Incarnate Page 30

  Zack figured that every time that story was told, the bear got bigger and meaner. If he really had killed the hunter, the remains of the body would probably have turned up by now. He questioned the bartender about DeWitt’s buddy, the man who’d called in the tip, but drew a blank there, too.

  “Honestly,” the bartender said, scratching his head, “I don’t recall anyone of that description in the last month. Mostly we get the regular folks, and outsiders stand out enough to get remarked on. And greenhorns and city folk take a lot of ribbing. I feel like if your man was in here, I’d remember.”

  Zack thanked him for his time and got back in his cruiser, giving the place one final appreciative glance before starting the trip home. The mountain air was cool and crisp, scented with smoke and lilac; nearby was a lake whose water, he’d wager, was as clear as glass. Maybe he’d bring Kim up here camping, he thought, but he shut down that line of reasoning before he could get a mile ahead of himself.

  Instead, Zack forced his attention back to the case. He checked cell service as he drove, planning to let Holt know that the trip hadn’t panned out. He thought he might check in on the hunter’s wife when he got back to Jarvis, see if she’d thought of anything else unusual that her husband had said or done in the days leading up to his disappearance. Maybe go see the buddy in person, see if his story held up under questioning, if they could somehow track down his location.

  It wasn’t until he was half an hour away from Jarvis that the bars on his phone popped back up—along with two missed messages.

  Both from Kim.

  Zack tapped the play button. His phone was dash-mounted and Bluetooth enabled, so her voice filled the car a moment later.

  “Hi, it’s me,” she said, then got all flustered and added, “Uh, Kim. Kim Patterson.”

  He was grinning—couldn’t help it—when her tone caught his attention. “Zack, I really need to talk to you as soon as possible about the Wilcox case.” Her tone was urgent. Kim said that she and Scarlett were going to go find Holt, maybe at his house.

  “I don’t think Albert Sullivan killed Izzi. I know that sounds crazy, but I just want to be sure we aren’t making a mistake. Especially now that he’s dead. Anyway. We don’t have much time. Zack, if you could just talk to him. . . . Call me?”

  What?

  Sullivan had been alive just that morning, when Zack had swung by work to pick up his case notes. The duty officer reported that when a female deputy had slid his breakfast tray into the cell, Sullivan had grabbed her hand and licked it before she could pull it back out.

  The second message, however, was even more disturbing. There was a split second of what sounded a lot like screaming, then Kim’s voice shouting something about Holt—and then the call was abruptly cut off.

  Zack tapped the flashers on and pushed the pedal down, taking the winding road at a dangerous speed, his heart racing. He dialed Kim and got her voice mail—then dialed her twice more just to make sure.

  He knew that Kim probably feared what would happen to Scarlett if the case was closed. Zack still wasn’t fully convinced that Scarlett was harboring souls, no matter how vehemently Kim suggested it—and while he no longer thought Scarlett was a murderer, he was 100 percent ready to believe that Scarlett might lose it if she felt that Isabel’s killer was going to go free. Maybe she’d turned on Kim, attacked her like she’d attacked Darren and Brad.

  Zack called in to the station, and found that the chief had headed home to change. Although he had yet to return, the sidewalk in front of the station was packed with reporters waiting. Next, Zack dialed Holt. But there was no answer.

  Holt’s place was up in the woods above town. He’d built it about ten years ago, after Zack and Brielle went off to college and he didn’t need the house in town with its extra bedrooms and swing set in the backyard. Nowadays, Zack and Brielle were frequent visitors, stopping by regularly for chops on the grill and beer after a long week at work. Although it had been more than a month since their last house call.

  The recorded scream echoed in his ears as he reached the turnoff for Holt’s place and took the ascent much faster than even his heavy cruiser was equipped to go, feeling clods of dirt smash against the undercarriage and hoping he hadn’t broken an axle. Rounding the turn to the house, he saw Kim’s little beater parked next to Holt’s SUV. The front door of the cabin was open, interior light on, and a quick inspection confirmed that no one was inside.

  He had just called into the station for backup when he heard the gunshot.

  * * *

  ZACK RAN.

  The sound had come from straight up the ridge. Zack had walked these woods many times with Holt and knew the area well. But there was nothing in that direction for miles, other than the thinning trees higher up the mountain, the snow line that receded in summer but never disappeared. There were other houses in either direction, mostly seasonal and hunting cabins, but they were much farther away than the shot had sounded.

  If Scarlett had somehow gotten a gun . . .

  If she was in the grip of delusion, angry about Sullivan . . .

  Suddenly, a figure came crashing through the trees toward him. Zack reached for his holster just as Scarlett came into view. Her hair was wild and studded with leaves and she had scratches on her face and hands, but she wasn’t holding a weapon.

  “Oh God!” she screamed, and then ran straight into him, nearly knocking him down. “Detective Trainor, please, you have to help, he’s going to kill her!”

  He held her arms and tried to force her to be still. There was blood on her face, and he prayed it wasn’t Kim’s. “Who, Scarlett? Who’s killing who?”

  She desperately tried to wrench herself free of his grasp. “He’s going to kill Kim!”

  That got his attention. He loosened his grip fractionally, and she grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back toward the woods.

  “Who?”

  “Chief Plunkett’s going to kill Kim! He killed Albert, and Isabel, and—and I don’t know who else!”

  Clearly, Scarlett was delusional. Zack shook his head as Scarlett pleaded with him to move faster, spewing more nonsense about Holt threatening Kim. “He said he had to pull the weeds.”

  But then, something Holt used to say echoed around Zack’s head as they ran. Someone’s got to pull the weeds, son. He said it every time they picked up a drunk driver, or took an unregistered gun off the streets or settled a domestic abuse complaint by locking up a guy who needed more than an anger management class at the county extension. Said it often enough that Zack used to tease him about it, even getting him a bottle of weed killer as a gag Christmas gift one year. Holt had chuckled and put it, red bow and all, up on a shelf in his office.

  But Holt never took it further than that. Because that would be crazy. Right?

  The hairs stood up along Zack’s arms. “Take me to her,” he yelled, releasing Scarlett, and she bolted back into the woods.

  Zack followed easily. He could have gone faster, but the girl was winded. There were cuts and welts on her arms and legs, as if she hadn’t watched or cared where she was going.

  As if she had been running for her life.

  A cold terror built inside Zack, but he couldn’t bear to face it head-on. Instead, he focused on the ground in front of him, on Scarlett, on searching every possible hiding place for threats.

  “There!” Scarlett gasped, as they reached a small clearing. Chief Plunkett stood at the base of a huge old evergreen, peering up into the branches. In his hand was his gun.

  “Holt?” Zack called, the cold fear now spreading through every inch of his body.

  Holt glanced over, and Zack watched his face pale as he took in the sight of his adoptive son.

  “Your timing’s not great, Zack,” he said. “Don’t suppose I can get you to take Scarlett back to the cabin while I finish something up?”

  “What are you doing?” Zack demanded, just as he heard a cry from up in the tree. He craned his neck, stepping back so he could peer
all the way up. The tree had to be several hundred feet tall, and it took him a moment to understand that the large nest up in the upper reaches wasn’t a nest at all.

  It was a person.

  “Zack!” the voice screamed. It was Kim, much higher than the tree could be expected to support her weight, clinging to the narrow crown as it swayed and dipped. There was no way that the spindly trunk would hold much longer. A crack signaled that the branch she was clutching onto had given out, and he watched in horror as her feet scrambled for purchase. One of them, inexplicably, was bare.

  “Hang on!” he yelled.

  Scarlett started to scramble to the tree, clearly preparing to catch Kim if she fell, despite the fact that they might both be killed if she did.

  Holt aimed his gun at Scarlett. “Back away,” he said. She skidded to a stop in the brush. “Zack, throw me your piece.”

  Zack shook his head, in disbelief. “What are you doing?”

  Holt mirrored him, shaking his head in agitated frustration. “Son, I’m sorry we’ve got to do it this way. Hell, I’m sorry you ever had to see this.”

  “Holt, what’s going on?” But before the chief could answer, Zack called up to Kim, “Hold on, I’ll get you down. You’re not going to fall.”

  Holt raised his rifle, and although he didn’t point it at Zack, the intention was implied. “It wouldn’t be all that bad if she did. Save me some difficult work.”

  “Sir, please put down the gun.”

  Holt chuckled. “You took the words right out of my mouth. See, Zack, you and me . . . we’re gonna need to have a long conversation. Take some time and talk this out. But first . . . you’re gonna need to trust me.”

  “Put down the gun.”

  It wasn’t helping that Scarlett kneeled nearby whispering quietly, “Shoot him shoot him shoot him.”

  When Zack refused to drop his pistol, Holt’s voice grew more serious. “You’re threatening a superior officer, son. I need you to follow my orders and drop that gun. Or I’ll be forced to drop you. Way it’s got to be.”

  Holt doubled down by pointing his gun at Scarlett. He spoke very slowly and unambiguously. “Zack, if you don’t throw me your revolver, I will kill Scarlett here and now.”

  Zack was reeling. Paralyzed in place as he tried to understand what was happening. How the man who had raised him, set him on the right path, taken him in when no one else would—how that man could possibly be threatening to shoot him.

  Then somehow, his brain turned off, and his police instincts kicked in. He let it happen—let his emotions sink down below until all that remained was the job. “Lie down,” Zack ordered Scarlett, who immediately sunk down, pressing her body into the leaves. Not seeing any other choice, he lowered his service weapon, and, after a moment’s hesitation, he clicked on the safety and tossed it toward Holt.

  The gun landed at Holt’s feet. The chief picked it up and then threw his own rifle to the ground. He clicked the safety off and pointed Zack’s weapon up at Kim. Zack looked on in horror, knowing Holt was seconds from pulling the trigger. Holt was an ace shot—a little rusty these days, but he still scored above nearly everyone in the department at the range.

  If he shot Kim, there was no way she’d survive. If the bullet didn’t kill her, the fall would.

  Zack ran at Holt. His only hope now was to knock the gun from his hand. He’d make himself an easy target, but at least it would give Kim a moment to shimmy back down and escape, if they were lucky.

  “No!” Kim screamed as Holt swung his gun around at Zack. “Chief Plunkett, wait! Zack, please, stop!”

  There was another cracking sound as one of the branches splintered from the trunk and came crashing down just as Holt fired the gun. The bullet gave Kim a haircut as she slipped two feet down the tree—a broken branch pierced her foot but kept her from falling. Holt, hearing Zack sprinting at him, swung his gun back toward the officer. Zack skidded to a stop ten feet from Holt, frozen. If Kim didn’t come down lower in the tree, she’d fall anyway.

  “Holt,” he said carefully, “look, I’m not moving any closer. Please, just let Kim come down. We’ll talk. Like you said. I know you don’t want to do this.”

  Holt chuckled sadly. “I don’t, son. You’re right. But over the years I’ve had to do any number of things I didn’t want to do. Don’t see why today should be any different. I don’t want to hurt you—you’ve got to know that.”

  “I do, I—”

  “Chief Plunkett,” Kim said, her voice calm and clear. All eyes followed it up into the tree, where she’d managed to climb down just far enough to rest on a larger branch, buying herself a little time. “Listen to me. I understand what you’ve done. I even sympathize with it. I think anyone would. No one can fault you for punishing your wife’s killer—”

  “Wasn’t just my wife,” Holt muttered. “My baby. Our baby.”

  “I know that. I doubt there’s a jury in the world that would convict you for what you had to do. But, after that, you took it too far . . . trying to right wrongs for the whole town . . .”

  “Had to,” Holt said. “No choice.”

  “I can understand why you felt that way. I talked to Albert myself—I think I saw what you see, the evil that can rest inside someone, poisoning them until redemption simply isn’t possible anymore. I respect what you do, going up against that day after day after day. I’m not sure I could do it. You have a noble purpose.”

  Her voice was strong, soothing and sympathetic. Zack found himself calmed merely by its tone. Scarlett, too, was listening raptly. But would it be enough? He inched a step closer.

  “I even understand why you’d hurt me. I’ve—I’ve made a lot of mistakes. I’ve upset the balance you’ve worked so hard to maintain. I was only trying to help, but sometimes—most of the time—I rush into things without thinking clearly. So . . . I understand if you feel like you need me gone. I understand if you feel you need to sacrifice me. But what about Zack? He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  “No, Kim,” Zack yelled, seeing what she was doing. She was going to offer herself in exchange for him and Scarlett. “Don’t say that.”

  Holt pointed the gun Zack’s way again, emotions warring on his face.

  “He’s innocent,” Kim continued. “All he’s ever done is try to be the best cop he could. And you know why, Holt—you know he’s always wanted to make you proud. He only ever wanted to follow the example you set for him.”

  “I know that,” Holt said, voice anguished. “But I didn’t ever mean for him to end up like me. He’s better than that.”

  “He is better. You’re right.”

  Zack held his breath, afraid Kim’s words would anger Holt enough to make him shoot her.

  “You only kill people who’ve done wrong, Holt. I understand that. What has Zack ever done? Nothing but try to help people. His father. His sister. You. The people of this town. Wasn’t that the whole point, anyway? Who’s going to clean up Jarvis if you and he are both gone?”

  “I—I don’t—”

  Holt wavered, his face a tormented mask as he tried to process Kim’s words. Zack realized she’d set up an impossible problem for the chief. Holt couldn’t kill Zack without sacrificing the principles that she’d worked so hard to uphold all these years.

  He lowered the gun slightly, only to raise it again at Kim. “You should never have come here,” he said. “It all worked fine until you got here.”

  “You know that’s not true,” Kim said. “Scarlett’s innocent. All the alters who found sanctuary inside her, they only wanted justice. And not just victims like Henry. Isabel Wilcox made a lot of mistakes, sure. She hurt people. She deserved to be punished. But losing her life? You went too far. And that man inside, the hunter, George DeWitt? Was that justice? What had he done wrong? What great crime had he committed? Hunting without a license? Witnessing a murder? When does it stop?”

  Holt’s hand began to shake. His eyes clouded with doubt.

  “You did good at first,” Kim
said gently. “I’m not going to deny that. But it got away from you. And it has to end.”

  “It got away from me,” Holt echoed. He looked up at her one last time, and nodded.

  Then he placed the gun into his own mouth and pulled the trigger.

  FORTY

  Sirens could be heard down the mountain as what seemed like every member of the police and fire departments answered the call Zack had put out when he arrived on scene.

  Holt had crumpled to the ground, and now he lay glassy-eyed as though he was staring at the sky. Kim had still been up in the tree when he fired, but she made it down the rest of the way in seconds, falling to her knees from the lowest branch.

  Zack was holding Scarlett, shielding her from having to see the grisly scene. But when Kim met his eyes, she saw that he was in shock as well.

  She would have to take charge.

  This, she could do. For two people she cared about. For two people who had already lost so much. Gently, she took Scarlett’s hand and tugged her away from Zack. Scarlett moaned softly and didn’t protest. Zack stood straight and tall and gazed at the man who had given him his first job, raised him like a son—who had taught him what it meant to be a man.

  Kim desperately wanted to go to him. But she couldn’t abandon Scarlett yet. Zack took his radio from his belt and gave directions from the house. Kim was pretty sure he was supposed to say something about Holt having shot himself . . . but he just returned the radio to his belt and continued to stare at the dead chief.

  The first of the responding officers came running up the hill. “Oh sweet Mary May.” Phil Taktuq gasped when he came to a screeching halt a few feet from Holt. “What on earth—”

  “It’s, um, complicated,” Kim said, trying to keep her voice down. She beckoned the officer closer. There was so much to explain.