Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #3: Books 9-12 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [reading in the dark TXT] 📗

lungs. I smashed my head into his chest. He went over backwards and I stumbled, tripped and fell sprawling just beyond him, rolling down the slope into cold, shallow water.

I staggered to my feet and started to scramble up the slope, gulping air as I went. I got to the top with my legs shaking. He was standing just eight or ten feet away. His left arm was hanging limp by his side. I said, “Give it up, Wayne. It’s over.”

As I said it I reached for my weapon. He moved with the speed of a viper. He leapt at me, swinging his right fist. I leaned back but not far enough and the rock in his hand caught me a glancing blow on my temple. The pain was like a knitting needle being driven through my skull. I staggered back and he lashed out with his foot, catching me on the thigh. I fell painfully and rolled down the slope again, into the shallow pools of water. Sharp stones stabbed into my back and for a moment I went into spasm, unable to move or breathe. Above me I could see his silhouette, standing at the top of the slope, with the rock still in his hand.

He half ran, half skidded down and stood over me. Thin shards of pain shot through my lungs. Air rasped in my throat. I wondered if I had broken my back. I could feel the water lapping at the side of my cheeks and my mouth, and I knew what he was going to do. He was going to beat me unconscious with the rock and then drown me, face down in the black river. I thought of Dehan and knew I could not let that happen. He knelt and loomed over me, leering down into my face.

“First you,” he said. “Then I’m going to pay a visit to your cute Detective Dehan. I’m gonna ride me that pony tonight.”

I struggled to focus. I moved first my toes and then my fingers, and knew my back was not broken. Wayne raised the rock in his right hand, high above his head. I had maybe a second, at most. It was enough. His vanity would betray him.

I said, “Wait, if you’re going to kill me, at least tell me first. Was it you who killed Angela? Was it you?”

He threw back his head and laughed. Then he grinned down at me. “Yeah, I did. I killed ’em all, right here. This is my killin’ hill on the River Styx. And wouldn’t you love to know how!”

I said, “You’re under arrest, Wayne.”

He snorted. “Fuck you. Now you gonna be real Stone Cold.”

He raised the rock again, gritted his teeth. I pulled the 1911 from my holster and shot him through the heart. He looked very surprised, then slowly keeled over and fell into the dark waters where he had cast the bodies of all the young girls he’d killed.

All but one.

EIGHTEEN

I dragged myself up onto the bank and lay gasping for thirty long seconds. Then I reached into my jacket and pulled out my phone, saying, “Dehan! Did you get that? Did you call for backup…?”

I stared at the screen. I was not connected. My brain ached. I called dispatch. “This is Detective Stone requesting backup at Randall and Zerega. Notify the inspector. Wayne Harris is dead. I’ll need a team and the ME.”

I hung up and struggled to the top of the bank, trying to think. I called Dehan.

“The number you are calling is turned off or out of range. Please try again later…”

A burning pellet of dread seared in my belly. I ran, scrambling, stumbling and falling through the dark, up the track toward the gate in the fence. I burst out onto the road, gasping, my heart pounding in my ears, trying to think, trying to make sense of what was happening. Somewhere in the night sirens were wailing. Two patrol cars skidded around the corner from Randall Avenue. I hailed them and they screeched to a halt in front of me. As they climbed out I shouted at the nearest, “Secure the scene! Wayne Harris is down there. He’s dead. You!” I turned to the other. “Get on to dispatch. Have a car go to my house, now! Detective Stone’s house! Haight Avenue! Check on Detective Dehan! See if she is there! Now! Do it now!”

She was already talking on the radio. I was running for my car. My phone was ringing. I fumbled for it, praying it would be Dehan. It was the inspector. I answered as I clambered into the Jag.

“Stone! What the hell is this? Harris is dead?”

I said, “I haven’t got time. I think Dehan maybe too. Get off the line.”

“What? Stone! Talk to me! Where?”

Where?

I said, “I don’t know.” My mind was reeling. “I left her at home. There’s a car going there now.”

“You left her at home? John, you’re not making sense. Where are you? Are you at the river?”

I was at the river. I was at the river where all the killings had gone down.

All but one.

“Yes. I’m at the river.”

“What the hell are you doing there?”

“He called me.”

“Who did? Wayne Harris?”

My mind was beginning to clear. “Yes. He called me and told me he wanted to talk to me, alone. He said he didn’t want to see Dehan there. He said he wanted to tell me the truth.”

“What truth?”

“That he had killed the girls.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, John!”

“No, it doesn’t…”

“John, are you sure of all this…?”

Was I sure? I stared out of the windshield at the black mass of the trees and struggled to put the pieces together. But something was wrong. Something didn’t fit. In the distance I could hear more sirens