind.
“It’s just you and me, Cait.”
Her steps faltered as she heard Paulsen’s voice. She dropped to crouch behind an outcropping of rock.
“You don’t know this forest like I do. Come out and I’ll tell you all about me and my sweetie.”
She searched the shadows crowding her from every side. Where the hell was he?
A flash of movement caught her eye and she fired. And felt an answering shot catch her in the shoulder. A curse tumbled from her lips as the flare of heat burst into pain.
“Hurts, don’t it? I won’t make you suffer when I end it, Cait. None of them suffered. It’s easy to snap a neck, did you know that? My father said he didn’t mean to snap Mother’s, but he paid for it all the same. Just like you’re going to pay for Sweetie being arrested.” That disembodied voice seemed to surround her. Hem her in. “I’ll bet you have a beautiful skull.”
There was a roaring in her ears as unconsciousness reared, was ruthlessly beaten back. And when she tried, she could hear a noise in the distance that wasn’t due to rain or ragged breathing.
The faint sound of traffic.
It was hard to summon logic through the agony. But highways ribboned through the forest. Hemmed it on a couple sides, didn’t it? And if she could lead Paulsen toward the highway, she had a better chance of summoning help.
She drew a deep breath. Then burst from her hiding place, spraying bullets in every direction. And stumbling in the direction she thought, hoped, would lead to safety.
Running made the pain grow jagged little fangs that gnashed at her flesh with merciless glee. Her only consolation was that he’d been shot, too. At least once.
But she knew she’d lose strength long before he did.
A bullet kicked up dirt only inches from her feet. With renewed energy, she weaved and dodged, fueled more by adrenaline than real strength.
If she could reach the stand of trees ahead, she’d have the cover she needed to return fire. If she could just . . .
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