All The Dead Girls Read online

  The phone number in the message had a Dallas area code.

  McCormick sent another text half a minute later: “We think he has a partner. They probably call or text each other. We’re trying to find out who his partner is. We think they kidnapped someone.”

  Did the phone number belong to Chapman?

  Falcone went to the study, switched on his laptop, and opened the bustracker page on the bus company’s website. He looked up McCormick’s bus schedule and saw that his bus had just left Baton Rouge.

  His phone beeped again. Another text from McCormick. He sent Falcone his friend’s number and asked him to ignore it.

  The phone number McCormick asked about turned out to be disposable. Between 9:00 and 10:30 p.m. it had received messages from two numbers. One of them belonged to McCormick’s friend, and the other was disposable and had the same area code as the killer’s. The disposable number seemed to belong to someone who knew the killer well: its owner and the killer had been texting each other throughout the day. If Chapman had a partner, it was probably his phone number.

  The killer’s partner had been near the Dallas, Buffalo, Houston, Beaumont, and Baton Rouge bus stations at the same time as Eric McCormick’s bus. He had been following Chapman since the bus left Dallas.

  At half past midnight Falcone called McCormick to tell him what he had found, but his phone went straight to voice mail.

  Chapter 33

  1

  Holly took off running when she realized that it was a knife that Chapman had thrown at Ralph. It was probably the skinning knife she’d seen in Chapman’s bag as she rummaged through it on the bus.

  Ralph didn’t fire his gun, which most likely meant that he had dropped it.

  Holly decided not to waste time banging on doors and begging for help. She would keep running until she found a cop or a safe place.

  She didn’t look back to see if Chapman was chasing her, because that would require her to slow down.

  Holly expected Chapman to shoot at her, but he never did. Perhaps he was afraid that gunshots would draw attention.

  When she reached the junction, she saw a white panel van parked on Kansas Street. Her heart skipped a beat. Was it Chapman’s partner’s van? Had Chapman’s partner left before the police arrived?

  Shit! Did he see me?

  Holly had to continue down the street that joined Kansas Street, but she couldn’t stay on it for long because Chapman would have a clear view of it when he got to the junction.

  She turned right between the second and third houses from the corner and headed toward Memorial Park Drive, where the cab had dropped them off, moving parallel to Kansas Street. She heard no one behind her. It seemed Chapman’s partner hadn’t seen her.

  There were three blocks of tract homes across the street from the woods, and none of the houses had fences, which allowed Holly to run unimpeded. She glanced left and right every ten seconds or so, keeping an eye out for the white van.

  Were Chapman and his partner looking for her, or had they left the area?

  If she were them, she wouldn’t look for her, because chances were that the search would fail (you’d need a helicopter with a spotlight to find her here), and because the police might arrest them as they hunted for her.

  The houses on the last block before Memorial Park Drive had backyard fences, and Holly ran to Kansas Street. She crossed it after she made sure it was empty.

  Was Eric okay?

  Maybe Eric tried to stop Chapman’s partner and he captured him?

  Oh my God!

  Holly looked down Kansas Street before turning right onto Memorial Park Drive. No van. No people.

  Where are they?

  Adrenaline was pumping through her system, fueling her muscles. She felt as if she could run at full speed for hours.

  She turned left at the next corner. About three minutes later she reached General De Gaulle Drive.

  The cab had gotten off the bridge at General De Gaulle Drive. Did you enter the bridge at General De Gaulle Drive?

  How far was she from where Chapman had murdered Ralph? A mile? Less than a mile?

  She should call the police.

  Holly ran to the intersection, crossed the street on a red light, and continued southeast, away from the bridge, frequently looking over her shoulder.

  She checked her phone; there were no new messages from Eric. She dialed Eric’s number, and her call went straight to voice mail.

  Did Chapman and his partner have Eric?

  If they had Eric, it was only a matter of time before they killed him.

  Maybe he was already dead.

  Hotels were open 24/7; she could wait for the police in the lobby. Holly searched Google Maps for local hotels and found that the nearest one was a mile and a half away. That was too far.

  A McDonald’s was up ahead. The drive-through was probably still open. Maybe they would let her in. She glanced at her watch. It had been ten minutes since Ralph’s murder.

  Chapman and his partner might come to this restaurant to get something to eat. If they see me, they’ll break in and kill me and possibly everyone working there.

  I’ll hide in the restroom.

  There was a black Honda at the drive-through window when Holly reached the restaurant. Hip-hop music blared from the speakers, shaking the car. Holly mentally urged the cooks to hurry up as she waited for the Honda’s driver to receive his order.

  “How can I help you?” asked the clerk, a thin teenage girl wearing glasses, when Holly walked up to the drive-through window.

  “Someone’s trying to kill me,” Holly said in a trembling voice. “Can you let me in, please?”

  The clerk shook her head. “We’re not allowed to let anyone in.”

  “He’s going to kill me. Please! I’ll give you a hundred dollars. I’ll leave when the police come.”

  The clerk turned back and called, “Emilio.”

  A stocky man wearing an apron and cap came up to the clerk. “What?”

  The clerk stepped back and pointed to Holly. “She’s asking us to let her in.”

  Holly glanced toward the street and saw a white panel van driving southeast. Her pulse quickened. Was it Chapman’s partner’s van? From where she stood, she couldn’t see the intersection the van was approaching.

  Emilio went to the window and asked Holly, “How can I help you?”

  “Just a moment.” Holly walked to the corner of the building and looked toward the street.

  The van passed through the intersection, and Holly sighed with relief.

  Emilio was talking with the clerk when she returned to the drive-through window.

  “Is someone following you?” Emilio asked Holly.

  “Yes. He’s trying to kill me. Can you let me in? I’ll leave as soon as the police get here.”

  Holly tapped 911 on her phone and showed it to Emilio.

  “Okay,” he said.

  Holly walked to the entrance and watched Emilio unlock and open the door.

  “Thank you very much,” she said as she stepped inside.

  Emilio locked the door. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “No. I’ll hide in the restroom so he won’t see me.”

  “Okay.”

  Holly went into the ladies’ room, found the address of the McDonald’s on Google Maps, and then dialed 911.

  “Nine one one, what’s your emergency?” the operator asked.

  “My friend’s been murdered. The man who killed him is trying to kill me, too. Please send someone!”

  “What’s your address?”

  “Three four six two General De Gaulle Drive, New Orleans. I'm at a McDonald's. My name’s Holly Williams.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Does the man trying to kill you have a gun?”

  “Yes.”

  “I'm sending someone right now. Can you stay on the line with me?”

  “No. How long will it take them to get here?”

 
“Just a few minutes.”

  “Okay. Thank you. Goodbye.” Holly hung up.

  She replayed Ralph’s murder in her mind, and felt a lump in her throat. Then she burst into tears.

  Ralph was dead. He’d been alive just half an hour ago, and now he was dead.

  I ran away. I abandoned him.

  Could she have helped Ralph? What could she have done to stop Chapman from killing him?

  If I hadn’t run away, Chapman would have killed me, too.

  She opened the Gallery app on her phone and stepped out of the restroom. She had snapped Chapman’s picture this morning at the Dallas bus station and wished they had photographed him when he wasn’t wearing a fake mustache and beard.

  Holly walked to the counter, called for Emilio, and when he came, she said, “Emilio, can I talk to the girl at the drive-through window?”

  “Sure.”

  She pulled up Chapman’s picture on her phone as she followed Emilio to the drive-through window.

  “Eva, she wants to talk to you,” Emilio told the clerk.

  Holly showed Eva Chapman’s photo and said, “This is the man who’s trying to kill me. He drives a white van. If you see him, please write down his license plate.”

  “Okay.”

  “Thank you.”

  Holly went into the restroom and called Detective Falcone.

  “Ralph’s dead,” she said. “Chapman killed him.”

  “Jesus.”

  “He has Eric.”

  “Shit. He kidnapped Eric?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know where they are?”

  “No. I think Chapman’s partner has a van.”

  “When did Chapman kill Ralph?”

  “About twenty minutes ago.”

  “Are you safe?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are you?”

  “New Orleans.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “Yes. Can you help me save Eric? We have to save him.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Can you track Eric’s, Ralph’s, and Chapman’s phones?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please call me as soon as you get their location.”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you have the passenger list?”

  “Yes.”

  “Chapman bought his ticket under the name of Nick Hayden. Can you see if his phone number is on the list?”

  “Okay.”

  About twenty seconds later Falcone said, “There’s no phone number. I could get his credit card number.”

  “He paid cash for his ticket.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’m waiting for the police.”

  “Please keep me posted.”

  “Okay. Don’t turn off your phone.”

  “Okay.”

  Holly hung up.

  How much time did she have? Was it too late?

  Would they kill Veronica shortly after killing Eric?

  Maybe they have a dungeon, and they’ll take her there?

  They had no reason to keep Eric alive for long. He was useless to them.

  Would Chapman get back on the bus? Holly didn’t think so. He would have left his bag on the bus if he had intended to get back on it.

  They would probably switch cars. They might get a black van or a sedan, and if they switched to the latter, they would have to kill Eric, because it would be hard to fit two people into the trunk.

  Chapman and his partner might have taken Ralph’s body with them. Would the cops believe that Ralph had been murdered if there was no body?

  Chapter 34

  1

  Osiris transferred the pistols from the duffel bag to the satchel and then put the duffel bag on the floor behind the curtain and the satchel between the seats.

  He was a little hungry. Perhaps they should stop at a drive-through and grab a couple of hamburgers (he liked energy bars, but he wanted something tasty).

  “We’re going to McLean?” Castor said as he watched Osiris punch an address into the GPS.

  “Yep.”

  The GPS said it was about one thousand one hundred miles to McLean, Virginia. The estimated travel time was about sixteen hours.

  Osiris took Ralph’s wallet from the satchel and looked at his driver’s license. Ralph’s last name was Zimmer. He was twenty-eight and lived in Plano.

  Osiris dropped the wallet in Castor’s lap, shifted the van into drive, and started down the street. After he turned the corner, he pulled out his cell and gave it to Castor.

  “Can you remove the battery?” he said, scanning the street for Holly.

  “Sure.”

  Osiris pointed at Ralph’s satchel. “There are two cellphones in there. Remove their batteries, too.”

  “Okay.” Castor popped the battery out of Osiris’s cell.

  “Remove the battery from your phone.” Osiris turned right onto Indiana Street.

  “Okay.”

  “Did you remove the battery from Eric’s phone?”

  “Yes.” Castor took Ralph’s phones from the satchel. “Did you ask them what this was all about?”

  “Remember the girl I killed in Plano six weeks ago? These fools are her friends. They wanted to avenge her.”

  “Oh.” Castor paused. “So Ralph isn’t a serial killer?”

  “Nope.”

  “Tricky motherfucker.” Castor put the phones and batteries in the satchel.

  Osiris grinned. “I told you it would be fun.”

  Castor giggled.

  “Can you get the tablet?” Osiris said.

  When Castor brought the tablet, Osiris asked him to open Google Maps.

  “They’ve been talking to a cop about us.” Castor turned the tablet so Osiris could see the screen.

  “How do you know?”

  “I saw the text messages Eric sent to a cop.”

  “What’s the cop’s name?”

  “Chris. No last name.”

  “What’s his area code?”

  “Nine seven two.”

  It was a Dallas area code.

  A cop named Chris from the Dallas area.

  One of the detectives assigned to the Maggie Culver case was Chris Falcone. Was he the cop Eric had texted to?

  The Plano police chief instructed Falcone to leave me alone. Did he disobey his boss?

  In his line of work, you could end up dead if you didn’t follow orders (and in some cases the body was never found because it had been dissolved in acid).

  “Do you think it’s a police operation?” Osiris asked.

  “No.”

  Osiris took a left onto General De Gaulle Drive. “Do you think Eric’s a cop?”

  Castor shook his head. “No.”

  As they approached the US Route 90 entrance ramp, Osiris glanced at the dashboard clock. It had been five minutes since Holly had run away. The police hadn’t arrived yet and there should be no roadblock on the bridge.

  “What did Eric tell the cop?” Osiris asked.

  “First he asked him to find out the location of Veronica’s phone. Then he asked him to find out who texted and called you.”

  When they crossed the bridge, Osiris zoomed the map out. They had two choices. They could keep moving or they could wait until seven in the morning and rent a U-Haul truck. If they kept moving, they would have to avoid major highways for a few hours to minimize the risk of being pulled over by the police.

  Osiris favored the first option. Now he had to decide which route out of New Orleans to take. If he headed west, he would have to make a one-hundred-mile detour around the wetlands. If he drove east, he would save time, but he would have to cross a bridge to get out of New Orleans. It was possible, even likely, that he would cross it before the cops set up their roadblocks, but he didn’t want to take chances. He was a risk-taker, but he wasn’t reckless.

  He couldn’t go north because that would require him to cross a bridge (and a pretty long one) as well.

/>   He had to drive west.

  Oh, Holly, my sweet, sweet Holly. You’ve caused me so much inconvenience.

  Castor took a bottle of 5-Hour Energy from the glove compartment and offered it to Osiris. Osiris asked him to open the bottle, and he did.

  Osiris gulped down the energy drink, put the empty bottle in the satchel, then placed his knife in the glove compartment and stripped off his jacket.

  “Can you put it in my bag?” he said, handing the jacket to Castor.

  Castor got up and slipped behind the curtain.

  Twenty-five minutes later, Osiris turned off Codifer Boulevard onto a narrow street in the New Orleans suburb of Metairie, pulled over, and killed the headlights.

  “I’ll switch the plates.” He grabbed a screwdriver from the glove compartment, retrieved a Louisiana license plate, and got out of the van.

  He removed the front plate, gave it to Castor, then replaced the rear plate with the Louisiana one (unlike Texas, Louisiana required only one license plate).

  “Can you interrogate Eric?” Osiris said as he climbed back into the van.

  “Sure.”

  Osiris put the Texas plate he’d removed from the rear bumper in Castor’s bag, peeled off his fake beard and mustache, and got behind the wheel.

  “Ask him about Chris. I want to know who that is,” he said as he took his Kel-Tec from the satchel and slipped it into his ankle holster.

  Chapter 35

  1

  Castor stepped through the curtain, rolled Eric over, and slapped his cheek. “Wake up.” He slapped the man again. “Wake up, Eric.”

  Eric opened his eyes and looked at him fearfully. Castor grabbed him by the shoulders, helped him sit up, and said, “I’m going to remove the tape. Do not scream. It’s one in the morning, no one will hear you. If you scream, I’ll punch you in the face. Do you understand?”

  Eric nodded, then looked at Lucia and Veronica, his eyes wide with terror. Castor pulled the tape off his mouth, unfolded a chair, placed it beside Eric, and sat down.

  “Who are you?” Eric asked.

  “Matt Damon. And you’re Eric McCormick. Your friend’s name is Ralph Zimmer.”

  “What do you want with me?”

  “I want you to answer a few questions. Why were you snooping around my van?”