Dead Even (25 page)

“It all fits, Butch,” Mike said again. “If Simpson brought Isaac along on those trips, then that would explain his unshakable alibi.
He
wasn't the one who killed the girls—his son did.”

“What about the voice? Audra identified
Howard
Simpson's voice, not Isaac's.”

“I've been thinking about that. It could be the boy was burned also—like his father. And we don't know but what it
was
Isaac's voice on the radio. I never thought to do a voice analysis for a match. When I heard Howard Simpson, and he was at the address left in the radio message, I just assumed they were one and the same.”

“It's too bad we didn't go ahead and let Audra try to do a voice identification. She might have detected the difference, and we would have had this figured out hours ago.”

“No,” Mike answered. “I doubt like hell we would have come up with this bizarre twist without talking to Ivory Dennison and Bobby Kramer's parents.”

Butch stretched his long legs out in the aisle. “One thing's clear—Isaac Simpson fits the profile of a serial killer one hell of a lot better than his old man. It sounds to me like he was out of control most of his life—at least from the age of six, if you can believe Ivory Dennison.”

Mike nodded his head. “And can you imagine him being hid away all these years? Do you suppose that was the reason for the drapes being pinned together? So no one would accidently see the son who was supposed to be dead?”

“I don't know,” Butch shrugged. “Seems like a hell of a lot of trouble to go to. Why not just call him your nephew and be done with it? No one would question it being Isaac after all this time. It doesn't make any sense.”

Mike rubbed the back of his neck. He could feel the muscles tightening and the beginning of a headache. “Yeah, well, we
could
be wrong, you know. But I'd be willing to bet my next five paychecks we aren't. Simpson didn't want to take a polygraph test because if he didn't know what his son was up to before, he sure as hell had it figured out when we took him into custody. A polygraph would have shown he had knowledge about the killings. On the other hand, he was perfectly willing to give us a blood sample for a DNA profile. He knew he didn't have anything to worry about there. The bastard was probably chomping at the bit to get
that
done. It would clear him, and he knew it.”

“I can't imagine Simpson leaving his son out there to possibly go after Audra Delaney again. He had to know she was in real trouble, yet he never said a word. Not a damn word.”

Mike put his head back against the seat and stared out the plane window into the darkness, his partner's words ringing in his ears. Where was she right now? Was she safe?

*   *   *

Isaac could hear the back tire spinning in the snow. The van rocked slightly, but didn't move forward when he gave it gas. “Son of a damn bitch!”

He yanked open the door and stepped out to assess the damage. The right rear tire was buried. His attempts to rock the van back and forth for leverage had only resulted in digging him in deeper.

He looked around for something to put under the wheel, but there was nothing but snow everywhere he looked. The blanket. He would have to remove the blanket from the woman and boy.

He walked to the side of the van and started to open the sliding doors. At the last second, he noticed the police car pulling up behind him. It was too late to return to the front of the van for his gun. Frantically, he searched his pockets. Nothing. His knife was still lying by the rope on the passenger seat.

The two officers got out of their car. “Need some help?” one called.

Isaac took a deep breath, and tried to keep his voice casual. “I seem to be stuck, officers. I'm sure I can get it out if you have other, more pressing things that need your attention.” Although it was now dark, he knew they would be able to see inside the van at close range. Were his passengers still covered?

“Don't worry about a thing,” one officer said. “We have gunny sacks and sandbags in the trunk. We'll have you out in no time.”

Isaac's eyes darted back and forth between the two officers as they walked toward him with the items. Was it a trick? Were they going to grab him when they got close enough? Why had he been so careless? He should never have taken the van after the police had finished at the house. What if they had followed him?

No. He was certain he hadn't been followed. He needed to calm down. There was no reason to think they were being anything but helpful. They weren't looking for him. It was his father they suspected.

Stupid fools. They had spent hours at the house and never found him. Thank goodness he had finished the false ceiling for the closet in time. He had heard them removing the boxes from the top shelf and smiled in smug satisfaction to think he was only inches away, listening to their every move.

When he had returned to the house shortly before dawn and found his father missing, he knew exactly what had happened. The idiots had arrested him. His father had managed to scribble him a short note when he was changing clothes. Isaac found it lying on the floor beside the hamper.
Have been arrested. Police are coming back with a search warrant in the morning.

Isaac knew what to do. He had emptied his meager belongings from his bedroom, hauling everything to his secret room. Not even his father knew about the crawl space. And by the time he finished, there was nothing left to indicate the presence of a second member in the household.

The two officers finished packing the sandbags and gunny sacks around the tire, then looked up at Isaac. “Why don't you try it now?”

“I certainly appreciate this,” Isaac said. “I pulled off the road to photograph the beautiful sunset, and I guess I managed to get too far over.”

The officers laughed. “You and about half the population of Hays. We've had our hands full just helping people get out of the snow. Next time, don't try these roads without an appropriate vehicle or snow chains.”

“I won't, officers.” He opened the driver's side door, glancing quickly in the rear of the van. Christ. The boy had managed to get uncovered, and was lying there in plain sight. If the officers came to his door, they were bound to see him.

He started the motor and put the van into gear. He kept his eyes on the side mirror, fearful that one of the men would come up to give him instructions. Instead, he could see them pushing against the van as he gunned the motor. The van lurched forward, and he was back into the middle of the highway. Isaac quickly rolled down the window and shouted. “Thanks so much!”

The two officers waved him on. “What the hell do you suppose was the matter with that man's voice?” one said. “I've never heard anything like it.”

His partner shrugged. “I don't know. Cancer, maybe. Or could be he just had a bad cold. He was certainly bundled up.”

“If we had a damn lick of sense, we'd be wearing face masks, too. I don't know about you, but I think if I smiled right now, my face would shatter into a thousand pieces.”

“Yeah, and if you farted we wouldn't be able to smell it until first thaw. So what else is new!”

They gathered up their gear and returned to the police car.

*   *   *

“The notebooks!” Mike said suddenly. “Of course! Remember those notations at the bottom on certain days?
I
was nervous. Paced all night.
I
wasn't feeling well—it's hard being cooped up for so long. Not
I
meaning Simpson, but I—as in Isaac! That's the key, Butch. The son of a bitch wasn't talking about himself, he was referring to his son.”

Butch thought back to the notebook he had read. “That's it, Mike. You're absolutely right. The one I read said ‘I couldn't sleep—didn't get back until almost dawn.' And remember, that was the same night as one of the killings.”

Mike gave his partner a wide grin. “We've nailed the bastard, Butch. Let's see how the old man tries to explain away
those
entries. How much you want to bet we'll find “I” was along each time a girl was attacked?”

Butch locked his hands in back of his head, snapping his elbows together in front to relieve the sore muscles in his back. “What? You think I'm crazy?”

*   *   *

Audra awakened slowly to a splitting headache and a foul taste in her mouth. She tried to move her arms, but they seemed caught on something. She opened her eyes to look around, but something was covering her face.

At first she thought she must be in bed with the covers over her face. Had she had a nightmare?

No. She seemed to be moving. Was she in a car? Again she tried to move her arms, but they appeared pinioned.

Slowly, painfully, the memories started flitting across her brain. “Jason!” she yelled, and pulled herself into a sitting position. The blanket dropped from her face, and she saw him, lying deathly still across from her.

Audra saw the ropes binding his hands and feet, and for the first time looked down to see the cause of her own immobility. She twisted around wildly until she could see the front of the van.

Isaac had heard her yell out the child's name and turned, smiling. “How nice to meet you again, Audra.” He put one hand under the edge of his face mask and in one quick jerk pulled it away. “Surely you can't have forgotten me?”

Audra could feel bile come up in her throat as she screamed.

*   *   *

Bess checked her watch for the twentieth time. Why hadn't Audra returned? She had said she would be back to the motel by seven, and she was now forty-five minutes late.

Maybe it was taking longer with Jason's mother then she had anticipated. Should she call?

She had her hand on the receiver, when the telephone rang. She snatched it up. “Audra?”

“No,” the male voice spoke. “This is Leo. You asked that our crews keep an eye out for the Delaney woman, and one of our men just reported your car is still parked at the overpass, but there is no sign of her or the boy.”

“Can't be,” Bess said. “If she would've left with someone else, for whatever reason, she would've phoned me. Did they check the bottom of the hill? Maybe one of them is hurt or somethin'.”

“I'm sorry, Bess,” Leo answered, “but she just isn't there. My man thought the same as you, and he checked the entire area. He said there were two sleds at the bottom of the hill, but that was it. He said he got out his flashlight and walked all around, making certain.”

“Damn,” Bess swore. “Where the devil—”

“Maybe she couldn't get the car started, and caught a ride with someone else,” Leo said. “If that's the case, you'll probably be hearing from her shortly.”

“I suppose so.” Bess hesitated. “You wouldn't want to run out there and make one last check for me, would you? It sure would set my mind more at ease.”

Leo thought of the hundreds of free doughnuts and cups of coffee he and his men had enjoyed at the Rock Road Inn. “I'd be happy to, Bess. I'll run out there right now, then swing by your place.”

Bess replaced the phone, stood looking down at it for a few seconds, then picked it back up. There was one more thing she could do. She could check with Jason's mother and see if Audra and the boy had made it there.

Chapter TWENTY-FOUR

Audra closed her eyes to escape the misshapen face smiling back at her. How could she have forgotten? How could anyone forget the twisted, scarred face of that man? It didn't even resemble a face at all. His eyes were mere slits; both ears were gone. Where his nose should have been there was only a pile of mangled skin, and the entire surface of his face was a horrific kaleidoscope of multicolored scar tissue.

She heard his insane laughter and forced open her eyes. He was watching the road once more, his back to her. She could see his shoulders shaking with his own sick mirth.

Every memory she had repressed of that long ago night came flooding back.

She remembered feeling sorry for him at the beginning, sorry for the wicked twist of fate that had left him such an anomaly—a monster out of a horror movie. But her sympathy was short-lived as he told her about the fire that he, himself, had set, and about the death of his friend and stepmother. He had laughed about it, glad they had died. It meant no more to him than if he had swatted an irritating fly.

She had soon learned what this
absence of conscience
meant. The worst scars on the man were the ones on his soul, and they had been there long before the fire.

He had done more than rape and stab her that night; he had totally terrorized her for five long hours.

Audra dropped her head down, not wanting to remember, but knowing it was coming nevertheless.

The bastard had made her beg him—beg him to rape her, beg him to do every disgusting, filthy act he could think up. He kept promising not to kill her if she obeyed him. And she had believed him. God help her, she had believed him.

How many times had she told him she loved him? Over and over and over again.
I love you, Isaac. I want you, Isaac.
If she stopped, he twisted her head until she thought her neck would break, or ran the edge of the knife down her breast, digging the point into her bare flesh.

She had been terrified. All she could think of was getting through the ordeal alive. She would do everything the bastard wanted, if he would just let her live.

When he plunged the knife into her, she could remember screaming, “No! You promised!”

He had pulled the knife from her abdomen, laughing cruelly at her. “You stupid bitch. Did you really think I would leave you alive?” Then he had ripped into her three more times.

She remembered thinking she should be dead, but, surprisingly, she wasn't. She could feel him leaning over her, checking. She kept her eyes closed and held her breath, willing her body not to give her away. When she heard him turn away, she took a small gasp of air, but she lay there, bleeding and still, until she heard the van drive away.