Read Online The Taint by Patricia Wallace - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Patricia Wallace
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shape to talk. If he could talk to the family, he might uncover a reason why Tyler might want to kill his wife. Maybe he’d planned the whole thing; killed her and then ran the car off the road to make it look like an accident. He could be faking this entire speechless bit. They’d heard him yelling.
And Randy Cruz. Nathan had verified that the blood was human. Cruz had gone looking for something, and apparently he’d found it. But where was the body? Nothing he knew of would destroy every trace of it. Unless, like Rachel said, he had crawled off somewhere and was helpless.
He would organize a more thorough search in the morning. Earl could call a couple of the reserves and the park rangers might be able to round up some volunteers among the campers. There was a lot of land to cover.
The office was warm and he allowed his eyes to close, intending only to rest for a moment.
Tim was alive.
He was back in the LAPD uniform, driving his unit through the streets, and he heard Tim’s voice on the radio, calling in a traffic stop. Routine. Standard procedure.
For some reason, though, he turned and headed toward where the stop was made. His car glided along dark streets as he twisted his way through the city. There was steady traffic on the air, but nothing for him.
He was getting close now, pausing to let an old man cross the street in front of him, his jaw tightening.
He could see, ahead, the flashing lights of the patrol car, brilliantly bright. The other car was in front, all four doors standing open.
Where were they?
An alley ran through the middle of the block, and he could see it in his mind, dark, foreign.
He pulled up alongside Tim’s unit, his lights flashing now, and was out of the car, gun drawn, and running toward the alley. He saw three of them, but not Tim.
The flash of a gun.
He pulled the trigger, again and again, emptying the gun at them, and they fell. He began to reload, walking into the alley, trying not to smell the rotten stink of them.
Dead. He had killed them, blasted their faces away.
And Tim. Standing.
He had saved him this time.
He woke, throat aching.
Sally knocked on the opened door. “Sheriff, they’ve found Randy Cruz. Down at the rock quarry.”
Ranger Malloy stood in the middle of the road and flagged him down, coming around to the window.
“He’s over just beyond my jeep.” Malloy’s face was grim.
Jon got out and followed Malloy, his boots crunching gravel. A fine mist had settled near the ground, reflecting back the light from Malloy’s flashlight.
Randy Cruz was face down, arms and legs splayed. There was a great deal of blood. A rifle was just beyond his right hand.
Jon knelt by the body. “Did you move him?”
“God, no.”
Jon flashed the light at Cruz’s face and then at the hands. A thin wedding band shone on the left hand. “Shit.” He got up and regarded the rifle. “Why the hell didn’t he use it?”
Malloy didn’t answer.
He got back to the office as the sun was rising. The body of Randy Cruz was now in the morgue at the hospital, only a couple of halls away from his wife and child.
He would have to call Rachel, so she could tell the wife. It was not a job he envied.
Earl was due in any minute, and it was clear he’d have to call in one of the reserves. The work was piling up fast.
The day dispatcher showed up five minutes later, with Earl hot on her heels.
“Damn,” Earl said when he told him.
Jon picked up the phone to call Rachel but the line was busy. It wouldn’t take more than five minutes to drive over there. “I’m going to stop by the Adams house on my way home,” he said, “but I want to make sure you call me at twelve-thirty.”
“That’s not much time to sleep,” Earl said.
“It’ll be enough.” Then he was out the door.
Saturday
TWENTY
Joyce Callan took the thermometer from between Peter Thomas’ lips, noting the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead and the high color in his cheeks.
And Randy Cruz. Nathan had verified that the blood was human. Cruz had gone looking for something, and apparently he’d found it. But where was the body? Nothing he knew of would destroy every trace of it. Unless, like Rachel said, he had crawled off somewhere and was helpless.
He would organize a more thorough search in the morning. Earl could call a couple of the reserves and the park rangers might be able to round up some volunteers among the campers. There was a lot of land to cover.
The office was warm and he allowed his eyes to close, intending only to rest for a moment.
Tim was alive.
He was back in the LAPD uniform, driving his unit through the streets, and he heard Tim’s voice on the radio, calling in a traffic stop. Routine. Standard procedure.
For some reason, though, he turned and headed toward where the stop was made. His car glided along dark streets as he twisted his way through the city. There was steady traffic on the air, but nothing for him.
He was getting close now, pausing to let an old man cross the street in front of him, his jaw tightening.
He could see, ahead, the flashing lights of the patrol car, brilliantly bright. The other car was in front, all four doors standing open.
Where were they?
An alley ran through the middle of the block, and he could see it in his mind, dark, foreign.
He pulled up alongside Tim’s unit, his lights flashing now, and was out of the car, gun drawn, and running toward the alley. He saw three of them, but not Tim.
The flash of a gun.
He pulled the trigger, again and again, emptying the gun at them, and they fell. He began to reload, walking into the alley, trying not to smell the rotten stink of them.
Dead. He had killed them, blasted their faces away.
And Tim. Standing.
He had saved him this time.
He woke, throat aching.
Sally knocked on the opened door. “Sheriff, they’ve found Randy Cruz. Down at the rock quarry.”
Ranger Malloy stood in the middle of the road and flagged him down, coming around to the window.
“He’s over just beyond my jeep.” Malloy’s face was grim.
Jon got out and followed Malloy, his boots crunching gravel. A fine mist had settled near the ground, reflecting back the light from Malloy’s flashlight.
Randy Cruz was face down, arms and legs splayed. There was a great deal of blood. A rifle was just beyond his right hand.
Jon knelt by the body. “Did you move him?”
“God, no.”
Jon flashed the light at Cruz’s face and then at the hands. A thin wedding band shone on the left hand. “Shit.” He got up and regarded the rifle. “Why the hell didn’t he use it?”
Malloy didn’t answer.
He got back to the office as the sun was rising. The body of Randy Cruz was now in the morgue at the hospital, only a couple of halls away from his wife and child.
He would have to call Rachel, so she could tell the wife. It was not a job he envied.
Earl was due in any minute, and it was clear he’d have to call in one of the reserves. The work was piling up fast.
The day dispatcher showed up five minutes later, with Earl hot on her heels.
“Damn,” Earl said when he told him.
Jon picked up the phone to call Rachel but the line was busy. It wouldn’t take more than five minutes to drive over there. “I’m going to stop by the Adams house on my way home,” he said, “but I want to make sure you call me at twelve-thirty.”
“That’s not much time to sleep,” Earl said.
“It’ll be enough.” Then he was out the door.
Saturday
TWENTY
Joyce Callan took the thermometer from between Peter Thomas’ lips, noting the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead and the high color in his cheeks.
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