The Unseen - A Mystery (The Baudin & Dixon Trilogy Book 2) Page 11

  Baudin stepped into Peck’s hospital room and sat across from him. Peck hadn’t woken up yet. Baudin had no doubt the Internal Affairs Division would be down to see him soon and he might even be suspended, but they would have to nail down exactly what happened first. Perhaps there were cameras at Grade A that could back up Baudin’s story. He made a mental note to follow up on that.

  Baudin sat in the chair a long time, watching Peck. He looked like a man who had worked hard his entire life and had seen little more than work. Baudin had checked his history. Peck’s alcoholic mother had raised him after his father ran out on them. When Baudin ran the mother’s history, he came up with several convictions for sex solicitation and many more arrests that never led to convictions. She was a prostitute, same as the two girls Peck had killed. Baudin wondered if Peck, once he’d moved from rape to murder, had really been killing his own mother over and over again.

  Baudin rose from the chair and stood over Peck’s bed. He laid a photo down on his chest: Hannah Smith, nude and in what was clearly Peck’s bedroom.

  “Gotcha,” Baudin said. He left the room and shut the door behind him.

  31

  The streets were wet from a light rain. Dennis Walk took them slowly, looping around the outskirts of downtown. The kids used to ride up and down State Street, looking for something to do. Eventually, the city outlawed it because the kids occasionally got into fights or pulled over on the street to do drugs. A lot of the kids didn’t have money to do anything else and had nowhere to go. Nowadays, they stood on the corners or parked in convenience store parking lots.

  Dennis drove by a motel. He’d never slept there, but he’d spent a lot of time in the rooms. In front of the motel, several girls ambled around. They only came out on Fridays and Saturdays and were always in the same spots. He didn’t understand why the police weren’t there. Maybe the girls do them, too?

  Dennis knew the girls well. Some of them were runaways, no older than sixteen. A lot of them were just passing through and made the rounds every year through Vegas, LA, Seattle, Salt Lake, Cheyenne, and Phoenix, never staying in one place for too long. And some of them were the regulars, women who had been whoring so long they didn’t know what else to do.

  He pulled his truck over to the side of the road and waited. They knew who he was and what he liked. They would come to him. He lit a joint and rolled down the window while he smoked. The pot was good, homegrown and fresh, and it made the cabin stink. That didn’t matter, though. None of the cops would have done anything if they pulled him over.

  Two of the girls, Belle and KP, walked toward him. Neither one of them used their real names and he didn’t care. They would do for now.

  As he smoked and watched them approach his truck, he scanned the other girls. One on the end was wearing a hat. Her pants were tight, and her shirt exposed her stomach. He didn’t recognize her. She was new.

  “Hey, Big D,” Belle said. “How you been? You lookin’ for a party?”

  “No, not you.” He raised his hand and pointed. “That one.”

  “Her? She ain’t nothin’. Been out here not but a week. You want a real woman.”

  “You can come, too, but I want her.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Wait here then.”

  Belle hurried back and spoke to the girl. She turned around and looked at the truck. The girl’s face was angelic. She had alabaster skin and red curly hair that came down over one eye. He couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but he hoped they were blue. Slowly, reluctantly, she followed Belle to the truck. She was obviously nervous. That excited him.

  “Hi,” he said to her.

  She smiled shyly. “Hi.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Missy.”

  “I got a farm, Missy. A lotta pot and coke. You want to come?”

  She looked too nervous, as if she had a bad feeling or something.

  “These two will come, too. They’ll tell ya—I’m good people.” He smiled widely. “I just like to have a good time.”

  She nodded and climbed into the truck.

  When all three were in, he pulled away and headed back to his farm.

  32

  When Dixon stepped into the station on Monday morning, several cheers went up. It had already hit the papers. Forensics had found female DNA on the underwear in Peck’s home. The test was just preliminary—a quick run-through in order to obtain further warrants on Peck’s locker at work, his car, and his family’s house—but the technician had told Dixon he was about eighty percent certain the DNA was female. He could tell him with one hundred percent certainty in two weeks.

  Dixon acknowledged the hoots and hollers, and someone had even set coffee and a donut on his desk. Baudin was already there, grinning. Whenever a murder was cleared from the board, much less two, a little celebration was in order.

  Several detectives came up and congratulated them, with offers of lunch or drinks after work. Dixon tried not to smile, but he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t had cause to celebrate in a while. When the other detectives had gone back to their desks, Dixon turned around and saw Baudin watching him.

  “What?” Dixon said.

  “It’s just good to see you happy again. And I got something that’ll make you even happier—Peck woke up. We can go see him this afternoon. Looks like we’ll get your admission after all.”

  Dixon and Baudin discussed how they should approach Peck. They decided a honey rather than vinegar approach was best. Peck was unstable and weak. Too much intimidation might shut him down.

  After that, Dixon rose and wandered around the detective’s bureau, chitchatting with the other detectives. He didn’t feel like working, and in fact, the worst part about clearing a homicide from the board was having to pick up a new case and start over.

  Jessop was in his office. Since Chief Crest’s death, they hadn’t had a real conversation. Too many assumptions between them. Dixon assumed that Jessop had known about the chief’s proclivities, and Jessop probably assumed Dixon was trying to take him down.

  Dixon approached the office and stood at the door. Jessop looked up from his computer but didn’t say anything. The two men watched each other for a moment before Jessop said, “That was nice work.”

  “Thanks.” Dixon stepped inside the office and shut the door. He sat down on Jessop’s couch. “You and I never talked about the chief.”

  “What’s there to say?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  Jessop leaned back in his chair. “You got somethin’ to say, just say it.”

  “You think that I think you had somethin’ to do with it. So let’s not bullshit each other.”

  “And why would I think that?”

  “Because it’s true.”

  Jessop sighed. “You want me to apologize for defending my chief? I won’t. That’s not the way it works. But did I know he was fucking killing people? Of course not. I would’ve arrested the son of a bitch myself.”

  Dixon nodded. “I believe you.”

  “Glad to have your approval. Now you gonna get back to work or what?”

  Dixon rose and headed out. Even though few words had been spoken, he’d released a little tension and was glad he’d gone in. He looked over at his desk, where stacks of low-level property crimes needed following up on, and decided he would go out and get a drink.

  Before he could leave, another thought hit him. Hesitantly, he took out his cell phone and dialed Hillary’s number.

  She answered on the second ring. “Hey.”

  “Hey. I was just seein’ if maybe… you and Randy wanted to grab lunch.”

  “It’s ten in the morning, Kyle.”

  “Breakfast then.”

  She chuckled. “Yes, we’d both love to.”

  “I’ll come pick you guys up.” He hung up and told Baudin he would see him at the hospital later.

  At a local diner they had gone to often before they had Randy, Dixon sat across from his wife and listened to all the gossip sh
e had built up over the last eight months. Someone at church had been arrested for marijuana possession, one of the neighbors had fallen off his roof while putting up Christmas lights and shattered both ankles, and her sister was thinking of adopting.

  Dixon listened quietly. He hadn’t come to talk. He’d come to listen, to really listen. Baudin had once said that women just wanted to be heard. They just wanted someone to listen, not talk or try to fix their problems.

  “I miss you,” he said suddenly. “And him. I want to move back in. If you’ll have me.”

  She reached over and put her hand over his. “Of course we’ll have you. It’s your home, Kyle.”

  “Then if we’re going to do it, we need to talk first.” He paused. “Why would you do… that? You knew if I ever found out, it would rip my heart in half, and you did it anyway. I just need to know why.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes, but she fought them back, turning her face to the window. “I was so lonely. Sometimes it felt like I had no one else to talk to. I would take care of Randy all day and you all night. I needed to be the perfect wife and do everything I could to make you two happy, and it felt like no one was there for me. No one was taking care of me, Kyle. I felt completely alone.”

  Dixon felt tears on his own cheeks. “You could’ve come to me. You could’ve told me what was going on, and we could’ve fixed it.”

  She shook her head. “Do you know how many times I tried to talk to you? Your head was stuck in your work. I don’t think you realize how much energy it takes out of you. You get home, and you’re like a zombie. There’s nothing left for us.”

  “That’s unfair. I’m doing this for the both of you, not for me.”

  “Bullshit. You say that, but that’s just not true. You love it. You love the chase, the power. You’re doing it for you.”

  Dixon felt anger in his belly, but instead of exploding, he took a deep breath and calmed himself. The gall of it was too much. She’d gone out and fucked another man, lied about it, and lied about Randy being his—and she had the audacity to say she’d done it because of his behavior.

  “Maybe this was a mistake,” he said.

  “The fact that we’re talking, actually talking, rather than yelling at each other tells me it’s not.”

  He exhaled deeply and held her hand, feeling the ridges of her skin, running the tips of his fingers over her veins, sliding down to her palm and up her wrist. He missed her touch and the way she held him. Touch carried a truth words never came close to. He knew from her touch that they still loved each other and that he would be miserable without her.

  “We need to go to a counselor,” she said. “It’ll be a lot of work, but we’ll get through this. We just need to find each other again.”

  He stared out the window with her.

  33

  Missy had never thought she would be in such a position. As she sat in the cabin of the truck and listened to the man in the driver’s seat tell them about pig farming, she wished she were anywhere else. Well, almost anywhere else. She would rather be there than at home with her father.

  “You a young one,” the man, whom the other girls had told her was named Dennis, said. “How old is you? Sixteen?”

  “I’m however old you want me to be.”

  He grinned. His teeth were so yellow, she couldn’t see even a speck of white. “How old is you really?”

  “Fifteen.”

  He nodded and smiled. “I like that.”

  Missy grinned out of courtesy but wished she’d gone with her gut when it told her not to get into the truck. A lot of the girls out on those corners worked for other people and had to go with anyone who offered them a spot. She didn’t have to do that. She worked free and clear, no pimp. Cheyenne wasn’t dangerous enough for that—or so she’d been told.

  “So where were you before here?” Dennis asked.

  “I was in Salt Lake City.”

  “You move out here or just passin’ through?”

  “Depends on how much money I make, I guess.”

  Dennis reached over and laid his hand on her thigh. It sent a cold revulsion through her, but she didn’t move it. That’s what he was paying for. She’d been with several customers before. They’d been kind and gentle. She had heard from some of the other girls that everyone had a secret and that the only place it came out was in the bedroom. Sometimes the secret was gentle, and sometimes it was violent. She tried to tell the difference in just a few seconds of talking with someone.

  The farm was on the outskirts of the county. As he drove, Dennis passed around a joint. The other girls smoked, but Missy didn’t want any. Most of the time, she had to be high or drunk to fuck a stranger, but right now, she felt she didn’t want to be tanked.

  The landscape changed from the city to dry desert as far she could see. Night had fallen, but she could see the dark mountains in the distance. Unlike the mountains they had in Utah, they were maybe more like large hills. She would have liked to go out there, climb them, and sit on top. She could look around the state and see it in a way most people didn’t.

  The farm was blocked by a large barbed-wire fence, the type that kept cattle in. Dennis stopped the truck at the gate and got out. He stumbled over and opened it then got back in and drove through before getting out to close it again.

  The dirt road beyond was rough, as though it had not been driven on a lot. The entire place was overrun with weeds and gnarled trees, and the road was littered with trash. The truck rumbled along the road, and the gate slowly disappeared behind them. Soon, they were surrounded by darkness.

  The two other girls weren’t paying attention to Missy. She was just competition, and they would do everything they could to make her suffer. Some of the other girls gave her tips and took care of her, but some of them, the ones who had been on street corners too long, only wanted to hurt her.

  “So what made you wanna be a whore?” Dennis asked over the din of the stereo, which Belle had turned on.

  “Just get to meet interesting people like you, I guess.”

  His face turned. A serious expression came over him, and he stared at her. “You makin’ fun of me?”

  “No, I mean it. I woulda never met you if I hadn’t been doing this. So I get to meet a lotta people I wouldn’t meet otherwise.”

  He thought for a moment then smiled. “I knew I liked you.”

  Though she grinned, her heart pounded in her ears. Something was wrong with him. He was slow, but that didn’t bother her. Something else was wrong.

  The first structure on the property she saw was a barn. It was a classic-looking barn with red paint and white trim, but it was so rundown, it looked like it could fall over at any second. Dennis passed it and drove up farther, past a line of trees and a gravel pit, to a massive farmhouse that was larger than any Missy had seen since being in Wyoming. The house faced an open field that seemed to go all the way into the darkness and disappear.

  The girls and Dennis got out, so Missy did, too. She followed them up the road toward the house. The girls were high and hugging each other as Dennis led them to the house. He opened the door, and the girls followed him inside. Belle took off her shoes and flopped onto the couch. Missy could tell she’d been there a lot to be that comfortable, and that thought made her feel a little better.

  The inside of the home was as dirty as it could be. Old containers of food and empty beer bottles and cans took up the entire floor. Stuff was written on the walls in pens and crayons. The furniture was covered in cigarette burns and discolored with old spills. And the smell was…

  Then Missy saw the first pig. A creature about the size of a small dog wandered around the kitchen. It rooted around the garbage and came away with an old slice of pizza. The smell she had noticed was animal feces, so strong that it burnt her nostrils.

  Dennis pulled out a small baggy of an off-white powder, meth, probably. Missy liked pot and coke, but she never touched meth. She didn’t like the way it kept her up all night. Sleep was her only escape.


  The girls started making out with each other and snorting the meth as Dennis sat down in a chair across from them and watched. Missy slipped away to the kitchen, which was empty except for the pig. The smell was even stronger there, and feces caked the floor in such a thick coat that she couldn’t see the linoleum underneath. Covering her nose, she went around the kitchen and to the rooms at the back of the house.

  Several sets of stairs leading both down and up were throughout the house. She took one and went upstairs. The upstairs was much cleaner and didn’t have the feces everywhere. Missy checked the bedrooms. She’d always been fascinated by how people lived, and looking through the homes of strangers was actually an interesting part of what she did.

  In one bedroom, a television was mounted on the wall. She sat down on the unmade bed and looked for a remote. Maybe I could stay up here the whole time? Dennis and the other two would be so blitzed they wouldn’t really remember what happened. She could just pretend she had been involved in the whole thing. Maybe even still get paid, too.

  She couldn’t find the remote, so she rose and left the room. Going back down the stairs, she could see into the living room. The girls were almost completely nude, and Dennis was still sitting across from them, watching. As quietly as she could, she made her way down and decided to check out the basement. The stairs were carpeted, and the smell wasn’t as bad as the first floor. Once down there, she stood in the dark for a moment then decided staying wasn’t a good idea. Before she could leave, she saw the flickering light of a television.

  A woman sat in front of the TV in a wheelchair. Her gray hair covered her face. Missy cleared her throat, but the woman didn’t react.

  A game show was on. Missy had seen it before but couldn’t name it. A host stood in front of a crowd, talking, but the volume on the TV was turned so low that Missy couldn’t hear anything. So she crossed the basement and got closer.