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“The aliens said I could feed him to the pigs, like the others.” Clough blinked at him like an owl in the sunlight. “I didn’t kill him. No, sir, that wasn’t me.”
Kane shoved him hard against the wall and glared down at him. “If it wasn’t you then who killed Pete Daniels?” The man stank of sweat and blood as if he had not washed in months. “Do the aliens have names?”
“No way.” Clough moved his sunken eyes to Kane’s face. “They’ll kill me. Send me back to prison if you want, but I’m not ratting on them.”
The delusional man believed aliens brought corpses to him to feed his pigs. “How many more people have they killed?”
“I don’t keep count.”
Anger flared and Kane grabbed Clough by the collar, lifting him to his toes. “Did you kill Sarah Woodward? A young, blonde woman?”
“I didn’t kill any of them.” Clough shook his head. “Why won’t anyone believe me?”
Kane glared down at him with the image of Sarah’s staring dead eyes at the front of his mind. Psychopaths were creatures of habit. “Do you have a root cellar?”
“Yeah, in the pantry. You really don’t want to go down there.” Clough let out a long pitiful whine. “They’ll will be angry with me. This—” he pointed a filthy finger at Pete’s body “—is nothing compared to what they can do to a man. I’m in danger, you need to protect me.”
“Shut the fuck up before I forget I’m a deputy and do something I might regret.” Kane dragged Clough to a metal hitching post and, using his spare cuffs, attached him securely; then using flex cuffs, he tied his ankles together. He lifted his gaze to Rowley. “This animal isn’t going anywhere and we’ll need to check the house, but first I’ll call it in and get the ME out here.” He grabbed the satellite phone from his belt and contacted Walters then turned to Rowley. “Okay, come with me.”
He took off at a run toward the back of the ranch house. The back door had a small porch and he moved up the stairs, opened the door, and aimed his Glock into the mudroom. “Sheriff’s department, is anyone there?”
No sound came from inside. He closed his palm around the butt of his Glock and moved up the stairs. The back door opened silently. “Sheriff’s department, I’m entering the premises.”
The silence within was deafening. He walked into the kitchen, waved Rowley inside, and checked the filthy house. “Clear.” He strolled back into the kitchen and indicated toward the pantry. “He said the root cellar is in there.”
“Yeah. I see a hatch in the floor at the back.” Rowley moved inside.
Kane followed. “Watch my back, I’m going in.”
“You’ll need a flashlight.” Rowley frowned. “I’ll open the hatch.” He holstered his weapon then bent and tugged on the metal loop in the floor.
The entrance swung open with silent ease and Kane pushed Rowley to one side. He peered into the darkness and listened. A soft humming came from below. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Can you hear that? A motor of some kind is running down there.”
“Sounds like a generator running in the cellar.” Rowley raised an eyebow.
Kane glanced around the pantry. Shelves littered with rat droppings ran along the walls. The odd can of beans and a loaf of bread were the only food in the disgusting place. Beside the door, he noticed two switches and flicked on one and then the other. Light flooded the cellar, illuminating a wooden staircase. No other sound came from below. He glanced at Rowley. “Stay here. Keep your back to the wall and your weapon aimed at the door.”
“Yes, sir.” Rowley pulled his weapon and complied.
Kane moved down the steps, waiting for the click of a gun or the sound of someone moving, but the room was empty apart from a few boxes of supplies piled in one corner and an ax leaning against the wall. The humming sound came from a chest freezer secured with a lock and chain. He stared at the freezer and unease clawed at his gut at the sight of a slick of blood on the white surface. He rubbed his chin. The idea of opening the lid and finding another corpse made his skin crawl. He holstered the Glock and pulled a pair of surgical gloves from his pocket. If this turned out to be a crime scene, he could not risk contamination, not twice in one week.
He examined the substantial padlock. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to prevent someone opening the freezer. “Okay, let’s see what you have hidden inside.” He grabbed the ax and, in two blows, smashed open the lock.
Rowley’s worried voice came from the top of the stairs. “You okay down there?”
“Yeah. Stay there and keep watch. I don’t want any surprise visitors.” Kane dragged in a deep breath, lifted the lid, and reeled back. “Shit.”
A battered, frozen face of a woman stared at him. Blood had dripped from her nose and frozen in hideous red icicles. The victim’s bloody fingers had clawed at the walls. Kane swallowed his disgust at the cruelty inflicted on this person. The killers had beaten her to a pulp then frozen her alive. He went to shut the lid to preserve the evidence and stared in disbelief. Under the frost, he could make out words scrawled in blood. With infinite care, he brushed away the layer of ice crystals and gaped in horror. “Oh my God!”
The victim had named her murderers.
Dean and Dirk Daniels.
Fifty-Five
Jenna lifted her coffee and emptied the mug. A wave of euphoria washed over her and her skin heated. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Then a wave of nausea hit her and she lost balance, sagging over onto the table. The next moment, Dean had rounded the table and helped her out of her coat. “Thanks, I’m so hot.”
“Looks like the flu to me. It’s going around. Come and lie down.” Dean’s strong arms slid around her waist, lifting her. “Another cup of coffee will get you back on your feet.”
