Faces Of Evil: Traceless Part 2

Technically the Austin place was just outside Pine Bluff city limits and fell under the county's jurisdiction. But Ray had briefed the sheriff on the situation and they had worked out an agreement on how any trouble would be handled. Ray and his deputies would take care of whatever came up unless they needed backup, and then the sheriff's department would step in. This was the city of Pine Bluff's mess, and Ray wanted to handle it personally. He knew these folks; they knew him. The last thing he wanted was for someone who wasn't familiar with the situation to make a rash decision.

If Troy had a lick of sense he would stay away from Clint. The man Ray brought home today gave the subtle but undeniable impression of danger. Clint Austin had paid his debt to society in one of the harshest prisons in the country. No one walked away without scars. Some thought the killers and rapists behind those bars deserved no better. Ray didn't exactly disagree. Unless they were ...

He stopped himself. Why the h.e.l.l was he going down that road? There was no changing the past, no righting old wrongs or chances for doing over stupid mistakes. There was only here and now and the choices to be made from this moment forward. Everything else was pretty much a waste of time. That was the point he needed to get across to everyone, including Clint.

As hard as life in prison had been, what Clint was about to face might be worse. Running interference on his behalf was imperative. Ray owed him that.

Truth was, Ray owed him a h.e.l.l of a lot more. But the truth was something that wouldn't help anyone now. Not poor dead Heather Baker. And not the angry, bitter Clint Austin.

Some things were better left in the past where they belonged.

Shears Salon "Oh, my G.o.d! Did you see all that?"

Justine Mallory refused to react, even as most of the ladies in the shop hovered at the front window to gawk at the unpleasant scene breaking up on the street. You would think the Almighty himself had appeared on the courthouse steps.

They had all wanted to get a final glimpse of him. Clint Austin, the resident convicted killer.

"I can't believe they let him out after only ten years," Jean Cook, the shop's manager, declared indignantly.

Justine bit her tongue rather than say what was on her mind. Clint Austin didn't deserve their avid curiosity, much less all the fanfare that had gone on outside.

"Well, personally I don't think we'll ever know the whole story on that one." Cathy Caruthers, perm rods still dripping, strolled back to her chair. "Mike and I discussed the issue just last night. All the deputies are talking about it."

Cathy liked reminding everyone that she was almost an attorney about as frequently as she liked cheating on the husband she crowed over. That was the trouble with a man in uniform; it seemed he never had time to pay proper attention. Such a travesty.

"Didn't look like he's been wasting away in a cell all this time," Violet Manning-Turner commented, one professionally waxed eyebrow arched in distaste. Violet had always thought herself a cut above the rest. A concept perpetuated by the idea that she'd married far better than she deserved.

Truth was, Clint Austin had always been good-looking. Justine doubted prison had changed that. She would, however, keep that a.s.sessment to herself.

Megan La.s.siter glanced up from her magazine. Like Justine, she'd ignored the brouhaha and remained seated. "The way I hear it, there's more fighting and killing in that place than in any other prison in the country. Austin probably had to stay in shape to survive." Her expression hovered somewhere between distressed and sympathetic. She never had been able to think badly of anyone, even when they deserved it. Unlike her husband, Grady, who made his living seeking out news, by hook or by crook, to sell newspapers.

Misty Briggs, Justine's teaching colleague and friend, adjusted her gla.s.ses repeatedly as she lingered at the window. Just went to show how boring small-town life could be. Justine's idea of real excitement involved two things: a special gift and a more intimate setting with the bearer of said gift. She turned the magnificent gold bracelet on her right wrist around and around. She did love pretty things.

"Does that look okay? I didn't take much off the length."

Justine turned her attention back to the here and now, accepted the mirror Jean offered, and surveyed her long blonde locks. "Perfect." She smiled appreciatively. "As always." Jean wasn't a lifetime resident of Pine Bluff. Not many of the local women liked her, but she was a d.a.m.ned good colorist and stylist, so most tolerated hera"at least to her face.

Misty finally shuffled back to her chair. "I remember there was gossip," she said, her hazel eyes huge behind those c.o.ke-bottle lenses as she covertly glanced around the shop, "that Austin was actually innocent."

Tension trickled through Justine. She turned and stared at her friend in utter disbelief. Excited or not, that remark was going too far. "Emily Wallace said he was guilty." Justine's voice reflected her offense. The very idea that Misty would say such nonsense out loud and in the beauty shop, of all places.

Misty put a hand to her throat. "Oh, Justine, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. Of course he was guilty." She reached over and squeezed Justine's hand, her face a study in regret, but the hint of satisfaction in her eyes ruined the effect. She loved manipulating a moment like this. It was the only time she managed to draw any real attention to herself.

Megan piped up, "Heather was my friend. Emily, too. If she said he was guilty, then he was guilty." That was about as close as Megan came to dissing anyone, even a convicted killer.

The others punctuated her p.r.o.nouncement with a litany of agreeable sounds and pacifying remarks.

As the high school's cheerleading coach, Justine had known both Heather and Emily well, as she did the rest of those present, excluding Jean of course. Might as well have her say. "Clint Austin killed Heather Baker in cold blood," Justine said, with a stern glance at Misty. Absolute silence fell over the shop as all waited in antic.i.p.ation of what came next. "Emily was the one who sealed his fate at the trial." Justine looked from one expectant face to the other. "You all know she hasn't been the same since. Considering the lack of real evidence, without her testimony I imagine he would've gotten off scot-free."

Megan's eyes rounded with fear. "You don't think that's why he's back, do you? To hurt Emily?"

"No," Cathy reb.u.t.ted. "Mike and Ray are all over this. Every cop on the force has orders to keep a close eye on Clint Austin. He's not going to get a chance to hurt anyone."

All eyes shifted back to Justine for her take on Cathy's argument. Justine turned her palms heavenward and offered a simple truth: "I don't know why Clint Austin is back. But if I were Emily Wallace, I'd be scared to death."

CHAPTER FOUR.

Cedar Hill Cemetery 6:00 p.m.

Emily followed him.

Tomorrow would be soon enough to get the information on parole violations and the consequences. But keeping up with Austin's every move had to start now. He'd driven around for over an hour. She was pretty sure he'd recognized that he was being followed, but he made no attempt to lose her or to confront her. He just kept driving. Eventually he returned to town, visited Donna's Floral Shop, and then came here.

To the cemetery.

Emily hadn't antic.i.p.ated that move. Only people who had hearts cared enough to visit the graves of their lost loved ones. Austin had no heart.

Still, he'd tracked down his mother's grave, laid the flowers he'd purchased on the headstone, and been standing there ever since. For about half an hour now.

Emily had eventually gotten out of her car. After wandering aimlessly, keeping one eye on him, she'd ended up at Heather's grave. The shiny black granite headstone displayed an inset cameo of Heather's senior picture. They'd gone for their portrait sittings just one week before the murder.

Emily dropped down to her knees and traced the picture of her friend. She missed her so much. There were so many things they were supposed to have done together. Like go off to Auburn for college as roommates. When wedding days came they would have been each other's maid and matron of honor. G.o.dmothers to each other's children. Maybe even neighbors. Their whole lives had been plotted out with years of late-night talks and afternoons spent daydreaming.

Heather hadn't gotten to do any of those things, and neither had Emily. She had managed to muddle through two years at a small business school in Birmingham between lapses into depression, one major breakdown, and a couple of trial drug therapies. Eventually she'd gotten a job and ended up in charge of the files department at a research facility.

Things pretty much began and ended there.

Nothing had turned out anything like she'd planned. For all intents and purposes her life had ended that night almost as surely as Heather's had. The only difference was that Emily was still breathing. Few nights pa.s.sed that she didn't lie in bed and wonder why that continued to be. Or what it was that Heather was supposed to have told her that night. There's something we have to talk about when you get back... something really important.

Emily glanced across the expanse of bleak headstones. The man who had robbed her of so much hadn't moved. He still stood like a statue next to his mother's grave. He hadn't knelt down for a closer inspection or checked for errant weeds. Just stared at the headstone as if waiting for some news flash or epiphany.

His mother had been a soft-spoken woman with the same dark hair and intense gray eyes as her son. She'd insisted time and again at the trial that her son would never harm anyone. That he was a good boy. But no one had believed her. Even Austin's court-appointed attorney hadn't believed her. He'd just done what the court forced him to do, represent a man who couldn't afford legal representation otherwise.

The judge and the jury had all sympathized with the Baker family... with Emily.

Emily pushed to her feet. Thought about returning to her car just in case Austin decided to leave, but he still hadn't moved, so she didn't bother. Instead, she watched him.

His profile could have been chiseled from the same stone as any of those marking these final resting places. Lean, angular features that tugged at long-banished memories. She had loved looking at him... before. Square jaw softened by full lips that had spent most of their time stretched in a c.o.c.ky grin. Eyes that twinkled with wicked invitation. The way he'd smelled... the way he'd said her name in that teasing lilt had beckoned to her on every level.

"There isn't a day goes by that I don't miss her."

Emily spun toward the voice, her heart in her throat. Troy Baker, Heather's brother, moved to her side. Guilt and shame scalded her as if Troy might see that she'd allowed those thoughts for even a second.

"Troy, Jesus, you scared the h.e.l.l out of me."

He threw his arms around her. Emily ignored her jangling nerves and hugged him back just as fiercely.

"Sorry, Em." He pulled away as if he'd rather not let go and stared down at his sister's grave. "My folks told me what you did at the parole hearing." His gaze met hers once more. "I appreciate that more than you can know. I couldn't be there... I knew what those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds were going to do."

She cleared her throat of the emotion lodged there. "It was the least I could do, Troy. Heather would have done the same for me."

He nodded. "She would've. She loved you like a sister, Em." He laughed softly, the sound painful to hear. "She'd have given me up for you any day of the week."

Emotion flooded Emily's eyes and she couldn't hope to contain it. "No, she wouldn't have, silly. She loved you, too, even if you were a pain in the b.u.t.t. Fifteen-year-old guys can't be counted on for much else."

He smiled, his eyes bright as well. "I don't want him to get away with this, Em, and it feels exactly like he has."

Emily's gaze moved across the cemetery and settled on Clint Austin once more. It was hard to believe they were all standing in the same place like this. Austin appeared completely oblivious to their presence, but he couldn't be.

"He's not going to get away with anything," she said out loud. That was a promise. And until she could make that promise a reality her presence would remind him every day that he wasn't wanted here... that he was a murderer.

"You're right," Troy agreed. "He's not, because I'm going to do whatever it takes to see that he doesn't."

Emily hadn't seen Troy often since the trial, but she recognized the same resolve in him that she felt.

"If we watch him closely enough," she proposed, wondering if Troy had a similar plan, "he's bound to make a mistake. All we have to do is catch him. I don't know all the rules related to his parole just yet, but I know Austin never was very good at following rules. He won't be able to toe the line."

"Maybe," Troy contended, seeming to reflect on something a moment before he went on, "but, personally, I don't think he'll live long enough for us to have to worry about whether or not he makes a mistake."

The sheer hatred in Troy's voice scattered a cold spray of goose b.u.mps across her skin. She couldn't deny that the thought of killing Austin had crossed her mind. It had. But a part of her always recognized that the notion was wrong.

Somehow she didn't sense that same comprehension in Troy. She had to be overreacting. She'd known Troy Baker his whole life. As much as he loved his sister, he wasn't a killer.

Movement in Emily's peripheral vision dragged her attention back to Austin. He was finally leaving.

"I should go," she said to Troy, though she felt reluctant to leave him. She hoped he wasn't going to do anything rash. Her need to keep an eye on Austin won out.

Troy wrapped his fingers around her arm and held on when she would have moved away. "Don't go, Em. Stay and talk to me. We can visit Heather a while longer."

She started to argue when he tagged on, "Don't worry about him. He's not going to get into anything tonight. Trust me."

County Road 18 6:45 p.m.

The sun had started to sink into the treetops as Clint drove the last couple of miles toward home. He'd put off going back there for as long as he could.

He was d.a.m.ned exhausted. The day had lasted a lifetime.

The visit to the parole officer had gone as expected. Lee Brady had laid down the rules and the ramifications of failing to follow those rules. Like most of the folks in town, Brady didn't agree with Clint's release, saying it hadn't been necessary. Clint had felt Brady's antipathy.

The scene outside had made leaving a nuisance. Thirty or so people, their frenzy tuned to a fever pitch by Troy Baker and Keith Turner, had gathered to make their opinions known. Like Clint told Ray, he didn't give a d.a.m.n what people thought. They had a right to do and say whatever was on their minds. Didn't change a d.a.m.ned thing. They'd just have to get over the fact that Clint was here, because he wasn't going anywhere.

None of it had really bothered him until he'd seen her. She'd been headed to join the crowd of demonstrators. He hadn't expected to run into her one-on-one. Actually, he hadn't expected her to let him run into her. He'd figured she would avoid him by staying insulated by the crowd. But he'd seen her twice today, both times with nothing more than a meager span of asphalt or gra.s.s between them.

Emily had followed him, then hung around the cemetery watching. Then Troy Baker had appeared. Clint had been aware that Troy or one of his cronies had been close by all afternoon. After everything Clint had been through, he'd still tensed when Troy hugged her. It made Clint want to kick himself. Talk about f.u.c.ked up.

He'd watched her when she hadn't been watching him. She hadn't changed at all. Still wore her dark brown hair long. The skirt and blouse were a little more conservative, but she was as pretty as ever, thinner maybe. Too bad she'd been like poison to him. She had single-handedly destroyed his life. If she kept following him around, maybe he should invite her over and tell her about a few of his jailhouse experiences. She'd change her mind in a flash about whether or not he'd gotten the full extent of what he deserved.

Or maybe she wouldn't.

Either way, he had to stay focused, to watch his step or Miss Emily Wallace would be reporting him to Brady. Clint figured she hadn't shown up back here in Pine Bluff the same day he had for nothing. Ray had mentioned that she'd moved away years ago and rarely visited. Given her obvious agenda, Clint d.a.m.ned sure shouldn't be attracted to her. But considering he hadn't been with a woman in over a decade, it wasn't a major shock. Still, she was his enemy and he had to keep that in front of him.

He checked his mirrors again. He was surprised she hadn't followed him from the cemetery, but she'd been too busy chatting with Baker. Maybe the two of them had been planning the next phase of their surveillance strategy.

Well, Clint had plans of his own. Plans that included not only Emily Wallace but also his former boss's son, Sid Fair-gate. The man who'd hired Clint to take that car that night was dead, but the son would know whatever secrets the father had carried to the grave. Clint was sure of that. Just as he was sure that Emily, if given the proper motivation, would recall that night with a little more clarity. All he had to do was manipulate a reaction that would reverberate through the whole d.a.m.ned town.

Movement in the rearview mirror snagged Clint's attention. A truck, an older-model Chevy, had topped the hill behind him moving way too fast. Clint edged nearer the shoulder of the road to allow plenty of room for the driver to get on by. But he didn't do that. He roared up behind Clint.

"What the h.e.l.l?" He braced just in time for the impact.

The track pushed against his rear b.u.mper.

Clint tightened his grip on the steering wheel and floored the accelerator in an attempt to put some distance between them. The truck responded likewise, nudging him again before he could get his momentum going.

Clint topped the next hill. A slow-moving car on the road in front of him forced him to brake hard. The truck didn't.

A sharp cut to the right avoided the crash and sent him bucking across the shallow ditch and into the cornfield, clearing a wide path of stalks.

He swerved left, came down hard on the brake.

The Firebird skidded to a jarring stop.

CHAPTER FIVE.

212 Cedar Street 7:10 p.m.

"How long will you be staying, honey?"

Emily pushed the peas around on her plate and considered how best to answer her father's question. Silence had started pressing in on the family dining room as soon as she'd arrived late for dinner. This moment had been coming ever since.

Despite his affable tone, her father wore his seriously concerned face.

Since the breakdown her parents had used alternating zones for dealing with her: curiously indulgent, surprisingly relieved, seriously concerned, or deeply troubled. Tonight, apparently, was seriously concerned.

"A week or so. I haven't decided." Emily stuffed a forkful of potatoes into her mouth to avoid further elaboration. She'd asked for two weeks' vacation, but she would take as long as necessary. That she was a grown woman and could make her own decision on the matter wouldn't be relevant to her parents.

Stevie Wonder couldn't have missed the look that pa.s.sed between them. They weren't anywhere near finished yet.