Rising Heat (92 page)

I heaved a sigh of relief as I felt some of the tension leaving my muscles. I hadn’t realized how tense I’d been until this very moment. I was hungry and had to go to the bathroom. I decided to go into the airport lobby, use the restroom, and maybe get something to drink and a bite to eat. Then I’d hightail it back to my truck, sleep there again. In the morning, I would put my plan into action.

I waited another ten minutes and then reached up to take the cover off the indoor overhead light. I unscrewed the lightbulb so the light wouldn’t come on when I opened my door. Just in case.

I quickly left my truck, shoving my keys in my pocket. I hurried toward the front door of the airport, hunching my shoulders and dipping my head as I neared the well lit sliding glass doors. It was relatively quiet inside; a small cluster of passengers waiting to get their bags checked for a nighttime flight out to who knew where on the right. A couple of rental car booths to the left. For a second, I envied those passengers. If I had the money, I would have been tempted to stand in line and buy a ticket anywhere, just to get away from here.

My gaze scanned the interior, the passengers, the employees, and the baggage handlers as I quickly located the ladies’ restroom and made my way there. Took care of business, avoiding looking at myself in the mirror. I tried to brush some of the wrinkles out of my clothes, swept my fingers through my hair, and tried to appear alert and anxious, a passenger looking forward to a trip. I washed my face and finger brushed my teeth.

A small store inside the airport lobby sold magazines, candy, nuts, and water and soft drinks. I bought a Diet Coke, a bag of cashews, and paid an outrageous price for both. Then, as I walked out of the store, my goodies in hand, I pretended that I was receiving a phone call, frowning in faux confusion as I pulled my phone from my pocket and then quickly headed for the front door. If anyone was watching me, curious, they would think that I’d just forgotten something, or someone was calling me from outside. At least I hoped so.

As soon as I was away from the lights that glowed near the front entrance, I quickly walked back to my truck, climbed in, locked the door, and heaved a sigh of relief. My bag of nuts remained unopened, as did the soda. I knew I should try to eat something, but the thought of doing so left me feeling nauseous.

My eyes continually scanned the parking lot until my eyelids grew so scratchy I had to close them and rest. They felt dry and itchy. I felt relatively safe here, but to be honest, I was afraid to go to sleep. What if, somehow, someway, the killer had found me here and I would wake up to another cruel taunt, or worse?

Still, I was so exhausted, not only physically, but emotionally and mentally. The days weren’t getting any easier. In fact, they were getting a lot worse. Thoughts of Hawk, the killer, the police, the victims, everything went around and around until my brain spun and my head felt like it was going to explode. Once again, I wished I had some aspirin, or my migraine medicine. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I would go home and pack a few things.

I closed my eyes, trying to re-lubricate them. I tried to relax my muscles, my ears attuned to every sound. The only thing I heard was the distant hoot of an owl. Then, far in the distance, some geese flew over. I was startled awake by the sound of a plane engine, and realized that I’d dozed off. I watched from the parking lot as a plane from the other side of the building took off, its lights flashing rhythmically as it slowly angled its nose upward into the night sky.

My heart pounded. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

Again, I spent the next twenty or thirty minutes gazing around the parking lot. As before, I didn’t see anything unusual. There wasn’t that much traffic at all in this section of the long-term lot. Closer to the front entrance, a few travelers came and went, but I had a feeling the flight that had just taken off would probably be the last one for the evening. This was a small, regional airport and certainly wouldn’t have flights arriving or departing throughout the night.

Finally, feeling relaxed enough to allow the tension to once again leave my body, I took one last look around and then lay down on the bench seat, my legs bent close to my chest. I closed my eyes and promptly fell into a restless sleep.

*

I woke up, confused for several moments until I remembered where I was. For the second night in a row, I’d slept in my truck. I felt cramped, stiff, and irritable. My stomach grumbled hungrily and my bladder felt full. The bottle of Diet Coke and the bag of nuts lay on the floor mat on the passenger side, untouched.

I sat up, gazing around as the sun rose in the east. Not quite as spectacular a sunrise as I had viewed yesterday morning, but beautiful nonetheless. Odd that the sun could rise and set as it normally did even though my life was in chaos. But life went on; the birds and the geese flying overhead, a chipmunk scampering at the base of a lamppost a short distance away. I was worried about surviving through the day, but life went on around me.

I reached for my rearview mirror, twisted it, and looked at myself, shaking my head. I needed to wash my hair. I needed a clean change of clothes. I felt homeless. A wry smile reflected back at me from the rearview mirror. I was homeless, wasn’t I? Sleeping in my truck. Living the life of a nomad. Boy, had things changed in just a matter of days.

More than anything I wanted to go home, to Grandma’s house — my house. I wanted to walk into the kitchen, brew a pot of coffee, make some scrambled eggs and bacon and then sit in front of my computers all day.

Would I ever do that again?

I brushed my fingers through my hair, pinched my cheeks to bring some color into them, and then glanced down at my clothes. There was nothing I could do about all the wrinkles. My jeans were okay, but my shirt? Forget it.

Then I remembered my plan. The plan I wanted to put into action today. It was far from perfect. I should let someone know, and decided to call the police station. I didn’t really want to talk to Detective Westin. I was as annoyed with him as I was with Hawk. I’d rather talk to Cutter. No way was I calling Hawk, not that I’d memorized his phone number anyway.

I activated my phone and then dialed information and asked for the number of the Seneca Police Department. I pulled a small memo pad and pen from my glove compartment. After I got the number, I wrote it down and dialed.

After two rings, someone picked up. “Seneca Police Department, how can I help you?”

It sounded like Officer Shelton but I couldn’t be sure. “I’d like to speak to Detective Cutter, if he’s in.”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“Tracy Whitcomb.”

“Just a moment, please. I’ll transfer you.”

I heard a clicking noise and a moment later the familiar voice of Detective Cutter.

“Tracy, where the hell are you?”

“And good morning to you too, Detective Cutter,” I said, too irritable to be the least bit polite.

“I’ve been looking for you—”

“Why? Has something happened?” I dreaded the answer. Had someone else been found murdered?

“Why? Because I haven’t been able to get hold of you at the phone number you gave Detective Westin.”

“I dumped that phone. It was a throwaway, after all.” I sounded punchy and cleared my throat. “Why have you been looking for me?”

“I don’t like the way things ended yesterday morning, Tracy. There’s something I need to talk to you about. Have you seen or heard from Hawk?”

I frowned. “Not since early yesterday afternoon, and I don’t want to, either.” I rubbed my eyes, fighting the sting behind the lids. “He found me at the library.”

“Can we talk?”

“We are.”

“No, can we meet someplace? I need to talk to you privately.”

I hesitated. “Where?” I didn’t want to drive back into town, didn’t want to risk someone seeing, or recognizing, my truck.

“I can meet you wherever you are at the moment,” he said.

Again, I hesitated. What did he need to talk to me about? Privately? I finally acquiesced. “I’m at the airport, in the long term parking lot.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he said. “I’m driving a white Tahoe SUV.”

After he hung up, I stared down at my phone for several minutes, not quite sure about this. He might tell Westin, or Hawk. Then again, I had wanted to let him know my plan. Maybe this was best.

While I waited for Cutter, I decided I’d better go take care of my needs. Repeating my process of last night, I quickly headed toward the front doors of the airport lobby. I felt like a target, a magnet drawing everyone’s attention, but to my surprise, nobody spared me more than a glance.

Like last night, I headed for the bathroom, took care of business, and then, unlike last night, stood for a moment in front of the mirror, assessing my reflection. I looked like shit. I turned on the water, splashed it on my face, and then with my damp fingers, tried to comb some order into my hair. My hands still damp, I tried to brush the wrinkles out of my blouse, without much success.

Trying to appear bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, I walked out of the bathroom, my head up, my back straight, hoping that nobody working this morning would recognize me from last night and think that I was a homeless person just making use of their bathroom facilities. I quickly headed back out the front door and returned to my truck.

Once inside, I reached down for the packet of nuts and the soda. It was tepid now, but I didn’t care. Pulling open the packet of nuts, I popped a salty cashew into my mouth, chewed thoughtfully, and then choked it down with a sip of Diet Coke. It foamed a little in my mouth, but it felt refreshing. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten a decent meal. Brushed my teeth. Acted normal.

I had only been sitting in my truck for maybe another ten minutes or so when I saw a white Tahoe SUV pull into the long driveway winding from the highway to the front of the airport. It slowly made its way to the long-term lot. The SUV passed my truck once. I saw Detective Cutter inside, wearing civilian clothes. He continued past my truck, down to the end of the aisle, and then turned up the next one. He parked a few cars down, climbed out, and slowly walked toward me.

He looked different in civvies. Younger. Stronger. He didn’t look as… rumpled. He looked like a younger side of middle age now rather than a paunchy over-the-hill detective waiting for retirement. Just before he got to the door, I reached over and unlocked it. He climbed in, staring at me.

“You okay, Tracy?”

He looked genuinely concerned, so I offered a shrug. No sense lying to him, was there? “I’m sleeping in my truck. Afraid to go home. Not sure who I can trust. That about sums it up, Detective.”

“Tell me again the last time you heard from Hawk?”

“Why? I fired him, remember?”

“Humor me,” Cutter said.

I watched him for a moment. Like I said, he looked different than he did in a suit, like he was ready to go fishing or something. He wore broken in khaki pants, hiking boots, and a dark blue pullover sweater and over it some kind of multi-pocketed vest… maybe a fishing vest. I wasn’t too outdoorsy, so wasn’t sure. I sighed. “Early yesterday afternoon at the library. I’m not sure what time it was.”

“Did he say anything to you about where he was going or what he planned to do?”

I shook my head. “To be honest, I didn’t give him much of a chance to say anything.” I frowned. “Why?”

“I can’t find him.”

“Probably at his cabin.” I lifted a shoulder, trying to pretend I could care less. But the truth was I did. I was afraid.

He shook his head. “His Jeep is parked outside of his office. His office is closed. The older lady downstairs in the quilt shop said he hasn’t been there since yesterday afternoon.”

“Well, I don’t know where he is,” I said.

“Tracy, there’s something I think you need to know…”

He appeared hesitant and once again I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. That single cashew I’d nibbled on threatened to come back up on me. “Please don’t tell me there’s been another murder.”

“No, but Tracy, there’s been some rumblings around the police station. I’m not going to come right out and accuse him, but there’s a number of officers who believe that Hawk fits the profile of the killer—”

“That’s ridiculous!” I gasped. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t, but I can’t find him either. And Detective Westin has found some information that even I didn’t know about.”

“Information about what?”

“About some things in Hawk’s background—”

I shook my head. “I’m sure you know the history between Hawk and Westin. There’s no love lost between those two. You’re supposed to be his friend. What could Westin find out that you didn’t already know?”

While I was angry with Hawk, I didn’t believe it for a moment. Why would anybody think that he was responsible for the deaths? For the death of the police officer? The other women… especially the old woman? I shook my head again, disbelieving.

“Tracy, there’s something that nobody told you about the murders… something that was done to the victims…”

I stared at Detective Cutter as if he’d lost his mind. I remembered the two grisly images of the two younger murder victims I’d seen at Hawk’s office, their corpses smeared with blood, the walls spattered with it. I recalled in vivid color the image of the police officer’s throat, the edges of the knife wound that had slashed it from ear to ear, gaping open, revealing muscle, tendons, the edges of his windpipe. Once again, my stomach somersaulted.

“What are you trying to tell me, Detective?” I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper. My heart was pounding again, the hair on the back of my neck standing up. I didn’t think it was possible for things to get any worse, but this?

“Detective Westin came across a reference to something when he was reading the coroner’s reports… about the victim’s hearts.”

“What about them?” I asked, wanting to know and not wanting to know at the same time.

“They’d been removed.”

My ears buzzed and I felt like my head was floating. “Removed?” I croaked out.

“Cut out. Dissected. Whatever you want to call it.”