The Last Straw, page 18
Wyrick interrupted.
“This is Wyrick. There are things I can do to help the police find him, and I give you my word I’ll stay with the case until it’s over.”
“Thank you,” Millie said. “You are both angels on earth. I can’t thank you enough.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am. Drive safe. Dallas traffic is pretty bad,” Charlie said.
“I’m not letting a little traffic stop me from getting to Rachel,” Millie said. “I got this.”
Then she was gone.
Charlie glanced at Wyrick. Her eyes were closed.
“So we’re not done here?” he asked.
“We can’t quit yet,” Wyrick said, thinking of that vision she’d had in the passage after Charlie handed her the earring—of the small blonde woman slung over the killer’s back. “Someone has to find the other women who went missing.”
Charlie sighed. “Okay.”
* * *
Detective Floyd pulled up his contact info for Rachel Dean’s sister and made a quick call. Even though the family had hired Charlie Dodge, the Dallas PD was still on the case. Rachel had gone missing on their watch, and it was his duty to notify the next of kin, regardless.
He called Millie Chriss and waited for her to answer.
Millie was in traffic when her phone rang again, but she’d already switched to Bluetooth so she tapped it to answer.
“Hello, this is Millie.”
“Millie, this is Detective Floyd with Missing Persons. I wanted to let you know that, with the help and cooperation of Charlie Dodge and his assistant, Wyrick, we have found your sister, Rachel.”
“Yes, yes, Charlie just called me. I’m on my way to the hospital now. I am so appreciative of the way you coordinated and cooperated with me, wanting to hire private help, as well. Thank you. Thank all of you. Rachel means everything to us.”
“Yes, ma’am. I know she’s unconscious right now, but if she begins to wake up, please let us know. We need to talk to her. We still don’t have an identity on the man who took her.”
“Yes, sir, I will. I want him caught as much as you do. When her condition changes, I will let you know.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you,” Floyd said and then hung up.
He paused then, looking around the lobby at all the chaos. Residents were coming and going, carrying luggage to their cars, and there was nothing he could do about it.
He was unhappy that Carson had moved all of his suspects without notice, even though he could not have expected them all to stay put after what had happened. And then Allen Carson walked up and Floyd frowned at him.
“The least you could have done was run this mass exodus by me first,” Floyd said.
Allen’s disapproval at being reprimanded showed, both by the look on his face and the tone of his voice.
“Surely, you did not expect they would stay here. I’ve been inundated with people wanting to break their leases. Some of them were already packing up to leave anyway. I have to tear down that passage and tunnel, remove those access doors and rebuild the walls. You should thank me that I’ve kept them all in one place for you.”
“Okay, I’ll admit that foresight was wise, and it will help,” Floyd said.
Allen shrugged. “We just need to both pray that Rachel Dean wakes up and names the bastard. Oh...just so you know. This will be your only notice. Get all of the pictures and evidence you need from this property, and whatever else you want to take to make your case, because in two days we’re tearing into this place like a Texas tornado. I’m sick that this passage was never revealed to me when I bought it. And I can’t believe it wasn’t discovered during remodeling. If it had been, none of these women would have been fair game for a madman. Do we understand each other?” Allen said.
Floyd nodded. “Understood.”
Allen was satisfied he had a plan, but he wasn’t going to be satisfied until he found out why that passageway had ever existed.
He knew two people who might be able to help him. One was a historian, familiar with the city of Dallas, and the other was the last living relative of the original family. He’d never spoken to the old man, because he’d never had a reason to, but he was going to do so now.
* * *
Wyrick was asleep when Charlie drove through the gates of the old mansion, taking care to close them behind him before driving around back to park.
“We’re home,” he said as he pulled up at the doorway to the basement apartment where she used to live.
Wyrick opened her eyes then sat up, but Charlie was already out and opening her door to help her out.
She looked up at him from inside the Jeep and then pointed a finger at him.
“I’m walking in. I do not need to be carried.”
Charlie said nothing.
She rolled her eyes and got out. Now all she had to do was stay upright, or he would ignore what she’d just said. She just knew it.
As they started up the steps of the old veranda, she held on to the railing, and Charlie held on to her. She was too shaky to care. This felt like chemo. Like she was hollow. The only thing missing was the nausea and pain.
By the time they got inside, Charlie was out of patience and picked her up anyway.
“Nobody’s looking now, so don’t gripe. You and I both know you’re not gonna make it up the stairs, and you’re not gonna make it to the elevator, either.”
She laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.
Charlie’s heart hurt for her. All the way up. All the way down the hall to her room. Even after he laid her down on her bed and pulled off her shoes.
And when she rolled over onto her side and curled up in a ball, it was too reminiscent of how he’d found Rachel. Tears welled as he pulled a blanket over her shoulders.
“I will be back to check on you,” he said, then walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.
* * *
Barrett Taylor had a visitor. He knew it was his lawyer, but he didn’t know why he was here, unless it was to tell him they’d been given a trial date. Still, it was a break from the routine of jail so he didn’t mind.
Marsh Fielding was sitting at the table in the visitation room when the guard brought Barrett into the room, cuffed and shackled.
Barrett took a seat on the other side of the table, and waited as the guard cuffed him to the table.
The guard glanced at Fielding. “I’ll be right outside the door. Ring the bell when you’re ready to leave.”
Marsh nodded, and then as soon as the guard stepped out of the room, Barrett leaned forward.
Marsh leaned back and folded his hands in his lap.
“What’s going on?” Barrett asked.
“Jeremiah Raver is dead. Killed by one of his money-laundering associates. The FBI and the ATF are in the process of taking down the whole ring.”
A cold chill went all the way up Barrett’s spine. His preacher man was even dirtier than he could have imagined.
“What does this mean for me?” he asked.
“Legally, it changes nothing of your charges. Technically, it will make you look even worse in the eyes of a jury, being a known associate, even though you might have had no knowledge of the illegal activities...other than agreeing to go kill an innocent woman.”
Barrett’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re my attorney. You’re supposed to help me wangle the legal system.”
Marsh Fielding shrugged. “And that’s the other thing. The man who hired me to be your attorney is deceased. He had yet to remit a retainer. Do you still want to go to trial, or do you want to change your plea?”
Barrett was stupid about some things, but not the legal system. He’d screwed himself and he knew it.
“What’s my best bet?” he asked.
“Plead guilty and have a bench trial...let the judge rule in your sentence, rather than a jury.”
Barrett sighed. “Will you do that for me before you quit?”
“Yes. I’ll stay with you through the sentencing. It’s my own fault for doing this without the retainer.”
“Thanks,” Barrett said.
Marsh shrugged. “It’s what I do.” He hesitated, and then stared Barrett straight in the eyes. “May I offer a word of suggestion?”
“I’m listening,” Barrett said.
“You’re going to be inside for quite a stretch. It would behoove you to think of something else to do with what’s left of your life besides cause other people trouble. That’s all. I’ll let you know when we have to appear before the judge. In the meantime...the byword is low-key.”
And then he was gone.
Barrett was taken back to his cell and left to ponder the lawyer’s advice.
* * *
Farrell Kitt was down at the pigpen feeding hogs, and his wife, Judy, was in the house making supper.
Their kids were outside playing in the yard, and Farrell could hear their playful squeals and laughter. He couldn’t quit thinking about how close he’d come to losing all of this, and how gullible he had been, believing Jeremiah Raver’s claim that he’d had a vision from God, ordering him to send Jade Wyrick back to the hell from whence she’d come.
There was a part of him that still believed the woman should have never been born, but he hadn’t counted on her calling their bluff and calling them out. He couldn’t bring shame upon his family. Thank God no one knew.
He headed back to the house with a bounce in his step, looking forward to a good meal. Judy was still angry with him, but he knew in time she’d get over it.
He was walking toward the house when a car drove up into his yard. Moments later Judy came out of the house with their two-year-old on her hip. The kids who were playing all stopped and stared.
The visitor was Junior’s teacher, Mildred Pete.
Farrell started walking faster, hoping Junior, his eldest, hadn’t gotten into trouble at school today. Junior had his moments, and was sometimes a little hard to handle.
Judy was already at the car talking to the teacher when Farrell walked up.
“Evening, Miss Pete.”
She gave him a strange look.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“That’s what I came to ask you,” she said. “Your son was doing some bragging at school today. He said something to the effect that his daddy was worth a quarter and a bazillion dollars, cause he’d done a job for the Lord. And when his daddy got paid, he was going to buy candy for everyone.”
“Oh, my God,” Judy said. The look she gave Farrell was somewhere between “look what you’ve done” and pure horror.
Farrell went numb. He could still see the teacher’s lips moving, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying. After all of the conniving and lying to his brother, their own child had outed him. But how? They’d been so careful.
“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” Mildred cried.
Farrell just kept shaking his head when all of a sudden, Junior was among them.
“Teacher, did you come to eat supper with us?” Junior asked.
Mildred shook her head. “No, but thank you. I’m on my way home to my own supper.”
“Daddy don’t mind,” Junior said. “He’s got lots of money, don’t you, Daddy?” Then he looked up at Farrell and smiled, waiting for confirmation.
Farrell’s thoughts were in free fall. He just kept shaking his head.
“No, son. I don’t have lots of money. You go get your brother and sister and get them in the house. Tell them to wash up. Supper’s almost ready.”
Junior glanced at his teacher, then frowned.
“But, Daddy, I heard you and Mama talking about a quarter and a bazillion dollars that was on you.”
Judy grabbed her son by the arm and headed toward the house, dragging him as they went, leaving Mildred and Farrell alone.
“I knew it! I knew it the minute he said it! You’re the other one, aren’t you?” Mildred cried. “You and Jessup Wallis went and lost your good sense listening to that Jeremiah Raver. He’s never amounted to a hill of beans, and never did anything but preach hellfire and damnation to all his church members about their mortal sins. And all the while, he was partaking in criminal activities, and look where that got him! He’s dead, and you’ve shamed yourself and your family.”
Farrell just kept shaking his head. “No, no, that—”
Mildred jabbed her finger in his chest. “You were willing to kill a woman for how she looked, and now you’re trying to call an innocent child a liar? You’re willing to throw your son under the bus to save yourself? You are one poor excuse for a father, Farrell Kitt. Now...I’ve had my say. But just know that every kid in school probably went home today and told their parents what Junior said. So prepare yourself. Your dirty secret is out, and if you so much as lay a hand on your boy’s innocent little head for telling a truth, I’ll report you to CPS myself. It would serve the both of you right if they came and took all your kids. You don’t deserve to be parents.”
“Judy didn’t know anything,” Farrell said, and the moment it came out of his mouth, he realized he’d just confirmed her suspicions.
“I knew it!” Mildred said.
She whipped out her cell phone, snapped a picture of his face, then ran to her car and locked herself inside.
Farrell was in shock.
Why would Mildred take his—oh no!
She was going to turn him in for the money!
Now the whole world would know his face. They wouldn’t understand how he’d believed he was doing the right thing. They would only see a man willing to kill. He turned and ran for the house as Mildred drove away.
Judy was in their bedroom with their youngest in her lap, sobbing.
He sat down beside her, but when he went to put his arm around her, she pushed him away.
“I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry. Mildred threatened something about telling Child Protective Services. We need to leave. I can’t lose you and my babies.”
Judy shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere. I didn’t go to that church. You did. You’re the one who needs to leave. This is my home. Daddy left it to me. You did this to us, not me.”
“But, Judy! You can’t mean this!” Farrell cried.
As she stood, their toddler was all big-eyed and teary at the shouting, sucking his thumb at a frantic pace and still riding her hip as she held him close.
“I do mean it! Now, you get your clothes and get out of here.”
“You can’t manage this place by yourself!” Farrell shouted.
“I’ll figure it out. But I won’t be shamed by your actions, and I won’t have my children shamed, either,” she cried.
“They’re my children, too!” Farrell yelled.
Judy took a step back. “You weren’t thinking about me or our babies when you left out of here to go take a woman’s life. Get out! Get out! I can’t take any more of this.”
Farrell was in shock. He packed without thought, throwing clothes in a bag, and then his razor and Bible in on top of it.
He paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder. He’d never seen hate on Judy’s face before, but he was seeing it now, and he knew it was over.
“I need to go tell the kids goodbye,” Farrell said.
She shook her head and waved him away.
“You will do no such thing. I’ll tell them what they need to hear, and when they’re older, they’ll all know the truth. Just get in the car and drive. I don’t want to know where you are, or where you go.”
“Are you gonna divorce me?” Farrell asked.
“In a heartbeat, and I’ll be changing our names,” Judy said.
He stormed out of the house, threw his bag in the car and headed out of the drive.
He glanced up once in the rearview mirror. His youngest daughter was standing on the porch, waving goodbye. He looked away and just kept driving.
Fourteen
After Charlie put Wyrick to bed, he went to his bedroom and sent a text to Millie, asking her to keep them updated on Rachel’s progress, then stripped and got in the shower. The need to remove the filth in which they’d found Rachel Dean was overwhelming. He washed and scrubbed at his skin until it was tingling before he finally got out.
Tragically, Rachel wouldn’t be able to wash away the memories of what had happened to her with soap and water. They had to find this man. He needed not to be walking free ever again.
By the time Charlie got down to the kitchen to make dinner, he was heartsick and tired to the bone. He didn’t know what Rachel Dean had endured, but it was remarkable how hard she’d fought back. Such a smart little thing—somehow getting a knife away from him, then thinking to put out the light to give herself a fighting chance.
He put potatoes in to bake, then started the grill. He’d promised Wyrick steak, and she was getting steak, even if it was after midnight before they ate.
The grill was still heating and the steaks were still marinating when he went back upstairs to check on her. He expected her to still be asleep, but the bed was empty and he could hear the shower running, so he hurried back downstairs, put the steaks on the grill and then sent her a text.
Your steak is grilling.
Within a few minutes she showed up in the kitchen in thick socks, leggings and a sweatshirt that hung halfway to her knees. Her face was bare, and the shadows under her eyes weren’t makeup this time; they were for real.
He glanced up, then pointed to a container of French onion dip and a bag of wavy potato chips.
“Hors d’oeuvres.”
“Such elegance. You really shouldn’t have,” she said, then plopped down at the table, swiped a chip through the dip and popped it into her mouth. “Mmm. Good.”
