Red Rain: Lightning Strikes: Red Rain Series #2 (11 page)

S
cott put
the phone to his ear and listened to it ring. From all his inquiries, Dr. Gerald Vondi’s brother was still alive and this number would connect Scott to him.

“Hello?” a voice answered.

“Hi, my name is Scott Hilt and I’m looking for a Robert Vondi. I was hoping this number was the right one,” Scott said, trying to sound as friendly as possible.

“This is Robert. How can I help you, Mr. Hilt?”

The man’s voice sounded old and frail, but intelligent, as if the man’s body was giving out before his mind.

“Well, sir, I’m calling about something that I doubt you’ll have much information on, and something that might be sensitive. I want to apologize up front.”

A pause, and then the man said, “I’m pretty old and there isn’t much sensitive to me anymore. I don’t get a lot of calls, so talking to anyone right now is better than no one. Go ahead and tell me what’s on your mind.”

“A long time ago, my wife and son saw your brother professionally. They both saw him for years.” Scott paused. “Lori and John Hilt, though I doubt those names mean much to you. My son is now a grown man and my wife has passed, but she left some fairly damning letters about him—my son. The tough part for me is, my wife wasn’t of a sound mind, especially toward the end of her life, and I’m wondering if any of your brother’s files or notes still existed. I know, a really long shot.”

“Hmmmm,” Robert said, stretching the noise out. When he finished, he didn’t say anything for a few more seconds. “I don’t know about files, to be honest. I know that I have a bunch of his stuff, but I’ve never gone through it. I also don’t know if he took a lot of notes. I know that he didn’t during his sessions—he told me that one time, said taking notes during a session took you away from really paying attention to the patient. Gerald’s been dead for a long time, and I don’t have any use for the files. I think they’re up in my attic. You’d have to come get them, though. On my income, I’m not paying for shipping.”

“Do you know if there are any legalities to this? Anything that could get us into trouble?”

“Hmmmm,” Robert said again. “Probably, yeah, but I'm too old to care. It's up to you?”

A jolt ran through Scott’s spine, adrenaline pumping into his system. Files. Maybe they would help and maybe they wouldn’t, but he certainly wouldn’t have to sit here looking at Lori’s notebook. And to be honest, he was also too old to care.

“That’s not a problem, Mr. Vondi. Where are you located?”

“I’m in Houston.”

“That’s about five hours from me. Do you have a day that would work best?”

“I’m free anytime. Just give me a call before you come and I’ll have them all ready for you.”

Scott looked at his watch. The day was too late for him to make the drive now.

“How about tomorrow?” he said. “I can be down there at eleven in the morning.”

“Works for me. I’ll see you then.”

* * *

H
ow the hell
has no one caught him yet?
Alan wondered.

Three murders in two years, all of them on Hilt’s campus, or right across the street if someone wanted to be technical. His best friend died when they were pre-teens. Now these two people, one that attends the same meetings as Hilt and the other worked in the same goddamn building.

Six murders surrounded the son-of-a-bitch. Six that Alan could see. How many more were there that he couldn’t see? And how in the hell had no one put these pieces together until now.

Because he went overseas. Had he done it all here in the States, someone would have caught on, and he’d be in jail. Or dead.

So what was going on in the man’s head now?

He was getting reckless. That’s what Alan thought. Whatever was wrong with this guy, whatever fucked up connections in his head made him do this, they were growing more fucked up by the day. Three in two years while in England. Two in two weeks now.

So how was Alan going to catch him?

He understood that he wouldn’t find any evidence at either of the crime scenes, and this trail of dead bodies was nothing more than circumstantial evidence—a first year law student could get the case thrown out of court.

Yet, Hilt was slipping. He blew the second guy’s head clean off, and that wasn’t his modus operandi. It created more blood, more clean up. And if he was slipping, losing control of his murderous compulsion, then turning the heat up even more might cause something to break inside him.

You do that, then you tail him. He’ll kill, or try to, and you’ll have him.

Turn up the heat.

The guy hadn’t even lawyered up yet, which was insane. Did he really think himself invincible? That he couldn’t be caught because he’d gotten away with it so far? Alan supposed those questions didn’t really matter; as long as he wasn’t lawyered up, Alan was free to talk to him as much as he wanted.

* * *

“
J
ohn
, the detective is back.”

“The same one from last time?”

“The same.”

John sighed into the phone. “Wait five minutes and then send him in.”

“You got it.”

John hung up the phone and heard Harry immediately.

“Why the fuck are you seeing him again? Why would you allow him to come in here?”

“I want to know what he knows.”

“John, he doesn’t know shit,” Harry said. “If he knew anything, he wouldn’t be stopping by your secretary to ask to see you. He’d come in with cuffs and you’d be walked across the floor with your head down. He’s doing this to scare you. Plain and simple.”

“And if I don’t see him, how does that look?”

“WHO CARES HOW IT LOOKS? YOU’RE FIGHTING FOR YOUR LIFE HERE!”

John stood up and straightened some of the papers on his desk.

“What if he knows about Father Charles?”

“He doesn’t. It’s a missing person until they find a body, and a missing person doesn’t go to Detective Dick Face. Don’t let him come in here, John. Use your head.”

The knock on the door ended the conversation.

“Come in,” John said from behind his desk.

Detective Tremock opened the door. “John, how ya doing?” he said, closing it behind him.

“I’d be better if you weren’t here, truth be told.”

“Oh, I know that’s right,” the detective said.

“So what have I done now to deserve you coming back?” John looked down at his desk.

“I wanted to talk about something interesting I found,” the detective said as he walked across the office.

“Oh, well, before we get started on that,” John said, leveling his eyes at Tremock. “Don’t ever fucking visit my wife again. Do you understand me?”

“I understand, but I’m sorry to tell you, you don’t have any control over who I visit or what I talk about. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a cop and can go where I want.”

A cold rage spread across John’s body, his muscles tightening and his jaw clenching.

He didn’t speak, just stared as the detective made his way to John’s desk.

“I’ve been doing a bit of research on you, Mr. Hilt.”

John saw the folder for the first time as Tremock brought it up from his side. He placed it on John’s desk and then flipped open the cover with a finger. A newspaper article sat on top, and when John saw the headline, he didn’t need to read anything else.

London Student Found Dead in Park.

“If you move past the first article there, you’ll see more,” the detective said. “Though, I’m not sure you need to look through them, given that they’re your handiwork.”

John looked up. “So now I commit every murder, not only in the States, but other countries as well?”

The detective smiled. “There’s a trail of dead people that follow you from thirteen until now. Harold—you remember him don’t you? Did you have something to do with that too?”

“Oh yeah, I was a murdering thirteen year old. There’s about fifteen bodies buried beneath my middle school. Have you started digging there as well?”

“I probably should, huh? But, no, not yet.”

John looked at the detective, the slick grin still pasted on his face.

“Anything else? You know why I don’t have a lawyer?” John said. “Because you don’t have shit but a folder with some old newspaper articles in it. Nothing else. You want to pin murders on me, then have some evidence, but until then, stay the fuck out of my office.”

“No problem. The next time I come, it’ll be with a warrant. Does that work for you?”

“That works fine,” John said, the rage nearly bursting from each fiber of his body. “Now get the fuck out.”

* * *

“
S
o now he
knows about London?” John said.

The door was closed and John sat on one of the chairs in his office, away from his desk and computer.

“Apparently. I told you not to let him come in here.”

“You also told me to kill those people in London.”

“Tomayto, tomahto—you, me, what’s the difference?” Harry said, sitting down on a chair across from John. “What we need to focus on is where we go from here. All this bullshit is holding us back.”

John laughed. “Holding us back? What do you mean us? It’s holding me back, from living the rest of my life with my family, but I don’t think you’ve been held back one iota, Harry.”

“We could be doing so much more.”

“More? Father Charles wasn’t enough for you?” John spit the words with a vitriol he had never felt toward Harry before. “The only person who knew everything. The person that brought me to God. We killed him. And that’s not enough?”

“He was going to kill you, John. Or don’t you remember the knife he held in his hand when you turned around?”

“I deserve to die,” John said, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “He did it so that I would stop.”

“You’ll make an excuse for anyone but yourself, won’t you? But truth be told, there were other ways to stop you. He didn’t want to break the confessional seal, but he was willing to commit murder? The man hated you. And some more truth? No. He’s not enough. Because you had your five years while I left you alone, and now it’s our time to do this together. You know it as well as I do, you feel it in your blood, the itch to keep going. Don’t act like you don’t think about it, either. I see your thoughts just as well as you see me, and I’ve seen what you think about your secretary out there—what it would look like to see a bullet in the center of her forehead.”

John didn’t say anything.

“We need to get out of this place, John. We need to leave this state and find somewhere else to live.”

“What are you talking about? Move my family?”

“No,” Harry said. “Leave your family. You want Diane watching you sit in a courtroom while Detective Dick Face testifies to all the evidence he’s collected? You need to get out of this state, at least for a while, and have some fun. I’ll leave when I’ve had enough and you can come back. Or you can move your family somewhere new. Staying here, though—it’s not a good idea.”

“I’m not leaving them. Forget the whole idea.”

“John, I’m finding it hard to control myself. You know this. How long did it take you to decide you were going to kill the priest? Did you even make a decision, or was it already predetermined? You killed him the same as anyone else, and that’s because I’m losing control which means
you’re
losing control. What else could happen, John? Think about it. Has anything like that happened before?”