Stay of Execution (24 page)

 

Chapter Seventy-­Three

B
LOOD DRIPPED FROM
Julia's wrists. Her phone had buzzed several more times, but she'd been unable to reach it. She'd screamed in frustration. She'd fought until her arms lost all feeling and her legs were like rubber. Dried tears stained her face. She had no idea how many hours had passed since he'd gone.

Car wheels crunched gravel in front of the cabin. Julia jerked, every nerve firing. The car door slammed. He was there, standing in the doorway, gray skies behind him.

“It's worse than I thought,” he said. Spradlin came close and pulled a knife from his pocket. Reaching up, he cut through the ropes, and her arms dropped to her sides. She wiggled her hands until the feeling returned, pinpricks from the tips of her fingers to her elbows. He walked her to a chair, arm around her shoulders, and helped her to sit. Grabbing a water bottle, he opened it, handing it to her. “Drink this.”

Julia gulped the water, watching him move about the small cabin.

“I didn't want it to come to this,” he said, dragging a cardboard box out of the corner. He brushed away the dust and sliced it open with the knife. Spradlin tossed some crumpled newspapers to the floor. He pulled out a rifle, about three feet in length, the long steel barrel widening to a wooden butt. Julia stifled a gasp, her heart and mind racing. He held the gun in both hands, turning it over several times. He brought it up to his shoulder and looked through the viewfinder. “Looks like it's still in good shape,” he said.

He reached back inside the cardboard box and pulled out several small boxes. He opened the chamber of the rifle and pulled out a tube. She watched him wipe each part of the gun with a cloth. He loaded the brass bullets one by one. “I never liked hunting,” he said. “You'd think I would. I never missed, but there was no fun in it. I always liked this gun, though.” His fingers trailed the length of it, resting on the trigger.

Her chest pounded. “What are you going to do?”

Spradlin sighed. He lowered the gun until the barrel was pointed at the ground. Shadows hollowed his face when he raised his eyes to hers. “Something I should have done a long time ago.”

 

Chapter Seventy-­Four

T
HE DOCTOR'S GRIM
face told the story, the long hours at the hospital evident in the dark circles under his eyes. “I want it on record that I don't like this. I don't like it one bit.” He wagged a finger at the FBI man. “But her father is insisting if there's any chance she can speak or communicate . . .”

“I understand,” Talbot said, his tone somber.

“I don't want you upsetting her,” Dr. Charles warned. “She's stabilized but still in critical condition. We can't be sure of the extent of the internal bleeding. She's not out of the woods.”

“I understand,” Talbot repeated. “We were—­”

“When can we see her?” Cancini interrupted.

The doctor shifted his gaze to Cancini, not hiding his resentment. “She's only been out of surgery a short while. She should wake up soon.” He looked from one man to the other. “When she does, you will have five minutes. That's all. Am I clear?” He didn't wait for a response, turned his back on them both, and left.

Talbot spoke first. “She might not be able to tell us anything.”

“True.”

“And even if she can, this might be unrelated. A shooting in a residential home. Doesn't fit with the M.O. This could be a crime completely apart from our case on campus.”

“It's not,” the detective said.

Talbot, who'd been pacing the hall, stopped, looking back at Cancini. “How can you be so sure?”

The detective hesitated. “I can't,” he admitted. “But it doesn't feel like an attempted robbery. Nothing was taken. No evidence that anything even happened outside of the kitchen.”

“Maybe the girl surprised an intruder. Someone who knew the Walshes go to church every Sunday like clockwork. I mean, the girl wasn't supposed to be there.”

“True again. Like I said, I can't be sure.”

A young FBI agent came down the corridor, handing some stapled pages to Talbot. “It's from the priest at the church,” he said. “A list of the ­people he remembers seeing at the nine o'clock ser­vice this morning. There are several witnesses who can verify the Walsh family was there the whole time. Father and daughter sat in the second row, and the mom sang with the choir.”

“Okay, thanks,” Talbot said to the young man. He scanned the pages and handed the list to Cancini. “Looks like fifty or so folks including your buddy, the mayor.”

The detective looked up. “Baldwin? Are you sure?”

“That's what it says.”

“Interesting.”

“Okay. I'll bite. Why is that so interesting?”

Cancini scanned the list. “Denomination. The Walsh family is Catholic. There aren't a whole lot of Catholics around here, so I know the church. St. Benedict's, right? That's Catholic.” He'd gone inside once, during the first series of rapes. Back then, the tragedy of the girls' murders had nearly overwhelmed him. He'd been driven to find the killer, but the reality of it had scared him more than he was willing to admit at the time. Not long before Spradlin had emerged as his most obvious suspect, he'd found himself inside the sanctuary, sitting in a pew. A cluster of candles burned at the altar, the scent drifting to the back rows. He hadn't prayed or sought out a priest. He'd sat, letting the quiet seep into his bones.

Cancini folded the list. “The Baldwin family is Baptist. There's a huge church up at the campus; most of the churches around town are either Baptist or Methodist. Baldwin isn't Catholic.”

“So, he isn't a member of this church?”

“Doubt it.”

“Oka-­ay. Then why was he there?”

“That's a good question.”

The door to the private waiting room opened. “Gentlemen,” the gray-­haired doctor said, his voice nearly a growl, “she's awake.”

 

Chapter Seventy-­Five

“I
DON'T UNDERSTAND,”
Julia whispered.

“I won't let anything happen to you. I promise,” Leo told her, wrapping strips of torn sheet around her wrists. “But you need to be here. You need to hear everything. I'm trusting you.” He sat facing her, wiping away blood and dirt. “When he gets here, he won't be expecting you. You will be under the bed. I'll get him talking.”

Julia shuddered, but he was right. She'd come to get the story; she had no choice but to comply.

“He won't even know you're here.”

“What about my car?”

“I'll hide it in the brush behind the cabin. He won't see it. There's only one way in, and that's to come down the dirt road. I'll see him before he sees me.”

She nodded. He taped the bandages in place and handed her a fresh washcloth. She wiped the rest of the grime and dried tears from her face.

“I'll need my tape recorder.”

“Is there any room left on the tape? I don't want you to copy over what we talked about before.”

Her mouth opened and then closed. She knew the worst of this man, yet she didn't understand him. After a moment, she said, “I have an extra in my bag.”

“Good. Get it.”

She found the extra tape and put it in the tiny recorder. She was ready.

“I'm sorry about earlier,” he said. “But I couldn't risk you leaving. He doesn't trust you anymore. He won't let you live.”

She knew Leo was right. Ted had seen the question in her eyes. She'd done her best to cover up her suspicions, but he hadn't been fooled. She blinked back fresh tears. Damn. She was so stupid. She'd liked him. Trusted him. Then after she'd met with Nikki in the hotel, there'd been doubts. She shouldn't have ignored them.

Leo moved around the cabin. He pulled a single chair to the back and placed it in the shadows. He picked up the rifle, wiped it again, and placed it on the chair. She watched him gather her bag and the bloody cloths. He tossed them into a cabinet, slamming it shut. Outside, the rain thudded against the thin wooden roof. She stood frozen, her heart racing.

He gestured to the bed. “It'll be cramped, but you should be able to hear everything. Stay back against the wall, and no matter what you hear, no matter what you think is about to happen, do not look out from under the bed. Do you hear me? Do not look out.”

She inhaled, her fingers tightening around the tape recorder. “You're going to kill him, aren't you?”

“He's given me no choice,” Leo said, his face impassive. “I have to.”

 

Chapter Seventy-­Six

“N
IKKI?”
T
ALBOT SPOKE
softly, standing as close to the bed as possible without touching it or the girl. Her eyelids fluttered, then closed again. “Nikki? We need to ask you a few questions.”

Her eyes opened. She blinked, moved her head a little, and seemed to take in the hospital room, the shiny equipment next to the bed, the plastic bags and tubes. A crease appeared between her brows. She closed her eyes again. Talbot stepped back, standing shoulder to shoulder with Cancini. “Why don't you give it a try?”

Cancini studied Nikki's battered and bruised face. One eye was swollen and puffy. Her jaw was wired shut, and she'd lost a great deal of blood. The girl was fighting for her life, but they needed to ask questions. What if she knew something? What if she could identify her assailant? What if her attacker was the rapist? Cancini understood the doctor's anger. Under different circumstances, he might feel the same way, but these were not other circumstances. He moved toward the bed and leaned in close. “Nikki, my name is Detective Cancini.”

Her eyes opened again, the crease between her brows back.

“I need to ask you a ­couple of questions about what happened at the Walsh house.”

For a moment, she lay still, blank-­faced. Seconds ticked by. Her eyes glistened and tears slipped down her cheeks, as the memory of the attack seemed to return.

“I'll try to be brief, but I need your help to find the person who did this to you. Do you think you can help us?”

Blinking back the tears, she tried to speak. Cancini leaned in close, but her words were unintelligible. He shot the doctor a questioning look.

“We had to immobilize her jaw. Between that and the swelling, she might have difficulty talking.”

She tried to speak again, but her words were garbled. Cancini put his face close to hers, but he still couldn't make out what she was trying to say. He looked at Talbot, and shook his head. Fresh tears sprang to the girl's eyes.

The doctor spoke, his attention focused on the screen with the green lights. “Gentlemen, I think that's enough. Your questions are causing her stress and discomfort. We need to keep her calm.”

“Can we come back later?” Talbot asked.

Dr. Charles was quiet. “I don't think so. The next several hours are critical, and you're not helping.”

Cancini stayed close to the bed, studying the girl. She knew something. He could see it in her battered face, in the way she seemed desperate to communicate, but she was weak and would be lucky to make it through the night. Nikki reached out, searching until she found Cancini's hand. Her wet eyes pleaded with him. She tightened her grip around his hand and didn't let go.

Cancini nodded at the girl and raised his free hand. “Just one more minute, please.” She was weak, but her grip was strong. “Let's do this a different way. Why don't I ask you a question, a yes or no question? Squeeze my hand once for yes and twice for no. Do you understand?”

He felt one squeeze. “Good girl.” This could be the break they were looking for, but he needed to do it right. “Was the person that attacked you a boyfriend or a friend?”

She squeezed twice. “No,” he said aloud. “Had you ever met your attacker before?”

Two squeezes. “Was he a fellow student?” No. He paused. He asked the obvious question, the one he'd been thinking about since the attack on the first girl. “Was your attacker Leo Spradlin?” The beeping increased on the machine. Nikki grew agitated again, but this time the doctor said nothing, his protests momentarily forgotten. She squeezed his hand. Once. Twice. “No?” he said aloud. “No.”

Talbot exhaled. The doctor intervened then and called for a nurse. He put his hand on Cancini's shoulder, pulling him away from the bed, but Nikki would not let go. She struggled again to speak.

“Please,” Talbot said, shooting a look at the doctor. “One more minute.”

“It's okay,” Cancini said to Nikki. “It's okay. I'm not giving up. I'm with you.” He peeked at the monitor. This girl was fighting for her life, but she wanted to help. She wanted them to find their man. He hesitated. He knew what he wanted to ask, but he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer. The girl's eyes, unblinking, never left his. He swallowed. The name had been bouncing around his head, nagging at his brain for days. If he was right, it would change everything.

“Nikki, the man who attacked you,” he said, his voice soft, “was it Teddy Baldwin?”

Cancini heard the gasps behind him but kept his eyes locked on Nikki's. The beeping from the monitor slowed, and Nikki's face softened, the crease between her brows disappearing. She squeezed his hand. Once.

He stood up straight, and her hand slipped from his. “Yes.”

 

Chapter Seventy-­Seven

A
FTER THE SECOND
attack, Spradlin had disappeared. Word had gotten around town. Anyone who hadn't already been sure Spradlin was guilty couldn't help wondering after that. Teddy had taken every opportunity to fuel the fire. “Why would an innocent man, one who made such a public show of returning to his hometown, suddenly disappear during a fresh wave of rapes and murders?” he'd asked. “I'll tell you. Only a man with something to hide.” Even the skeptics had lapped it up. Teddy had shaken his head and hidden his smile. Leo was playing right into his hands.

The FBI hadn't been able to ignore the disappearance, either. They'd put out an APB on the man, and he'd been informally elevated to a person of interest. Baldwin had even heard the governor's office was trying to launch a new investigation into the DNA evidence to find out if it had been tampered with. Everyone was trying to cover their tracks. Teddy smiled as he drove north along the interstate.

Cancini had made it easy, too. His ego had blinded him. He couldn't let go of the past or Spradlin. He'd been the hero once. If things went according to plan, it would be Teddy's turn, and Cancini could play a supporting role. What a laugh. The girl was a complication, if she lived. He would have to make sure that didn't happen. And then there was Julia. She'd stuck her nose in where it didn't belong. If only she'd never met Nikki or met with Spradlin in the library. Who knew what he'd been saying? Either way, she knew too much.

When he reached the narrow western route, Teddy turned off the highway and pulled the car over to the side of the road. The sky was spitting rain, and he could see swollen clouds in the distance. A full-­blown storm was fast approaching. The dirt road wasn't far now.

We need to meet. I'll send you the directions in one hour.

Almost forty-­five minutes had passed since he'd received that message. No way Leo would expect him yet—­not without having sent directions—­but Leo had underestimated him as usual. He'd known about Leo's little cabin since their high school days. Leo had to be there. He had nowhere else to go.

He pulled a pair of plastic gloves out of his pocket and snapped them on. He reached over to the passenger seat and picked up the handgun. Leo's handgun. He'd been able to get everything he needed from Spradlin's house a few weeks before his release from jail: the gun, a pair of shoes, and a ­couple of old T-­shirts. Cocking the pistol, he checked the bullets. It was loaded and ready. He set it on the passenger seat, next to a pile of plastic bags. Inside each bag were two strands of hair. The girls hadn't minded when he pulled the strands. They'd been dead when he took what he wanted.

He switched on the wipers and pulled back onto the road, running through the plan in his mind again. The shoes he'd taken were in a brown paper bag in the trunk, covered with dirt and leaves from the woods where he'd left the first girl. He'd swabbed the insides of the other girls' mouths with the T-­shirts; they held precious traces of saliva. Everything was ready. He would plant the evidence after he cleaned up the loose ends. It would be overwhelming and irrefutable.

He came to the dirt road and turned slowly, searching for a place to hide the car. After a short distance, he parked in a small clearing, still out of view of the cabin. The winds blew, and the sky was about to open up. He hauled old branches from the side of the road to cover the rear end of the car. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best he could do before the storm.

Opening the passenger door, he reached in and grabbed the gun. He stuck it in his waistband, then pulled his jacket closed and zipped it. Leo was going to commit one more murder, and then, overcome with guilt, he would take his own life. Teddy looked to the sky, letting the first, heavy drops hit his face. He'd never imagined it would end like this. They'd been such a great team once. Fuck Leo. There wasn't any other way now. Leo had made that perfectly clear.

He wiped his arm across his eyes, blinking away the rain. Careful to walk inside the tree line, he crept toward the cabin, stepping over rocks, roots, and broken branches, the uneven ground slick with fallen leaves. Crouching under some heavy branches, he eyed the small wooden structure and a compact car parked in front. He smiled. He knew that car. Julia's car. He'd been right again.

His phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen. It was Janie from the hospital, the surgical nurse who worked in critical care. A plain woman, overworked, she welcomed his attention, his questions about her family. ­People didn't realize how far you could get with just a few kind words. Teddy did. Those kind words often yielded a few favors now and then. Protecting the phone from the rain, he opened the text.

I'm sorry to give you the bad news, but your friend's daughter didn't make it.

Teddy licked his lips. The girl was gone. And Julia was with Leo. Neither of them was expecting him yet. It couldn't be more perfect.