Savage Art (A Chilling Suspense Novel) (41 page)

Jordan nodded and took the phone from Casey's hand. "This is Gray."

"I'm sending four cars to the hospital now," the dispatcher said.

Jordan nodded. "I'll be waiting by the emergency entrance." He watched Casey take off through the back entrance and prayed she found Amy and Kevin coming around a corner, but knew that would not be the case.

He handed the phone back to the attendant, who seemed suddenly the epitome of helpfulness.

"Sometimes kids just go off to explore the hospital," she said. "Maybe the two of them went to explore."

Jordan only wished it were true. Within minutes, the whirring of sirens caught Jordan's attention, and he hurried outside. Four Berkeley patrol cars pulled up, lights flashing. The officers emerged, one by one.

"Inspector Gray?" the first one asked.

Jordan nodded.

"You know what we're looking for?" he asked.

Jordan wished he knew more but explained what he had.

"He's got the Volvo," Casey yelled.

Jordan turned around to see Casey running back.

"I saw him drive down Ashby," she gasped, panting. "I think he turned left on Shattuck toward the freeway. I didn't see Amy, but she has to be with him. He's in a 1982 white Volvo sedan. Plate is X-A-B-5-8-2." She waved at the motionless police cars. "Go, damn it!"

"Send your cars out Ashby," Jordan said. "Check both directions. Get on the radio. Anyone you can reach should be looking for that car. This man is very dangerous. Tell your officers to proceed with extreme caution."

"Stress is increased now. He'll be fleeing," Casey said, panting. "Watch the freeways closely. Don't close in on him. He's liable to react. Just find him and keep him in sight." She paused, pressing her hand to her chest. "This is my daughter he's got," she added, and Jordan could feel the tension rise with her words.

The officers returned to their cars, and engines revved as they pulled out. Jordan could see the closest officer lift the radio from the dash and call for additional units.

"Let's go," Casey said.

"We need to stay here in case you were wrong. Maybe some guy just stole your car. Amy could be here."

Casey shook her head. "Kevin is Leonardo and he has Amy."

Jordan knew she wasn't being objective. It was impossible under the circumstances. "How do you know?"

"You can take me, or you can give me the keys to your goddamn car, Gray. You're wasting time. That lunatic has Amy."

Jordan nodded and headed for the Explorer.

* * *

Jordan dialed the Berkeley police station for the fifteenth time. It might have been the sixteenth. He'd lost track. "This is Inspector Gray. Any word?"

"Not yet, Inspector. The officers are still out looking."

"Thanks. You've got my number." Jordan dropped the cell phone to his lap.

Casey sat with her face almost pressed to the window as she surveyed the area for her car.

"We should go back to the hospital—wait there," he suggested.

Casey shook her head.

"We've been out here for almost an hour, Casey. He's probably hiding. I've got officers on the lookout in the four surrounding counties. I don't think he's going to get away in that car."

Casey looked at him for the first time in more than half an hour. He could see the agony etched on her face. "We both know he's not in that car anymore."

Jordan had thought about that. If he was clever, his first move would be to switch cars. "We don't know."

Casey let out a hollow laugh. "I know. I know how he thinks. This was the whole game. It was laid out right in front of me." She kicked the dashboard in a series of quick slams and then crumpled back into silence.

Jordan blamed himself. As soon as he'd heard Amy's voice, he'd been concerned. He should have sent an officer to Casey's house right away. If Jordan had someone tailing them, Amy never would have been lured away.

"Fine," Casey said. "Go back. He's probably in Oregon by now, anyway."

Jordan felt his shoulders sag, wishing somehow he could redo so many things in the last ten hours.

As they pulled up to the hospital's emergency entrance, Jordan noticed no young girl came running out to meet the car. Leonardo had Amy. He'd had her for an hour already. All Jordan could think of was how close Ryan had been. And Jordan had sat by and let it happen to Casey's child.

Jordan parked the car, and Casey got out and walked straight inside. He could tell from her stance that she was hoping, praying that Amy might have turned up.

"Casey," a male voice called.

Jordan turned around to see a man, about forty, approach Casey.

"What's going on?" the man asked. "I called and called you at home, and no one answered. Then I called the inspector's number you gave me, and they told me he had rushed over to the hospital. Is Amy all right? What's happened?"

Casey collapsed onto the ground, her face in her hands as she cried.

Suddenly protective of Casey, Jordan stepped between the two. "I'm Inspector Gray. You must be Mr. McKinley."

The man looked from Casey to Jordan and back again. "I'm Michael McKinley." His gaze met Jordan's. "Has Amy been in an accident?"

"No accident," Jordan answered, instantly identifying with the panic-stricken look on the father's face.

Michael exhaled. "Thank God," he said before Jordan could continue.

Jordan tried to explain. "She—"

"I got this terrible feeling today," Michael interrupted. "This whole case out here was some sort of prank. The president of the company I was supposed to be representing, the one I'd talked to a dozen times, he had never even heard of me. The guy who called was a fake. Then his check bounced. I don't know what the hell happened, but my whole trip out here was a bad joke."

Casey looked up, and Jordan could read the equation in her eyes as she solved it. "He lured you here."

"Who lured me here?" Michael asked.

"The killer, the one we've been tracking," Casey said, crying. "The same one from Cincinnati." She shoved her hands toward him. "The one who did this." She gasped and let out a sob. "He has our baby girl."

Chapter 35

He looked over at Amy as he pulled the Nissan off Highway 101 in Mill Valley and headed to Highway 1 and the house he had rented. He ran his hand across her cheekbone, where he would soon be working his masterpiece. Everything had gone perfectly. He had hoped Casey would be with them, but he couldn't manage to get her, too. Perhaps she'd find them when he was finishing his work. Otherwise, he'd have to wait until she found her daughter's body to see her reaction.

Amy had put up quite a struggle, and he felt the ooze of warm blood on his face from her nails. It would be well worth it, he knew, though he hadn't met a twelve-year-old with so much fight. Even the knife hadn't quieted her, and he had been forced to strike out several times. He hated when circumstances caused him to lose his temper. Thankfully, the injection had calmed her quite nicely.

In the last few minutes, though, he had sensed she was starting to stir. He had hoped she would be quiet until he reached the house, but he wasn't sure his luck would hold.

He had considered pulling over and using duct tape to confine her, but there was too much traffic to risk it. Even if she fought, they would most likely look like a father and daughter having a quarrel. He checked his wig in the mirror. The gray was more paternal than his natural blond hair. He'd been able to switch cars, too, dumping Casey's in a local medical building parking lot. He knew the police would be looking for the Volvo.

Amy moved, murmuring something he didn't understand, and he pressed the gas a little harder. He wanted to be there, and his vein of impatience was taking over. "Sloppy," he warned himself. Disappointed with his own behavior, he lifted his foot from the gas and brought the speedometer back down. He knew better than to rush. Better to have to control Amy than to get pulled over.

As he wound down Highway 1 toward Stinson Beach, the traffic thinned out. The beach was too cold and foggy to lure vacationers so early in the spring, and those who commuted would still be at work. Past the Pelican Inn, Leonardo turned onto Seascape Road and began the journey uphill. He restarted his odometer. The house was exactly eight miles from the turnoff.

Within two miles, there would be very little traffic. After the next two, almost none. By the time he reached the dilapidated house he rented, it would feel like they were in a different state. The house sat on three acres of abandoned fields.

According to the guy he'd rented it from, the field had been abandoned for a number of years. With the value of land so high out here, the owner was looking to sell the whole lot to a developer. That was fine with him. He had explained to the owner that after separating from his wife, he only needed someplace to get his head straight for a few months. His lease was up in less than three weeks. The timing was ideal. He'd saved and planned carefully for his time with Casey. What was left of his savings would get him away from California when he was ready for a new canvas.

He reached the four-mile point and turned off Sea Ranch Road onto Cliff Ranch. Unlike on the other streets closer to the city, here the houses became more spread out. With its amazingly large parcels of land, the area reminded him a lot of where he had grown up in Indiana.

He remembered the final day with his mother and sister. He had known they would be together that day—celebrating her birthday as they had never celebrated his. Spilling their blood, avenging all those years of belittling and condescension from them both. He had lived his revenge through the titillation of their screams. The sheer thrill of seeing them die had been almost overwhelming. The reminder would make his time with Amy even more exciting.

He was almost there. The road ran north-south, and he headed north, starting the last stretch to his house. Keeping his speed steady, he studied the rearview mirror. A white Mustang took the same turn. Though a lot of vacationers made the wrong turn off Highway 1, very few of them got this far. He didn't like the feel of it.

Reaching over Amy, he opened the glove compartment. His gun sat on top of some papers. He grabbed it and pulled out the magazine, checking his ammunition. It was half full, which was enough to deal with any problems. He started to tuck the gun in the compartment of his door when he saw motion from the corner of his eye.

"Ah!" Amy screamed, and he felt the impact of her foot in his ribs.

The wheel slipped from his grasp, and the car spun out. He was sure they were running off the road. Amy fell backward and he heard her moan as she hit her head on the dash. Served her right. Moving quickly, he gathered his bearings and pulled the car back onto the road.

As soon as he had straightened the car, he reached for his ribs. But before he could protect them, Amy kicked again.

He moaned and threw his hand out. Missing her, he hit the back of the seat as Amy ducked. He was tempted to pull the car over and smack her, but the white Mustang was gaining on them.

Pulling the gun out, he pointed it at Amy's head and made the deliberate motion of switching off the safety. "One move, and I'll blow your little brains out." He touched his aching ribs, wondering if she'd broken something. "That wasn't very smart of you. It's going to make things tougher on you when we get home."

Amy's face crumpled. "You're just a crazy," she said, trying to sound strong.

He smiled at her. "How cute. Mommy's little girl."

"My mom's going to kill you."

"Don't you worry, I've dealt with your mom before."

"But she got away, and she'll come rescue me."

"She didn't get away. I let her go to save myself. I knew I'd be back, and here I am." He basked in the girl's growing terror. "And maybe she'll try to come save you, and I'll get to enjoy you both."

Amy stared at the gun and then turned to face forward. Her hands were tucked up under her arms, and he grew suspicious of her lack of movement.

"Sit on your hands," he demanded.

She glanced at him, puzzled.

"Put your hands under you, so I know where you've got them." He waved the gun at her. "One false move, and the trigger on this gun might just go off."