Brass in Pocket (28 page)

Nick pointed toward flat desert. “That way goes toward the main road.” He jerked a thumb the other way, over his shoulder. “This way's into the wilderness. So I'd say we go this way.”

“That works for me.”

They followed the arc of the road, which really wasn't much more than a place where someone had driven across the desert and then other vehicles had followed in the first one's tracks. It was gouged deep on the sides and rose a bit in the center, where thorny mesquites and stunted shrubs grew. Nick judged that a vehicle wouldn't necessarily need high clearance or four-wheel drive to negotiate it, but both features would make the journey more comfortable.

Inside the canyon cutting between the two low hills, the sun had not yet penetrated and the air remained cool. The roadway cut up through a couple of terraces as it climbed out of the canyon, growing rockier and more precarious almost by the yard.

Around another bend, an empty silver Toyota Camry was pulled off the road on a relatively flat, shady spot. A tall mesquite partially shielded it from the air, and it was parked close to the base of the hill.

“I guess you called it, Nick.”

Riley kept her voice low, barely audible three feet
away. Nick answered in the same manner. “
You
called it, Riley. We might still be at his house looking for clues if you hadn't insisted on coming out here.”

“We haven't found him yet,” she reminded him.

“We're closer than we were a few minutes ago, though.” He scanned the landscape, looking for any sign of Upson or Melinda Spence. On this side of the hills the desert was wilder, with more rises and gullies, thicker growths of yucca and mesquite and cholla, and even more desert willows than on the low side. The hills came closer together, marching toward higher ones in the near distance.

“I've got some footprints,” Riley said. She had circled around the car, about eight feet away from it, where the dirt was softer than on the packed road. “Scuff marks, too.”

Nick hurried to her side. Sure enough, two people had left footprints leading away from the car. A male in sneakers, and a woman in smooth-soled shoes with squared-off toes. Every few steps, at least at the beginning, she had apparently offered at least token resistance and he had dragged her along. Digging her heels in had cut deeper furrows in the earth. The tracks led into a canyon wedged between two steeper, taller mounds.

“Let's go over the hill,” Riley whispered.

“Over it?”

“If he's in there, he might be watching for someone coming along his trail. Going up and over, we might be able to catch him by surprise, if he's in there, or spot him if he's not. We'll get the jump on him.”

“Literally,” Nick said with a quick grin. “Okay, I'm game.”

They started up the southern slope of the hill. At first the short ascent was gradual, but nearer the top they found themselves leaning forward, grabbing embedded rocks and well-rooted plants for handholds. Breaking leaves and stems, combined with the warming rays of the rising sun, sent waves of spicy aroma wafting around them.

As they reached the peak, they stayed low to keep stray shadows from giving away their position. The far side dropped sharply into the canyon. Nick was glad they had climbed the side they did, since the other side would have posed a far greater challenge. There were a few plants to hold on to—most thorny or barbed, as desert flora usually was—but otherwise the slope was covered in small, loose stones, with a few larger flat ones scattered about, until it reached a sheer cliff.

Dawson Upson paced in the shade, in a clear, flat stretch near the foot of the opposite hill. Skinny and anxious, he had dumped the blazer he wore in the surveillance video, and his porkpie hat was no-where to be seen. Melinda Spence was bound with rope and duct tape, lying on her side near a low shelf that marked the beginning of the rise on the canyon's other side. She was conscious, wriggling and writhing but not really fighting hard against her bonds. Her cheeks and forehead had been cut. Fine red lines traced against her brown flesh and fresh drops dampened the soil beside her.

A stainless-steel razor blade knife glinted in Upson's fist, the kind you cut open packages with.

Nick was surprised—he had expected Upson to use more exotic tools. He muttered as he walked, more to himself than to Melinda. Nick only caught snatches of what he said: “… cut you. Cut you up. Gonna make you bleed, make you bleed and beg and cry and bleed…”

Abruptly, he spun around and dropped to his knees beside Melinda, between her and the rock shelf. She whimpered as he brought the blade close to her face again. “Shut up just shut your mouth!” he cried, brandishing the blade before her terrified eyes. He sounded like he might cry. He had been screwing up his courage all this time, Nick realized. All the animals he had killed, the women he had abducted… they were just setting the stage for this moment. Now that it had arrived, he was facing the fact that murdering a human being wasn't like those others at all.

Still, he couldn't be allowed to make another cut.

Nick drew his service pistol, steadied his aim with his left hand, and shouted: “Las Vegas Police! Put the knife down and step away from her!”

Startled, Upson let the knife fly from his hand. He stared up the hill at Riley and Nick. His mouth fell open and he started to raise his hands.

But a smile that Nick didn't like spread across his face, and as his hands elevated past his waist, he snaked one arm behind his back. When he brought it back out, he had a black steely pistol in his hand, pointed at Melinda's head.

“Don't be stupid, Upson,” Riley said. “Put the gun down before you hurt someone.”

Nick believed he could drop Upson with one
shot. But Upson was still partially shielded by Melinda's trussed-up body, so if he missed, a stray round or a ricochet off the rocks could injure the person he was trying so hard to save.

“You put yours down,” Upson said. “I
will
kill her if you don't. A shot to the skull isn't exactly what I had in mind when I started all this, but it'll have to do. I'll live with it, anyway.” A nervous giggle burst from his lips. He wiped saliva from his chin with the back of his left hand, struggling to bring his laughter under control. “Even though she won't.”

“You won't live for long,” Riley warned.

“Please. You won't kill me. You're all about the law. You'll want me to stand trial, and all that happy nonsense. Justice, you call it. But me… I've been waiting a long time for this. A very, very long time. One way or another, today I will kill a human being. I'm beyond anything your justice can dish out.”

“If the prospect of dying doesn't bother you, then I might as well shoot,” Riley said. “I mean, you're calling the play, right?”

He's not going to shoot
, Nick told himself. Yes, he had shot some of the animals found in the pit. But those were early ones. All the later ones had been killed with a blade. He had tried both methods, and he still carried a gun, but only as backup. He hadn't used one on the women in Boston, according to the reports. A gun was meant primarily for distances, and it was the proximity of Upson's victims that excited him, the feeling of the creature dying in his hands. Maybe he even thrilled to the warm, wet splash of blood on his slender fingers.

Shooting would wipe away the things that appealed to him about killing. It wasn't simply the final result he was after, it was the process. Killing someone with a gun was easy enough, but he hadn't done it yet.

Nick believed he wouldn't shoot. But could he take that chance? Or should he and Riley shoot first, hoping they didn't accidentally hit Melinda?

It was Melinda who provided the answer for him.

B
OUND AS SHE WAS
, Melinda still had some freedom of movement. In an effort that must have taken unimaginable courage, bound and gagged and with the madman who had abducted her pointing a gun at her head, she kicked out with her duct-taped legs. The impact didn't hurt Upson, but it knocked him off balance. He threw both arms out to steady himself. The instant the gun barrel veered away from Melinda's head, Nick made his move.

He took a couple of skidding steps on the rock-strewn slope and jumped, aiming for the low shelf right behind Melinda. Upson saw him coming, whipped the gun around, and squeezed off a single panicked shot. The round took a bite of the cliff face behind Nick, spraying dust and rock chips.

Then Nick crashed into him, hard, bringing his arm down solidly against Upson's wrist. Upson cried out and the pistol flew from his hand. Nick, still off balance, got a grip on Upson's T-shirt and fell backward,
pulling the thin young man with him. The two of them rolled over Melinda and Nick landed on his back on the hard canyon floor. Upson's bony knee dug into Nick's chest and sharp rocks stabbed into his kidneys.

With the breath squeezed out of him, Nick lost his purchase on Upson's shirt. The young man pushed off Nick's solar plexus, gained his footing, and broke into a sprint. Nick scrambled to his feet as Riley reached the bottom of the hill, having taken a considerably more sensible route to the bottom.

“Make sure she's okay,” Nick told Riley. He took off after Upson, his calves still smarting from the jolt they had taken upon landing.

Upson was lithe and fast. His long legs scissored, eating up desert ground and carrying him away in a hurry. Nick raced behind him. He kept thinking he was making up ground, but every plant he encountered seemed determined to slow him down, tearing and clawing at his pants and shoes. Upson led him deeper into the canyon, across a narrow valley, and toward higher, steeper hills on the far side. Nick didn't know if Upson was familiar with this area, or if they had left his comfort zone behind, but he showed no signs of uncertainty.

On the flatter ground of the valley, Nick was able to pour on more speed. Upson's breathing became increasingly ragged. Nick was starting to feel the same way, as if his lungs might burst, leaving him shredded, popped balloons in his chest. But he kept the pressure on, kept gaining. Dirt that Upson kicked up pattered against Nick's legs. Finally,
Upson stumbled as he descended a few inches into a wash and Nick took advantage of the moment, launching himself into the air. The instant of flight and the collision with Upson's running legs brought back fleeting memories of Nick's high school football days in Texas, where high school football was a major event. He remembered roaring crowds, anxious parents, lissome cheerleaders shaking pompoms with abandon, and city officials, teachers, administrators, and what seemed like every kid in the city packing the stands.

Then he and Upson went down in a tangle of kicking legs and flailing arms, flying dust and rocks with keen edges. Nick held on to Upson's legs and clambered to his knees. Upson writhed and twisted, managing to turn around and release a series of punches to Nick's stomach, ribs, and chest. At the same time he kicked like a wild burro. Nick tried to apply downward pressure to keep him put. But when he reached for the handcuffs on his belt, Upson kicked him in the solar plexus, his hikingbooted foot feeling like a cannonball to the gut, and squirmed right out of his grasp.

Nick sucked in the pain, dropped the cuffs, and lunged after him.

Upson wasn't backing away, though. He pulled a knife from someplace, either a switchblade or a gravity knife, and lashed out with it. The sharp blade ripped through Nick's shirt, and a moment later a sharp sting burned into him. Blood soaked the torn edges of fabric, a thin line at first, but spreading quickly. Nick fought through the sudden
distraction, but he lost his hold on Upson once again. The world took a crazy tilt, and someone started to draw a curtain across the sun.

Upson shot to his feet and started running again.

He only made it inches before his high forehead collided with the barrel of Riley's gun. He staggered and fell to his knees. The gash that her gun barrel opened up bled ferociously.

Nick grabbed Upson and turned him facedown in the dirt. He wrestled Upson's hands behind his back. When he leaned over to retrieve his cuffs, the world threatened to spin out of control, but he blinked and righted it again. He snapped the handcuffs over Upson's scrawny wrists.

Riley extended a hand and helped Nick to his feet, and Nick, still holding on to the chain linking the cuffs, brought Upson along. Since Upson couldn't reach the wound in his head to mop away the blood, it flooded into his eyes.

Nick couldn't bring himself to be too concerned. He looked at Riley. “I thought you were staying with Melinda.”

“And let you have all the fun? You said to make sure she was okay, and considering what she's been through, she seems to be. Anyway, she's not going anywhere, and there's no way I was letting this creep get away from us.”

“What were you gonna do, shoot him?” Greg had told Nick how angry she'd been about finding those animal skeletons, and he'd seen glimpses of that while searching Upson's room and the desert with her.

“If absolutely necessary, yes. But I was hoping he
would see the weapon and stop. Who knew he would dash headlong into it?”

“Hey, I'm bleeding here!” Upson complained. “It stings my eyes!”

“And we're supposed to feel sorry for you?” Riley asked. “After what you've done?”

Nick turned him around and started marching him back toward Melinda and the vehicles. “What I've done? I haven't done anything,” Upson complained. “I tied a girl up and scratched her a little. Big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Nick said. “A very big deal. Which you'll find out at your sentencing, if you don't clue in before that.”

“And we know about the rest of it,” Riley added. “We found the animals you killed and buried. We know about the abducted women in Boston. We know you drugged Melinda's drink at the Palermo.”

Upson blinked blood from his eyes and stared at her. “You… you can't know… How could you…”