Killing Spree (36 page)

As soon as Joe’s back was turned, Ethan started to go for the baseball bat.

But Joe swiveled around. All at once, he was coming at him, ready to kick. Ethan felt a powerful, hammerlike blow to his stomach. He hit the floor with a thud.

“Shit, Ethan, now look what you made me do,” Joe said.

Ethan couldn’t breathe. He curled up on the floor, feeling sick.

Joe bent over him, and stroked his hair. “Now, I want you to lie there and think about the fact that I’m merely starting with you, kid. I ain’t leaving here without the information I want. And you’re going to help me. Otherwise, I’ll put you in the hospital. And before I’m done with you, I’ll take a little break, and go to work on the cunt downstairs. You lie there and think about that, Ethan.”

Ruth heard the loud thump overhead. A bit of dust plumed from the basement ceiling. She stopped whittling away at the door for a moment. Someone had been knocked to the floor upstairs, and she was pretty certain it had been Ethan. The son of a bitch was beating him.

She stared at the little crevice she’d made in the door, barely enough room for her to fit her fingers through it. “The hell with this,” she grumbled, dropping the spade. There were a bunch of other garden tools against the wall. Ruth grabbed a pitchfork. With a firm grasp on the handle, she slammed into the spot on which she’d been working. The thick prongs made a crack in the door. She gave it another hit, and a section of wood split. She felt the shovel give a little on the other side of the door; its blade scraped against the concrete steps. Ruth bashed the door again and again. Splinters of wood flew—and the gap in the door became wider.

Eustace started barking again.

Ruth kept slamming away at the door. Covered in sweat, she tried to get her breath. The air in the dank little cellar was bad. But daylight—and fresh air—poured through the opening. She could see the shovel propped up against the door handle.

She stopped and reached her hand through the hole. Frantically, she groped for the shovel handle. At last, she knocked the shovel to the side. It clattered as it hit the concrete.

She heard footsteps—and the man yelling upstairs.

“Goddamn it!” Joe bellowed. He abruptly pulled away from Ethan, and gave the back of his head a swat.

It hurt, but Ethan barely felt it compared to the lingering agony from being kicked in the gut a minute ago. He managed to sit up. He’d gotten his breath back a little. Blinking, he tried to focus on Joe, who was pulling out a gun from inside his leather jacket. He stomped toward the window and peered outside. He’d clearly become unnerved by all the pounding on the door again. Eustace’s barking seemed even louder and more frenzied than before. And just a moment ago, there was a loud clang as something hit the basement steps.

“Pain-in-the-ass bitch,” Joe growled. He turned away from the window and started for the front door.

Ethan grabbed the baseball bat, and got up from the floor. But he’d stood up too quick. The room was spinning and he felt nauseous. He could barely see anything—except Joe with his back to him. Even Joe was sort of blurry. Still, Ethan didn’t hesitate. He kept moving.

He already had the baseball bat raised in the air when Joe turned around. With all his might, Ethan swung the bat and clipped the side of Joe’s head. There was a loud snap. Joe let out a sharp cry, then he fell back against the door. The gun flew out of his hand. He crumpled to the floor.

Ethan was barely aware of footsteps on the front porch. He hardly noticed that Eustace had stopped barking. But then he heard Ruth’s voice. “Good boy,” she said to the dog.

The front door opened—as far as it could. Joe’s crumpled body blocked the threshold.

Ethan spotted Ruth on the front porch. She had the pitchfork in her hands. Eustace was behind her. She glanced down at Joe, lying in her path. Then she looked at Ethan. Catching her breath, she nodded and gave him a little smile. “Good boy,” she whispered.

Gillian’s cell phone rang just as she climbed into the Toyota. “Oh, thank God,” she murmured, reaching into her purse. It had to be Ruth or Ethan calling back. She clicked on the phone without checking the caller identification. “Hello?” she said anxiously.

“Is this Gillian Tanner?” someone asked.

Crestfallen, she slumped back in the driver’s seat and rubbed her forehead. “Yes. Who’s calling?”

“Sal Salgado calling. Listen, Mrs. Tanner, I need to know. Does this ‘one time only’ offer you’re throwing at me include a free toaster-oven?”

Gillian frowned. “I was serious, Mr. Salgado.”

“Okay, lighten up, jeez. I’m willing to talk—but not on the phone.”

“Well, I don’t think I can make it down to Portland today,” Gillian said. “I’m kind of pressed for time.”

“I happen to be in Seattle right now. Where are you? Sounds like you’re in a car.”

“I’m in the parking lot of a casino in—” Gillian stopped herself. She remembered what Ruth had said about walking—or
driving
—into a trap by trying to track down Barry. “Um, I’m about two hours from Seattle. I can meet you someplace in the city.”

“Well, I’ve never been on top of the Space Needle. I understand there’s a bar up there. I’ll see you there at six-thirty. Come alone, and bring your checkbook.”

“How will I know you?”

“Oh, I’ll know you, Gillian. I like mysteries. I’m a big fan. See you at six-thirty.”

“Wait. Before you hang up, tell me this much. Did you locate my husband?”

“Yes, ma’am, I certainly did.”

Behind the registration desk there was a small, handwritten cardboard sign taped to a shelf displaying a collection of troll dolls:
NOT
4
SALE
! The sale items—dust-covered overnight kits, gum, Rolaids, condoms, and car deodorizers—were crammed onto the shelf below the troll collection.

The desk clerk was a big oafish-looking man in his thirties. He had receding blond hair, and wore a purple bowling shirt. He kept wheezing as he studied the framed photo of Barry and Gillian in front of Pike Street Market.

Jason bit his lip and waited patiently. The Tuck-U Inn was the twentieth motel he’d visited this afternoon—and one of the cheesiest.

“Yeah, I know this guy,” the desk clerk said at last. “He stayed with us—hmmm, back in September for a few weeks. He was casino-crazy, coming and going at all hours. His name’s Garner, Frank Garner. I always thought he was a nice enough guy. But he really ticked off the manager, because he smuggled a hot plate and a microwave into his room. So they gave him the boot.”

“Have you seen him at all since?” Jason asked.

“Nope. But some private detective was snooping around here looking for Frank about five weeks ago.”

“Did he say why he was looking for Frank?”

The desk clerk shook his head. “No. But I’ll tell you what I told this private eye guy. All you have to do is go to all the casinos in the area, and if you don’t find Frank Garner, then he’s moved on to another city.” He sighed and nodded. “Y’know, I’ll bet he’s done just that. I have a feeling, mister. You might be wasting your time looking for him here in Missoula.”

“Are you sure everything’s all right?” Gillian asked. She was on her cell phone, and stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic about thirty miles north of Seattle.

The last hour and a half had been sheer agony while she’d waited to hear back from Ruth and Ethan. Two more calls to the house had gone unanswered. She’d been convinced something awful had happened at home. She’d started speeding toward Seattle—until hitting this traffic jam a half hour ago. Gillian had been thinking about calling the police when her cell phone had rung.

“Ethan’s fine, hon,” Ruth had assured her. She’d said she was calling from a pay phone in the police station, and suggested Gillian pull over to hear what she had to tell her.

“I haven’t moved in the last ten minutes,” Gillian had replied. “So I’m not about to swerve off the road or anything. What’s going on? Why are you at the police station? Are you sure Ethan’s okay?”

Ruth had told her about the unexpected visit from Joe Pagani, who was now in Harborview Hospital with a mild concussion—and under police guard. Ethan had a cut lip and a bruised rib. Eustace, who yelped in pain every time Ruth touched his side, would be spending the night at the vet’s. And Gillian’s landlord probably wouldn’t be too happy about the broken door to the cellar.

“You’re not just telling me this now and saving the real bad news for later?” Gillian asked warily.

“No. The bad news is you have about two more hours to track down Barry before the cops and these hoods start putting the pressure on. I pulled some strings, and the detectives with this Joe Pagani character aren’t letting him make any calls for a while. Like I say, I figure two hours. As soon as he talks to his lawyer or anyone else, these mobsters are going to know you’re on the verge of tracking down Barry.”

“What about the police?” Gillian asked.

“Well, Joe ain’t gonna say anything to them. His buddies want to get to Barry before the police do.”

“No, I meant, do the police know what I’m doing?” Gillian asked.

“Ethan and I got it covered, hon,” Ruth said. “We erased your phone messages. And Ethan’s talking to a couple of detectives right now. The story he and I agreed on is that you took my car to chase down a new lead in the copycat killings. And we haven’t been able to get ahold of you since. It’s more or less the truth.”

“I need to see Ethan.”

“You’d just be an extra body here. You need to find out where Barry is, and you have to act fast. Ethan’s fine. He’s better than fine. He’s the hero of the hour. The other good news is my buddies in blue seem to be taking this copycat business more seriously. I had Lynn Voorhees eating a hearty helping of crow earlier. On the downside, they probably won’t have the paperwork to go through Vicki’s apartment until tomorrow morning. And divers in Elliott Bay came up with a few more pieces of Chase’s car and an arm.”

Gillian winced at the news. “Ruth, could you do me another favor? I thought of someone who might be our man. Could you use your connections to get some information about this guy Rick? He works in Administration at the college. Among other things, he handles student and class records, which gives him access to information on everyone’s comings and goings at the school.”

“Hmmm, so he would have known when all his
schoolgirls
had their classes….”

“Bingo. Also, he’d be well acquainted with the layout of the college.”

“All those creative places he’d left the bodies, I hear you.”

“And I’ve never had a single conversation with Rick in which he hasn’t come on to me.”

“Does this Rick have a last name?”

Gillian didn’t know it. “Just a second.” She dropped the cell phone in her lap for a moment while she searched through her purse. Finally, she found the old class printout. On the top left corner was some computer-related gibberish, which included the job name and the administrative employee who had executed it: R. SLAUGHTER.

Gillian got back on her cell phone. “His name’s Rick—I’m guessing
Richard
—Slaughter.”

“
Slaughter,
well, that’s appropriate. I’ll check if he has a rap sheet here, and then do some more digging. What about your expedition? Did you dig up anything about Barry?”

Gillian told her about the Space Needle meeting with Sal Salgado. “He claims he found Barry.”

“Well, you be careful with him, hon. I’ll poke around here and find out if this Salgado is a legitimate PI. Even if he is, it doesn’t make him a boy scout. Proceed with caution.”

“According to his business card, he works out of Portland,” Gillian said. “Um, did Jason Hurrell ever call the house?”

“Not that I know of,” Ruth replied. “At least, he didn’t leave any messages. Listen, I need to hang up. There’s a cop down the hallway looking at me funny. They think I’m on the phone with my sister.”

“You sure Ethan’s okay?” Gillian asked one more time before Ruth hung up.

“He’s peachy. We both are. Just look out for your own ass for the next couple of hours.”

After Gillian clicked off the line, she let out a sigh. Yet she still felt horribly tense and clenched. She glanced at her watch, and then at the gridlock ahead. The car in front of her crawled forward a few feet, and she followed suit. Some of the other cars were actually moving too. There was a good chance she’d get to the Space Needle in time for her 6:30 meeting with Sal Salgado.

But her chances for getting to Barry in time still seemed very, very uncertain.

Gillian parked in a pay lot across the street from the Seattle Center. It began to drizzle as she walked two blocks to the Space Needle. The Experience Music Project nearby was already closed for the night, but a few stragglers were still hanging around. Gillian glanced at their faces. She didn’t recognize anyone—and no one seemed to be watching her. She kept thinking about Ruth’s warning to proceed with caution. Ruth still hadn’t gotten back to her about Sal Salgado, but it had been only forty minutes since Gillian had last talked to her.