The River Runs Dry (19 page)

To any passer by, it would appear abandoned, left to the elements and nature, but Jack knew otherwise. He'd been told by the local police force that Clifton Banks lived here, despite its appearance. Perhaps he just liked it that way.

Jack moved forward now, walking through a beaten path between a wide patch of long grass that led right up to the door. He listened closely for any sounds inside, but all his ears were greeted by were the morning chirping of birds and the buzzing of insects.

He moved to the doorstep and raised his hand to the door, preparing to knock. His other gripped his pistol, purely out of instinct. There was something unsettling about this place, a remoteness and a silence that led his heart to beat that little bit faster.

He knocked hard, wrapping his knuckles on the wooden door three times. Then he spoke, his voice clear amid the quiet of the morning.

“Mr Banks, it's the police. I need a word with you.”

Nothing. Stillness and silence.

“Clifton Banks? Are you in there sir?”

A sudden creak could be heard, the sound of old floorboards bent underfoot. Then a rustling from inside as locks were undone, before the door groaned on its hinges as it was pulled inward.

In the inside stood a man, difficult to make out in the dimness of his home.

“What do you want?” came his voice, croaky and deep. It cracked with menace, of a man disturbed without his consent.

Jack's eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness ahead of him, zeroing in on a face, bearded and tanned and lined with deep wrinkles. He had a leathery appearance, his nose thick and his hair thinning. He looked like the sort of guy who'd spent his life in the sun, working his fingers to the bone.

“I'm here to speak to you about your nephew, Trey Hunter. I was told he lived with you from the age of ten?”

The man stared straight into Jack's eyes, a blankness to them, a look of total indifference.

“That's right,” he said, still standing in the doorway, his hand clutching the handle.

“Could I come inside?” Jack asked, peering past him into the dimness beyond.

He seemed to move with Jack, leaning slightly over as if to block his view.

“What's wrong with talking here?” he asked, a scowl on his face.

Jack nodded. “If it pleases you sir. I have a few questions about Trey that I'd like to ask you. It's important.”

Banks eyed Jack up and down suspiciously. “He don't live here no more. Not for a long time.”

“When did you last see him?” Jack asked quickly, pulling his notepad from his pocket.

Banks shook his head, thinking. “A few years back now. I was in Houston, ran into him there.”

“Houston? When did he leave here?”

“He must have stopped living with me ten years now. I'd not seen him in years when I caught him in Houston. He was, er, wearing a fancy suit and tie. Wasn't the boy I knew.”

“Did he say what he was doing? Was he living there at the time?”

“None of that. We hardly spoke, we didn't get along by the end. He was with some of his friends, I don't think he was proud of his hick uncle.”

Jack's eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you mean by that?”

Banks laughed through his scowl. “Well, look around you boy. It's obvious. And, well, I think he must have changed his name or something. When I called him Trey all them boys with him looked confused, like I didn't know who I was talkin to.”

“He changed his name?” Jack asked quickly.

“I guess he musta' done. Or maybe them boys use a funny nickname for him. I dunno, it was a long time back.”

Jack scribbled into his notes as Banks spoke, looking up into his face from time to time.

“So what's all this about anyhow? Has Trey been up to no good again?”

Jack's eyes lifted from his pad to meet Banks, once more growing with interest. “Explain what you mean...”

“Well,” Banks said with a huff and a shrug of the shoulders, “the kid was sent to be for killing him mom in the first place. He was a funny boy for a while, found it hard to fit in. I guess that must have changed when he grew up, seeing from what I saw in Houston.”

Jack nodded, still scribbling frantically.

“So....like I say, is he in trouble?”

Jack kept his eyes down as he wrote. “That's yet to be determined Mr Banks. We believe your nephew may be involved in several murders that have occurred over the last few months in California.” Jack looked up from his pad now, seeing Clifton Banks' eyes begin to widen. “Do you have any idea where he is now. Any idea at all?”

Banks shook his head slowly. “No sir, like I say, I last saw him in Houston, maybe 3 years back. Murder.....you think Trey's killed again?”

“Do you have a picture?” Jack asked. “As recent as possible.”

Banks still looked slightly shocked as he nodded and turned back into his home. He came back a moment later, a dusty polaroid in his hand.

“He's just turned 18 here. He left soon after.”

Jack took the image and looked at it. The boy was handsome, and smiling like any normal 18 year old would be expected to do. He had dark hair and dark eyes, a square, clean shaven jaw, and looked tall. He was just as Leanne Graves had described him.

“Did he have any unusual physical features?” Jack asked, looking back up into Clifton Banks' eyes. “Specifically, scarring on his body?

Banks eyes hung low. “What that bitch did to him as a boy was disgusting. She got all she deserved.”

“Mr Banks? What specifics do you remember?”

His face was screwed up now, an anger settling across his face. “He had scars everywhere, small and big, all over him. He had cigarette burns, all down his arms, and cuts as well....”

“But nothing on his face?”

“No, she left that clean in case anyone saw him in public, I guess. Although that never happened. He was locked away in that house for years, that's what I heard. When he came here, he wouldn't leave the house. It was what he was used to....being stuck in a room was all he knew.”

“And what about schooling? I've checked education rosters and there was nothing on him in the local towns?”

Banks dropped his eyes a touch and shook his head. “He wouldn't go. I tried to make him, but he wouldn't go. So...I tried to teach him here, I got some books and taught him. After a couple of years he taught himself.”

“So he never got any official schooling, any official qualifications?”

“No sir.”

Jack's eyebrows dropped into a frown, his mind trying to put the pieces together.

“And friends? What did he do for fun? What sort of boy was he?”

“As I said, he found it hard at first, you know, mixing in. A little later he had some friends, and he did a bit of work for some people round here. You know, cash in hand jobs like trimming hedges and painting walls.”

“Do you know any of his friends, or where they live?”

“I dunno really,” Banks said, thinking again. “I guess there was this one girl, he brought her over here once or twice. Francesca something, I don't know the second name. She was the only one I knew of, or remember.”

“What did she look like?” asked Jack, his eyes narrowing again.

“Er, blonde, quite tall, like him. Skinny girl, not my type.”

“And does she still live round here?”

“Oh I don't know about that, maybe. She lived out near Cedar Ridge, last I knew. Might have moved on by now. It's not far, she had the house with the red door, you won't miss it.”

Jack scribbled a final few notes into his pad before shutting it tight. He raised his eyes back up to Banks, who continued to lean on his doorway, his body blocking the view inside.

“OK Mr Banks, you've been very helpful. That's all I need for now. I'll be in touch if I have any more questions.”

Then Jack turned and started walking back down away from the door, stepping onto the dry dirt and through the grassy clearing.

“He's not a bad boy really,” said Banks from behind. Jack swiveled on the spot. “If he's killed someone, I'm sure it aint his fault. Like with his mom.”

Jack stared for a moment at the man, still believing the best in his nephew. “Thanks again Mr Banks,” he said, before turning away once more.

…

Jessie could see Jack walking back towards the car, an icy look on his face. There was a determination inside him, an unyielding, unbreakable determination to find this killer. She wondered how it affected his life, how much it had consumed him over the last few weeks and months. She could tell he felt responsible for her now, responsible for anyone who'd end up dying on the end of the killer's knife. If he didn't catch him soon, it would turn into a weight on his back that he'd never shift.

He continued his approach and quickly opened the door, stepping in and immediately starting the engine.

“How did it go?” Jessie asked quickly.

“He was more receptive that I thought he'd be,” Jack replied. “It was obvious he was hiding something in his house, but I don't think it was related. Drugs or something, nothing I'm interested in.”

“And this Trey Hunter?” Jessie asked.

“He hasn't lived there for years, it sounded like their relationship broke down nearly a decade ago.”

Jack turned the car and they began moving down the quiet country track and back onto the main road, pulling out his phone as he went.

He dialed and it quickly picked up, his words rushing quickly from his mouth.

“Carla, it's Jack. It sounds as though Trey Hunter changed his name. I need you to check on that for me. Also, he was seen in Houston several years ago, wearing a suit and tie and with several work colleagues. It sounds like he must have been working there. See what you can dig up. Oh....and by the sounds of it he never got any official education. He must have fabricated everything. Get back to me when you've got something.”

Jessie looked over at him. “So you don't know where he is then?” She sounded concerned and slightly drained, the long night just passed still heavy on her mind.

Jack shook his head. “Not yet Jess, but I will. I'll find him, don't worry.”

“But no one seems to know where he is, or even who he is? And....how would he be working without any education?”

“Falsified certificates and documents are surprisingly easy to get your hands on these days. Some are extremely convincing. A man can disappear off the face of the earth if he wishes, and reappear as someone completely different.”

“OK, well that makes him sound like he'll be easy to find,” said Jessie. “So basically he might be anyone....anyone living in Burgess, or maybe he doesn't even live there now. Maybe he only comes in to....you know.”

“No, he lives there, or he lives nearby. He knows the place too well, he knows his victims' movements, their homes. I'd say he's been in the area a while, at least 6 months. Everything is less random that it seemed at first, and when it's less random, it's easier to track.”

Jack was glancing at his phone as he went, checking what seemed to be a map.

“Where are we going now?” asked Jessie.

“I've got another lead. A girl Trey Hunter used to hang out with. I don't know if she'll be there, it's a long shot. But can't hurt to check it out.”

A few minutes later Jack pulled up on a quiet road not far outside of Navasota. There were only a handful of houses lining the streets, several on each side. In the distance there was a rocky outcrop, the fairly nondescript landmark that gave the place its name: Cedar Ridge.

“Stay here again Jessie. I'll be back in a few minutes, OK.”

Jack stepped from the car and walked straight to the other side of the road, where a dingy house stood ahead of him. He knew it was the place from Banks' brief description: it was the only place with a red door.

The place was in better condition that the ranch house he'd just visited, but it still showed signs of wear. He walked quickly forward and straight towards the door, knocking loudly and waiting for a response.

It came quickly, the patter of small feet sounding lightly behind the red door. When the door opened, Jack immediately dropped his eyeline to see a young girl standing ahead of him, her hand clasping the wide door handle.

“Hello there,” Jack said, softening his voice, “is your mommy in?”

The girl smiled, but didn't get a chance to answer. A voice sounded behind her, footsteps storming towards the front door from down the corridor.

“Bethany, I've told you before, not to open the door to strangers.”

The woman reached the entrance and met Jack's face. “Excuse me sir, my daughter is yet to realize how unsafe this world can be.”

She pulled her daughter back as she spoke, her eyes quickly drifting over Jack, inching down to his waist, where his badge was fastened and his pistol locked in its holster.

“You're a cop?” she asked quickly, standing in the doorway.

“That's right,” said Jack, himself looking over the woman. She was fairly tall, her hair a mousy blonde. She looked to be in her late 20's.

“But you're not from around here,” she said, her eyes glancing back over Jack's badge.

“No ma'am, I'm from California. Is your name Francesca?”

The woman looked at Jack suspiciously, but slowly nodded. “Francesca Young. Is there something I can help you with detective....”

“Slade, Jack Slade. There's a young man I understand you used to know, someone I'd like some information about.”

She nodded, her lips sealed tight and eyes still distrustful.

“His name's Trey Hunter. I was told by his uncle that you two were friends.”

She flinched slightly at his name. “And what are you looking for Trey for?”

Jack thought of telling her, but something told him not to.

“I just need to talk to him ma'am, I can't discuss why. Do you have any idea where he might be?”

“No, I do not. I'm afraid I can't help you there detective.”

“Might I come inside, get out of this heat?”

Jack could tell she thought about refusing, about turning him away right then and there. But she didn't, turning and leading him into the kitchen at the back of the house.

It was small inside, but neatly set out. Jack glanced to the right as he walked through, in past a door into a living room. He noticed pictures lining up along a shelf, one in particular drawing his eye. He stopped for a brief moment and stared, the sight of a young Trey Hunter staring back at him. He had his arm wrapped around Francesca in a manner that suggested they were a whole lot more than friends.