An Empty Hell Read online

  What felt like an hour later, with Donne now thigh deep, Steve finally spoke.

  “You’re really taking your time there.”

  Donne gasped for air before responding. “Why don’t you give me the gun and take a turn with the shovel.”

  Steve laughed then nodded at the body. “Didn’t he pay you to do this kind of work?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “I’m getting hungry.”

  Donne didn’t respond. The sourness after the bile incident kept his appetite down, but he would have forced a protein bar down just to keep his energy up. Steve stood up and walked to the car. Donne eyed him, trying to gauge distance and speed. He decided against making a move.

  Steve came back with two plastic bottles of water. He tossed one to Donne. It was cold, no doubt a result of sitting in the car for several hours. Donne downed it in two long gulps. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then went back to digging.

  Another hour later and he was waist deep. His muscles screamed in agony, the back ones just as tight as his triceps and forearms. The muscles in his neck were as taut as a tightrope. He leaned against the shovel.

  “I think this is deep enough,” he said.

  Steve stood up and walked to the edge and peered over. It wasn’t a perfect square, not a professional job, but Donne had gone deep and wide enough. He tried to catch his breath while Steve inspected.

  “All right, fine.” Steve stuck his hand out.

  Donne took it and got out of the hole. He brought the shovel with him, eyeing Steve’s gun.

  “Tell me one thing,” Donne said. “What Doris told me … was Mario’s story true or was it all part of your bullshit?”

  Steve turned. “Let’s get the body into the hole.”

  “Tell me first.”

  “All true.”

  “Even the Leo Carver stuff?”

  Steve smiled, and the gun lowered for an instant. “No, that was all me. Thought that would catch your eye.”

  Donne nodded and then swung the shovel like a baseball bat, right into Steve’s temple. He crumpled to the ground and the gun fell away.

  Three more shots to Steve’s head, and Donne completed the job.

  STEVE’S BODY rolled with ease, dropping into the makeshift grave with a dusty thump. Donne looked away before Steve’s bloody, open eyes could sear themselves into his brain. He blinked several times, letting the image dissipate. He took a few deep breaths.

  He then kneeled next to Mario. The maggots had shown up, crawling over the grayed skin. Donne choked down some more bile, leaned back and put his feet to Mario’s back, and pushed. The effect wasn’t the body rolling. Instead, it slid against the dirt, inches at a time. The maggots scattered as he pushed.

  It was akin to using a leg lift at the highest resistance. The body didn’t have much give, the skin hardened. Donne kept pushing. His breath steamed from his mouth, but sweat dripped from his forehead. The wind blew, leaves fell, and still he pushed. Donne could see the edge of the grave getting closer. He tightened his muscles and pushed even harder. Mario’s skin made scratching sounds as it moved.

  The body reached the edge and gravity took hold. It flipped over the edge and the thump it made was more like a slap. Made sense. Skin against skin.

  Donne caught his breath and waited for the last of the maggots to escape. His chest heaved and settled, and as much as he wanted to scream, he kept it inside. Finally, he stood, picked up the shovel, and started to replace the dirt. If what Steve had said was true—there was another one on his trail—he didn’t have much time.

  An hour later, he was finished. He had taken the keys off Steve’s body earlier, one of the smartest moves he’d made the past few days. Now, he pressed the button and popped the trunk. He dropped the shovel inside, and then inspected the extra gun that was on the trunk floor. Clean, in good working order, and two extra clips. That would work just fine.

  He replaced the gun and got in the driver’s seat. He headed back to town. According to Steve’s GPS, the ride would take forty-three minutes. Donne stepped on the gas, hoping to peel some of those minutes off the time.

  DORIS’S HOUSE.

  Donne parked the car around the block and out of sight of the main road. He got out of the car and stretched his back. His muscles had tightened so much during the drive, the last few turns were torturous. It was as if he’d spent the entire day playing basketball at top speed; his legs ached, his arms screamed, and his back felt like it had a sharp needle stuck right in the sciatic nerve.

  Doris answered the door on the second doorbell ring. Donne didn’t have to say a word for her to know. She eyed his face and covered her mouth. She turned away from him with shaking shoulders and walked into the house. She didn’t close the door, so Donne followed her.

  He found her in the kitchen sitting at the table, a half-empty cup of tea in front of her. Doris’s eyes glistened, but the tears weren’t pouring. She’d controlled the sob as well.

  “Tell me,” she said.

  He did. Doris listened, and buried her face again when he told her about the car. The car that—it occurred to Donne—Steve must have cleaned overnight. The bloodstains were gone.

  When Donne finished the story, he waited for Doris to regain control. He didn’t comfort her or say anything. He leaned back against the kitchen counter and kept his mouth shut. Doris drank the rest of her tea. The cup rattled when she put it down.

  He counted to ten and then said, “Your turn.”

  She looked up at him, steel in her eyes. The tears were gone, and her face was rock.

  “He came to us two weeks ago. Found us in the coffee shop. He bought us both scones. He was so nice. Said he knew who you were and where you were. Wanted us to drag you out.”

  Doris put her hands flat on the coffee table, and then tapped a little beat.

  “We refused. Yes. We knew who you were, but you weren’t causing any problems here. The police had never come for you. The beard, the flecks of gray, it’s nice, but it’s not exactly the best disguise for someone who’s been all over TV news.

  “We told him there had to be something more going on here. We’re not stupid.”

  Donne rubbed his beard and noted the flecks of blood still on his sleeves. He snapped his hand down to his side.

  “They’re still looking for me. They may not think I’m the killer, but I’m sure they still want to talk with me.”

  Doris nodded. “I asked you the other day, but you didn’t answer. You don’t read the news?”

  He thought of the last time he searched the newspapers. He thought of seeing Kate’s name. His stomach sank.

  “Try not to. Too many memories. Maybe it’s easier for me to believe they’re still after me. I don’t want to go back.”

  “The world moves on, Jackson. You’re a person of interest, a suspect. You’re right. They just want to ask you questions. Mario told me. He follows the news from back home, but said you seemed comfortable here. We didn’t want to be a bother. But now this Steve comes into our lives. We told him we weren’t interested, and he starts going into it with Mario, telling him everything about Mario’s past. About Emma. I still don’t know how he knew.”

  “He’s good at his job,” Donne said. “Was good at his job.”

  “He told us if we didn’t do what he said, he would arrest Mario. That’s when he told us what he wanted to do. That he was going to have the cops here, and he was going to take Mario into custody. All I had to do was get you interested. And mention Leo Carver.”

  “I’m sorry about Mario.”

  Doris nodded.

  “But you’re safe now.”

  Doris nodded again.

  “The cops are combing this city, Jackson. There was a body in Mario’s hotel.”

  Donne stood up off the counter and stalked across the kitchen.

  “It wasn’t me,” he said. “It was Steve.”

  “Well, this is going to bring the investigation—the spotlight back on you.”<
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  “I know.” Donne rubbed his beard again. “Why didn’t he just come and get me? If he knew where I was—why you?”

  Doris said, “I don’t know. We were scared, Jackson. You have to believe that.”

  “I have to go.”

  “Good luck, Joe,” she said. “That’s how I’m going to think of you. Joe Tennant. I don’t like what happens when Jackson Donne is around.”

  Donne didn’t respond.

  “I DON’T care about this game anymore.”

  Lucas Mosley stood in the middle of the apartment—the one Robinson had arranged for him—fists balled and red-faced. Robinson sat in the chair, palms sweaty, watching Mosley’s stillness.

  “We have to play it.”

  “My brother hasn’t answered his phone in three hours. He hasn’t checked in with me since last night. There is something wrong. I’m going to kill Jackson Donne. I’m going to go get him.”

  “Wait. Wait. Let’s find out what happened first.”

  Mosley took a long breath in through his nostrils. They flared, the only movement of his body. Meanwhile, Robinson couldn’t stop bouncing his knees, or wiping his hand on his pants.

  “I know what happened. I’ve been doing this a long time. Steve and I had a system.”

  The smells in the room were so familiar. Musk and old coffee. He remembered the pats on the back from his colleagues after a big raid. Carver would always brew a pot before they broke out the beers and the coke. He needed to get a buzz before the buzz. Robinson wondered how much partying he actually partook in.

  “I’m sure he’s just busy. We can’t give up now.”

  Robinson blinked and Mosley was on him, left hand tight around his throat, squeezing the air out. He grabbed Mosley’s wrist with two hands and tried to push it away, but couldn’t. His mouth was open, and eyes were bulging, but air wouldn’t come.

  “This is not a game anymore,” Mosley said. “I don’t care what you’re paying me. My brother is dead.”

  Robinson tried to say you don’t know that but the words wouldn’t come out. Blackness crept in at the corners of his eyes. Robinson shot his legs out underneath him, but couldn’t catch Mosley.

  Suddenly, air was back in a huge gasp. Mosley let go. Robinson coughed, his lungs filled, and the blackness faded away.

  “I know you’re frustrated,” he said. “I understand it, but think of it this way.”

  Mosley punched the wall, but didn’t break through.

  “Listen to me!” Robinson coughed more.

  Mosley stopped, was completely still again. He stared down Robinson, and Robinson worked to stare back.

  “I know what it’s like,” he said. “To lose a sibling. To want revenge. I know.”

  A tremor ran through Mosley, and then he was still once more.

  “But think of it this way. Don’t you want those responsible to suffer? To feel the pain that you’re going to be living with for the rest of your life? Don’t make it quick. Make it hurt.”

  Mosley said, “Fine. Then I am going to tell Herrick where Donne is.”

  “Why?”

  “I will make it hurt. I will make both of them hurt, but Donne needs to be back here. I can’t work out of two locations. You wanted Donne back here anyway.”

  Robinson rubbed his throat.

  “So Herrick will succeed in his job—not that you really wanted him to. You just wanted him busy and distracted, am I right?”

  Robinson nodded.

  “I’m going up there.” The words sounded like broken glass. “I will bring them back. And then I will crush them both. They will feel pain. I promise you that.”

  Before Robinson could say anything more, Mosley was gone.

  “FOURTEEN HOURS.”

  Herrick inadvertently hit the brakes as the voice he’d started becoming familiar with came through his Bluetooth. A car behind him hit the horn and then swerved into the center lane to pass. Out of the corner of his eye, Herrick caught the driver flipping him the bird.

  Rain slicked the highway, and Herrick needed to pay more attention on the road.

  “You have fourteen hours to go get Jackson Donne and bring him back here to me.”

  “I don’t know where he is.”

  “That’s okay, because I do.” There was a knife edge to the voice that hadn’t been there before.

  Herrick forced himself to breathe, checked his blind spot, and then pulled over into the shoulder and stopped the car. His heart was thudding hard and sweat began to form on the back of his neck.

  The icy cool to the voice was back now. Calm, but Herrick thought he detected a slight strain. Something minor, but he could feel it reverberate through the speakers. “If you do not go get Jackson Donne and then get back here in the next fourteen hours, I will kill everyone. Your team. Your family—oh wait, what family? Where is your father? Yes. I know about him. How about the friend you drank with last night? You think I don’t know what I’m talking about? You’ve lost enough in life, Matt Herrick. Don’t make the wrong decision now.”

  Herrick looked at the clock. Nearly noon. If the truth was being told, Donne couldn’t be too far away.

  “I thought you wanted me dead.”

  Herrick watched the raindrops explode off his windshield. He turned his wipers off and the drops turned into a clear sheet of water. He wiped the sweat away from the back of his neck, and then turned the temperature of the car down.

  “How well do you know Vermont?”

  “Killington?”

  “We’re going to go with a bit of a deeper track.”

  “If you know where he is, why don’t you just go and get him yourself?” He bit the end of the question off.

  “You don’t need to know that. You don’t need to know anything more about me.”

  Herrick chose his next words carefully. He kept thinking of this man as just a voice on the phone, but he needed to personify him. Make him more real than he was.

  “Did I hurt you, Lucas?” The name was hard to say when it wasn’t a challenge. Making Lucas real caused his chest to tighten, as if a python was squeezing the air out of his lungs.

  Lucas answered with a hiss, like he’d let steam escape through his nose.

  “How’s your ankle, Lucas? Is that why you’re not going to get Donne yourself? Maybe you can’t. Maybe that’s why you have to send decoys to try and frighten me. Because you’re physically unable.”

  “I’m going to kill you for free. I’m going to finish the job that little Afghan boy couldn’t.”

  Herrick closed his eyes. The sound of traffic slicing through the rain and past him was the only noise for a moment. Lucas had done this before, clearly. He knew the exact words to cut deep into the soul.

  “So come and do it now,” Herrick said.

  “I need you. Isn’t that clear? I will kill you. Yes, I will, but not before you do what I want. And you will, if you want the least amount of chaos to come back on you. Write this down.”

  Herrick scrambled for a pen and Post-it he kept in the console. Lucas rattled off an address of a town in Vermont he’d never heard of.

  “Google Maps says you should be able to get there in about five and a half hours. At the time of night when you head back, it’ll be a little less,” Lucas said. “I’m being fair. That will give you just about two hours to do what you need to do.”

  “Is Donne putting you up to this?”

  Now Lucas laughed, a deep belly laugh that washed over the interior of Herrick’s car like a tidal wave.

  “You have no idea what’s going on, do you, Matt?”

  “No, Lucas. I guess don’t.” Herrick typed the address into his GPS as he spoke. The little box gave him an arrival time of just over five and a half hours. “I just want to do my job and keep my friends safe.”

  “I know what you’ve been hired for. I know everything,” Lucas said. “Maybe I’m helping you get paid.”

  “By threatening to kill my friends?”

  “I had a teacher once, you
know what she used to say when she would get me in trouble?” Thinking of Lucas as a child sitting in a middle school classroom wasn’t computing. “She used to say ‘It’s not a threat, it’s a promise.’ You have fourteen hours.”

  “I need to find someone to cover my practice. Give me more time.”

  “You can figure that out on your own. Thirteen hours, fifty-nine minutes, and forty-six seconds.”

  The line went dead. An instant later, classic rock came pouring back through the speakers. Herrick allowed himself thirty seconds to get his nerves back. It was an old trick he taught himself in the desert, because if you stayed still for too long, they might just find you.

  Fourteen hours.

  Fourteen hours to find Jackson Donne, bring him back here, and figure out what the hell was going on.

  Herrick pulled back on to the highway.

  DONNE LEFT the car where it was and walked back to his cabin. The walk took an hour, and Donne used that time to clear his head—to try and chase the images of Mario and Steve away. He hoped the blood on his shirt and pants wasn’t visible.

  His chest and back felt tight and heavy, as if an anvil had been tied to his muscles. They pulled and tried to unwind, but never really did, no matter how much Donne stretched and twisted his torso as he walked. He had to look like a lunatic.

  He opened the door and scanned the room. Nothing looked out of place. Nothing had been moved. If Steve was telling the truth, there was someone else coming. Donne could pack his stuff and hit the road. He’d already done it, but he wasn’t ready to leave. No, his best bet was to stand his ground and wait for the new assailant. Once that person was dispatched with, Donne could figure out his next step.

  With two bodies on his ledger, staying here didn’t seem like a good idea. Donne went to the fridge, grabbed a Heady, and then went to the shower. The sweet hops and hot water eased his muscles. He stayed in the shower until the beer was gone, then toweled off and put the same clothes back on. If someone was going to find him tonight, he might as well wear the same stuff he’d already stained.

  Donne went into his bedroom and found his gun. He cleaned it, loaded it, and went back into his living room and sat in the chair. He picked up the paperback he’d been reading and struggled with it for a while. His mind was still going too fast to focus on the words, and the muscles in his back ratcheted back into place again. He put his head back on the headrest and stared at the ceiling, controlling his breathing.