Dead Even (26 page)

And then somehow, when she heard the music and voices only minutes later, she had managed to crawl up the incline to help.

My God.
She squeezed her eyes shut tight to stop the tears.
He's going to do it to me all over again.
Then a worse thought hit her.
And Jason! Oh, dear God. He would do the same thing to Jason!

As if reading her mind, Isaac turned his head to the rear of the van. “If you can please me enough, I might not have to kill the boy. And you're very good at pleasing me, aren't you my dear?” Again he laughed, and the insane sound sent chills through Audra. Whatever vestige of sanity he had been hanging on to all these years seemed to be slipping away.

She had to think of something, some way to protect Jason. If nothing else, she would fight him with everything she had in her. There would be no catering to his every whim
this
time around. But he was so large, and had the added strength of insanity. How could she ever hope to overpower him?

What could she say to him to keep him from harming Jason? What words would deter him?

She could feel the van slowing, and her eyes flew to Isaac. “You'll never get away with this, you know. I'm sure the police are looking for you right now. My friend was expecting me back long ago.” Her brave words sounded foolish, even to her.

Isaac put the van into park, then twisted the chair around, facing the rear. “No one is looking for me,” he said casually. “I'm dead. Didn't you know that?” Again he laughed, a ragged, cavernous snigger. “I have the perfect alibi. There isn't a soul on earth, besides my father, who knows I'm alive. How can the police be looking for a dead man?”

Audra's mind was whirling.
Stall. I've got to stall. Keep him talking.
She remembered from before that he seemed to delight in the sound of his own words. He liked to parade his intelligence in front of his victims. Brag about his accomplishments.

“I don't understand one thing. Who is Howard Simpson? Why have the police arrested him?”

Isaac's eyes stared straight ahead, unblinking. Finally, he turned his head to Audra. “Howard is my father. The police won't be able to hold him. Not for long.” He giggled, making a gurgling sound in his throat. “The DNA test will clear him. Such a wonderful discovery, don't you think? No chance of a mistake. They'll have to let him go.”

“But I heard your voice on the radio. I know it was you. How could the police have arrested your father?”

“Our voices are similar. We were both in that fire. The police just assumed they had the right man when they came to the house.”

“But—didn't your father question you about that? Surely he realized the police were after you.”

Isaac blinked rapidly. “I told him I didn't have the faintest idea what the police were talking about—and he believed me. He
always
believes me.”

Audra tried to think of more questions. She had to keep him talking—give her time to think of a plan. One was already floating around in her head, but she didn't have time to explore it. “How have you managed to keep from getting caught all these years? Surely somewhere along the line, someone has seen your face.”

Isaac laughed. “I only accompany my father in winter months. And usually I only kill in winter.” He made the statement offhand, as though it were an everyday occurrence. “No one questions the face mask when the temperatures are low.”

Audra tried to concentrate on his words. “You mean you stay indoors during the spring and summer?”

“For the most part, yes. Sometimes I go walking late at night. And of course I have my “trophies” to get me through these times.” He looked at Audra knowingly. “I have yours—your pretty pink bra and panties. I've kept them all these years. I remember you each time I smell them.”

Audra felt sick to her stomach. “And—and the others? Do you have little
mementos
from all the other girls you have killed?” She couldn't keep the contempt from her voice.

It didn't faze him. “Of course. I even order the local newspapers for a few weeks after a killing. I have scrapbooks filled with clippings. My secret room is filled with treasures.” His face darkened. “I've always worried about you, though. You tricked me that night. You weren't dead at all.” His voice rose, menacingly. “You fooled me. I don't like to be fooled, Audra. It makes me angry.
Very
angry.
I'm
the expert in fooling people.
I'm
the one who knows all the tricks.” He brushed one hand over his eyes, then laughed hysterically. “But I've got the last laugh, haven't I, Audra? Now I get to do it to you all over again. You weren't so smart after all.”

“You're wrong Isaac,” Audra said, coldly. “You won't be able to do
anything
to me this time. I'm not afraid of you anymore. I will take great pleasure in scratching out your eyes if you so much as touch me. I will fight you with everything I have in me. I don't give a damn if you kill me or not. All I know for sure, is that you will suffer before I die.”

Isaac picked up the knife from the passenger seat and ran his finger over the edge. “No, my dear.
You
are the one who will suffer. Before I'm done with you, you will beg me to kill you.”

Audra ignored his words. “Where are we, anyway?”

“About five miles east of town, then three miles back to the north, on a little-used road that leads into an area where some farmer grazes his cattle. He's quite obliging. Always has this little road opened just as soon as it quits snowing so he can do the feeding.” He saw a look of hope come into Audra's eyes and pointed out the window of the van. “Sorry, but I can see three fresh bales of hay right over the fence. He won't be back for a day or two.”

Jason lay still, listening to the conversation. His face was turned away from his teacher, and he yearned to move, to let her know he was okay, but something held him back. If the man thought he was still unconscious, maybe he wouldn't be paying too close attention to him. Maybe he could help them get away. He concentrated on their words.

“I don't care what you do to me. But you can't hurt Jason. He's just a little boy,” Audra's voice took on a pleading note. “Surely even you would not harm a child.”

“You think not?” Isaac answered lazily. “Why, I thought you knew me better than that. I can do anything I damn well please. And I don't give a shit that he is a child. In fact, I've looked forward to this experience. I've thought of nothing else for two days.”

The next words out of her mouth surprised even Audra. “You can't harm him, Isaac. He's your son,” she blurted.

Isaac threw back his head and laughed. “My
son?
Well, that's a good one. How long did it take you to dream
that
one up?”

Audra shook her head. “No. No. I'm telling the truth. I got pregnant from the rape. Jason is really your son. He—”

“Enough!” Isaac yelled. “What kind of a fool do you take me for, anyway? That boy is only about five years old—six, tops. If he were
really
mine, he would have to be around—what? Nine, now?” He laughed. “You women are all such bitches—you'll try anything, won't you?”

Audra's mind whirled. It was Jason's only chance. She had to convince him. “He—he was early, because of the knife wounds. He only weighed three pounds when he was born. The doctors didn't think he would make it. But he did. He made it, and he is your son.”

Isaac knew perfectly well she was lying to him, but for one crazy moment he wished that what she was saying was so. His own flesh and blood. A chance for immortality.

He ducked his head down and walked over to Jason. Squatting down by the boy, he shook him roughly. Jason opened his eyes, saw Isaac's face, and let out a scream.

“Shut up!” Isaac ordered, his eyes moving over Jason. “How old are you, kid? Five? Six?”

Jason recovered quickly from the first shock of seeing Isaac's horribly scarred face. “No, sir. I'm nine.”

Thank God,
Audra thought.
He heard us talking.

Isaac studied the small boy. “I don't believe you. I think you're five years old and in kindergarten. That's what I think.” His hand came out, slapping Jason hard across the face. “Don't lie to me. I want the truth.”

“Don't hurt him!” Audra yelled. “Please don't hurt him!”

The blow had knocked Jason back to the floor of the van. He quickly sat back up and spoke defiantly. “I am not in kindergarten. I'm in the fifth grade. If you don't believe me, look at the books in my bag.” He motioned with his head toward his book bag.

Isaac rubbed the palms of his hands over his trousers. They were trying to trick him. He knew it. But what if it was the truth? His own kid. Someone to look up to him. Someone to …

No. He didn't believe it for a minute. He reached over and grabbed up Jason's bag. He pulled out a book and looked for a name, but the only thing listed on the library card was Audra Delaney.

Isaac turned on the back light in the van and shoved the book at Jason. “All right. Let's see you read this, kid. If you're in fifth grade, it should be a snap.”

Though his hands were tied, Jason had no trouble holding the book open and turning the pages. “
The Prince and the Pauper,
by Mark Twain,” he began.

“In the ancient city of London, on a certain autumn day in the second quarter of the sixteenth century, a boy was born to a poor family of the name of Canty, who did not want him. On the same day another English child was born to a rich family of the name of Tudor, who did want him.”

“Enough!” Isaac said. “That doesn't prove anything. So what if you're older than you look. That doesn't mean you're my son.”

“Of course it does,” Audra spoke quickly. “I can even tell you his birthday. It's—”

“No!” Isaac screamed at her. “Do not open your mouth!” He turned back to Jason. “
You
tell me when you were born.”

Audra closed her eyes. It was all over. Jason had no way of knowing when she was attacked, or what month to use. When he couldn't answer, Isaac was certain to fly into a rage. She pulled hard at the ropes binding her hands.

Jason's mind was working rapidly. When he was in the cloakroom that day and had overheard the conversation between Mike and his teacher, Mike had mentioned the date of the attack. Wednesday. January 15, 1986. He remembered it clearly. The only thing he wasn't certain of, was how many months forward he should go. Miss Delaney had told this awful man that he was born “early.” What exactly did that mean? How much early was right? He knew a baby took nine months. He'd heard his mother complain of it enough. Should he go with five months? Six?

“Well?” Isaac said. “When is your birthday, kid?”

Jason took a deep breath. “June the first, 1986, if you must know. And I was born in Lawrence, Kansas.” He looked up at Isaac quizzically. “And what is Mi—Mom talking about? Are you really my father? I—I've always wondered what you were like.”

Audra took a long, shuddering breath.
Thank God!
She didn't know how, but Jason had managed to come up with a birth date that coincided with the event. If he could only keep his head, perhaps he would make it out of this.

Isaac stared in wonder at the boy. Yes. He could see the resemblance now. And the kid was feisty, not taking shit off no one. Just like him. He reached over and gently brushed Jason's hair back from his forehead.

He would get rid of the woman, then it would be just the two of them. He could teach him things. They would become best friends. He hadn't had a friend since Bobby.

*   *   *

Harry saw the gray van go by, and noted the license plates. This was the one. He turned on his siren once, briefly, then sped around them, pointing to the rest area just ahead. Gallinni's driver saluted an acknowledgment.

The rest area was deserted; a pristine covering of snow blanketing everything. He pulled to a stop, got out, and walked back to the van. “What took you so long? I was getting worried that I had missed you.”

The driver finished rolling down the window. “What's up?”

“The police here were notified of your coming. There's a roadblock up ahead. Also, I got word last night that I'm being indicted tomorrow. That means I'm through here in Hays.”

“No shit?”

“Yeah. I couldn't reach Gallinni to see what he had in mind, so I'm just going to go with you guys. I have my stuff in the trunk of the police car.”

The driver smiled. “Actually, Papa Joe already told us what he had in mind.”

Too late, Harry saw the nose of the gun. The force of the three bullets threw him backwards into a snowdrift at the side of the road. He could see the smile on the driver's face as he rolled the window back up and pulled away.

“Bastards!” Harry sobbed as he watched the snow turning red with his blood. “Lousy, double-crossing bastards!” He unsnapped his gun, held it steady with both hands, and aimed carefully. The second shot hit its mark, and he watched with satisfaction as the van exploded. He was dead before the gun toppled from his hand.

Chapter TWENTY-FIVE

Audra stood in the middle of the road with the rope looped around her neck. Isaac was laughing, his scarred face grotesque in the moonlight. He snapped the rope and she could feel it tighten ever so slightly. It was just like before. If she pulled away from the rope, it would choke her. Even though he had freed her hands and feet, she was still at his mercy.

There was one big difference, though, this time. This time she knew she would die. Ten years ago he had told her over and over, “Do what I want and you won't be hurt.” She had clung to that promise during those five miserable hours.