how far to push her. “Ma’am, do you have anything at all that might help me find Earl Walker? I know this is asking a lot, but did they leave anything behind? A suitcase or possibly—”
“He left stuff in the walls.”
I blinked in surprise. “Earl Walker?”
After an almost imperceptible nod, she said, “Harold, Earl, John … take your pick.”
Earl had assumed several identities. She obviously knew a few. “What did he leave in the walls?”
She pressed her mouth together hard. Her breath caught in her chest. “Pictures.”
I stilled. Kim had said that very thing, that Earl had left pictures in the walls. “Pictures of what?”
She shook her head, refusing to answer.
“Were they of Reyes? Were they of his boy?”
Her chin rose visibly, and I knew I’d nailed it. Why would Earl do that? What would he have to gain? The idea was utterly foreign to me, and I quickly scanned through the massive amounts of information I’d gleaned in college for an answer. Or at least, as much as I could recall offhand. Oftentimes criminals liked to keep trophies. Did the pictures represent trophies to Earl? And if they did, wouldn’t he have kept them?
He was all about control. Maybe they were a way to control Reyes, to keep him under his thumb. Still, I just couldn’t grasp why Earl would leave them. Kim had said there were pictures in the walls all over. Did she mean all the places they’d lived? They’d moved from place to place all over New Mexico, Texas, and Oklahoma, or so the police reports had said.
As bad as I hated to ask, I asked. “Faye, do you still have them?”
She wiped her eyes with the fingertips of one hand.
“They could have a clue. Something. Anything. I must find him.” My mind conjured scenes from a murder mystery where something seemingly mundane in the background of a picture offered the clue that solved the case. Like I could get so lucky.
I felt heartbreak rush through Faye as she considered my request, and I realized she must still have them. After drawing in a deep breath, she stood and shuffled to a sideboard, barely recognizable under the weight of clutter.
“I only kept one,” she said, her voice saturated with sadness. “I burned the others and kept the only one I could stomach to look at.” She pulled a Polaroid out of a crippled drawer but kept her gaze averted. “Not that I look at it. It’s just, the others were so much worse, I couldn’t fathom having them in my house. I figured this way, if the police ever needed evidence as to what that man did to that boy, I’d have it.”
Her words caused my heart to contract in dread and apprehension. She held out the picture, and I took it with a shaking hand, turned toward the light, braced myself, and glanced down.
Maybe it was my diet of coffee and more coffee. Maybe it was the fifteen days without sleep. Maybe it was the odor that hung like a heavy fog around me, making it difficult to breathe. Whatever it was, I took one look at that picture and the world slipped out from under me and disappeared.
Chapter 21
I chose the road less traveled. Now I’m lost.
I pulled Misery to a stop in front of my apartment building at half past three, my eyes so swollen, I could barely drive home. Faye had revived me and offered me some water after I blacked out. Blacked out! I’d actually fainted when I saw that picture. The same picture I now clutched to my chest. I couldn’t look at it. Never again. Not that it mattered. The image had been emblazoned onto my corneas, and I knew I’d never be able to un-see what had been seen.
After stumbling up the stairs, I went straight to my dresser and stashed the picture facedown in my lingerie drawer without so much as another glance.
The ropes. The cuts and bruises. The shame. I almost felt like that was the worst part of it. How Earl seemed to purposely shame Reyes by taking that picture. He’d tied him up, the rope biting into his flesh, reopening wounds that appeared to have been healing. I recognized Reyes instantly despite the blindfold, his mussed dark hair, his smooth, fluidly mechanical tattoos along his shoulders and arms, his full mouth. He looked about sixteen in the picture, his face turned away, his lips pressed together in humiliation. Huge patches of black bruises marred his neck and ribs. Long garish cuts, some fresh, some half-healed, streaked along his arms and torso.
The mere thought of the picture made me cry, which was exactly what I did at Faye’s place. I’d cried for over an hour. We talked. I cried some more. I wondered what the other pictures were like, the ones Faye had burned that were worse than the one I now had. Swallowing hard, I forced the image out of my mind and focused on my client, on finding Teresa Yost.
With a good three hours to dawn, I decided to take a shower and put some fresh clothes on along with a pair of hiking boots, since I was probably going to do some hiking. It would take me an hour and a half to get to Pecos. If I timed it right, I could arrive at sunrise and set out on my search for Teresa early.
“Left?”
“Right.”
“Right?”
“No, you’re right, turn left.”
“Cookie, really?” I asked into the phone. Yost’s property was proving much harder to find than I’d originally thought, even with Cookie on Google Maps back on her home computer pointing the way, since I kept losing the GPS signal on my phone.
When I’d left my apartment, Garrett’s guy was there, and for once, he was awake. I had to sneak around to Cookie’s silver Taurus and take it instead, a move that I informed her of when I called and woke her up at five thirty to let her know. Naturally I explained how I’d been forced to take her car as a ploy to sneak past my tail. Plus I was out of gas.
Thinking back, I realized I could’ve waited until I actually got to Pecos to tell her I’d committed a felony in the pursuit of justice, since I really hadn’t needed her help until I actually arrived in Pecos over an hour later. But waking her up was fun. And I needed to think about something other than the picture that had been scorched into my mind.
“Sorry,” she said, still a bit groggy even after her shower. “No right, just left.”
“Then I should be there, but I don’t see a cabin.” At this point, I was so tired, I was seeing two of everything
“Is there a trail of any kind?” she asked.
I pulled her car into a small clearing just off a side road, rubbed my eyes, then looked around. “Well, yeah, it doesn’t look like much, though. And I don’t know if your car will make it through the brush.”
She gasped. “Don’t you dare take my car down a mountain trail.”
“Really? Because it did great on the first one, aside from that rear axle thing.”
“Charley Davidson!”
“Just kidding, for crying out loud.” Geez, she was touchy about her car.
I wondered if I should tell her about the picture and decided abso-freaking-lutely. If I had to be haunted for the rest of my days, then by golly, she did, too. No idea why. Misery loves company, I guess. The emotion, not the Jeep. I missed it dearly, but now was hardly the time to dwell on it.
“Maybe you should wait for Garrett,” she said. “Where the hell is he?”
“He wasn’t on duty when I left, remember? And since I ditched his phone, we have no way to get ahold of him that I know of.”
“What about Angel?”
“I told him to stick to the doctor like green on guacamole. He won’t be showing up anytime soon.”
