In Her Tracks (Tracy Crosswhite #8)(91)

“What business is it of yours, Bibby, if we had the girl?”

Bibby stared at him. “You’re either a damn good poker player or you’re truly ignorant, like your brothers. Which is it?”

Franklin didn’t answer. He didn’t know what Bibby was talking about and figured keeping quiet might not give away his ignorance. Besides, Bibby had always had a big mouth. Franklin figured Bibby would tell him what the hell he was talking about, eventually.

Bibby smiled. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”

“Who?”

“The idiot. That brother of yours.”

“Don’t call him that. You ain’t family.”

“Not yours, thank God. Evan.”

“What didn’t Evan tell me?”

Bibby laughed. “I’ll be damned. He wanted her for himself, just like he wanted that sister of yours for himself.”

Franklin still didn’t understand what business the girl was to Bibby, unless he wanted her for himself. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about. So, if you don’t mind.” Franklin stepped forward, the wrench in hand.

Bibby fired a round into the dirt, just missing the front of Franklin’s boot. Jackpot jumped and raced from the pump house. “I do mind.”

Franklin stopped.

“The girl, Franklin. Where is she? Did you put her in the room at the back of the barn?”

Franklin stared at him and the realization slowly dawned—what business the girl was to Bibby. Shit. How did he miss it? His anger with what Evan had done, disobeying him, had blurred his vision and his common sense. Evan wouldn’t hurt a fly, never had it in him. He never would have struck that girl.

“You were in the park that day,” he said. “Taking Jackpot for a walk.”

“And old Jackpot is a chick magnet. Everyone knows Jackpot and I walk that ravine same time every day. Figured once the word got out, somebody would say, ‘Old Bibby walks that park every day’ and the police would be on me like stink on shit. In this case I figured the best defense to be a good offense. I decided to call it in myself, say I saw her and that was it.”

“You did more than see her. Didn’t you?”

“Girl came running down the trail half-dressed and not to be ignored.” Bibby licked his lips. “I’d never seen her before. And I make it a point to know everyone in my neighborhood. It was just too good an opportunity to pass up. Like old times again. Been some years, but the urges never go away, not even for an old fart like me.”

“You hit her in the head with a rock or something. I should have known Evan never could have done that.”

“She ran right past me, gave me a smile and a nod. She had no idea she was running into a dead end.”



Bibby watched the young woman slow her pace, then stop. She stared at the metal guardrail across the trail and the red and yellow signs telling her to stop and not to trespass. She jogged in place and looked about, trying to determine whether the trail continued to the right or the left. It didn’t.

Time to let Jackpot work his magic. He released the dog and sent him down the path. Jackpot ran right up to her. She lowered and removed an earbud from her ear.

“Hey,” she said, petting him. “Where’d you come from?”

Bibby stepped out and went down the trail calling for Jackpot. “Jackpot. Bad dog. Come over here. I’m real sorry, young lady. He got off the leash and never could resist a good-looking woman.”

“That’s okay,” she said. She took a step back, away from him. “I grew up with dogs. You wouldn’t know if the trail continues, would you?” she asked.

“Afraid not. Dead end.”

“I was afraid of that.” She gave him a worried smile. “Well, I better get a move on if I don’t want to be running in the dark.”

“No, you don’t,” Bibby said. “Let’s think of something else you could do. Shall we?” He removed his hand from the pocket, the one holding the stone.



“Women never could resist Jackpot,” Bibby said.

“Why didn’t you just kill her when you had the chance?” Franklin said.

“I would have, except for that idiot brother of yours interfering.”

“I warned you once not to call him that.”



Bibby dragged the young woman from the trail into the bushes. He had always kept a fresh condom in his wallet. Didn’t want to leave behind any DNA. Never had. Never would.

He looked down at the young woman, eager for another chance with something so young. She wasn’t dead, not yet. But that wouldn’t be a problem. And he had a perfect alibi, in case one of the neighbors brought up the fact that he walked Jackpot at this time every day. No one was going to believe a seventy-five-year-old man with a bad back raped and killed a fit, young woman out for a run. If the police came asking, and likely would, he’d tell them he’d seen her in the park, that they’d passed on the trail. That was it. Who was going to dispute it? Like Ed Sprague had always said: “The dead don’t see. And they don’t talk.”

He had unbuckled his belt and the button on his pants when something rustled the bushes at the end of the trail. Odd, since there was no wind at the bottom of the ravine, and Jackpot was at his side. In the fading light he didn’t see anyone. Jackpot, however, was better than night vision goggles. He had a nose infinitely more powerful than a human and ran up the hillside. Bibby saw cigarette smoke wafting above the bushes. He made out clothing, unnatural colors.