Cutter (Gail McCarthy Mystery series) (20 page)

It was all too possible, I thought. Will would have had his hands full at the Futurity; he'd probably had upwards of a dozen horses to show, some of which he would have trained himself and been really interested in. He could easily have never looked twice at the horse called Gus.

"So Casey caught you?" I stared up at Dave Allison's still-grinning face.

"That goddamned Casey was a little prick. I was sure as shit glad to kill him, I can tell you. Bastard never did anything but try and make trouble for me. See where it got him."

I remembered Melissa saying that Casey had beat Dave up when he came to get the horse, and recalled Dave's almost taunting glances at Casey at the cutting. Casey had made a worse enemy than he knew.

Dave was rolling now, distracted from whatever his plans were for me, interested in boasting. "I'll tell you, this thing was my idea, all mine, from the very beginning. The horse business is full of crooks; everybody in it is trying to cheat everybody else. If you want to win, you've just got to be the smartest. I used to be an honest horse trainer and look what happened. I was starving. I never made any money. But I figured out how you could make money, and I waited. Waited for the right guy to come along." Dave laughed.

Despite my situation, I almost felt like laughing, too. Dave's view of the world. An innocent horse trainer, trying to make it in a crooked business and having to cheat to survive. No mention that you needed talent and a good horse and willingness to work hard. Dave had apparently wanted an easier system.

In his watery eyes pure enjoyment showed. He saw me, I could tell, simply as an enemy, a threat. He had no sense of me as a human being, no sense that he was wrong to do this. I would never reach him through appeals to his morals or his pity. The only thing that counted to him was Dave and if I was a danger to Dave he would eliminate me. My best hope was to keep him talking.

"How'd you kill Casey?"

"It was easy. That goddamned Casey called me on the phone, told me he knew I'd given Will a ringer to ride, said he knew why. Said he'd ruin me. Next thing I knew Will called me and said Casey was telling him the horse was a ringer. I smoothed Will down, but I knew I had to do something about Casey.

"I just drove up to that spot where you can see the whole ranch the next morning and waited. I've gathered cattle on that ranch a dozen times in the past year; I know all the trails. When I saw which way Casey was taking that roan mare, I zipped on down the hill and waited for him. Easiest thing in the world to brain him with a rock. I made good and sure he was dead before I left. End of my troubles."

Ducking away from the too-obvious glee he felt in the killing, I asked, "Why'd you poison the horses to begin with?"

"You ain't even figured that out. Well, I had my reasons. But I poisoned a few more of them just to bother that damn Casey. If I'd had any luck at all the fucking cinch I cut would have broken at the right time and killed him. Spared me a lot of trouble."

The childish cruelty in his voice was more frightening than any amount of heavy menace. I made another effort. "Come on, Dave, what'd I ever do to you? Let me go and I'll help you. A vet could be useful."

"I'm not so stupid, honey. You'd get me in the end. Now shut up if you don't want your pretty little face all bruised."

He turned away toward the bag he'd set down, and my mind spun uselessly. I needed something-a lever, a bribe-something to influence him.

I tried the only thing I could think of. "You won't get away with this. I told the cops what I know, and Melissa knows Will rode a ringer. She's the one that told me."

Dave didn't stop rooting in his bag. "I don't think you told the cops anything, honey, because I haven't heard from them. And I sure ain't worried about Melissa." He turned back to me with a wide grin. "Melissa's dead."

Chapter TWENTY-ONE

The shock of it froze me for a long moment. Somehow I believed him absolutely. Melissa was dead and he'd killed her.

"But why?" I finally blurted out. "She didn't suspect you. She wasn't even interested. She wouldn't have pursued it."

"Precautions." He was rummaging in the bag again, getting things out. "A smart man takes precautions and old Dave is no dummy. Who knows what Casey might have told her. I decided I didn't need her running around. Yep, I took care of her today. She's in that truck of his, deader than a stone, in the bottom of a canyon in the Lost Hills. With any luck it'll be spring before someone finds her. And if it's sooner, so what. She took off, like her note says-part of a letter she wrote to her sister, the dumb bitch-took a back road, and got in a wreck. Nobody'll think any different.

"I was just sneaking back up to her place to tidy it up, make it look more like she'd left for good, when I saw you poking around. I watched you; you were a sitting duck in that window, and I figured out soon enough what you were up to, so I loosened all the lug nuts on one of your wheels. If you'd bought the farm in that wreck it would have been no big deal, but since you didn't, I've got other plans for you. People are gonna notice when you're not at the office tomorrow morning. I've got a use for you."

My skin prickled at his words; my mouth felt dry. What was he getting out of the bag? What was he going to do?

I stared at the things he'd set out. My God. An ax, some split kindling, newspapers, a box of matches, lighter fluid and a fire extinguisher. Oh my God. He was going to set the barn on fire. I couldn't believe it. Had to believe it. I stared at the objects on the straw, as mesmerized as a mouse with a snake.

Dave was crinkling up the newspaper. My heart pounded. I could feel clammy sweat in my armpits. I was going to die. Be burned to death.

I found myself hoping he'd knock me out before he did it, and shuddered at the thought of the rushing blackness. The end. End of everything I'd ever known, everything I might have hoped for.

Images flashed into my mind. My parents-would I see them? Lonny-regret for what we would never have, now. Blue and Gunner-who would take care of them?

I wasn't ready to die, my mind screamed. I hadn't lived enough. Stop it, I told myself fiercely. Think. My mind flopped like a jellyfish. Fear was unrelenting. Think. Think.

Twigs snapped somewhere outside the barn. For a second my heart leapt wildly in hope and I opened my mouth to yell. Crackle. Crunch. Silence. Deer, I thought, it's just the deer.

Dave was frozen by his pile of kindling, listening. Suddenly, he lunged across the barn and grabbed my hair. Pain shot through my scalp as he jerked my head back and forced the gag up in my mouth. I could smell his breath, feel the heat of his body. Rough stubby fingers jerked the scarf until it cut my lips, then tied it tight.

Crackle. Crash. Corning closer.

Dave stood, listening. I could see the uncertainty on his face. Picking up the flashlight, he adjusted the beam so it was narrow and focused rather than diffuse, and strode out of the barn, the light bobbing away with him.

Blackness reigned. Think. The objects that had come out of the bag. The objects that hadn't been there before. Suddenly, I knew what to do.

Visualizing the barn interior as accurately as I could, I flopped over, rolling toward where I remembered them as being. Not too far away. Maybe ten feet.

Flop. Roll. My face thudded into the hay. I felt no pain, only wrenching anxiety. Twisting, I searched with my face, brushed something hard, splintery. Wood.

The kindling. The ax was next to it. I wriggled, felt the edge of the ax blade with my face, twisted until my wrists were against it, and rubbed furiously, heedless of skin and blood.

Back and forth, back and forth, as much pressure as I could apply. I could feel the ax cutting the rope, but it was slow. Stay away, Dave, I prayed. Please stay away.

One piece of rope gave, then another. I jerked my wrists apart, sat up, grabbed the ax, and started working on my feet.

Too late. A faint light bobbed in the distance. Dave was corning back.

I sawed furiously at the ropes around my ankles. One gave, then another, and I pulled them off. I could see the round yellow circle of the flashlight beam. Too late to run, too late to ambush him as he walked in the door. Gripping the ax, I scrambled to my feet and almost fell.

Desperately I steadied myself. Took the half second remaining to bend my aching knee, take a deep breath, tighten my grip on the ax. I stood there, swaying slightly, but crouched and ready, with the ax poised over my shoulder like a batter, when Dave's light touched me.

In the glow, I could see his face fall in a way that would have been funny under any other circumstances. He'd expected me tied up and helpless; instead, he saw me free and wielding an ax.

He had a second of real doubt, I could tell, and my heart soared. If he'd been carrying a gun, surely he would simply have pulled it out and shot me. Instead, his face hardened into lines of resolve; he swung the heavy black truncheon of a flashlight over his shoulder in an imitation of my stance.

"Oh yeah," he grunted. Balancing myself, I tried to be ready and let him make the first move.

He swung the flashlight at me in an obvious feint and I sidestepped. Realized how weak I was. Took a desperate grip on myself and waited for him to swing again.

He must have read my weakness because he came in fast and hard, swinging the flashlight at my face. I dodged and parried with the ax and he launched a savage kick at me. I saw it coming and got out of the way, but I nearly fell down doing it.

We faced off again, weaving and faking moves in the jerking flashlight beam, locked onto each other in a sick parody of a cutting horse on a cow.

This can't go on, I thought. I have to look for a spot to hit him and try and knock him out. I have to.

I waited for him to rush me again, but he caught me by surprise and threw the flashlight at me. Light and darkness swirled wildly and it hit me in one shoulder. I dropped the ax.

He started to come in on me with his fists, saw the ax fall, changed his mind and went for it. I had a split second to think. No use wrestling Dave for the ax; I hadn't a chance. I saw the fire extinguisher in the beam of the rolling flashlight and reached down for it.

I almost didn't come up. Dave had the ax and swung it at me in one fierce motion. I felt it coming and threw myself sideways. He missed me by a hair, but the violent jerk was too much for my fragile balance and I ended up on my side in the hay, clutching the fire extinguisher.

Dave was coming at me with the ax above his head and all his strength gathered for the downward swing. I aimed the fire extinguisher at him and pulled the trigger.

White powdery dust shot in his face, catching him totally by surprise. Some of it got in his eyes, and the ax came down to the left of me. I kept spraying it at him as well as I could, and struggled to my feet.

His coughs mingled with choked yells of "bitch" and the air between us was full of white chalky powder. I held my breath. He swung the ax savagely in all directions, unable to see, a major leaguer desperate for a grand slam.

He couldn't see, I thought. Timing it as well as I could, I waited until he was off balance, gathered myself and lunged in, kicking him in the groin.

He screamed, stumbled, went down. I grabbed the ax, hardly thinking, swung it over my shoulder and brought the flat side of it down on the back of his head, hard. He crumpled instantly. Dead or alive, I thought, you bastard, I don't care.

For a long second I stared at him, helpless and silent on the ground. Then I turned, picked up the flashlight, and started out of the barn.

Chapter TWENTY-TWO

Once outside, shock seemed to catch up with me. I had no idea where to go, no idea where I was. The flashlight showed a forest around me and a dirt road running off through the trees. I followed the road.

Thoughts, disconnected, disbelieving, swirled through my mind as I tromped along in the bobbing beam of light. The night was still and dark, moonless as far as I could tell in this tunnel of trees. From what Dave had said, I was pretty sure it was the same night.

Night from hell, I thought grimly. My knee throbbed painfully as adrenaline seeped out of my system; I felt weak and trembly all over. My leg muscles twitched. I kept walking. Eventually this road would lead somewhere. It had to.

It took a long time, or I thought so, anyway, but eventually the dirt road, muddy in patches from the recent rain, and impassable for anything but a four-wheel-drive vehicle, joined a paved road. There by the side, half hidden in a clump of trees, was a pickup. Dave's pickup. Hopefully I tried the door and found it unlocked.

Hope died a second later. Dave had taken the keys. I was not, absolutely not, going to go back to the barn and look through his pockets. I would just keep walking. The question was, which way?

The paved road gave no hints. Narrow and unmarked, it boasted no road signs, no indications of any sort what it was or where it was. I could be anywhere in the world, as far as I knew.

No, that's not true, I told myself. It's the same night. I must be in central California somewhere; he couldn't have taken me much further away.

Central California is a big area. I stared up at the sky-what I could see of it through the trees. Some faint stars, but they didn't reveal anything to me. I needed to choose a direction. Dave might merely be out for a few minutes. If he came to, the first thing he'd do would be aim for his pickup.

The thought shoved me into motion. The road sloped slightly; I chose the downhill direction on the somewhat illogical grounds that one should always follow a creek downstream, if lost in the woods.

A road is not a creek, I told myself, but what the hell. I trudged. My feet were getting cold. My knee throbbed. I hoped and prayed the batteries in the flashlight were good and strong, wondered if maybe a car would come down the road.