Buried (A Bone Secrets Novel 03) (24 page)

The sheriff’s face clouded, but he nodded.

“He was tortured as a kid by a sick pervert. And I think that pervert or someone close to him killed that old baker, trying to find Chris.”

“But how did the killer know to go to the bakery?” asked Michael. “Someone had to have said something. Has anyone new around town been asking questions about Chris? I mean, anyone besides us?”

“I don’t know yet,” Spencer replied. “I’ve got a lot of people to talk to and questions to ask.”

“We’ll give you whatever support we can,” Sergeant Hove offered.

“You need to talk with Detective Callahan in Major Crimes back in Portland,” Michael said, turning his attention to the OSP officer. “He’s looking for the man who ripped up Jamie’s place in conjunction with some older murders. I think Jamie’s hunch that
this is the same guy is a good one. He is a cold-blooded killer. And has done the cigarette burns before.”

Sheriff Spencer’s face flooded red. “Wait a minute. Yesterday you never said anything about a murder. All you said was that you were looking for her brother. What the hell have you been holding back?”

Michael shook his head. “I had no idea this guy was on your side of the state. I assumed that he was still in the Portland area where he’d attacked Jamie—”

“Wait a minute.” Spencer reached out and gently moved Jamie’s chin to the side so he could better see her bruised cheek. “Start from the beginning.”

Michael did. He started twenty years back.

Both police officers were rubbing the backs of their necks and shifting their feet by the time he’d finished.

“Holy crap,” muttered Spencer. “We need to find Chris Jacobs before your tattoo man does.”

“I wouldn’t mind finding Mr. Tattoo first. I wouldn’t mind that at all.” Michael forced back the anger that tightened his throat.

“Do you think you were followed from the city? Obviously, someone found the house before you, but that’s only because I told you to wait till this morning so you had some light. Do you remember seeing anyone?” Sheriff Spencer asked.

Michael shook his head and looked to Jamie. She looked ready to puke. He knew she was thinking they’d led a killer directly to her brother and his son.

“I’ve tried to find Chris through all the usual and unusual online searches. He doesn’t exist on paper or in cyberspace. I don’t know how anyone else could have found him unless they were following us.”

“Anyone else know you were headed over here? You tell anyone your plans?” Hove asked.

Michael shook his head. “Callahan at OSP knew we were following a pretty good lead, but I didn’t give him any specifics, and he didn’t ask.” He smiled wryly. “Callahan knows I’d tell him if I had something concrete. And concrete means I’ve looked Chris in the eye and shook his hand to be certain he’s real. I don’t give out or print information unless I’ve checked and triple-checked it.”

“Print?” Hove frowned.

Michael looked the red-haired officer in the eye. “I’m a reporter for the
Oregonian
. I’m not looking for a story. I’m looking for personal answers; I’m looking for my own brother.”

He felt Jamie take his hand and give a small squeeze.

Hove’s expression relaxed. A bit.

Michael was going to find Chris. And Chris would tell him what’d happened to Daniel.

Jamie didn’t want to see the murdered old man. The description by the sheriff had been more than enough. She didn’t need an actual look. And she knew she was right about who’d done the murder. It had to be the same man who’d attacked her.

It could have been my death that cops were standing around and discussing.

Jamie’s chest quaked, and she concentrated on breathing evenly. She’d fought back against the tattooed man. She’d survived.

But would he be back? And did he have Chris and Brian?

She closed her eyes, tuned out the cop talk, and leaned into Michael, inhaling his scent. Male, strong, protective. She took a
few deep breaths and felt his energy flow into her, calming her and giving her strength. He was a power source that she simply touched to recharge. Her phone beeped. She moved away from the discussion and saw that Detective Callahan was calling. Her heart double thumped, and her fingers clenched at the phone.

“Hello, Detective.”

“Ms. Jacobs. Sorry to be bothering you. I wanted—”

“Detective, has anyone called you about this morning? About the old man who was killed in Demming?”

“What?”

Jamie closed her eyes. “I didn’t think so. Michael just told the OSP officer that someone needed to contact you.”

“What the hell happened?” He nearly roared in her ear.

“I’ll let the police tell you everything, but the short version is we found Chris’s house and it’d been torn apart just like mine. Chris and his son were gone.” Her heart was threatening to pound its way out of her chest. “Then this morning the police discovered a friend of Chris’s in town had been murdered and t-t-tortured. It looks like Chris has been here. But I know he didn’t do it. I think the same man—”

“Our tattooed man? You think he was there?”

“Yes,” Jamie said, thankful Callahan could read her mind.

“Crap. You think he followed you guys?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t tell anyone where we were going. Neither did Michael. I asked a neighbor to watch the cat but didn’t say anything. We were in such a big hurry.”

Jamie could hear Callahan speaking to someone in the background. A second male voice rumbled in answer. He came back on the line. “Who’s there from OSP?”

She glanced at the pale officer and checked his name tag. His name had completely escaped her brain. “Hove.”

“Okay. I’ll get a hold of him. But hang on a minute. I was calling to ask you about the tattoo guy. Anything else that you remembered about him? Anything descriptive?”

Jamie’s mind was spinning at insane speeds. “I don’t know. No, I can’t think of anything new.”

Callahan paused. “I was looking back over the officer’s notes. The part about where you said you thought he dyed his hair and wore colored contacts?”

“I still feel that way,” she started to say. “I don’t know how to explain—”

“You felt his coloring was unnatural.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“What about his skin color?”

Jamie thought hard. “He was so covered up…”

“But you saw his hands. His wrists where the tattoos were.”

She could see the tattoos in her mind. She slid her view down to his fingers.
Pale. Pink fingertips. Very pale hands.
“Very light-skinned. Really white, I’d say.”

“Would you say unnaturally pale?” Callahan prodded.

She thought of the tattooed man’s face. “I don’t remember his face being so pale.”

“Could you see his neck?”

Jamie shuddered. An angry face was filling her vision. The hatred and the fury emanating from his eyes…

“His neck was also white, very white I think. Paler than his face. But that’s normal for most people, I think,” she babbled.

“Ms. Jacobs…would you say he was possibly albino? And was covering it up?”

Her eyes flew open.
Albino?
Her brain skittered to a stop. “Yes, that makes perfect sense. The hair, the eyes, the long sleeves, and pants. I can see that now.”

“I didn’t want to put the thought in your brain,” Callahan stated. “I wanted to see if you would come up with it on your own. It’s a theory we have, and I just wanted your input.”

“What made you ask, Detective?”
Had someone else seen him?

“The old Polaroids. We were so focused on the tats, we didn’t notice the condition of his skin. It’s freakishly white.”

“Well, I’d say he’s learned to blend in pretty well,” Jamie answered. “Albinism didn’t cross my mind, but I knew something was off.”

“I’ll touch base with Hove in a bit. There’s no sign of your brother?”

“No. Not yet. If he doesn’t already know, someone needs to tell him about the tattooed guy.”

“Ms. Jacobs, I suspect he already knows.”

“Son of a bitch.” Mason shook his head. “I think our tattooed freak followed them to Eastern Oregon.”

“Sounds that way,” answered Ray. “I don’t think anyone knew where they were going. Unless Brody told someone his plans.”

“Brody doesn’t tell anyone crap.”

“Agreed. What about Jamie? She tell anyone?”

“She says she didn’t. She asked one neighbor to watch the cat but didn’t say where she was going.”

“Either they were followed or he found Chris Jacobs on his own.”

“On the same day?” Mason highly doubted that. “So far we can’t even find the guy to interview him. And we’ve got the best computer system in the world, right?”

Ray choked.

“Either way. Where the fuck is Chris Jacobs now, and where is our tattooed man? They’ve left one dead body in their wake. I don’t want any more. I gotta call this Hove.”

“Hove? Tim Hove?” Ray perked up.

“Beats me.”

“I know him from my trooper days. Good man. Actually likes living in the boondocks.”

Ray knew everybody.

“Jamie didn’t disagree with our albino theory. Sounded solid to her. Lends a little more weight to this being the same guy as twenty years ago and not multiples with similar tattoos. Now I want to know what they’ve found at that scene.”

“Think we need to get over there?” Ray didn’t sound excited at the idea of the long drive.

Mason knew there was no need to waste the hours on the road. “I’ll touch base with Hove and Luna County and see what they’ve got. Maybe we’ll get lucky and their scene will turn up something useful to point us in the right direction.”

Gerald washed his hands in a surprisingly clean men’s room at a gas station thirty miles from Demming. The kill had been relatively clean, but he still felt the need to scrub his hands several times. Once the old man had been tied in the chair, the interrogation had been easy. And he’d gotten shit for answers. The old Mexican knew nothing.

His skin suddenly goosebumped from small electrical pings in his nervous system. The residual effects of the high from the kill. He closed his eyes, exhaled slowly, and relished the small rush. It was almost like a mini-aftershock-orgasm. The abrupt quivers that continue to shoot through the limbs after the sex is over.

At the bakery, the old man had said he didn’t know where Chris would go, claimed he had no friends and no family. Gerald had shown him a picture of Chris’s sister, and the old man had shaken his head. He’d never seen her or even known about her. Said Chris’s wife was dead. Had died in a car accident when the boy was a baby.

The boy was a surprise.

Gerald wondered what the child looked like. Did he look like his father? Chris had started as a hefty kid when he’d first met him, but by the time he’d escaped, he’d been a tall twig. He laughed out loud in the restroom. Was Chris paranoid about the boy’s safety? There were a lot of sick people in the world, people who would abuse a little boy with a lot of pain. No wonder Chris lived like a hermit. He probably was nervous for his kid’s safety every day.

If only he could get his hands on that kid.

That would teach Chris for putting him in this position.

Where did they go?

The Mexican knew that Chris had visited Portland in the past but didn’t know why. He’d also admitted Chris had been to Mexico a few times. Gerald pondered that statement. Was that good or bad? If Chris was headed to Mexico, he probably had no intention of ever returning. Especially once he heard his buddy Juan was dead. He could probably just let him go…