‘You heard that Samuel escaped?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, with a nod to his friends. ‘We’re on the lookout for that piece of crap.’
‘Best you do watch out for him. He might figure out that it was you who sent me out to the ranch and look for some kind of payback.’
‘We’ll be waiting.’
Robert and Burt shared a glance. Burt even folded his arms on his chest, flexing his muscles like a tough guy, but it didn’t work for him. Neither of those men would last more than a few seconds against Samuel, and Scott would quickly follow them to the grave. ‘You see any sign of him, call the cops immediately.’
‘The cops didn’t do a lot of good the last time. That fuckin’ Lewin… I can’t believe that asshole was involved.’
‘You didn’t know that he was related to the Logans?’
‘No, I’d no idea.’
‘What was Carson Logan’s wife called before she was married?’
‘Don’t know.’
I hadn’t confirmed it yet, but I’d a good idea. She was most probably an aunt of Officer Lewin.
‘Did you know Carla Logan?’
‘Not personally. She didn’t leave the ranch that often, and only when she was chaperoned by one of her kin.’
‘But you’ve seen her?’
‘Yeah, she was a good-lookin’ gal. Looked a bit like my Hel — oh, shit…’
Scott looked like he was about to vomit, and it went some way to confirming my theory. Once Arlene passed away, Carla had been the only woman in residence at that remote ranch. Had those sick monsters treated their own flesh and blood the same way they had Helena and Nicole? The thought was abhorrent and alien to me, but I’d heard much worse. In recent years a number of stories had come to light where men driven by unhealthy sexual appetites had kept women prisoners, some their own daughters, using them for years as their personal playthings. Was it too much to assume that the Logans had been seeking women to replace the one they’d fixated upon for so long? My hope was that Carla had indeed managed to run away to the West Coast, but another part of me believed the cadaver dogs or ground-piercing radar crew might turn up a corpse after all.
‘The son of a bitch. His own sister? If I ever…’
I held up a palm to stop him.
‘Samuel Logan’s a dangerous man,’ I said. ‘Don’t try to take him on. Do as I said. Go straight to the police.’
Scott wiped his mouth with the back of a wrist. Maybe he was recalling the last time they’d met and Samuel had almost crippled him with a single blow to the solar plexus. ‘Yeah, you’re probably right. Not that he’ll show up around here. He knows that the cops are hunting for him. He’ll be miles away from here by now. I don’t think we’ll have to worry about him again.’
His final words had sounded hopeful. I too was hopeful because despite Burt and Rob being a pair of hapless goons, I’d grown to like Scott Blackstock. I didn’t want to see him or his buddies dead.
‘So what happens now?’ Scott asked.
‘I’m heading to Florida and back to work. You know us private dicks, always looking to make a buck off someone else’s misery.’
Scott laughed with embarrassment, reminded of how he’d first greeted me on the telephone. ‘Well, if you’re ever out this way again, look me up. I owe you a beer.’
‘You’ve got a deal.’
We shook hands, then I accepted the hands of Burt and Rob. Seems I was forgiven for smacking them around. I felt bad about having done so, but, at the time, it had been necessary. They wandered back to their pick-up and bunched inside. Scott hit the horn and then peeled out of the parking lot.
I was uneasy at having just lied to them about going back to Florida.
But that had been necessary too.
Scott I could trust to keep his mouth shut. The other two I wasn’t so sure of. Robert didn’t have much to say, but I suspected the first time Burt got drunk his lips would start flapping. One thing I’d learned was that family connections ran deep in this part of the desert. Who knew who might carry tales back to Samuel?
If that was the case I wanted him to think I was well out of the way, so that if he went for the women again he wouldn’t be expecting me.
A lot of good my lie would do if Samuel chose a different course of action. I was counting on the fact that he cared enough for his family to try for a second go at the women. Maybe the sick-headed freak couldn’t give a damn and was already heading for the Mexican border.
It would be preferable for Nicole and Jay if he was; but not for me. I wouldn’t be happy until Samuel Logan was dead and gone, for choice by my hand. The first time we fought I’d been more concerned with the fate of the girls, and had kept things as low key as possible. Samuel had latched on to that weakness and had taken a liberty. I was still in pain from the clubbing that he’d given me and wanted nothing more than to pay him back. Of course that was selfish of me, but I was looking for revenge for Helena, Carla, and who knew which other women fallen victim to his demented family.
I’d checked out of the motel and had already slung my belongings into a rented Chrysler, so was ready to go. I only had a short drive to another hotel further along the strip. There Jay Walker and Nicole Challinor were waiting for me. They’d been given lodgings at the state’s expense: five-star luxury at the Tipi Hotel. The only concession was that they had to put up with a uniformed guard at their door for fear that Samuel might make a try for them sooner than anyone expected. I was glad that the guards were there, but couldn’t see how Samuel would be ready yet. I was positive that my first bullet had struck him, but the second?
I have this ability. I can snapshoot a scene for recalling later. Usually I can recollect the most minute of details. The only problem with my skill is that I must make a conscious decision to do so otherwise my memory is as woolly as anyone else’s. As I drove, I thought back to the incident at the ranch and how I’d surprised Samuel on his return to the house. I was down on one knee when he’d shambled out of the darkness and on seeing me he’d given a start, before leaping for his life as I’d fired. And that’s what was bothering me most. I recalled him spinning with the impact of the bullet, his arms flailing. But was that a true memory, or was I conjuring what I wanted to see? Had the spinning to the floor been his instinct to escape the bullet and had it even hit? When he struck the ground I’d fired again and saw him jolt as my bullet impacted his body. Then again, it had been dark and I’d heard no corresponding shout of pain. At the time I believed I’d mortally wounded him, but I’d also wanted to be sure and had lined up a third shot only for Carson to thwart me when he launched his attack. I ransacked my memories, trying to find something to assure me that I’d seriously injured him, but wasn’t confident. No, I had to accept that Samuel wasn’t hurt bad and that he could be ready much sooner than any of us thought.
As unlikely as it sounds, there was the possibility that both of my bullets missed their mark, but for one thing. If I hadn’t hurt Samuel, he’d have launched a counterattack while I’d been engaged in my duel with Carson or minutes later with Officer Lewin. So he was injured. He had to be. Then again there had been times in the past where I’d been shot, stabbed, hit by shrapnel, but had managed to survive my wounds. Back when I was with Arrowsake, and deep in the middle of combat, I’d witnessed men with their entrails pooling out of their eviscerated bodies still laying down covering fire for their comrades. Once I heard of a woman who was stabbed more than forty times by her abusive husband, only to turn the knife on him and end the torture with one thrust. The woman lived. The human body can sustain terrible injuries and survive, or something totally inane can kill it. It’s all about the luck of the draw, and Samuel could have been very lucky that day.