Daddy's Home (24 page)

“I love you, sissy. I do. I always take care of you, don’t I? I’ll be a good daddy, just like our daddy,” he said to her one night after sneaking into her room.

Their father had beaten their mother almost to a pulp that evening. Darla knew her mommy didn’t deserve the beating. So what if she’d overcooked the carrots? She was sorry, she really was. Darla knew it. But Gunter convinced her that it was Mommy’s fault. Maybe it was.

“Daddy loves us, sissy. He does. He told me that he’s only trying to make Mom a better person. You’ll see. It will all be okay.” He slid his hand down inside her panties. She tingled between her legs. Her daddy had done the same thing to her. It was hard to know the difference now. She kind of knew it wasn’t right, but her daddy made her lie still and let him do it. Now she let Gunter do it to her, too.

“Daddy says that we all have a place in life, sissy, and you’re lucky because you’ve found yours.”

She’d been only nine at the time. He was thirteen. “I have?”

“Yes. Your place is to be my whore.”

“I don’t know what that means.” What she did know was that “whore” was a very, very ugly word. She’d heard her father call her mother that lots of times, and it always happened when he was being really mean to her.

“Don’t you worry, I’ll show you.”

And he had. Jennifer, now Darla, had become her brother’s whore, and she knew nothing else. Even though she wanted Gunter, she knew deep down that he did not want her the same way. Not with the same intensity.

So she’d looked elsewhere for a while and joined up with William after meeting him at the porno awards out in Las Vegas. He was handsome, cool, and seemed to be respected in the industry. She’d made a few films for him and was feeling her way through it all. He asked her out. She gave him a blowjob underneath a table inside a bar, and they started spending time together.

Who would’ve thought that William James would fall for her? Well, he had. Juggling him and her brother hadn’t been easy, and when William found out about Gunter, he was not too happy.

“You cheating, lying bitch. Who is this bastard you’re fucking?” he’d bellowed.

“Listen, baby, you never said we were exclusive. I know you got your kiddie thing on the side. I also know you do some of the chicks coming through the dating service. I am not stupid. Blonde, but not stupid.”

“What are you talking about?” He walked over to the mirror-backed bar in his Mission Hills home and made himself a gin and tonic and sucked it back. He lit a cigar, put it in the ashtray, and made himself another drink.

She was used to this ritual and waited until he was finished. He needed to be nice and relaxed for this conversation. “You like kids. The jig is up, babe. But, hey, we’ve all got our fetishes, and I’m not gonna blab your secret. However, if I want to have some fun when you’re not around, then I will.”

William paced back and forth. Darla watched. She knew he didn’t like this, but she also knew that he couldn’t give her up. She was as much of an addiction for him as his other addictions. She would make this work to her advantage, because Darla had ideas about how William could be of use to her and how he could be of use to Gunter, too.

Darla knew of Gunter’s need for the perfect family, and she wanted that for him. She even wanted it for herself. But her real hope was that he would never find one, and that he would come to see that they were meant to be together.

She shot back another large shot of tequila. She had to get a hold of Gunter, make him realize how crazy this was and that their futures ought to be spent together. But how? Her cell phone wasn’t working here in bum fuck nowhere.

She pulled herself out of bed, quickly dressed, and went down to the tiny shack that served coffee and eggs. In her broken Spanish, she asked where she might find a computer with internet service. The weathered old woman pouring the coffee looked at her without a clue to what she was talking about.

Darla stretched out her fingers and pretended she was typing. “Computador. Yo necesito una computador.”

The old woman shook her head. She turned to leave but spotted a surfer who looked like he was from the States coming in for a cup of coffee. He glanced Darla’s way. She doubted that this dude was much into the news anyway, in case the cops were looking for her. The hell with it. “Hey, hon?”

“Yo.”

“Do you have any idea where I might find a computer down here? I need to write some e-mails.”

“Well, chica, you’ve got about a three-hour drive, but if you head up north towards Puerto Vallarta you should find something. Most of the larger towns have internet café’s set up. They might be slow, and it could take some time to get your stuff on through. But that’s your best bet.”

Not what she wanted to hear. She needed to avoid the larger cities. “Thanks.”

Darla headed back to the shack that she’d paid five bucks for, shoved what little she had into her backpack, and readied herself for the three-hour road trip. She knew it was risky, but she had to reach Gunter. She needed to make him see, before it was too late for both of them.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Karen Whitley stared at the photograph—the last remnant of an old life. She’d never understood why she hadn’t thrown it away, but maybe fate had intervened, maybe there was a reason she’d kept the photo for so long.

Maybe somewhere inside, Karen had known that it would be useful one day, and now she crossed her fingers, hoping that it would be. She prayed it would get into the right hands and stop the evil going on. She wasn’t sure that the horrible crimes in San Diego were indeed from the same source of evil that she’d experienced for so long, but there was a sameness to them that couldn’t be denied. For that reason, all she would do was mail the picture. Nothing more. That was all. If it worked, then fate had played a part in it, and maybe (Please, God!) she could have a normal life, one where she wouldn’t have to look over her shoulder every minute of the day or keep her television on all night to drown out the night terrors so that she could finally sleep.

She closed her suitcase and overnight bags and put her kitty in her carrier. She would make four stops.

The first stop was at the coffee house where she’d worked for the past five years, handing over the cat to her long-time friend and unwitting confidant, Hank.

“Thanks for taking her. She’s a really good cat. I hope she won’t be a bother to you or interfere with your trip out West,” Karen said.

“No problem, Karen,” Hank replied. “My wife loves cats and hers died last April, so I think this will be a nice gift. She’ll have something skinny to cuddle with in the evenings.” Hank laughed. “And my mother is coming to take care of the rest of the crew while we’re out in California with the oldest. She’s a big animal lover. She’ll be just fine.”

“Thank you. And thanks for everything.” She gave Hank a kiss on the cheek. He blushed. She hadn’t kissed another human being in years. It felt odd, but pretty good in a way. Maybe she wasn’t tainted by the evil. Doubtful, but maybe.

“Send me a postcard.”

She smiled. They both knew she probably wouldn’t.

Next Karen stopped at the bank and withdrew all her cash—$12,534.17. Not bad. It would do for a bit. Get her started. She’d been frugal and was grateful for that. This was money that she never touched, saving it for a rainy day, putting in a little here and there over the years, making it tight for her, but the knowledge in the back of her head told her to keep doing it. She was sure glad that she had.

Her third stop was at the post office where she pulled out the photograph she had wrapped in a piece of paper and addressed the priority mail envelope to Detective Holly Jennings. On the outside in neat printing she wrote PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL. She didn’t want anyone but Holly Jennings to open this envelope.

Karen’s fourth and final stop was the LaGuardia airport where she ordered a glass of wine in the airport bar and ate a hot dog, waiting for her flight aboard Air France to be announced. Karen Whitley was taking a very big chance and was leaving all of it behind—all very far behind.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Awakening to blue skies and finding that Chloe was feeling much better by morning helped loosen Holly’s tight muscles. The problem was that Chloe was not entirely better, and Holly had a lot of work to do. What a load of guilt! In all good conscience, how could she leave her daughter with a sitter for the day while she went to work on what should have been her day off? On the other hand, how could she in good conscience leave the day to a killer who could strike at any moment at any place?

She poured herself a second cup of strong coffee and quietly crept out onto her back patio, not wanting to disturb Chloe who’d fallen asleep again. She was putting off leaving for as long as she could, knowing that before long Chad would be calling and asking for her ETA. But sitting out here, taking in the long grass that needed mowing, looking at it creeping onto her brick patio, she didn’t want to move. She desperately wanted to forget the killer who’d so insidiously made his way into her life and the lives of the Collins and the McKays.

“Mommy?” a little voice behind her said.

“Chloe, hi. You feeling better?” She turned around to see her daughter, hair disheveled, wearing her Dora pajamas and still holding her stuffed dolphin.

“A little.”

“Good. You’ve got to drink lots of water today and take all of your medicine like the doctor said.”

“I know. I will.” Chloe came around to the front of the wicker chair that her mom was sitting in and climbed up into her lap—a sure sign that she wasn’t feeling totally better. Suddenly the decision about work was easier.

“You know what, baby? I’ve got to call Chad, okay?”

“You’re not going to work are you?” she pleaded.

“No, not today.”

“Good.” Chloe smiled and her face brightened a bit.

“Nope. Today is a day for lounging and watching good movies.”

“Yea!”

“But first I have to let Chad know. There is one thing I will have to do later on today, but maybe Megan can watch you for an hour while I take care of it. When I come home, if you’ve been really good, I’ll bring you a treat.”

Chloe smiled and nodded her head. She jumped off her mom’s lap and asked, “Can I watch Peter Pan?”

“Peter Pan, hmm? Yes, sweet girl, of course you can.”

Holly followed Chloe into the house, put in the DVD for her, then went to the phone and placed her call to Chad.

“Long night?” he said.

“You could say that. I can’t leave her like this today. She’s still not totally better. But I do want to head back to the hospital and check on Kristy.”

“Okay.” She heard the edginess in his voice and knew he didn’t totally agree with her going to see Kristy. “If you want, I can come by and watch Chloe then.”

“Could you? That would be great. I was going to call a babysitter, but if you could do it . . .”

“You got it. Say around three? I’ll bring you a latte before you head out, jump start your juices.”

“You’re the best.” The sore feelings she’d had towards him from the day before had nearly diminished. Brooke was another story.

“Yeah, well, I also want to hear some more about Mister Wonderful.”

“Nothing to tell.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You should.”

“Okay, partner, I’ll see you around three.”

“In the meantime, we’re still working on Darla Monroe’s background. Hopefully I’ll have a full report for you, and we can work at figuring out where she might have run to.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Chad showed up on time, coffee in hand. “Thanks for coming over. She’s asleep in the TV room.”

“No problem. Glad I could help. I’ve got some interesting info on Darla Monroe.”

“Good. Can we go over it when I get back?”

“Sure. What do you think, an hour or so?”

“About that.”

Twenty minutes later Holly was walking down the corridor on the fifth wing of Children’s Hospital. Something was nagging at her as she walked, but she couldn’t put a finger on it. She started to check in at the nurses’ station, when over the loud speaker the words
Code blue, room 512
came through.

“No,” Holly said. That was Kristy’s room. As she ran toward the child’s room, medical personnel swept past her. A nurse with a crash cart ran quickly into Kristy’s room. Holly held her breath. Reaching the open door, she watched as doctors and nurses frantically went to work on the eleven-year-old, trying to save her life. As Holly watched in horror, she was frozen in place by the scene in front of her. What seemed like mere seconds was in reality almost forty minutes. No one wanted to give up on the little girl. But it was futile. She was gone. The doctor glanced up at the clock on the wall and called Kristy’s time of death.