No Going Back (32 page)

‘I told you. He doesn’t like people taking the law into their own hands.’

‘Then he’s got nothing to worry about. Ask your buddies inside: I’ve been sitting here the past two hours admiring their stellar work.’ I thought about what Witherspoon was intimating. ‘The three that were killed: it was a revenge shooting?’

‘No, looks like a plain old robbery to me. Whoever it was took their dope and their weapons. Probably rival drug dealers.’

‘Does that happen a lot in Holbrook?’

‘Nah,’ Witherspoon said. ‘We don’t normally have any problems.’

I thought about the last time a cop told me something similar. Officer Lewin had been lying through his teeth, but I believed that Witherspoon was a straight-up kind of guy.

‘No witnesses?’ I asked.

‘None that are coming forward.’

‘So you’ve no suspects?’

‘Not yet. But I have uniforms canvassing the neighbourhood, checking CCTV and the rest. I’m sure they’ll turn up something soon.’

‘What about Samuel Logan?’

‘From what I hear he prefers to use his fists.’

‘He did, that was for sure.’ My body still bore testament to the truth of that statement. But what about now that he was injured and growing desperate? A strange feeling rode the length of my spine. ‘What are the uniform resources like in a town this small?’

‘Why? You planning on robbing a bank while they’re all tied up on inquiries?’

‘No. But someone else might get ideas.’

40

I took the rented Chrysler back to our hotel ahead of the families, with instructions to Jameson Walker to give me an hour before they returned. He ushered them away in search of a restaurant where they could continue their celebrations. That suited me because if my suspicions were founded then I didn’t want the women near that hotel.

Holbrook isn’t exactly a large town, and I was back within minutes, but didn’t drive directly into the hotel’s car park. I left the Chrysler on the main strip outside, then went forward on foot. The trees that had been planted to form a break between the hotel and highway offered cover for me until I reached the entrance drive. I thought they’d also be a good location for someone to hide if they were watching who was coming or going. Taking a quick glance around, I checked that no one was observing me. Happy, I drew my SIG then stepped over the small wire fence and into the trees. It was little more than a copse, and the landscapers had done a sterling job in keeping the undergrowth at bay. Sprinklers hidden in the grass fed the lawns while a more elaborate irrigation system kept the trees from succumbing to the desert heat. The trunks of the trees weren’t thick enough to conceal a man, but in the darkness they looked to have all bunched together so it wasn’t easy defining where one ended and the next began. If Samuel was out here, I could stumble over him before I was aware.

Placing my back to a gnarly tree-bole, I stood quietly and allowed my other senses to seek danger. There was too much noise from the nearby highway for my liking, and all that I could smell was the mixed aromas of wet grass, exhaust fumes and frying chicken from a nearby fast food outlet. I have the same inherent instinct as everyone else – the one that warns of hidden danger – but tonight it seemed that it was on hiatus. I’d no sense of Samuel Logan or anyone else hiding in the woods.

I went on, wending my way between the trunks until I reached a point where the lights from the hotel began to brighten my way. I paused there, hunkering down so that I could study the swathe of concrete and brick that formed the car park and retaining walls of flower beds adjacent to the hotel itself. There were a few vehicles parked on the lot, but no sign of their drivers. A valet stood outside the main entrance, waiting for the moment his services might be required. He was a Hopi guy I’d nodded to a couple of times in passing. Bored, his hands clasped behind him, he rocked on his heels while he waited for guests to arrive. He looked unperturbed, so I guessed there’d been nothing unusual that had recently caught his eye. He’d probably spent many hours standing in that very spot and anything different would immediately draw his attention.

It didn’t mean that Samuel wasn’t around, only that he was well hidden.

Could he even be inside the building?

He would stand out like a whore in a convent in there, but that was supposing he looked the way he had last time I saw him. He could dress well, change his hair, but anyone with even the slightest sense would see him for what he was. Surely?

I knew all this was purely speculation, that Samuel could be thousands of miles away by now, and that I was raising my expectation based upon a random shooting. Nevertheless I’d learned to trust my hunches and, though they were occasionally misinformed, more times than not I’d guessed right. I wondered if Samuel had thought things through and had killed those men as a diversion, or if that was simply a by-product of the act. I didn’t think he had any need of cocaine, but he’d gone for other items: their weapons. Witherspoon couldn’t confirm what had been taken from their bodies, but two of the men had empty sheaths on their belts that indicated they’d been carrying – most likely knives.

I looked down at my SIG, considered putting it away and transferring my Ka-bar to my hand. It was a stupid idea. I held on to my gun. First chance I had I was placing a round between Samuel’s eyes.

Watching the valet, I saw him come to attention.

I pricked to attention too, but when I saw a taxi pull in front of the hotel and discharge an elderly couple carting hand luggage I settled down again. The valet carried their belongings into the hotel, returned and took up position. He surreptitiously counted the dollars tipped to him but didn’t look over-impressed at the couple’s generosity. The valet soon went back to gently rocking to and fro, and his movement served to lull me. I remained hunkered down, watching, waiting.

The window for a diversionary tactic was rapidly closing. I had to assume that – if he had been responsible – Samuel hadn’t tried to draw the police away and the killings had been purely to steal weapons. So what was the asshole waiting for? The obvious answer was that he knew Nicole and Jay were absent. Had I made a mistake sending them off to eat at a restaurant in town where he could find them? No. He wouldn’t scour the eateries on the off-chance he’d locate them. If he was coming for the women I believed it would be here. But, more and more, it looked like Samuel Logan was a no-show.

I couldn’t just walk out of the woods. That would raise the eyebrows of the valet, and perhaps get tongues wagging. I decided to retreat the way I’d come, collect my car and drive in like a normal hotel guest. I was in the process of backing away when I again noticed the valet stand to attention. I followed his gaze, and though my vantage cut off some of the view of the front gate I saw the minivan nosing in.

Glancing at my wristwatch, I thought: What the hell are they doing back so soon? It was barely more than an hour since I’d left the police station. They couldn’t have had very big appetites, that was all.

The minivan swung into the turning space before the hotel. I could see Jameson in the front alongside the driver, and a sea of heads clustered in the back. Their faces made pale ovals as they scanned the grounds. The valet came forward to meet the taxi, opening a sliding door from which spilled first Herb Challinor, followed by his wife and daughter. Jameson came out next, before leaning back inside to pay the driver. Jay climbed out, then loaned a hand to help her mother step down. I paid them little more than cursory attention: if Samuel was out there waiting for them, now was the time for him to show.

While the group bunched at the entrance, Jay looking around, possibly wondering why my car wasn’t in the parking area, I centred myself, allowing my gaze to fade out so that I wasn’t looking at anything in particular. In a throwback to ancient days when our forebears were prey to more savage beasts, they relied on their peripheral vision much more than we do now in the modern age. But the fact persists, subtle movement is easier to identify in the extremes of the vision than when looked at directly. Thankfully the windless night helped, because if it had been breezy like yesterday I’d never have distinguished one moving shadow from another.

As it was I caught a flash of grey off to my left.

I didn’t immediately swing my head to seek out the source of the movement, just opened my mouth and listened. The traffic noise from the highway was still a hindrance, but this way I could at least hear more than the blood rushing through my inner ears now that my pulse was up. It allowed me to hear the metallic scuff of a foot slipping off a sprinkler head and thudding into the grass. Conscious that the clumsy stalker’s senses would be heightened following his slip, I didn’t move. I waited, and heard a low curse that would carry no further than the copse of trees.

Slowly I came out of my crouch. Having been in a static position for so long, I allowed the blood to course through pinched veins before attempting to move. The soles of my feet tingled, but at least my legs hadn’t fallen asleep. Then, using a tree trunk as a shield, I went towards the man hiding in the trees. I wondered how long he’d been there, waiting exactly as I had, and was confident I would have been alerted to him sooner if he’d arrived while I was there. He had to have been in place before my arrival, and it was only sheer bad luck on his part that he hadn’t noticed me first. Or, more accurately, good luck on mine. I couldn’t make out any details yet; he remained a vague shadow in the darkness, but where his hand was extended I made out the unmistakable shape of a handgun.

Glancing towards the hotel front, I saw the families still grouped on the pavement, watching as the minivan pulled away from the kerb, offering waves of thanks to the driver. Shit, get inside, I thought.

I stalked towards the lurker, seeing him move behind the bole of a tree. I caught another flash of grey, possibly a snatch of clothing.

I was only twenty feet away from the man.

The stalker was moving forward, but with trees between us. I wasn’t sure if it was Samuel Logan. But who else would be out there in the dark with a gun? I swung my gaze back to the cluster of people outside the hotel. From this distance I could drop any of them, but I was a highly trained gunman: could Samuel do the same? I saw his gun rise, and couldn’t take the chance.

I didn’t have a clear shot, so instead I rushed him.

The man heard me coming, twisting round to face me, and as I raced towards him, my gun extended to shoot, his mouth opened in a startled ‘O’.

Stumbling to a halt, I looked down at him.

I allowed my gun to drop.

‘For God’s sake,’ I said in a harsh whisper. ‘Do you realise how close I came to killing you?’

Scott Blackstock was too shaken to answer.

41

‘What the hell are you doing hiding out here in the dark?’

‘I think that should be obvious. Considering you were supposed to have gone back to Florida, who else was going to get Samuel when he turned up?’

‘Jesus Christ,’ I said. ‘How long have you been here?’

‘Couple of hours,’ he said. He was over the initial shock of my appearance now, his voice a little steadier.

‘I was that close to killing you.’ I held my index finger and thumb close to his nose: you’d have been hard put to push a piece of paper between them.

‘Good job you recognised me, then.’

‘Wasn’t it just?’

Scott was wearing a grey hooded top and faded jeans. The hood was pulled over his head and it was a damn good job he’d looked up at me when he had because I’d been a hair’s breadth from pulling the trigger.

‘Where are the other two, your buddies?’

‘Back at Indian Wells. They’ll be drunk by now, I guess.’

‘Smells like you’ve had a couple yourself.’

‘Dutch courage,’ he said.

‘And a sure way to get yourself killed, you idiot.’

Scott’s shoulders rose and fell. ‘Those bastard Logans murdered Helena. What did you expect me to do?’

Who was I to preach?

I rested a hand on his shoulder, while I checked back over mine. The Walkers and Challinors were still gathered outside the hotel. They were chatting animatedly. They were exposed. But it looked like I’d misread everything. Standing there in the shadows with Scott, I felt as much of an amateur as he was.

‘Go home, Scott. Have another drink with Robert and Burt. Raise a glass to your wife’s memory for me.’

‘I’m not going.’

‘You are. Leave this to me.’

‘What gives you the sole right? Helena was
my
wife.’

‘Yeah, and she wouldn’t want you risking your life like this.’

‘I’m not leaving.’

‘Lower your voice at least. I don’t want anyone hearing us.’

‘If Samuel’s around, I think it would be a little too late for that. Don’t you?’

‘I’m not talking about Samuel.’ I indicated the group at the hotel entrance.

Scott followed my gesture, and I saw that his mouth had hollowed again. I knew who’d caught his attention. Nicole was the obvious one. He leaned forward, and even in the darkness I could see tears welling.

‘It isn’t her, Scott,’ I said gently.

He slowly blinked, and was unaware – or careless – of the tears that streamed down his cheeks. ‘Is she one of the girls that the Logans snatched?’