Nine Lives (14 page)

At first she circled the clearing slowly, hoping to find signs that would tell her they were in the right place. As she walked, she began widening the circle in the same way that they'd searched from the air. Within minutes, she found tracks.

In themselves, they meant little. Tracks were tracks. They could have been left by anyone. She paused, then knelt.

“What did you find?” the pilot asked.

“Skid marks from another chopper and some boot tracks,” she said.

Melvin grinned. “I told you a whirlybird had been here.” He turned around to check the oil gauge as Cat stood up.

Cat stood there for a moment without moving, looking for the next sign that would tell her which way to go. Wind suddenly gusted through the trees and blew wisps of hair into her eyes. As she turned away, her gaze landed directly on what appeared to be drag marks.

Breath caught in the back of her throat. She hesitated, then moved toward them, and as she did, she saw the occasional footprint off to the side, as if someone had been staggering while dragging a load.

A slight panic set in. This was what she'd come for, but she suddenly wasn't so sure she was ready for the truth. Bracing herself for failure, she took a deep breath and started to walk, taking care not to step into the tracks in case this place proved to be a crime scene.

She walked until she was almost out of sight of the chopper, then turned and looked back. Melvin was standing beside the bird, intently watching her. When he saw her turn, he waved to indicate he was paying attention.

She waved back.

The thought that she was not alone in these woods was suddenly comforting.

Something rustled in the underbrush, and she jumped as a rabbit bounded out from beneath a thicket.

“Easy now,” she told herself, and continued to move, only it was becoming more and more difficult to see where the tracks were going.

The leaves were thicker here and had blown around enough that it was difficult to follow the trail. Just when she thought she'd gone the wrong way, she walked up on one of Mimi's shoes. As she did, it felt as if someone had kicked her square in the belly. Breath ceased, and spots swam before her eyes. She had to grab onto a tree to steady herself, then, finally, bend over and put her head between her knees to keep from passing out.

Seeing the shoe in a place like this was like being run over. She felt empty and all at once hopeless, but she couldn't give up. She owed it to Mimi to see this through.

Gritting her teeth, she stood up. Knowing the shoe would be evidence, she left it where it was and kept moving forward.

Within twenty yards, she walked up on a steep drop-off.

It was a ravine about thirty yards across and at least a hundred yards deep, maybe more—the sides sheer and the bottom completely covered in pine trees and brush. With all the undergrowth, depth perception would have been non-existent from the air. It would have appeared as green and flat as the rest of the conifer-covered land.

By the time she reached the rim, she was shaking. She had to look. It was the reason she'd come. But knowing that and doing it were two different things. She was still struggling with herself when she finally looked down.

The rim marked a drop-off with no slope. She stared down into it until her vision blurred, and still she saw nothing to indicate that a body had been thrown over the edge. Blinking away angry tears, she turned her back on the ravine and began searching beneath the trees, looking for signs of digging that would signify something had recently been buried.

Ten minutes passed, then fifteen; then thirty minutes came and went as she continued to search. Twice she thought she'd found something suspicious, only to realize what she'd been seeing was nothing more than an accumulation of rotting leaves.

Frustrated, she walked back to the edge of the ravine and looked down again. She was convinced that no one could have gone down there, but she had to be sure. She walked back and forth along the rim, looking for a path. She saw nothing, and after a few more minutes, she convinced herself there was no way anyone could have been in there on foot, let alone walked in with a body, then walked back out.

She didn't know how long she'd been standing there when she realized she was looking at a path after all. But it wasn't a path and footprints—it was a line of broken limbs that had been made through the brush, something that might have occurred if something heavy had rolled through.

Her throat tightened as she sank to her knees. Then she leaned farther forward, her fingernails digging into the mud and leaves as she clung to the edge. The sensation of falling made her stomach roll. She looked quickly at first, then rocked back on her heels until her head quit spinning.

She needed to look again, only this time, she told herself, she wasn't pulling back until she was convinced there was nothing there. She lay down on her belly and then leaned out over the rim, hanging on to a young sapling for added balance.

At first, all she could see were the trees—green cedar and pines, and blue spruce, as far down as the eye could see—but there was still the faint path of broken limbs angling a little to the right of where she was lying.

She leaned a little bit farther out, and that was when she saw it—a flash of red, deep beneath a pile of dead wood and pines. Even though it was what she'd been looking for, her heart sank.

Mimi's new coat had been red.

“God…oh God.”

Tears burned her throat as she scooted away from the edge. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and then tried to stand, but her legs wouldn't work. Instead of going for help, she fell backward. As she did, the trees around her turned into long green fingers, pointing upward toward heaven. At that point Cat realized she was seeing what Mimi must have seen—her last glimpse of the world into which she'd been born.

She rolled over on her belly and looked back down into the crevasse. From this angle, she could see more of the coat and what appeared to be a sleeve draped over a dead limb.

Even as she was looking, she wasn't processing the truth. She scooted back from the rim and began crawling away, as if something was after her. She was on her hands and knees when she started to scream.

She was still screaming when Melvin emerged from the trees. He'd been scared shitless a few times in his life, but never quite as abruptly as this.

The moment he'd heard her first scream, he'd started running. Somewhere along the way he'd lost his cap, and the sparse hair left on his head was swirled in every direction.

Shaking in every limb, he dropped down beside her.

“Miss Dupree…uh…lady…oh hell…honey, honey, what happened? What in hell happened? Did you fall? Are you hurt?”

Still sobbing, Cat rocked back on her heels. For a second she couldn't remember who he was or why he was there. And then he touched her.

She looked up.

“Melvin?”

“Yeah, honey, it's me. Did you fall?”

“No.”

“Then what's wrong?” he asked.

“She's down there. My friend…my Mimi…she's in the ravine.”

Melvin grunted as if he'd been punched, then stood quickly, pulling Cat up as he went.

She was taller than him and at least twenty years younger, but she was as weak as a baby. He steadied her with an arm around her waist and then walked with her back to the rim.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

She nodded.

He hesitated to look over, but like a witness to a bad wreck, he found that he couldn't look away. He followed the line of her finger as she pointed downward. At first he saw nothing; then, like Cat, he saw the spot of red in the midst of all that green.

“Is that her…the red color?”

Cat nodded. “It's her coat. She was wearing it when I saw her last.”

“I'll be damned,” Melvin mumbled, then became the voice of reason. “Come on, now. We got to get back to the chopper and notify the authorities. If we hurry, maybe they can get her up before dark.”

“I'll just wait here and—”

Skippy frowned. “No. You're coming with me.”

Cat slumped. He was right. She didn't need to be here. She'd found Mimi. Now she had to make sure the cops arrested the right man.

 

Wilson was signing off on the return of the drug pusher who'd jumped bail when his cell phone rang. He glanced at it briefly, but when he realized it was Cat, he quickly shifted gears. He tossed the pen back to the desk sergeant.

“He's all yours,” he said, and answered his phone. “Hey, you.” When she didn't immediately answer, he thought they had a bad connection. Then she said his name, and he heard tears in her voice.

“Cat! Catherine! What's wrong?”

“I found her,” Cat said.

Wilson felt disoriented. Despite the fact that he'd known Cat was serious about a search, he'd had a hard time believing she could just take off and find her friend the first time out. It took a few moments for him to realize how much information they'd sifted through before she'd started looking. Obviously her suspicions had been right on target. It was hard to believe, and yet…

“Dead?”

Cat choked on a sob. “Yes.”

“Where?”

“In a ravine on an oil lease belonging to Mark Presley.”

“Have you called the sheriff's department?”

“Not yet. I called you.”

Wilson didn't stop to think about what that meant.

“Jesus. Can you tell me exactly where you are?”

“No, but Melvin can.”

“Who's Melvin?” Wilson asked.

“My pilot.”

Wilson was trying to absorb the fact that since he'd seen Cat this morning, she had not only chartered a chopper, but had gone out and confirmed her worst fears. It all seemed too easy.

“Let me talk to him.”

Melvin took the phone. “Hello?”

“Melvin…my name is Wilson McKay. I'm in the Dallas police station right now. If you'll give me the flight coordinates, I'll relay them to the proper authorities.”

Melvin rattled them off, then okayed them as Wilson read them back.

“Yeah, that's right,” Melvin said, then added, “So…when do you think the sheriff's gonna be able to get here? It'll be dark before too long, harder for them to find this place.”

“I'll get the cops there. You just take care of Cat.”

“Don't worry none about her. I won't leave her alone for a minute, but she's tough, I tell you. Tough as they come.”

Wilson's heart went out to Catherine. He knew how tough she could be, but something told him that this was going to take her way down. Half the time they weren't even on speaking terms, but at the same time, it made him sick to think of her going through this alone.

W
ilson dropped his phone in his pocket, then headed for Missing Persons.

“Bradley in?” he asked.

“In the john. Have a seat. He should be right back.”

Wilson sat down in the chair beside Bradley's desk. Within a couple of minutes, Bradley was back, somewhat surprised to see Wilson sitting at his desk.

“McKay, what's up with you?”

“Just got a call from Cat Dupree. She found Marsha Benton.”

Bradley stared at Wilson as if he was nuts.

“You're shitting me,” he said.

“No.”

“Where?” Bradley asked.

“At the bottom of a ravine on an oil lease in East Texas that belongs to Mark Presley.”

Bradley sat down in his chair with a thump.

“How the hell did she come to look in a place like that?”

“All I'll say is, she'd make a damn good detective,” Wilson said. “I told her I'd contact the local authorities for her, then decided the call might be better coming from you guys, since you've been working the case.”

“What's the closest town out there?”

“Tyler. Here are the coordinates to the location of her chopper.”

“She found the body from the air?”

“I don't think so, at least, not exactly. Don't ask me details. I've already told you all I know.”

Bradley wrote furiously, then finally looked up.

“Sam Lohman's the sheriff down there. I'll give him a call right now.”

Wilson got up and started to walk away.

“Hey, where are you going?” Bradley asked.

“To help Catherine bring Marsha home.”

 

Melvin tried to get Cat to come back to the chopper and get out of the cold, but she wasn't budging. All she could think of was how many days Mimi had been down there alone.

“Come on now, Missy, when the authorities arrive, we're gonna have to leave so they'll have a place to land.”

Cat heard him talking but stood her ground.

“You go. I'm not leaving her here alone.”

Melvin frowned. “If you don't come with me, you don't have a way to get home.”

“I'll rent a car.”

He threw up his hands in defeat.

“Damn hard-headed woman.”

“You're not the first to call me that,” she said, then shoved her hands in her pockets and hunched her shoulders against the cold. “Look, Melvin…Marsha Benton was my best friend…the only family I had. Whoever killed her also killed the baby she was carrying and then threw them away like garbage. You helped me find her, and I will be forever grateful, but my job isn't over. In fact, it's just begun. It's not that I won't leave. I just
can't.
”

The bitterness in her voice punctuated her determination.

“Okay. I guess I understand. I was just worrying about your welfare, that's all. What happened to your friend is terrible. To be honest, I never thought we'd find her. We just got in the bird and flew right to her. Stuff like that just doesn't happen.”

“I had help,” Cat said, thinking of all the research she and Wilson had done.

“So you think you know who killed her?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Reckon you'll be able to prove it?”

“He's going to be hard-pressed to deny involvement once the DNA test comes back on the baby she was carrying.”

Melvin nodded, then glanced at his watch before judging the level of the setting sun. It was almost at the edge of the treetops, which meant there weren't more than three hours of daylight left.

“It's been about an hour since you called your friend in Dallas. I'm guessing it won't be long before the cops arrive. I reckon I'll get on back to the chopper and check the radio. They may be trying to reach me.”

Cat swallowed nervously. Now that the time was upon her, she was beginning to feel anxious. She couldn't bear to think about Mimi being left out here another night, even though she'd been located.

“Yes, sure,” Cat said, and then eyed the little pilot. “Melvin…”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

He blushed. “I was glad to be of service. If you ever need another flight, give me a call. Just make sure there's no more dead bodies at the end of it.”

“Count on it,” Cat said, and then watched as he headed back to the helicopter.

Within minutes, she heard the distant sound of another copter. Seconds later, she heard Melvin firing up the engine. Even though she was at least a hundred yards away, she felt the wind gusts and saw the bits of leaves swirling through the air as he lifted off.

Anxious to be there when the authorities arrived, she began running toward the clearing.

 

Sheriff Sam Lohman had eighteen years of experience in law enforcement, fifteen of which he'd spent in this part of the country, and he'd worked his share of murder cases. But getting the word from Dallas P.D that there was a body in his county let him know that there was a back story to this murder that had already been in motion before the body wound up here.

From what he'd been told, this might turn out to be nothing more than the dumping ground. Still, it was a scene he didn't relish, especially when he'd learned that the body was that of a young pregnant woman.

It wasn't until he found out that the only way to get to the site was by chopper that he began to curse. He was one of those people who believed that if God had meant for man to fly, He would have given him wings. He'd taken the ride with tight-lipped concentration and an eye to the swiftly fading daylight, all the while trying not to think about how high he was off the ground.

He heard the pilot talking on the radio but was unaware that they were almost at the landing site until, seemingly out of nowhere, another chopper suddenly rose up from the trees in front of them, hovered for a moment, then flew away.

“Christ Almighty!” Lohman yelled, as Melvin sailed past, and grabbed hold of his seat. “Where did he come from?”

The pilot pointed down. Lohman leaned over, spied the small opening in the trees and swallowed nervously.

“Reckon you can set this thing down there?”

The pilot nodded, and down they went.

Sam was swallowing hard by the time the chopper landed. Everyone already knew he disliked flying, but he damn sure wasn't going to advertise it by puking in front of anyone. He and his deputy got out, and as soon as they were clear, their pilot took off so that the other chopper accompanying them could land.

Two crime scene investigators got out of it, followed by a couple of members of the Rescue Squad from the Tyler Fire Department. Their chopper was larger than the one Sam and his deputy had come in, so when it landed, they sheared another foot or so of limbs and leaves from the surrounding trees.

The crime scene investigators were grumbling about the leaves messing up the scene when Sam saw a woman running out of the trees. Her stride was long, her posture straight, the expression on her face unreadable. Remembering Wilson McKay's message, he decided this must be the woman who'd found the body.

“Ma'am…I'm Sheriff Sam Lohman.”

“Cat Dupree.”

Her husky voice was a surprise. It didn't seem to go with the rest of her. Then the name suddenly registered

“Dupree? I used to know a Marcus Dupree. Don't suppose you'd be any kin?”

“He was my father,” Cat said.

Sam grinned as he clasped her hand, shaking it forcefully.

“Well, I'll be damned. It's real good to meet you,” he said. “How's old Marcus doing, anyway?”

“He's dead,” Cat said. “Murdered years ago.”

Sam reeled as if she'd just slapped him. “I didn't know. Lord, I'm sorry.”

Cat shrugged off the sympathy. “You didn't do it. No apology needed. Now…about my friend.”

Sam got the message. The moment of reunion was over.

“Where is the body?” he asked.

“I'll show you,” she said.

Sam waved to the others. They fell in line, walking single-file through the trees and underbrush as Cat pointed out the drag marks and tracks she'd originally followed. When they came to Marsha's shoe, Cat pointed it out to the forensic team.

One of the investigators stayed behind and began to take pictures of the shoe and the surrounding area before bagging the evidence. The rest of them continued to follow Cat.

“This is practically impenetrable,” Sam muttered, as he pushed past some low-hanging vines. “Say, Miss Dupree…Detective Bradley, who called me, said the missing woman is from Dallas.”

“Yes. So am I,” Cat said.

“How did you know where to look for the body? Were you tipped off?”

“No, I didn't get a tip. The land and the wells that are on it belong to Mark Presley.”

Sam frowned. “What's one got to do with the other?”

Cat paused, then turned around and fixed Sam with an unflinching gaze.

“He's the father of the baby she was carrying. He told her to get rid of it. She wouldn't, so he got rid of her.”

Sam didn't know what to say. Was Cat Dupree telling him facts, or was this just anger and grief talking? He would question her more later, after they finished the business of bagging and tagging, hopefully before dark.

They walked a short distance further; then she suddenly stopped. Sam didn't see the ravine until he stepped up beside her.

“This could be dangerous,” he muttered, more to himself than to her, as he gazed down into the rift.

“Obviously,” she said. Her hand was trembling as she pointed downward, but her voice was firm.

Sam peered over the side. “Where's the body?”

“Down there…a little to the left of those dead kudzu vines…beneath those pine branches. See the spot of red?”

Suddenly his gaze focused on the color.

“Yeah. I see it.” He looked at her then. “Are you claiming that's a body?”

“Yes.”

“Did you go down there to confirm?”

“No. Didn't have to.”

Sam cursed softly. “Lady…Miss Dupree…that little bit of color could be anything.”

Cat exhaled slowly, as if making herself stay calm. Her warm breath became a tiny cloud in the chilled air as she turned on the sheriff.

“That's my friend Marsha Benton, wearing the same red coat she was wearing the day before she disappeared. The shoe back there on the trail is hers, too. I was with her when she bought them.” Then her voice broke. “Are you going to go down there and get her, or are you going to stand here and argue with me until it's too late to get to her and she has to spend another night down there alone?”

Sam wasn't in the habit of being called down—especially by a female and in front of his own men—but he was willing to give her a little leeway, considering her state of mind.

He turned without answering her and waved to the crew that had followed him.

“Suit up and get down there. If that's a body, do your thing and get it up here ASAP. It's getting dark, and it's too damned cold to stay out here any longer than we have to.”

All the nerves and tension that Cat had been feeling slowly dissipated. She closed her eyes briefly, then looked down into the deep green maw cut through the earth.

I found you, Mimi, just like I promised.

Sam could tell she was overcome with emotion but refrained from comment and turned his attention to the men being lowered by ropes down to the bottom.

 

It was after ten p.m. when the chopper carrying Sheriff Sam Lohman, his deputy, Cat Dupree and the body of Marsha Benton landed at the heli-pad outside the local hospital. An ambulance was waiting to take the body to the morgue, and the driver was standing beside the ambulance.

Sam nodded to him. “Hey, Charlie. Sorry to get you out at this time of night. Did you have a good Christmas?”

Charlie Conroy rolled his eyes. “Forgot to buy batteries for the damned toys.”

Sam chuckled. “Oh man, and everything in town was closed, right? What did you rob?”

“The remote controls…all three of them.”

Sam grinned, but then they pulled the body bag out of the chopper, and he got down to business and introduced Cat.

“This here is Cat Dupree, friend of the deceased. She made a positive identification of the body when we got to her. The deceased's name is Marsha Benton, from Dallas.”

Conroy eyed the steely-eyed woman who was walking beside the body bag. He watched her step back as they loaded it in the ambulance, and when they closed the doors, she laid her hand on the latch and bowed her head.