The Breathtaker Page 8

“You know nothing about this stuff, do you?”

  He shrugged. “My father took me chasing once. It was an unmitigated disaster.”

  “Unmitigated?”

  “Fiasco.”

  “What happened?”

  “We painted ourselves into a corner. Floods, lightning, hail. We were critically low on gas with an extremely violent storm approaching.”

  She smiled. “Sounds like fun.”

  “Yeah, right. A whole barrel of monkeys.”

  “What’s his chase vehicle?”

  “A gray Loadmaster pickup truck, circa 1951.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Always with the cowboy hat? White hair? One of those die-hard chasers who just dispense with the technology and go on sheer gut?”

  “You know him?”

  “I’ve seen him around, yeah.” She smiled and caught her lip between her teeth. “I admire crusty old codgers like him. Some of the best chasers I know forgo all the bells and whistles and just follow their noses.”

  “What about you?”

  “Me? Nah. I like bells and whistles.”

  Sparks. Definite sparks. It scared the hell out of him. “So what got you started in this field?” he asked, his palms beginning to sweat.

  “I grew up in Texas. Red dirt, sandstorms, the whole bit. There wasn’t a whole lot to do in our little town. Just church, matinee movies and storm-chasing.”

  “So you got bit by the bug early on, huh?”

  “I admit it. I’m an adrenaline junkie.”

  “Do you chase often?”

  “Every chance I get.” She continued to smile warmly at him. “Basically there aren’t any hard-and-fast rules, Charlie. Storm-chasing’s an art form.”

  He sloshed his cola around in its can, not wanting to leave just yet. He wanted to ask her out, but he was more than a little nervous about it. Some people were repulsed by his scars. He could see it in their eyes. He didn’t want to see it in hers. Back at the station house, he’d occasionally roll up his shirtsleeves and use his scars to intimidate street punks, breach their comfort zones; but with women, you never knew. He’d had a few brief love affairs—if you could call them that—after Maddie had died, drunken encounters with barfly secretaries and middle-aged department store clerks. Stumbling back to their place; a nervous fumbling of buttons; whiskey-soaked breath. And each time, he couldn’t wait to get out of there. It bothered him that he hadn’t called them back afterward, not even out of common courtesy. He didn’t want to be one of those jerks.

  “So you’ve only been storm-chasing once in your entire life?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “I don’t make any apologies for it.”

  A wine-colored flush spilled upward from her collarbone. “You’d like it, Charlie. I’m not kidding. It’s such a rush when the sky goes from benign to explosive, and the road feels suddenly so small… you’re chasing the dragon’s tail, doing eighty… hail bouncing off the pavement… bolts of lightning shooting up and down the wall cloud…”

  “Sounds awesome.”

  “It is.” She glanced at her watch.

  “Am I keeping you?”

  “Yeah, and in such a pleasant way.”

  An electric current seemed to run through the room. But Charlie was very good at dropping the ball. “One other thing,” he said. “Do you know anyone who’s really good at finding tornadoes? I mean, exceptionally good?”

  She took a swig of soda and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I don’t know anybody who’s capable of predicting on a consistent basis when or where a tornado will land.”

  They watched one another for a moment. Her eyes were wide and curious, letting it all in, and he felt a wave of pleasure. He stood up and set his empty soda can down on the metal chair seat. “Well… thanks for your help.”

  “Thanks? That’s all I get?” An odd smile parted her lips. “We’re so formal all of a sudden. Listen, Charlie, I’d love to take you chasing one of these days. Show you the ropes. That way, you could see for yourself how unpredictable it is.”

  “Careful. I might just take you up on that.”

  “You know where to find me, right?”

  He could feel several different sensations passing between them, and it frightened him. It was an awkward moment, but also strangely wonderful. The last time he’d felt this way was with Maddie. The first time he and Maddie ever made love, she kept wanting to undress him, and he kept pushing her hands away. He eased off his shoes—just the shoes—then lay down fully clothed on top of the bed and rested his body against hers for a long while, afraid to let her look at him. His hands were balled into fists, and she carefully pried them open and kissed his moist open palms. She took his middle finger into her mouth and sucked on it very gently, and finally he let her unbutton his shirt, pull off his jeans, slide down his underwear. He let her take control while his body burned. She ran her hands, light as feathers, over his ruined flesh. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, “like a map… like a lovely, living map.” With a kind of whacked-out wonder, he let her explore his entire body until the self-consciousness left him and lust took over.

  Now as he headed for the door, Willa reached out to stop him. “Charlie?” He noticed that her fingernails were painted the same Wedgwood blue as her toenails, which he could see through the cinnamon-colored hose. “This morning, when I heard about the murders? It reminded me of something.”

  He waited.

  “Remember that F-3 last March in Texas?”

  He shook his head.

  “A lot of people got trapped in the rubble. Help wasn’t getting there fast enough, so a few of us formed a search-and-rescue team. There was this one house… it was conventionally constructed with wooden bottom plates nailed to the foundation. No straps or anchor bolts. I mean, a house like that in Tornado Alley? All you’ve got is a few nails anchoring the frame to the foundation.” She shook her head in anger. “I’m talking total collapse.”

  “The house was in the damage path?”

  She nodded. “I forget their last name. A young couple. So sad. Anyway, we went looking for survivors in the voids. Both victims had been impaled with flying debris… it was gruesome. The man was DOS, but the woman was semiconscious.”

  Charlie nodded. “Go on.”

  “She died of her injuries five hours later. She didn’t make it.” Willa paused to reflect. “But as I was driving her to the hospital, she said a few things that didn’t make any sense. Things that really disturbed me.”

  “Like what?”

  “‘Please don’t kill me.’ Stuff like that. She sounded terrified. ‘Someone’s in the house… Oh no… Please don’t hurt us.’ Over and over. I just figured she was delirious. I thought she was hallucinating, but now I think maybe there’s more to it than that.”

  He narrowed his eyes at the possibility. “Where was this again?”

  10

  THAT AFTERNOON, he left wheat-and-sunflower country behind and crossed the border into East Texas, where most of the dirt roads twisting through the surrounding prairie ended in scattered oil wells that coughed up a few precious barrels of crude a day. He could see the birdlike bobbings of the one-cylinder jacks in the distant flint rock hills, where the grass grew wild and untrammeled. A jackrabbit darted in front of the car and bounded across the road, giving him a sudden twinge in the pit of his stomach, and he tightened his grip on the wheel.

  Charlie took the next exit to Wink, where dust devils swirled across the stubbled fields and abandoned foundations were spray-painted “Hey, Dorothy!” and “Been there, done that!” Last year’s tornado had cut a spotty but destructive sixteen-mile swath through Parson and Cribbs Counties, leaving behind vacant lots and rows of utility poles stripped down to their original pine skin. Downtown Wink consisted of a cluster of one-story buildings beneath a low gray sky. You could tell the town was suffering. Main Street was wide and inviting, with giveaways and balloons tied to the parking meters, and many enticing signs in the plate-glass windows hinting at tr
ouble ahead. WOW! CAN’T BEAT THESE PRICES!!!

  Charlie followed directions past the town’s only bank with its outdoor ATM down a lone country road, where a pack of dogs ran alongside the car, their tongues flapping like flags. After a few more miles, he pulled into a trailer park, where the sheriff had set up temporary quarters after the tornado had blown the roof off the town hall last March. The Mirador Motor-In was equipped with RV hookups, a communal rest room and a vintage ten-stool diner. Tonight’s special was sweet potato pie. The Pepsi thermometer above the doorway read a balmy eighty-two degrees.

  Charlie found the trailer without a hitch, a Bluebird Wanderlodge whose retro blue and silver body was peppered with hail dents. Sheriff Jimmy L’Amoureux greeted him at the door. He was one of those Native Americans with the kind of weather-beaten good looks and thick, waist-length hair that made you consider getting hair plugs. Squinting across the dusty fields beyond Charlie’s shoulder, L’Amoureux said, “You used to be able to see my house from here. But then Mother Nature got out the wrecking ball.”

  They shook hands. At six foot five, Charlie was used to being the tallest authority figure in any room, but L’Amoureux beat him by a good couple of inches. They ducked their heads under the doorway as they went inside. “I’m in the middle of something, but I can spare a few minutes,” L’Amoureux told him, more polite than friendly.

  “I appreciate it.” Charlie removed his hat and followed him into a long, narrow space crowded with office furniture. He glanced around at the rich blond-wood interior. At the far end of the trailer was an efficient-looking kitchen area, dirty dishes stacked high in a chrome sink. On one of the windows, somebody’d scrawled “Clean me!” in the dust with their finger.

  “Take a seat,” L’Amoureux said, propping his cowboy boots on a desktop so cluttered with old case files and ammunition clips you couldn’t see through to the wood.

  “Looks like you folks are bouncing back,” Charlie said in an upbeat way. The sheriff gave him a bemused expression. “I suppose you think it’s progress for a cannibal to use a napkin,” he said in a thick Texas drawl.

  Charlie frowned. He wasn’t expecting sarcasm.

  L’Amoureux folded his long arms across his massive chest. “Look, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, ‘The town’ll bounce back, we’ll be better than ever.’ That’s what you’re thinking to yourself, am I right?”

  He gave a reluctant nod.

  “Last year, shopkeepers were sweeping up broken glass, everything was in splinters. We had waist-deep debris, twisted cars, battered homes and businesses. And all I kept thinking was, ‘We’re gonna pull through, it’s gonna be better than ever.’ Blah, blah, blah.” He gave an indifferent shrug. “Just you wait.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  He smiled cagily, his eyes half-closed. “When you find out the factory outlet will not be rebuilt, it kind of puts a kink in your day. They employed seventy-five people. Four other businesses canceled their leases. So you see, we’re bouncing back just fine,” he said bitterly.

  Charlie’s spine stiffened. “Look, I’m asshole-deep in worries here, Sheriff. I’m coming to you in a friendly way, trying to get a little cooperation, but all I’m getting is one loud lecture.”

  L’Amoureux snapped his gaze back inside the room. “So what’s this all about, then? To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

  Charlie cleared his throat. “I’m interested in anything you can tell me about the couple who died last year.”

  “The Keels?” L’Amoureux licked his lips. “Audra was a housewife. Pretty little thing. Into saving whales and other hippie causes. Matt was a traveling salesman. His pockets were always beeping and buzzing with cell phones and pagers and what-have-you. He was an amateur photographer, and he looked like a ballroom dancer, to tell you the truth. Always so meticulously groomed.”

  “I heard their house collapsed?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And she was still alive when they pulled her out of the rubble?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And she said some things?”

  L’Amoureux looked at him sideways. “Where the hell are you going with this, Chief?”

  Charlie figured he would have to pitch his cause in order to get a little cooperation. “Look,” he said, leaning forward, “you’ve heard about our triple homicide, right?”

  He nodded curtly.

  “It happened around the same time the tornado hit. A family was murdered in cold blood, in a ritualistic fashion. They were attacked with weapons made out of wood, but they looked like pieces of flying debris.”

  “So you’re coming to me in a friendly way to let me know that the Keels were murdered, too?”

  “That’s what I’m here to find out.”

  L’Amoureux snorted derisively and shook his head, all that long gray hair shimmering down his back like a rope of mercury. “Are you sure about this? Because lemme tell you something. Ain’t nobody gonna commit murder in the shadow of an F-3. End of story. Tornadoes are unpredictable. They’re indiscriminate and dangerous. Look at us, Grover. We’ve got badges and guns, but when it comes to a tornado, there’s not a damn thing we can do about it. People will die. Buildings will fall. Shit will happen. You can hold your breath longer than it took to destroy all this.” He nodded vaguely out the window, his eyes growing remote.

  “Whoever killed the Peppers knew a severe storm was headed our way. As the storm progressed, he was able to hone his forecast.”

  L’Amoureux rolled his eyes.

  “We found smooth glove prints and handmade weapons at the crime scene, which means it was premeditated. The crime itself was so well planned and executed I find it hard to believe he hasn’t done it before. So I’ll ask you again, did Audra Keel make a dying declaration?”

  L’Amoureux clasped his big hands together. “Whatever she said that day, it didn’t make much sense.”

  “What’d she say?”

  “She just babbled.”

  Charlie opened the manila folder on his lap. “These autopsies have been sealed by court order. Certain details have been kept confidential. I’d like it to stay that way.”

  With an impatient grunt, L’Amoureux let his feet drop to the floor. “Hand it over,” he said, reaching for the file. After a few minutes of intense concentration, he looked up. “Okay, you’ve got my attention. Now, just what was it you were hoping to accomplish here?”

  “I’d like to exhume the bodies.”

  He touched the tips of his fingers together. “Look, this is a bizarre, perplexing case. But you’re gonna have to trust me. We examined the bodies at the scene. Cause of death was traumatic injuries due to two-hundred-mile-per-hour winds.”

  “Did you find any defensive wounds? Did you examine the flying debris? Did your coroner look inside the victims’ mouths?”

  The sheriff leaned forward, marbled veins showing in his thick bull neck. “Are you questioning my methodology, Chief?”

  “No, of course not.” Charlie chose his words carefully. “But like you said, you had your hands full that day. There’s no reason you should’ve stopped in the middle of all that chaos and devastation and suspected foul play. Hundreds injured, destruction on a massive scale. You folks were basically on your own. Searching for survivors. Dozers and cranes. Gas leaks. I know the score, I just went through it myself. It knocks you sideways.”

  L’Amoureaux’s voice contained a drop of doubt. “Total of eight dead. That’s a lot in a small town like ours. Hundreds injured. No hospital. We were literally in the dark.”

  Charlie examined his palms, full of the kinds of lines that supposedly foretold your future. “All I’m saying is, if the Keels were victims of the same killer, we’d be able to tell right away by examining their teeth.”

  “And if you’re wrong?”

  “Then it’s not your problem.”

  L’Amoureux gazed into some middle distance, his mind turning it over. He had a rough face with broad cheekbo
nes and the kind of steadfast gaze that never seemed to express a moment’s hesitation. “Okay,” he decided. “I’ll have a talk with the next of kin.”

  “Great.”

  “But it’s up to them. They’ve been through plenty already. If they say no, then it’s over.”

  “Fair enough.”

  The minifridge shifted gears, and Charlie’s pager went off at the same time, sending tremors of exasperation through his body. He breathed deep, checked the number. It was Mike. “Can I use your phone?”

  “Help yourself.” L’Amoureux swung the old-fashioned rotary phone around on his desk, then walked down to the far end of the trailer, where he started tackling the dirty dishes, running water in the sink.

  “Hey, boss,” Mike said. “Good news. Our buddies over at the NWS just FedExed us a bunch of pictures of the Promise tornado. They’re up to their eyeballs in the stuff, apparently. It comes flooding in on a regular basis. Weather geeks helping out their fellow weather weenies…”

  “Great. Put Nick to work on it right away. See if he can get some freeze-frames of vehicles and faces, license plates, you know the drill. Then I want you to send the results over to my house ASAP.”

  “Your house?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be working at home tonight. I promised Sophie. She’s all alone.”

  “Say hi for me, wouldja? And listen, Chief, I asked Jake Wheaton to come in for the sole purpose of answering a few questions, but get this. He’s threatening to lawyer up.”

  “Okay, hold off on that. Don’t provoke him any further. What about Rob Pepper’s brother?”

  “He alibied convincingly. We cut him loose with apologies. He didn’t provide any significant information.”

  “Did we get the blood results back yet?”

  “Too early, Chief.”

  “Call Art Danbury. Put a rush on it.”

  “Okay, boss.”

  “Go grill a few people.” He hung up and dialed his daughter’s number.

  “It’s me,” Sophie answered breathlessly, as if she’d been expecting his call.

  “Hello, you. This is the other me.”