Read You Don't Want To Know Online
Authors: Lisa Jackson
You Don't Want To Know (46 page)
Because they think you're nuts. Homicidal. Probably suicidal as well and any other -idal there is.
Remember, Cheryl Reynolds and Evelyn McPherson knew all of your secrets. Didn't you accuse good old Doc McPherson of having an affair with your husband? Didn't you try to fire her? Yeah, that's right, you did. Everyone knew how you felt about her. Weren't you the last one to see Cheryl Reynolds alive? Maybe you said something you regretted . . . hmmm? And then there's that sticky little matter of nearly tossing your dear cousin over the railing the night before. Everyone here at Neptune's Gate knows how you despised her, how deep the rift between you ran, and then you found out she was Noah's biological mother. You snapped, Ava. That's what they all think. You lost it and became a murderous beast. And now they have the knife, the murder weapon. Face it, Ava, you're screwed. Whoever did this was pretty clever and made sure that you would be the first and maybe only suspect.
Lester Reece, Schmester Reece, the cops and everyone else will think it's you.
Again her stomach convulsed and she nearly dry heaved thinking how she'd been set up. Her breath was coming in short little breaths and fear crawled up her spine. This, the officers taking her to the station on the mainland, was just one more step in someone's elaborate plan to destroy her.
Who?
Why?
“I . . .” She was going to deny everything, to spill her inner thoughts, to tell them that someone was manipulating everything that was happening to her, but she realized if she started arguing now, she would appear as paranoid as everyone claimed her to be. Both officers were staring at her, and even the tech, carefully sifting through the drawers, looked over her shoulder at her.
Be cool! They're all looking at you under a microscope, waiting for you to make a mistake!
“I . . .” Clearing her throat, she met Snyder's gaze. “I'll get my coat.”
Be cool! They're all looking at you under a microscope, waiting for you to make a mistake!
“I . . .” Clearing her throat, she met Snyder's gaze. “I'll get my coat.”
CHAPTER 44
T
he search party reached the abandoned asylum just as the wind kicked up, driving the rain and whipping the ocean far below the rocky outcrop for which Sea Cliff had been named. On horseback, on foot with dogs, in four-wheel-drive vehicles and even helicopters, and with several sheriff's department boats positioned in the bay should Reece decide to take a dive into the freezing tide, the cops surrounded the hospital.
he search party reached the abandoned asylum just as the wind kicked up, driving the rain and whipping the ocean far below the rocky outcrop for which Sea Cliff had been named. On horseback, on foot with dogs, in four-wheel-drive vehicles and even helicopters, and with several sheriff's department boats positioned in the bay should Reece decide to take a dive into the freezing tide, the cops surrounded the hospital.
“This time, he ain't gettin' away. Not on my watch!” Biggs had announced as the wind nearly tore his hat from his head and the surf pounded the shore. The group had gathered outside the walls of Sea Cliff where the sheriff intended to stay while the search party fanned out inside the complex. The sheriff's department wasn't alone. There were also troops from the Washington State Patrol and the Homicide Investigative Tracking System, over a dozen officers and Dern, all chasing the ghost of one man.
The sheriff had originally ordered that Dern was to stand down and wait on the outside, but since he'd come up with the theory of Reece's location, knew the hospital, had found evidence of someone living within the walls, and had somehow come into possession of the “keys to the castle” as Biggs had called them, he was allowed inside. It didn't hurt that he had been a cop and was still in the reserves.
“Just don't get in the way,” Biggs had grumbled, his face red and raw with the cold, his jacket straining around his girth. “We got this.”
Dern held his tongue. If indeed Biggs's team really did “get this,” then it had been a long time coming and not without Dern's help. And, Dern suspected, if things went bad, the press would be all over this story, and he would be the fall guy.
This was Biggs's show.
Denied his service weapon, Dern was given a protective vest and jacket that identified him as a cop, along with instructions to stay in the rear, as a deputy unlocked the gates and the search party broke into two groups. One started with the residences and outbuildings, the other, of which Dern was a part, began at the hospital.
“I heard you were Reece's brother,” a female cop said as they approached the front entrance.
“Half. Never knew him.”
“Still.” She glanced up at him. “It sucks.”
Dern didn't comment, and with four other armed cops, they searched the abandoned building. No one said a word as they passed through unused corridors and restrooms where rust was evident and spiders collected in the dark crevices. Up the stairs and down empty hallways and through individual rooms to the floor where Reece had been a resident, the room with a direct view of Neptune's Gate.
No Reece, of course.
That would have been too damned easy.
They searched the roof.
Empty, the roofing material spotty, a few vents broken, a single smokestack knifing the dismal sky.
But no Reece.
That left the basement.
“If he was here, he probably already took off,” grumbled one of the male deputies, a burly guy with no neck.
“Damned wild-goose chase,” another said. He was short and wiry, with a ruddy complexion and small, suspicious eyes.
Burly snorted. “Biggs is going to shit little green apples if we don't find him.”
“Shut up!” one of the women officers hissed.
Everyone quieted. Using high-powered flashlights, they searched the subterranean hallways. Narrow, dark, and labyrinthine, the tunnels connected all sections of the complex. In some areas, the concrete had cracked and water had puddled. Other areas were bone-dry and covered with dust that clogged Dern's nostrils. The scratch of tiny nails indicated they weren't alone, that rats or mice or God knew what else were keeping residence in the cobwebby bowels of the old institution, but they found no footprints or other evidence that a human being had walked these twisted corridors any time recently.
Nonetheless, the search was nerve-wracking and Dern's pulse was elevated, his eyes straining, his muscles tight, and he wished to heaven that he'd been allowed his service pistol.
They reached a room Dern hadn't been able to break into, and the female deputy, using Crispin Church's keys, opened the door. It swung open noiselessly, and the minute they stepped into the large mechanical room, the temperature and smell of the area warned them that things had changed.
Dern noticed Burly draw his weapon from its holster, though he assumed the cop had enough brains not to fire the Glock if at all possible. Ricocheting bullets were far more dangerous than the killer.
The beams of their flashlights illuminated the area where huge heat ducts rose to the ceiling and heavy water pipes climbed up the wall. Electrical junction boxes were visible near huge waste bins, and several disabled furnaces stood next to what once had been an active incinerator, its iron doors black, the smokestack rising upward.
The place was quiet, not a sound as they fanned out, weapons drawn, nerves strung tight. Dern's ears strained, but he heard nothing other than the other cops as they moved through the area and his own galloping heartbeat.
Carefully he stepped around a furnace. There, blocked by the huge firebox, was the heart of a camp, presumably Reece's.
Got you, you son of a bitch!
He motioned to one of the deputies, who shined her light over the filth of a dirty sleeping bag, camp stove, clothes, and garbage scattered in one corner. A couple of pails, one with clean water, one fouled with waste.
Got you, you son of a bitch!
He motioned to one of the deputies, who shined her light over the filth of a dirty sleeping bag, camp stove, clothes, and garbage scattered in one corner. A couple of pails, one with clean water, one fouled with waste.
But no Reece.
They combed the area.
“He's gone.” A male cop sounded disgusted. “In the wind.”
“Looks recent,” another one said, shaking his head.
Dern touched the camp stove. “Still warm.”
“Where the hell could he go?” Another cop shined his flashlight over the walls. “Looks like only one way out of here.”
“Heat vents,” another said.
“They go straight up. He couldn't climb up sheet metal, and they're not big enough. Reece is over six feet.”
“Shit!”
Dern eyed the cavernlike room, looking up at the ceiling until finally his gaze landed on the incinerator. They'd already looked inside, of course, but something about it bothered him. The big firebox seemed out of place. And there were a few ashes on the outside floor. He opened the door again, but the bin was empty. Shining his flashlight upward, he noticed the interior ladder, used probably for cleaning the chimney.
“He's on the roof!” Dern was already running for the exit.
“Hey!” Burly shouted after him. “We already checked up there.”
“I know, but he heard us and waited, then climbed into the incinerator and used the ladder. He's on the friggin' roof!” Rather than wait for the ensuing discussion, Dern flew up the stairs. He heard boots clattering behind him, even a curse or two, but he kept running, taking the steps two at a time and hoping that at least a couple of the cops climbed the incinerator ladder.
“He'll be trapped up there!” someone behind him said as Dern reached the first floor.
“Unless he decides to take a flying leap!”
“Oh, Christ! Well, he wouldn't survive. It would serve the bastard right and save the state a whole lotta money!”
Taking the steps two at a time, Dern flew by the second floor, passed the third, and reached the roof access. It was locked. Probably by Reece, from the other side. “Bastard!” he muttered.
Grabbing both handrails of the stairs, he swung his body and, using momentum and all the strength he could muster, kicked the door with his feet.
BAM!
Frame shattering, the door flew open, banging loudly as a rush of wind whistled down the stairwell. Hearing the thunder of footsteps from the group of cops behind him, Dern scrambled to his feet and flung himself onto the roof. Once again he wished he had his pistol as he walked slowly around the stairwell to the perimeter of the building, his eyes searching as he fought the screaming wind and heavy rain.
“What the fuck?” someone behind him said.
Dern turned to see the disgust on Burly's face.
“He's not here! He's flown the damned coop, I tell ya.” The deputy was already reaching for his phone to call the sheriff with the bad news. Dern turned and looked at Sea Cliff. From here, the widow's walk of Neptune's Gate was visible, and in his mind's eye, he saw Ava, climbing down the damned fire escape.
Just like this damned place!
It all clicked. He'd spied the ladder on the south side of the island earlier. Now he raced across the soggy roof to the edge of the building where twin handles looped over the ledge to connect with the railing of the fire escape. Cautiously he peered over the edge.
Two floors down, clinging to the rusted railings for his life, his body battered by the gale-force winds buffeting the island, was Lester Friggin' Reece. Sensing Dern, he looked upward for a frantic second.
“Hello, Brother,” Dern said, though the desperate man far below, staring up in panic, couldn't hear him over the thunder of the surf and the scream of the wind.
Over his shoulder, Dern yelled, “Hey! Over here!”
Reece started scrambling downward.
Burly, lumbering over, two other deputies on his heels, shined the beam of his light down the dirty exterior walls and caught the killer's face looking up again. Terror registered in Reece's eyes. “You'd better be scared, you sum bitch,” Burly said. “We got your skinny ass now!”
He started to radio to the cops on the ground just as Dern climbed onto the fire escape. “Stop! What the hell do you think you're doing?” Burly demanded. “Hey!”
Dern didn't listen to any lame-ass “this is police business” excuses as he lowered himself quickly on the slick rungs. He remembered Ava on the fire escape, how she'd climbed to a lower floor, and he wasn't going to take the chance with Reece. What if the guy had an escape route, one the police would have trouble finding? He could slide inside through a window, take a back staircase, disappear again, or he might just take a chance on jumping.
Either way, Dern was on his heels.
“For the love of Christ!” he heard Burly say over the rumble of the ocean, and he felt the ladder shimmy a bit. He figured the big cop was giving chase, but he didn't look up, just kept his eyes on Reece as he hurried rung by rung down the rusting ladder.
Reece squirreled down the escape. He was agile and quick, and the group of cops that Dern had expected to appear on the ground below once Burly had radioed them hadn't arrived when Reece, at the end of the ladder, jumped to the ground.
“Shit!” Above him, Burly had witnessed Reece's escape.
Dern hurried, hoping the damned cops and dogs would appear on that bit of lawn, but as he reached the first floor, no officer appeared and Reece took off down a slippery, weed-choked trail that forked. One path led to the fence and a gate that opened to the front of the building; the second fork angled toward the bay.
Reece, damn him, headed for the open sea.
“Great!” Dern grumbled, and using his hands and gravity, kicked his feet free and slid down the final rungs before dropping to the ground. He landed hard, his ankle twisting, but he was on his feet in a second, chasing the madman who was his brother. He couldn't lose him nowânot after all this time and his promises to Ava and his motherâand he wouldn't let the cops shoot first and ask questions later. Faster and faster he raced, cold air burning through his lungs, his eyes trained on Reece's head as they flew along the slick, weed-choked path that wound through rocks and patches of beach grass. Behind him, he heard shouts. The police finally arriving.
Where the hell were the dogs?
Dern expected the dogs to gallop past him, fast on the scent of their quarry, but so far, nothing. Probably locked on the other side of the fence or some other snafu.
Don't worry about the damned dogs. Just get this sucker!
Reece, as slippery as the wet rocks of the headland, knew this area better than anyone. “You're not getting away, you bastard,” Dern said, his eyes trained on the man he was chasing and silently cursing the sheriff for not allowing him a gun. At each dip and turn in the path, Reece disappeared for a second, and Dern feared that he would veer off, slither away in the beach grass, find a hidden cove, or take to the ocean.
“Police! Stop!” he heard from behind, and prayed that they wouldn't shoot. His jacket identified him, but it wasn't safe and he wanted Reece alive.
On he ran, boots sliding in the mud, his damned ankle beginning to throb. Still, he was slowly closing the gap. Reece was fifteen feet ahead of him, but slowing. Soon it was ten feet, then five.
He could hear the rasp of his brother's breath as he slowed.
“Reece! Give it up!” he yelled, and his half brother looked furtively over his shoulder, his eyes wild. He muttered something unintelligible, dug into the pocket of his jeans, and kept running toward the damned ocean. Did he think he could swim away? Get lost in the sea before he drowned or hypothermia took him?
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