Crucified Page 6

  “Here it is. Jerry Cox, 378 Winding Road. Johnstown, New Brunswick. Age, fifty-six. Height, six-foot-three-inches. Weight, two hundred seventy-five pounds.”

  “How do I get to Winding Road?” She turned the key in the ignition.

  “You aren’t going anywhere alone.”

  “I’ll be right over to pick you up.”

  ****

  Taylor sat out back of his house, breathing in the intoxicating scent of Lupins in full bloom. He didn’t consider himself a flowery kind of guy by any means. However, he did harbor a deep appreciation for nature and all it entailed.

  He tossed and turned most of the night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the sexy agent, or the sickening smirk of the demented hardware store owner.

  He took great pleasure in smashing his face. If Dianne hadn’t been there, who knew if he would have stopped. He couldn’t fathom how anyone could hurt Casey. Sure she was a bit of a tease, but so was every other red blooded teenage girl in Johnstown.

  Dianne hadn’t called him, so he assumed they hadn’t learned the whereabouts from Ray. There was one thing about the guy that didn’t quite mesh. Of all the photos he’d seen in his apartment, not one would be classed as inappropriate. From what he saw, they were only pictures of the kids in town standing in the street in groups of two or more.

  If he took Casey, wouldn’t he have pictures proudly displayed? Maybe he flushed those types of photos before Dianne burst in the bathroom door. Or, maybe they had the wrong guy. Was it possible he was still out there stalking his next victim?

  Taylor pondered the possibility as his eyes roamed the panoramic view from his back deck. His brow creased. Something is different.

  The picture postcard view before him was etched in his mind. He’d spent many a morning taking in the sight before him. He folded his arms across his chest.

  Smoke.

  Not the billowing smoke of a fire out of control. If he guessed right, this smoke came from a chimney.

  Odd. A fire in the heat of summer? He’d never seen signs of life out that way before. Shortly after moving in, he’d taken MJ for a tour of what lay outside his back door. He found a rocky incline between the field of flowers and the ocean. The only evidence of civilization was a couple of abandoned cabins once occupied by fishermen during the peak fishing times.

  He’d peeked in a few windows and confirmed nobody had been there for a very long time. Overgrown weeds climbed the windows. A broken pane served as an entrance for stray animals. Small piles of evidence they’d been there lay scattered across the dirty floors.

  Taylor lifted his coffee cup and drained the contents. Not that he needed an excuse to go for a ride. He walked inside and scooped up his keys off of the kitchen counter. I’ll just go take a quick look around to make sure there isn’t anything on fire.

  There wasn’t a cloud in the sky as he rode toward the ocean. He licked his lips, able to taste the salt from the ocean. Seagulls soared above him looking for a morning snack. The unmistakable scent of wood smoke wafted toward him as he pulled over to the shoulder. An unkempt gravel road led to where the cabins were. No way was he riding MJ down the pothole-riddled laneway. He locked up his bike and walked toward the spiral of smoke coming from the myriad of trees.

  The hairs on his arms stood on end. The roof of a cabin peeked above the overgrown foliage. Unease and trepidation slowed his pace. There wasn’t a legitimate reason why he was feeling this way, but the sensation was so overpowering he took heed.

  Taylor scooted from tree to tree, safely hidden behind the tall, gnarled trunks. A familiar, old, beat up van was parked beside a cabin where smoke rose from the chimney. He remembered seeing it around town from time to time. On the other side was a small stone building, not unlike similar structures scattered along the oceanfront. The stone kept the temperature ideally cool. Fishermen used to store their fish inside them.

  He caught movement from inside the cabin. Slowly, he inched his way up under the window ledge and peeked inside. A big man, wearing a long black trench coat stood in front of an old cast iron wood stove. He wore the collar turned up, and unruly red curls poked out above it. The stranger had a slight bald patch on top of his head. His gloved hands sorted through a stack of photos he held out in front of him.

  He’s got to be baking in that trench coat. Goosebumps crawled up his arms. He half expected him to turn around flashing a butcher knife.

  A thick layer of dust covered everything except for a space on the end of a table that had been swiped clean. If he lives here, he didn’t take any time to clean up the place. A single chair sat in front of the space. Animal droppings littered the floor and spider webs filled every nook and cranny visible from the window.

  On a small side table next to the door sat half a dozen iron spikes, the kind they use on the railways. A long handled sledgehammer sat propped against the wall beside it, and hanging from a hook above the table…a Polaroid camera.

  Taylor’s heart thrummed madly. Maybe he’s .just taking pictures of the ocean, or the whales… His gaze traveled the length of the man.

  He’s the fucker who took Casey, I can feel it.

  He dashed back behind a cluster of bushes, making sure he could still everything. He thought about going back to town for help, but quickly dismissed the idea. If Casey’s here, I can’t leave her alone. How am I going to get a look in the van and that building without the guy seeing me?

  The backs of his legs started to throb, reminding him of his height and how unhappy it was about being crouched down for so long.

  The stranger still stood in the exact same spot, shuffling through his photos. Taylor carefully stretched his legs out in front of him at the same time the stranger moved.

  His massive hand took hold of a long handled spoon that sat precariously on a large pot on top of the wood stove. An unusual, yet familiar scent wafted through the broken glass toward Taylor as he stirred the pot. He’d smelled that scent before, but couldn’t for the life of him put a name to it.

  A twig snapped from behind him. Taylor wrenched his neck trying to see without shifting. Someone is out there and they’re headed this way. He darted to the side of the cabin where he crouched down beside the passenger door of the van.

  He still had a good view of the door to the cabin and the road he’d taken in. He looked inside the van. Contrary to the paint chipped, rusted out body, the inside was immaculate. There wasn’t as much as a speck of dirt on the floor mats. Casey wasn’t inside.

  The door to the cabin flew open and banged against the side of the cabin. The man in black carried the steaming pot by the handle. Although the pot seemed made of cast iron and obviously full, he carried it with ease. He walked over to a poorly constructed clothesline and set down the pot. One by one he took the items of clothes from the pot and hung them dripping from the line. The last item, a pink hooded sweater Taylor recognized as Casey’s.

  Why is he washing her clothes?

  Taylor tried to get a glimpse of the psycho’s face. Between his high collar and newly acquired toque he had pulled down low, Taylor couldn’t see anything. Once the clothes were hung, he tipped over the pot and lumbered over to the van. Its rusty hinges creaked as he opened the door and slammed it shut behind him.

  If he backs out I’m screwed. If he pulls out, I just might have a chance, as long as he doesn’t look in his mirrors.

  The van clunked and rolled away. Taylor dropped to the ground, and as soon as the van passed him, he rolled in the direction of the small stone building.

  He sucked air through clenched teeth as he watched the van drive out of sight. He then expelled his breath and stopped. MJ. There’s no way the freak won’t see her on his way out.

  He had to act fast. A long steel bar wedged in metal braces held the door to the stone house shut. He tried to pull it up. The bar was wedged in tight. He planted his feet and pulled with all his strength. Finally, he felt it give a little.

  Chapter Nine

  In the same mome
nt he felt the iron give way, the sound of the van’s wheels spitting gravel resounded in the air.

  “Fuck!” Taylor set off running around to the back of the stone building. He kicked over a plastic pail and spilled its contents in his path. His foot slid out from under him and he landed flat on his ass in the middle of a slimy puddle of fowl smelling…“Shit!”

  He heaved in disgust. Someone had been using the pail as a toilet. He scrambled to his feet and stifled the urge to throw up. The van door slammed shut, jolting him back to the now. Taylor pressed his putrid smelling body flush against the cool stone.

  “I know you’re here,” shouted the stranger. “C’mon out and face me you yellow bellied piece of scooter trash!”

  Taylor’d never in his life backed down from a fight, but he was no fool. He knew, as much as he felt like running out and letting loose on the sick fuck, the guy wasn’t playing with a full deck.

  “Jerry Cox.” A loud, amplified voice seemed to come from every direction. “This is the police. We have you surrounded. Step away from the vehicle with your hands in the air.”

  Taylor slid along the wall to the corner of the building.

  Jerry Cox threw back his head and laughed hysterically, waving his hands above his head. “Our Father in heaven is watching! Jezebel must pay for her sins.”

  Uniformed officers swarmed in on Jerry Cox.

  The cold shaft of a gun pressed against his temple. “Hands behind your back,” an officer shouted.

  Taylor knew how to pick his battles. This was definitely a battle not worth fighting. He moved his hands behind his back and stepped away from the wall. The officer took three steps back, but kept his gun trained on him. He ushered Taylor down the side of the building.

  “Jezebel is waiting for you, Scooter Trash.” Jerry’s face twisted into a distorted grin. “Why don’t you officers dispose of the sinners? Put them where they belong… in the trash.” He started to laugh again, echoing the madness in his bulging eyes.

  “That’s enough. Get him in the cruiser.” Agent Mann guided Dianne towards them.

  “Where is she?” She bolted toward Jerry, and grabbed the collar of his jacket. “Where’s Casey, you crazy son of a bitch.”

  Jerry fell quiet and glared at Dianne before he spat in her face.

  Her knee came up and pummeled into his balls. He doubled over, writhing in pain for only a brief moment before tilting his face toward Taylor.

  “She probably had you, too…didn’t she, Scooter Trash? I’ve seen that Jezebel hanging around your shop.” His face twisted in a medley of pain and insanity. “Bet you liked it, too…didn’t you, Scooter Trash?”

  “Okay, let’s go. Into the wagon, asshole.” Seth signaled for two officers to come take him away. “Spread out! Find the girl, now!” His command filtered through the officers, setting them in motion.

  Jerry Cox’s laughter hung in the air long after the cruiser drove out of sight.

  “I think she’s in there.” Taylor pointed with his cuffed hands to the stone building.

  “Open that door,” Dianne shouted as she ran toward the building.

  An officer on either end of the iron post lifted it up and placed it on the ground. They swung the big door back, assaulted by the putrid stench. It took a few seconds before he saw her—in exactly the same position in the last photo.

  Are we too late?

  One of the officers turned away and doubled over to puke. The girl hanging from the cross was a skeleton of the Casey who broke out in a fit of giggles if he so much as looked her way.

  Dianne jogged over to the clothesline and snatched the overturned bucket. She ran over to Casey and turned it over by her side. She stepped up and pressed her ear against the girl’s blood caked chest. She jerked back, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

  “She’s alive! Get an ambulance here stat!” She stepped back. “For God’s sake, somebody get her down, and get me a blanket.” Her eyes flashed with anger. “Move!”

  Two officers untied the ropes that bound her hands and feet to the cross. A trickle of fresh blood oozed from her wrists and ankles. Dianne rushed over and wrapped her bruised and battered body in a blanket. Casey crumpled against her.

  “Find something to stop the bleeding.”

  The officer, who brought the blanket, took off his shirt and tore it into strips. He gingerly wrapped Casey’s raw wounds while Dianne cooed into her tangled mass of hair.

  She thanked the officer with her eyes and looked down into Casey’s motionless face. A single tear rolled down her cheek to reveal the paleness of her face.

  “Hush now, Casey.” She spoke barely above a whisper. “It’s all over now…”

  Taylor stood with a team of officers as Casey was lifted onto the stretcher and into the ambulance.

  A palpable sadness filled the air as the ambulance drove out of sight, lights flashing and siren blaring, being led by two cruisers.

  Dianne leaned against her partner, the side of her face covered in Casey’s blood. Her gaze fell on Taylor and her eyes widened, while color flooded her face.

  “Get those cuffs off of him!”

  An officer unlocked the cuffs and moved away as quickly as possible. His nose wrinkled in distaste. Taylor watched the anger dissipate from her face, replaced by a deep sadness that tugged at his heartstrings. He desperately wanted to be the one to comfort her.

  “I’m sorry.” She crumpled against her partner and buried her face in his jacket.

  Concern etched Seth’s brow. He squeezed her arm and guided her over to the sedan.

  His brows knit in confusion, Taylor turned to the nearest officer as Seth started the car and drove off. “She’s sure taking this hard. Do you think she’ll be okay?”

  “She’s pretty tough. I’m sure she’ll be fine.” The officer gagged and pulled his shirt over his nose. “No offense, but you don’t smell too great.”

  Taylor shrugged and trudged the short distance to his bike without another word spoken. His eyes teared up as the wind carried the putrid stench of himself. No wonder Dianne went to Seth and not him.

  “I’m sorry, MJ.” He’d never been on his bike even remotely close to being as filthy as he was now.

  He kicked her to life and flipped up the stand. “Take me home, Mary Jane.” He rode home pretty much on autopilot. He opened his back door to see the light flashing on his phone. He trudged over and jabbed the button.

  “Taylor, this is Dianne. Could you please come down to the station sometime today to issue a statement?” He heard the raw emotion in her voice. “Thank you.”

  He sighed wearily as he opened the cupboard with just his fingertips. He grabbed a garbage bag and walked mindfully back out to the deck. He wished with ever fiber of his being he didn’t have to recount the events of today.

  Taylor stripped off his clothes. All the while, he held his breath as he tossed each item of clothing into the garbage bag. So much for these clothes. His stomach turned as he tied the bag closed.

  Naked, he walked over to the garbage can and tossed in the evidence of his shit luck. He stood still, his gaze roamed over the spot he’d seen the smoke coming from early that morning. What would that sick fuck have done to her if I didn’t go investigate the smoke? He shuddered with the thought and partly because of the breeze against his bare skin.

  Once inside, he walked straight to the bathroom. He held the walls of the shower and let the warm water pummel over his head until the brown water turned clear.

  ****

  Dianne stepped out of the shower with a better grip on her emotions. She barely remembered coming back to her room. Seeing Casey tied to a cross affected her deeply. She’d seen plenty in all her years on the force, but for some reason, this time was different, like something inside of her broke and she doubted she’d ever be the same.

  She dressed in jeans and a long sleeve black blouse. Instead of wearing the usual running shoe, she opted for her black leather boots. She hardly recognized the woman who looked back
at her in the mirror.

  What happened to you?

  The dark circles under her green eyes told how the past ten years had taken its toll on her. She shook her head at her image. You need to get a life.

  A quick swipe of mascara and Chap Stick and she was good to go. Her badge and gun sat prominently on the end table, taunting her. With a decisive nod, she picked them up and rolled back her shoulders before stepping over to the door.

  She took a deep breath before crossing the street to the station, and didn’t let it out until she opened the door. Seth sat across from Chief Walker replaying the morning’s events.

  “I just can’t believe it. Jerry Cox?” The chief stared in disbelief.

  “My guess is he saw Casey with a boy, and snapped. She’s the preacher’s daughter, hence the Jezebel angle.” Seth tipped back his chair to lean on the wall.

  “Any word on Casey?” Dianne sat against the opposite wall.

  “She’s in pretty bad shape, but the doctors are hopeful. She’s heavily sedated right now. Poor kid.”

  She flipped her badge over and over again.

  “Are you okay?” asked Seth.

  “I don’t know.” Dianne kept her gaze downcast. “I just don’t know.”

  The station door opened. A warm breeze brought with it Taylor Danson. He’d changed into form fitting jeans. A braided ponytail lay down the middle of his back, his honeyed complexion a sexy contrast against his stark white denim shirt. Despite what had just taken place, there was no denying the attraction between them. Her pulse quickened as his gaze met hers. Every fiber of her being wanted to feel his arms around her.

  “Thank you for coming.” Seth stood and offered his hand, breaking the connection between them. “I guess I owe you an apology.”

  He shook Seth’s hand. “Never mind that. I’m just glad we got to her in time. She is going to be okay, isn’t she?”

  “She’s got a long road ahead of her, but she’s going to be okay.” Seth motioned for Taylor to take a seat next to Dianne. He sat at his makeshift desk and rifled through a few papers. “Just a couple questions and you can be on your way.”