Buried: A Bone Secrets Novel Part 18

It could have been my death that cops were standing around and discussing.

Jamie's chest quaked, and she concentrated on breathing evenly. She'd fought back against the tattooed man. She'd survived.

But would he be back? And did he have Chris and Brian?

She closed her eyes, tuned out the cop talk, and leaned into Michael, inhaling his scent. Male, strong, protective. She took a few deep breaths and felt his energy flow into her, calming her and giving her strength. He was a power source that she simply touched to recharge. Her phone beeped. She moved away from the discussion and saw that Detective Callahan was calling. Her heart double thumped, and her fingers clenched at the phone.

"h.e.l.lo, Detective."

"Ms. Jacobs. Sorry to be bothering you. I wanted-"

"Detective, has anyone called you about this morning? About the old man who was killed in Demming?"

"What?"

Jamie closed her eyes. "I didn't think so. Michael just told the OSP officer that someone needed to contact you."

"What the h.e.l.l happened?" He nearly roared in her ear.

"I'll let the police tell you everything, but the short version is we found Chris's house and it'd been torn apart just like mine. Chris and his son were gone." Her heart was threatening to pound its way out of her chest. "Then this morning the police discovered a friend of Chris's in town had been murdered and t-t-tortured. It looks like Chris has been here. But I know he didn't do it. I think the same man-"

"Our tattooed man? You think he was there?"

"Yes," Jamie said, thankful Callahan could read her mind.

"c.r.a.p. You think he followed you guys?"

"I don't know. I didn't tell anyone where we were going. Neither did Michael. I asked a neighbor to watch the cat but didn't say anything. We were in such a big hurry."

Jamie could hear Callahan speaking to someone in the background. A second male voice rumbled in answer. He came back on the line. "Who's there from OSP?"

She glanced at the pale officer and checked his name tag. His name had completely escaped her brain. "Hove."

"Okay. I'll get a hold of him. But hang on a minute. I was calling to ask you about the tattoo guy. Anything else that you remembered about him? Anything descriptive?"

Jamie's mind was spinning at insane speeds. "I don't know. No, I can't think of anything new."

Callahan paused. "I was looking back over the officer's notes. The part about where you said you thought he dyed his hair and wore colored contacts?"

"I still feel that way," she started to say. "I don't know how to explain-"

"You felt his coloring was unnatural."

"Yes. Exactly."

"What about his skin color?"

Jamie thought hard. "He was so covered up..."

"But you saw his hands. His wrists where the tattoos were."

She could see the tattoos in her mind. She slid her view down to his fingers. Pale. Pink fingertips. Very pale hands. "Very light-skinned. Really white, I'd say."

"Would you say unnaturally pale?" Callahan prodded.

She thought of the tattooed man's face. "I don't remember his face being so pale."

"Could you see his neck?"

Jamie shuddered. An angry face was filling her vision. The hatred and the fury emanating from his eyes...

"His neck was also white, very white I think. Paler than his face. But that's normal for most people, I think," she babbled.

"Ms. Jacobs...would you say he was possibly albino? And was covering it up?"

Her eyes flew open. Albino? Her brain skittered to a stop. "Yes, that makes perfect sense. The hair, the eyes, the long sleeves, and pants. I can see that now."

"I didn't want to put the thought in your brain," Callahan stated. "I wanted to see if you would come up with it on your own. It's a theory we have, and I just wanted your input."

"What made you ask, Detective?" Had someone else seen him?

"The old Polaroids. We were so focused on the tats, we didn't notice the condition of his skin. It's freakishly white."

"Well, I'd say he's learned to blend in pretty well," Jamie answered. "Albinism didn't cross my mind, but I knew something was off."

"I'll touch base with Hove in a bit. There's no sign of your brother?"

"No. Not yet. If he doesn't already know, someone needs to tell him about the tattooed guy."

"Ms. Jacobs, I suspect he already knows."

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h." Mason shook his head. "I think our tattooed freak followed them to Eastern Oregon."

"Sounds that way," answered Ray. "I don't think anyone knew where they were going. Unless Brody told someone his plans."

"Brody doesn't tell anyone c.r.a.p."

"Agreed. What about Jamie? She tell anyone?"

"She says she didn't. She asked one neighbor to watch the cat but didn't say where she was going."

"Either they were followed or he found Chris Jacobs on his own."

"On the same day?" Mason highly doubted that. "So far we can't even find the guy to interview him. And we've got the best computer system in the world, right?"

Ray choked.

"Either way. Where the f.u.c.k is Chris Jacobs now, and where is our tattooed man? They've left one dead body in their wake. I don't want any more. I gotta call this Hove."

"Hove? Tim Hove?" Ray perked up.

"Beats me."

"I know him from my trooper days. Good man. Actually likes living in the boondocks."

Ray knew everybody.

"Jamie didn't disagree with our albino theory. Sounded solid to her. Lends a little more weight to this being the same guy as twenty years ago and not multiples with similar tattoos. Now I want to know what they've found at that scene."

"Think we need to get over there?" Ray didn't sound excited at the idea of the long drive.

Mason knew there was no need to waste the hours on the road. "I'll touch base with Hove and Luna County and see what they've got. Maybe we'll get lucky and their scene will turn up something useful to point us in the right direction."

Gerald washed his hands in a surprisingly clean men's room at a gas station thirty miles from Demming. The kill had been relatively clean, but he still felt the need to scrub his hands several times. Once the old man had been tied in the chair, the interrogation had been easy. And he'd gotten s.h.i.+t for answers. The old Mexican knew nothing.

His skin suddenly gooseb.u.mped from small electrical pings in his nervous system. The residual effects of the high from the kill. He closed his eyes, exhaled slowly, and relished the small rush. It was almost like a mini-aftershock-o.r.g.a.s.m. The abrupt quivers that continue to shoot through the limbs after the s.e.x is over.

At the bakery, the old man had said he didn't know where Chris would go, claimed he had no friends and no family. Gerald had shown him a picture of Chris's sister, and the old man had shaken his head. He'd never seen her or even known about her. Said Chris's wife was dead. Had died in a car accident when the boy was a baby.

The boy was a surprise.

Gerald wondered what the child looked like. Did he look like his father? Chris had started as a hefty kid when he'd first met him, but by the time he'd escaped, he'd been a tall twig. He laughed out loud in the restroom. Was Chris paranoid about the boy's safety? There were a lot of sick people in the world, people who would abuse a little boy with a lot of pain. No wonder Chris lived like a hermit. He probably was nervous for his kid's safety every day.

If only he could get his hands on that kid.

That would teach Chris for putting him in this position.

Where did they go?

The Mexican knew that Chris had visited Portland in the past but didn't know why. He'd also admitted Chris had been to Mexico a few times. Gerald pondered that statement. Was that good or bad? If Chris was headed to Mexico, he probably had no intention of ever returning. Especially once he heard his buddy Juan was dead. He could probably just let him go...

And the boss would say...

f.u.c.k. He had to push on until Chris Jacobs was dead. He'd let the issue slide for two decades, confident in Chris's lack of memory. But now he was starting to wonder. Jacobs lived like a man who had something to hide. The question was: Did he have sufficient motivation to keep it hidden?

Moot point. The waiting time was over.

It was time to clean up the mess that was Chris Jacobs. And he was stoked to do it. This little adventure from the boss had gotten his blood pumping. He'd kept his sordid side buried for a long time, keeping his other business only to himself. This time it was like he'd been given permission. Sometimes it felt like he had two lives. One to show the public and one just for him. This time his boss knew exactly what he was doing; it was almost like having an observer. G.o.d, that felt good.

His boss hadn't given him an a.s.signment like this in years. It was great to know he was needed for something besides the other mundane daily tasks he did for the boss. He had skills. Lately, there hadn't been any use for them.

He finished up in the restroom and stepped into the tiny convenience store to pay for his gas. The overweight clerk was alone, his gaze glued to a tiny TV set mounted behind the counter near the ceiling as he sipped on a straw from the biggest soda cup Gerald had ever seen. He glanced at Gerald and then bounced his gaze back to the TV.

"All set?" There was black decay between all of the clerk's front teeth.

Probably sucks on sugary c.o.ke all day long.

Gerald nodded and pulled cash out of his wallet, eyeing a Hostess display with Twinkies and Ding Dongs. The clerk's teeth made him change his mind.

"I can't believe it's been almost ten years since someone was murdered in Luna County," the clerk said as he punched b.u.t.tons on his register.

"What?" Gerald looked at the TV. A news reporter was standing on a familiar street in Demming. He couldn't make out her words. "What happened?"

"Someone murdered the bakery owner in Demming last night. They're clueless on what happened." The clerk slapped the change in Gerald's hand without counting it back.

Rude. Lazy. Sloppy.

Gerald felt a slow burn of anger start in his chest and swell outward.

"Stupid police out here don't even know what to do with a murder." The clerk picked up his cup, sucked at the straw, and turned his back on Gerald, his focus on the TV.

Gerald envisioned the clerk unconscious on the floor behind the counter with blood seeping from his ear. Gerald's skin p.r.i.c.kled in a good way.

"Look at those idiots. Just standing-holy c.r.a.p! Check her out."

Gerald looked.

Jamie Jacobs stood out from the circle of cops. Next to her, Michael Brody held her hand. The scene was shot from a camera across the street, as the reporter droned on. But Jamie stood out. Long legs, long black hair, perfect a.s.s.

"f.u.c.k. I ain't never seen a piece like that around here. I'd like to tap me some of that." The clerk took a long, noisy suck at the straw.

Gerald stared at the clerk and swallowed the small bit of bile that had risen at the thought of the sloppy man with someone like Jamie. Revulsion curled his upper lip.

"Looks like someone's already gettin' some," the clerk chortled. "Lucky dude."

Gerald glanced at the TV. Apparently, the cameraman found Jamie pleasant to focus on. He'd zoomed in on her and Michael Brody, who'd moved his arm around her shoulders. Even Gerald could pick up the protective waves flowing off Brody and across Jamie.

What'd Brody think of the mess inside the bakery? Coulda been your girlfriend...

Did they know where Chris would turn up next? They probably wouldn't be standing around if they did. Gerald twisted his lips. He had to figure out Chris's next move. Following the sister had worked pretty well, but now she looked lost and confused.

Too bad her time with Gerald had been so short. They could have had a lot more fun. Kinda like he'd had with the old Mexican.

Maybe...

Maybe the sister simply didn't know that she held a clue to where Chris was going next. Maybe she just needed motivation like he'd given the old man. Or would Michael Brody be more motivated to hunt down Chris Jacobs if his girlfriend was threatened?

Gerald knew of two men who would probably do anything to protect Jamie Jacobs. There had to be an advantage for him in that fact. An idea started to simmer in the back of his brain, hovering just out of sight.

What if...

He was in the middle of nowhere, and all the police for hundreds of miles were focused on a tiny bakery. They didn't even know what they were looking for. And he knew where Jamie and Brody were staying in Demming.

What would Chris do if the police found a bunch of Twinkies in place of Jamie?

Would that bring him out of hiding?

Gerald dumped his change on the counter and fished a few more bills out of his pocket.