Текст книги "Fear the Dark"

Автор книги: Chris Mooney

Соавторы: Chris Mooney
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Текущая страница: 24 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

78

‘Everyone here appreciates your dedication and hard work,’ Scott said.

Coop stared at him stupidly. ‘Are you giving me the bounce?’

Scott looked uncomfortable. ‘The place where we found the satellite phone,’ he said. ‘That river is a class-three rapid. It merges with another one about a quarter of a mile away.’

‘The Wild Straits,’ Coop said distantly. He had an idea where Scott was leading him.

‘And that one’s a class-five rapid, nasty as hell.’

Coop had searched the areas well into the night. It had been an excruciatingly perilous affair for everyone involved. Not only was the bumpy and uneven terrain strewn with hidden rocks, boulders and downed tree limbs – most of which were obscured underneath at least a good six inches of crusted snow – but the ground was covered in ice. Despite his caution, every step had proved to be a roll of the dice; he had slipped and tripped more than once. One uniform had taken the worst spill, falling ass over elbow and almost rolling straight into the rapids. Fortunately, he walked away with only a sprained ankle and a couple of nasty bruises.

‘I know you and Dr McCormick were very close.’

Were.

‘Sir, I understand –’

‘I don’t think you do,’ Scott said. His voice was quiet. Respectful. ‘We put birds in the sky equipped with thermal imaging. We didn’t find a heat signature anywhere in the woods. If Savran … people who get caught in those rapids, sometimes they’re never found.’

‘That doesn’t mean she’s dead. What if Savran took her as a hostage?’

‘Then why hasn’t he contacted us?’

Coop didn’t have an answer. The feeling of dread that he woke up with each morning gripped him, but he said the words anyway: ‘She could still be alive.’

Scott tried to keep his face empty. ‘DD wants you on the next flight home.’

‘Why?’

‘He thinks you’re too close to this – conflict of interest and all that.’

‘And you? What do you think?’

Scott didn’t have a chance to answer; his satellite phone started ringing.

As Scott took the call, Coop saw himself walking back to the main road as the dawn broke. Darby wasn’t anywhere in those woods. And yet he had refused to get back into the car and pack it in because it felt like a betrayal. As if he were turning his back on her. Because if the roles had been reversed, she’d have moved heaven and earth to find him, dead or alive, it wouldn’t have mattered.

Then his mind snapped back to the present, back to Lancaster’s missing keys and the fact that he hadn’t found a computer or any computer-related equipment inside the man’s house. Maybe Lancaster was one of those people, like Hoder, who disliked computers, or maybe Lancaster thought his iPhone was all the technology he needed.

So why was it nagging at him?

Scott hung up, his face and tone grave when he said, ‘They found Savran. He’s dead.’

79

Darby heard the trapdoor open and saw a glint of sunlight on the ladder’s rungs.

Nicky Hubbard wasn’t alone this time; Ray Williams had come with her. She stood slightly behind him, arms crossed over her chest and pouting, eyes flaring with hatred.

Williams had the put-out expression and demeanour of a parent summoned to the principal’s office to discuss an argument between his child and another student. ‘My Sarah says you –’

‘Nicky,’ Darby said. ‘Her name is Nicky Hubbard.’

A dangerous light came into his eyes, one that for some reason brought to mind video images she’d seen of Nazi soldiers. It made her skin crawl.

‘Her name is Sarah,’ Williams said.

Nicky Hubbard’s wide smile glowed with satisfaction.

Williams stuffed his hands deep in his trouser pockets. ‘Her name is Sarah,’ he said again. ‘You will not ask my Sarah any more questions. You will do what she says, when she says it. If you don’t, when I come for you, I’ll punish you like this.’

Darby heard a new sound, a whining squeak, above her; then whiplash-quick the lead connected to her steel collar yanked her off her feet. A split-second later her head slammed against the ceiling and she dangled in the air, choking, legs scissoring and her torso jerking wildly, her weight strangling her to death. Her brain screamed like a fire alarm as she clawed desperately at the steel collar. Her face burned, and the pressure in her head threatened to explode unless she could draw a breath and she couldn’t draw a breath. Her legs kept kicking, the oxygen was dying, and her brain and blood howled in protest, fighting to survive. Black and red spots like drops of pain appeared in her vision, bleeding together, and she couldn’t see anything, and she couldn’t breathe.

Then the tension in the cord suddenly gave way, and Darby crashed against the floor, gasping. Her legs had no strength in them, they had turned to liquid. She couldn’t breathe – she tried, but it was as if her lungs had quit working. When they finally, mercifully, roared back to life, she sucked in great gulps of precious air. Her vision cleared, and she could see Williams next to Hubbard, rubbing her back as he whispered words of comfort into her ear.

Then Williams kissed the top of her head and turned back to the ladder. Nicky Hubbard remained standing, hatred still glowing in her eyes as she slammed her thumb against the remote button for the shock collar and kept it there.

This time the shock was a hundred times stronger; it was as if she’d stepped on to a high-voltage wire. Her eyes slammed shut and she saw a supernova of white stars explode and scream through her skull as her limbs flapped uselessly, banging against the concrete. Darby kicked and thrashed, spittle flying from her mouth, and an inner voice said, I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him the first chance I get, and if you get in my way, Nicky, I’m going to kill you too.

‘My vision’s getting better each day,’ I say into the phone.

‘That’s good,’ Griffin replies. It’s coming up on 10 p.m. and I can tell he’s slightly drunk. He feels the need to call me each day, to check up and see how I’m faring – which is good. I can also get information on the progress of the Savran manhunt.

‘What about the headaches?’ Griffin asks.

‘Awful.’ Which is completely true. Lancaster treated me to a hairline fracture. ‘They’ve got me on this migraine-level medication. Guess who has to pick up the tab for it?’

Griffin chuckles. He knows our health insurance is for shit.

‘If I were you, I’d ride the disability and workman’s comp into the sunset. I bet you’re making more on those two than you do on your regular pay.’

‘You’re right.’

‘I’m telling you, go out on a permanent disability.’

‘I’m seriously thinking about it.’

‘Good. Because guys like us who actually give a shit and play by the rules? We’re suckers. And I’m sick and tired of being a sucker, Ray. Tomorrow morning I think I’m gonna slip on a sheet of ice on my way into the station.’

I laugh. ‘What’s going on with Savran?’

‘You haven’t heard?’

‘Heard what?’

‘They found his Bronco at the old coal plant in Leadville earlier today – and Savran lying in a ditch about a mile away. ME said it’s a suicide.’

I close my eyes, sweet and blessed relief flooding through me. Lancaster had told me the truth about Savran being dead.

‘Blew his brains out,’ Griffin says.

‘When did they find him?’

‘Couple of hours ago.’ Griffin takes a sip of his drink. I hear a rattle of ice cubes and then, in the background, a man who sounds like Billy O’Reilly shouting something about immigrants. ‘I don’t have any idea about the McCormick broad. My guess is he dumped her body in the rapids where they found her phone, which means we’ll never find her.’

You got that right, I add silently.

‘That fed there, what’s-his-name, Cooper, he thinks Savran took Lancaster’s keys and went through Teddy’s house and took a whole bunch of his computer stuff.’

I had given Teddy’s keys to Sarah. She drove to Lancaster’s house to remove any computers, programming books and computer equipment – CDs, USB keys, anything that could be used to store copies of the videos – anything that would suggest that Lancaster knew his way around computers.

Later that same night, when I returned home from the hospital, I looked through Teddy’s laptop and discovered he had kept copies of the videos. He wasn’t in any of them, of course, because he had to use the videos to frame Savran.

‘Did the feds find any evidence suggesting Savran stole Lancaster’s laptop or whatever he used?’

‘No,’ Griffin said. ‘If Savran did it – why he did it – well, we’re not going to know now, are we?’

‘What’s Brewster saying?’

‘Nothing. Everyone knows the feds like to invent shit to keep themselves busy. It’s how they justify their pay cheques to the taxpayers.’

After I get Griffin off the phone, I pick up the walkie-talkie, call Sarah and tell her to come to the house. Then I stand by the window. Several minutes later, I see the shed door open under the moonlight.

I’ve been having her spend her days inside the chamber with Darby; federal agents and marshals have been stopping by the house at all hours, asking questions about the massacre inside Sally Kelly’s house. Having suffered a skull fracture and a major concussion, I’m able to use the ‘I don’t remember’ defence. I squirreled her away, anticipating the news about Nicky Hubbard’s fingerprint to break at any second.

I grew up in Red Hill and have lived here all my life. My mother had a sister who lived in Wichita. We’d visit her sometimes. During one of those trips I went to the mall and found her a daughter, just like she asked. We brought Nicky home and we called her Sarah. Sarah lived in the basement and was home-schooled. We loved her and fed her and cared for her. I loved her and fed her and cared for her, yet the FBI could take all that away at a moment’s notice.

Nobody knows about Sarah – no one has ever seen her. My new Sarah now lives a comfortable and peaceful life right here inside our home. She has never left the house without my permission (she knows better), and as I watch her trundle through the snow, I wonder again about Lancaster – if the man had told someone about the video of me scrubbing down the corner inside the Downes bedroom. It’s still a possibility; Teddy did, after all, have people helping him – Whitehead and Nelson, to name two.

No, I remind myself again. Had Teddy told anyone, something would have happened by now. Seven days have passed and nothing has changed. But if Cooper or any other fed starts digging into my background, there’s a chance they might be able to connect me to Hubbard …

‘What is it, baby?’ she asks, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

‘Where do you want to go?’

Anywhere but prison, Sarah. I’ll die before I let that happen.

‘I don’t care,’ she says, ‘as long as I’m with you.’

She hugs me fiercely. I’m staring at her neck, thinking about how easy it would be to snap it. One swift tug and pull and it’s over. If you’re dead, Sarah, no one can find you. If you’re dead, I’m safe. Free. I can dump her body in my room underneath the shed. No one will find her – or Darby. Kill them both and run.

‘I’m hungry,’ I say.

‘I’ll make us a nice dinner, then.’

That’s not what I meant, but I don’t tell her. I want her happy and occupied. ‘That sounds wonderful,’ I tell her, smiling. ‘Go ahead and do that. I’ve got to take care of something first.’

Sarah knows I’m thinking of Darby McCormick – knows I’ve been wanting to spend time with her alone for days now.

She looks wounded. ‘You don’t need her,’ she says. ‘You can play with me.’

I sigh, pinching my temples. I close my eyes, wishing that I could open them and find myself in another state or city or country, anywhere but here.

‘Sarah, I –’

‘I know what you like, baby. I know how to make you feel good, you’ve taught me how to make you feel good in all sorts of different ways.’

‘I’m not going to play with her.’

Sarah stares at me for a beat, confused, a dog which has failed to understand a command.

‘Then why are you going to –’

‘To kill her,’ I say. ‘I’m going to kill her.’

Sarah stands as motionless as a statue.

‘I don’t want her,’ I say. ‘I want you.’

‘Don’t take too long. I have something real special planned for you.’

Sarah bites her bottom lip, her eyes twinkling with a mischievous, almost diabolical light. Then she stands on her tiptoes and kisses me deeply, like she’s trying to draw a secret from my heart. Like she knows I’m going to kill her.

80

Solve the problem, Darby.

Her father’s voice, his words. When she was a kid, ‘Big Red’ McCormick would listen patiently to whatever gripe or troublesome situation she laid before him, and then, when he was sure she was done, he’d calmly deliver the same three words he always said to her during their very short life together: Solve the problem, Darby. You’re the only one who can. Sometime during her senior year in high school, and years after he’d died, she’d had a small epiphany, her brain finally accepting the wisdom he’d been drilling into her when he was alive: bitching and complaining and venting about it got you absolutely nowhere in life. Either solve the problem or shut up. Like the gladiators who were forced to fight in the ancient coliseums, you could lay down your sword and shield and surrender to your fate – or you could fight.

For days now, every time she was alone, she had tried to tear the lead from Williams’s hanging contraption, and each time she had gotten nowhere. There was no way to break it off, but that didn’t mean she had to give up. She kept at it, thinking – hoping – that all the pulling that left her muscles depleted might weaken, if not damage, Williams’s personal torture porn device.

But she wouldn’t know until he used it on her again, and that scared her.

Darby heard the trapdoor open. No light cascaded down the rungs. It must be night, she thought, standing upright in the pitch-black darkness, the soles of her bare feet cold and damp against the rough concrete. She tried to empty her mind of fear, but that was about as useful and productive as using a paper cup to bail out a sinking ship. She knew what was coming.

Lancaster was power hungry; he had staged the crime scenes to look like the textbook handiwork of a sexual sadist. Williams, however, was the real deal, a creature who fed off human pain and suffering. Deny the monster its food, and it became enraged. And even more irrational.

At least that had been her experience. Darby had no idea how Williams would act.

I’m going to find out, she thought as the interior lights came on. What had Nicky Hubbard told her about Williams? Fight back. Ray really loves it when you fight back. It makes us both so happy.

Us, Darby thought, her eyes finally adjusting to the brightness.

Ray Williams stood on the other side of the bars. The swelling had disappeared from her face, and she had the use of both eyes now. He was dressed like a man who was about to spend a summer afternoon out on his boat: white tee, khakis and penny loafers without socks. His bruised face had turned a dark violet, and dozens of stitched lacerations covered his face, scalp and ears.

He reached through the bars and dropped a pair of black lace panties and a bra on the floor.

‘Put them on,’ he said.

Darby didn’t move.

She broke out in a slick and greasy sweat when she saw Williams remove the remote for the shock collar from his trousers pocket. His eyes were as dead and lifeless as marbles.

‘I’ve adjusted the setting to ten,’ he said. ‘Put on the clothes or I’ll shock you.’

‘No,’ she replied, and her stomach turned to ice.

Williams’s eyes were busy with thought, and a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. Darby swallowed, bracing herself for what was about to come.

But he didn’t shock her. Instead, he placed the remote on the edge of one of the bars. Then he reached into his pocket again and came back with a new item: another remote, this one smaller, like a car-key fob.

The remote for his hanging contraption, she thought, her muscles tensing as her hands flew up to grab the lead.

Williams pressed the button. Again, Darby was yanked off her feet, but the motor sounded different, like it was struggling to complete the task. Williams didn’t seem to notice, or didn’t care. Keys in hand, he unlocked the door and moved inside her cell.

Darby had managed to wrap the lead around her fists. The plastic-encased metal dug into her skin and callused palms as she hoisted herself up to relieve the pressure on her neck. Williams stepped closer and, tilting his head to the side, looked up at her, curious, like an art collector admiring a prized painting.

Sweat popped all over her skin, and she gulped air to stave off the burning in her muscles. She was only buying herself seconds, though, and Williams knew it. At any moment she’d use up the limited glycogen stored in her muscles. The strength would leave her arms, shoulders and back, and then gravity would take over and she’d fall and hang from the ceiling, body twisting and swaying and suffocating, her fingers desperately clawing at the collar.

Williams must have pressed the button, because the next thing she knew she had crashed against the floor. Her skin and brain on fire, she rolled on to her side, gasping, and saw Williams staring down at her. Black gloves covered his hands now, and he held two new items: a pair of steel handcuffs and a hunting knife with a long, curved, sickle-like blade.

Don’t let him cuff you, she thought, gasping in mouthfuls of much-needed air. If he cuffs you it’s over.

Williams swung his foot back. Darby knew he was going to kick her, knew that if she tried to protect her stomach with her arms and hands, he might break her fingers. She tried to turn away, but his shoe slammed into her stomach. Air exploded past her throat and bright stars exploded across her vision. She curled into a foetal position and she used her arms to protect her face. She couldn’t fight him if he broke her nose or, worse, delivered a kick that would swell her eyes shut.

But he didn’t kick her. Instead, he dropped the handcuffs to the floor, grabbed a fistful of hair from the back of her head and pulled her up, no doubt wanting to smash her face on the floor.

Mistake. Darby wasn’t afraid to fight, knew how to fight. She braced an arm against the floor and then, using all of her strength, spun around to face him. Williams, still clutching her hair, was knocked off balance; he didn’t let go, and, as he fell sideways, towards the wall, his right hand, the one holding the knife, reached out to brace his fall. The blade scrapped against the concrete wall, twisting his wrist at an odd angle, and he screamed.

Darby screamed as she rose to her knees. Screaming meant delivering oxygen to her bloodstream. She had him pinned against the corner, and with her hands gripping the wrist holding the knife she screamed again and slammed her knee into his groin. She felt him buckle and his strength left him.

But not his fight; he still had plenty of that in him, and she swore she saw him smile as he knocked her back against the wall. Her head was slammed against the concrete, pain and terror exploding through her skull; but her eyes were pinned on the knife lying on the floor. Go for it or you’ll die down here. She did so, the concrete scraping her knees and palms, and had reached its hilt when Williams grabbed her by the ankle and pulled.

Darby turned and moved towards him. Swung the knife and saw the curved blade slice through his cheek and slash his left eye.

The howl that escaped his lips exploded off the walls and drilled into her head. His hands clutched at his face, blood and spittle spraying from his gloved fingers as he screamed again, and Darby felt something inside her break away and soar like a bird being released from a cage and given a chance to fly. He rolled on the floor, clawing at his face, kicking his feet. She moved to him, ready to put an end to this, when she heard the whine of the motor hidden somewhere inside the ceiling.

How? She had assumed he’d put the remote in his pocket. Then an inner voice screamed Whatever you do, don’t let go of the knife. Darby clutched the hilt as she was yanked backwards, her feet scraping against the floor. Williams howled again, and as she was pulled up to the ceiling Darby reached around the back of her head and grabbed the lead, catching sight of the remote on the floor just before her head slammed into the ceiling.

But she didn’t let go of the knife. She sawed at the lead wildly, the blade cutting her fingers, as Williams staggered to his feet. His face was buried in his shaking hands, and he screamed through his bloody fingers. Blinded him, she thought. Please let him be blind. The pressure on her neck was immense. She gasped desperately for air and kept sawing and sawing as Williams stumbled blindly towards the cell door. He had left it open – and he had left the remote for the shock collar on one of the bars.