Blood Trails (12 page)

Holly shuddered. “Rest assured I won’t be talking about this to anyone. And if I do remember something more that might be helpful, I’ll certainly call Detective Carver.”

“Thank you,” Hollis said. “We’ll be going. Carver, keep me abreast of all that’s happening.”

“Yes, sir,” Whit said.

The other men left the interrogation room, leaving Whit and Holly alone.

Whit picked up the journal and photos.

“I’m going to take this stuff and run copies,” he said. When he saw the strain in her eyes, he touched her shoulder briefly. “It won’t take long.”

Holly stifled a sigh. Moments later she was alone. After all the drama, she felt emotionally drained and had a strong urge to cry. When she glanced at her watch, she was surprised to see it was almost 2:00 p.m. No wonder she felt shaky. She hadn’t eaten since early that morning. She needed some food and a nap, but what she wanted was Bud. He would be the voice of reason she needed to hear. Swallowing back tears, she stared down at the floor, willing herself not to come undone.

Carver returned a few minutes later and handed her the originals of what he’d copied.

“Here you go. I just want to thank you for getting up the courage to come in. I know it couldn’t have been easy. We’ll start going through our old files to see if we can find a link.”

“My…father, Andrew, used to say that life wasn’t meant to be easy, but it was meant to be lived to the fullest. After finding out about all this, I realized I had to settle the past before I could look to the future. I know you’re focused on finding a serial killer, but don’t forget my mother. If she became one of his victims, I want to know.”

“I promise we won’t forget about her. I think we’re done, and I’m sure you must be ready to get out of here. How about I walk you out?”

Holly nodded. She was ready to go.

As they neared the exit, Whit reiterated the chief’s earlier warning, “I can’t say this often enough. Stay away from Harold Mackey and let us do our job.”

“Yes, sir, I will.”

Whit walked her out, shook her hand and went back inside.

Holly’s legs were shaking as she headed for her car. She felt light-headed and a little sick to her stomach as she waited for a police cruiser to pass before she reached her car.

Harold glanced at his watch again. The woman had been inside for hours. He couldn’t imagine what the hell she was doing and was on the verge of believing he’d made a mountain out of a molehill. What if she were in there applying for a job? She was driving a rental and staying in a hotel, which meant she was probably new to the area. He was cursing himself as a nervous dumb-ass when she suddenly exited the building.

He grabbed the binoculars he always kept in the glove compartment and trained them on her face. Again, he felt a faint sense of familiarity but no real recognition. Despite his conviction that there was nothing to be concerned about, he still decided to keep an eye on her—just in case. But for now, he had plans that would take him outside the city.

Holly pulled out of the parking lot and drove away. Her focus for the moment was on finding food. She passed plenty of fast-food places, but the thought of anything deep-fried turned her stomach. A restaurant advertising Italian food caught her eye, and she quickly moved into the right lane and took the turn into the parking lot. Less than a half-dozen cars were there, which made sense, considering the time. It was too late to be eating lunch and far too early to consider calling it dinner, but she was too hungry to care.

After spending almost an hour and a half enjoying a big plate of spaghetti and meatballs, her next destination was back to the hotel. She was tired, but her hunger had been sated and she planned on making it an early night.

Back at the hotel, she stopped in the snack shop and bought a cold bottle of pop, as well as a local newspaper, then headed for her room. Once inside, she kicked off her shoes, stripped out of her clothes and into some sweats, then crawled up on the bed with her pop and her journal.

Christmas 1993

This was the year I bought all three of you dolls for Christmas. It seemed like a safe bet, right? Three little girls, ages 8, 7 and 5. Girls are supposed to like dolls, but to my dismay, I found out that for you, there were exceptions. Oh, you’d had dolls before, but I hadn’t paid attention to what you all played with so much as the fact that you were happily playing. Anyway, I stayed with all of you so Hannah could Christmas shop. That night after she came home, she showed me the dolls that she’d bought. They were, to my eye, dandies. All three dolls had long wavy hair and fancy little dresses, and shoes you could take on and off. They even came with a little comb and hairbrush apiece. We wrapped them up, and come Christmas morning, all three of you came flying down the hall squealing and laughing. Hannah and I got up and followed you into the living room to the tree. She handed out the presents, while I started a fire in the fireplace. Bud came in the back door just in the middle of the melee, grabbed the camera off the mantel and began to take pictures for us.

Maria’s doll had dark wavy hair just like hers, Savannah’s doll was a blonde for the same reason and Hannah had managed to find a doll with auburn hair like yours. The first thing Savannah did was take off all her doll’s clothes, which made us laugh, because she then carried that naked baby around the entire morning without dressing her again. Maria went straight for the hairbrush and began brushing the hair on her dolly. You followed suit by getting the hairbrush for your doll, but then the brush got stuck. I watched you frown as you tried to untangle the hair, and then you pulled, and a few strands of hair came off in your hand.

You flinched, as if someone had just slapped you, and then you dropped the doll and began frantically trying to get the hair off your hand. It had wound itself between two of your fingers and wouldn’t shake off. By the time I realized the hair was really upsetting you, you were hyperventilating. It was Bud who yanked the hair off your hand and picked you up. He kept telling you it was okay, that the dolly still had a lot of hair, but you wouldn’t be consoled. We thought you were going to pass out, which greatly upset your sisters. I didn’t understand why you reacted the way you did, but I guessed it had something to do with your life before you came to live with me. I took you out of Bud’s arms and walked out of the room, leaving Hannah to smooth everything out with your little sisters.

You kept shivering and gasping, and your eyes wouldn’t focus. It was as if you were looking at something that the rest of us couldn’t see. I wrapped you up in an afghan, then sat down with you in that rocking chair that used to sit by your bed. I began to rock as I talked, telling you in a calm, quiet voice that you were not in danger, that you were safe here in Montana. I reminded you that Hannah and I loved you, Bud loved you, both your sisters loved you and no one could hurt you here.

Finally you grew calmer and relaxed, lying quietly against my chest as I rocked. You got so quiet that I thought you’d fallen asleep when, out of the blue, in this soft little voice, you said, “I wasn’t supposed to touch the hair.”

I couldn’t imagine what that meant, but I wasn’t going to push the issue by getting you upset again. It was Christmas after all. I wanted the day to be joyous for you, not a reminder of some hell you’d remembered. Then you added, “He puts them on the wall, like his fish.”

I had no idea what that meant, but I knew you did, and that, whatever it was, it was too horrible for you to remember. All I could do was repeat that you were safe, and that no one could hurt you.

Then you looked up at me, your eyes brimming with unshed tears. You asked, “You’re my daddy forever, aren’t you?”

With a lump in my throat, I agreed. It seemed to satisfy you enough that you wanted to go back and play. But while you did carry your doll around a little that day, I think you did it just to please Hannah and me, because I never saw you play with it again.

So whatever you know, whatever the secret is that you’ve been keeping, I think it’s time you got brave enough to face it. Oh. And for what it’s worth, I’m still your daddy forever, even if only in spirit.

Holly was in tears by the time she laid the journal aside. As an adult, and knowing from reading about the crimes online that the Hunter had scalped his victims, she had to face the fact that she must have seen the gruesome trophies. The biggest questions still remained. Did Harold Mackey know she’d seen them? And had she told her mother? Was that really why Twila Mackey had so desperately wanted her daughter out of St. Louis?

Holly realized it would be impossible for a child as young as she had been not to tell her father what she’d seen—maybe even ask him about it. Had Harold threatened her life if she told? Or had that nightmare been correct? Had he known that the most effective avenue was to threaten her mother? God, she wanted to remember. She needed to remember. As Chief Hollis had said, the man was an animal who needed to be put down.

Overwhelmed by everything that had happened and the growing horror of what the rest of her life would likely be like, Holly rolled over onto her side and started to cry. If Harold Mackey truly turned out to be the Hunter, eventually everyone would find out that she was the daughter of a serial killer. Her life would be ruined.

Bud kicked the snow off his boots on the back porch before entering the house. He was tired to the bone, and as worried and lonely as he’d ever been.

He’d gotten a call from Savannah’s boyfriend, Judd Holyfield, that he was going to Miami tomorrow to join her. The lawyer she’d hired there was about to file papers on her behalf, claiming her share of her birth father’s estate, and Judd knew it could get nasty. After what had happened to Maria, they were all on edge. Bud kept thinking about Holly having to face the police alone, telling her story to a bunch of strangers and opening herself up to everything that came with that. He needed to be there. But he didn’t have the right or the reason that Judd had, and he couldn’t just walk away from the Triple S for an undetermined amount of time. The sisters expected him to take care of the Triple S, and for now that was the best thing he could do for them.

When he entered the kitchen, the empty feeling only escalated. He was used to walking into a house filled with the aroma of something cooking on the stove, and the sounds of laughter and people talking. The day was nearly over, the house was dark and all he could smell was the scent of cold coffee from this morning. The only positive thing was that it was warmer in here than where he’d been.

He hung his coat up on a hook by the door and headed for his bedroom, turning on lights as he went. He was hungry, but not for food. He wanted Holly. She and her sisters were all in a hell of a mess, and as much as he loved his old friend, they had Andrew to thank for it.

After a quick shower and a change into some warm sweats, he went back to the kitchen. Food was fuel, and he had to keep his body in motion. Too damn many people and animals depended on him. He switched on the television as he heated up a can of soup and then made himself a sandwich. The weatherman was in the middle of his report, which turned out to be the only good thing that had happened today. The storm front that had been stalled over the state was finally moving out.

No more snow.

He ate without thought, filling his belly and then finishing off the meal with a handful of store-bought cookies. With the weather behind him, he had no more stomach for television and switched it off as he walked out of the room.

An hour in the office catching up on daily invoices and cursing through the payroll that Savannah usually did put him in a worse mood. He didn’t know what the future had in store for the Triple S, but he was part owner now, and letting it go to hell wasn’t on his short list.

The clock in the hall was striking seven when he finally logged off the computer and left the office. It was seven here, which meant it would be eight in Missouri—not too late to call Holly. He wanted to hear her voice.

Holly had cried until her eyes were swollen and her nose was stopped up. She’d gotten past her hysterics, and was down to the occasional sniff and a good case of hiccups. Her cell phone began to ring as she was reaching for another tissue. When she saw it was Bud, she blew her nose, then cleared her throat, before answering. No need letting him know she was falling apart.

“Hello,” she said, and then winced when her voice came out as a harsh croak.

The expectant smile on Bud’s face disappeared. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me. I just…I’d been sleeping. I haven’t talked to anyone since early afternoon. You know how it is…your voice just gets raspy.”

He frowned. It wasn’t like her to lie, but she was lying now. He just wasn’t sure why.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I guess I’m a little antsy since Maria was attacked.”

Holly sighed. “It’s okay. We’re all upset about her. How is she? I didn’t get a chance to call all day.”

“She’s good,” Bud said. “So it sounds like your day was productive, right?”

“I finally went to the police.”

“How did it go?”

“Good…really good. They were very receptive to everything I had to tell them. Excited, even.”

“I can imagine. A chance to close a twenty-year-old cold case is a big deal.”

“Yes,” Holly said, and closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry again. “So…is the snow melting?”

“Yes, and the storm front is moving out of state.”

“That’s great. How’s your hand?”

“Healing.”

“That’s good.”

The silence lengthened as they both ran out of chitchat and couldn’t think of a safe subject to address.

Finally Bud’s patience snapped and he asked, “Are you mad at me?”

Holly inhaled sharply. “No. God, no. Why would I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know. I’m a man. We’re supposed to be oblivious to stuff like that.”

Holly tried to laugh, but it sounded more like a sob, and they both knew it.