by Charly Cox
That was, until in the twilight hours of a new day, when their prison door had once again opened. Only this time it was she who’d been dragged upstairs to be delivered to one of the most frightening men she’d ever laid eyes on. Even through her rising hysteria, she’d refused to strip naked, unable to release the image of the battered girl in the coral robe. The lady with the severe bun had given her a choice: disrobe or be disrobed forcefully.
Jersey had never been one to be brave, not like Sophie, whose courage and tenacity she secretly admired. She’d never stood up to bullies – she’d never really had any reason to.
But this time? This time she’d had no choice. Even when the lady slapped her face so hard it snapped her head back, even as the tears streamed down her cheek, she was brave. It wasn’t until the two men stepped forward again that her courage had begun to falter.
Still, her need for self-preservation wasn’t quite ready to release its grip, and her flight instinct – something she wasn’t even aware she had – had kicked in. Her eyes had darted to the door. She wasn’t even aware of her feet moving in that direction until someone had a fistful of her hair, yanking her to a stop. The men had each grabbed hold of either side of her, imprisoning her as the woman produced a pair of scissors and methodically sliced Jersey’s clothes until they fell off her in ribbons of cloth, leaving her naked, on show for the man whose face finally emitted a reaction.
Excitement.
If only it had ended there. She had been marched down the hall to a darkened room, backlit with an ominous blue light that cast eerie shadows on the walls and ceiling. ‘She’s all yours,’ one of the men had said before shoving her into the room, sending her tumbling, her arms coming up a split second before her face slammed into the floor. As she’d pushed herself to her knees, she’d barely recognized the horrified screams that were coming from her. She’d almost crawled to the corner when a pointed boot had nailed her side, sending her reeling back down, gasping for breath.
Still she hadn’t stopped. She’d known her life depended on her getting away, so using her elbows, she’d inched forward on her stomach only to have two strong, smooth hands grip her feet and flip her onto her back. The man with black, soulless eyes stood with his legs on either side of her hips, smiling down at her as he lifted his booted foot and slammed it down into her stomach.
Sixty of the longest minutes of her life later, he was done. She knew how long it had been because someone had knocked on the door seconds before a booming but disembodied voice announced the man’s hour was up.
Had it really only been Sunday when she’d been whining to her friends about problems that weren’t really problems at all? The finality of the door clanging shut behind her as she was tossed back into the cell with the other girls barely penetrated through the fog of agony. She was somewhat aware of gentle hands easing her onto the nearest mattress, where she curled herself into as tight a ball as she could. As she lay there sobbing, gasping for breath, the memory of the voice from that night, the one who’d whispered nighty-night just before her world had blacked out, slammed into her.
It had to have been her mind playing tricks on her. No way could the person she knew be involved in something like this.
She refused to believe it.
Chapter Fifteen
Tuesday, May 21
Burned trees and shrubbery blocked Alyssa’s view as she forced her feet to move faster. She ignored the melodious songs of the birds and the mocking caws of the crows as she extended her arms in an attempt to save Isaac. Urgency filled her as he slipped out of her grasp, his body conforming to the shapes of the trees which suddenly became Timmy’s arms. Cymbals clanged in the distance, and then she lurched awake, disoriented, eyes stinging and blurred. It was the same nightmare she’d had for the past six weeks.
‘You going to answer that?’ Brock mumbled.
Mind still warped from the dream, it took a second for Alyssa to realize her phone was ringing. She checked the time. Four-sixteen in the morning. Voice thick with sleep and nerves, she jerked her phone off her nightstand. ‘Hello?’
‘Detective Wyatt? This is Officer Vogler. Captain Hammond asked me to call you.’
Alyssa shook her head to clear it, trying to catch up. ‘Asked you to call me about what?’
‘We’ve got a dead body down on Central and Louisiana.’
Her stomach muscles tensed, and she gripped her phone tighter. ‘Female?’ It had to be, otherwise the captain wouldn’t have found it necessary to drag her out of bed at four in the morning. Images of Rachel Otis and Jersey Andrews ran like a reel through her foggy brain.
‘Female. Appears to be fairly young, but it’s hard to say with the condition she’s in. I’ll let you take a look for yourself.’
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thanks for the call.’ She leaned down to kiss Brock, whose eyes were now open and trained on her. ‘Someone found a deceased female near downtown, so I’ve got to go. Try to go back to sleep.’
‘I will.’ He gripped her hand tightly in his, holding her in place when she tried to stand. She turned back to him, eyebrows lifted. ‘Call or text as soon as you know who it is – or isn’t.’
She pulled her hand from his grip and cupped the side of his face. ‘I will. But if it is, we’ll tell her together.’ She sent a silent prayer to anyone listening that it wasn’t either of her missing girls.
Twelve minutes later, she was in her Tahoe and on the road, and thirteen minutes after that, she pulled up behind Cord’s vehicle just as he was climbing out of it. Unlike her, he’d answered his phone on the first ring when she’d called.
She joined him on the sidewalk as together they headed toward the abandoned, half-finished construction of what was supposed to have been a restaurant when it was completed. ‘You know, even if there wasn’t crime scene tape and police lights blazing, I would’ve known where to go. All I’d need to guide me is the large gathering of looky-loos trying to get a glimpse of someone’s corpse.’ She growled at a few individuals who held their phones high above their heads in an effort to snap photos to post on their social media sites. ‘Why are there so many people even out at this hour?’
When a short, balding man wearing a Dunkin Donuts uniform blocked her path in his attempt to get a better shot, Alyssa snapped. ‘Have a little respect, people!’ She pushed the man aside, whipping her head around to bark at it him when he protested. ‘Isn’t it time for you to make the doughnuts?’
As she forced her way through the throng of bodies, she felt her patience fray. ‘Get the hell out of my way!’ Heads turned, but other than that, her words had no effect as the people continued blocking her path. ‘If any of you here without a badge are still in my way in two seconds, I’m slapping cuffs on you!’ Whether it was her threat or the fact that Cord had planted himself in front of her as he elbowed the remaining people out of the way, she didn’t know and didn’t care.
Each step closer to the perimeter set up by the first responders increased the heavy scent of death that lingered in the air. Mixed with that was the unmistakable odor of unbathed bodies. It was a sad fact that a large number of homeless individuals congregated in this area despite the various nearby shelters. Alyssa did her best to breathe through her mouth and not her nose.
She ducked under the crime scene tape into the building. Being careful where she stepped, she moved over to the body, trying not to feel guilty at the relief that flooded her when she realized it was neither Rachel Otis nor Jersey Andrews. Still, the girl was someone’s daughter, sister, aunt, and the sadness of that registered heavy in Alyssa’s heart.
The red-headed girl on the ground wasn’t nude, but she might as well have been for what she was wearing. A pair of burgundy short shorts that would have barely covered her buttocks were ripped open, exposing her pubis area, and revealing she wore nothing beneath them. The top she wore was a see-through mesh material and exposed more than a bikini top would. As Officer Vogler had indicated, the girl was young, but since she w
as covered all over in deep scratches and open wounds, it was difficult to gauge her actual age.
Her open eyes stared vacantly at the building across the street to the north. Strange ligature marks around the girl’s ankles and wrists had Alyssa squatting down for a closer look. Almost immediately she noted an odd mark on the girl’s left hip. ‘What’s that?’ Without taking her eyes off the body, she asked, ‘Anyone have a light?’ Immediately, four hands holding flashlight apps on their phones extended her way. She grabbed the one closest to her, shaking her head. She could’ve used her own phone. Whatever happened to a good old-fashioned flashlight?
She shined the light over the area on the girl’s hip, a memory tickling the back of her mind. Something about that mark was familiar. She twisted her neck to ask Cord what he thought, but as she did, her eyes landed on the girl’s hands. ‘Holy Christ! What the hell happened to her fingers?’ Where there should’ve been fingernails, the tips of the victim’s fingers revealed only red and raw skin.
Very little shocked Alyssa anymore, but somehow this atrocity managed to. Standing, she handed the borrowed phone to Cord so he could take a look himself, but he waved it away, using his own instead. Like her, he squatted down and leaned in for a better look. His head shook back and forth twice, and then he brought himself back up to his full height. ‘Hard to say what that marking is.’ Something in his voice made Alyssa tilt her head up to study her partner’s face, but his expression was closed-off.
An officer, about five-foot-seven with pitch black hair, walked up. ‘I’m Officer Vogler. I called you.’ He tipped his head forward. ‘Are you finished with my phone?’
‘Oh, yes. Thanks.’ She handed it back and asked him to fill her in on what he knew.
‘Not a lot right now, I’m afraid. Dispatch received a call about three-thirty this morning. The name she gave was Naomi Kenney, but since she was hesitant to give that much information, we’re not sure it’s the caller’s real name. Anyway, she said she was searching for a place to sleep when she spotted a flashy red car – make and model unknown – and something about the way the driver was acting made him seem suspicious.’
Cord interrupted. ‘What time was that?’
Vogler shook his head. ‘No way she could tell the time, but she said she’d waited awhile before using that payphone next to Route 66 Motel.’ All three of them turned to the ramshackle, rundown motel that had once been glorious in its day but now housed more mice than people. Since the city had condemned it, the motel had become a nest for drug exchanges or strung-out individuals looking for a place to rest their head before searching for their next fix. It was heartbreaking to see.
‘Back to what I was saying – Ms. Kenney said she spotted this car driving around, and when Dispatch asked her to explain what the driver was doing that made her suspicious, she stated that the car drove around the block five or six times, like the driver was either looking for someone or making sure no one else was around. When the driver suddenly stopped in front of the building here, Ms. Kenney said she became nervous and ducked behind a dumpster.’ He twisted around and pointed. ‘I’m guessing that’s the one she was referring to since it’s the closest one.
‘She watched the driver get out of the car, describing him as an average-sized male in a rumpled suit with a scratch down his face, which she noticed when he stepped underneath the streetlight. Another indication that the dumpster she hid behind was that one. She said the driver popped the trunk and removed what appeared to be something heavy, walked into this building and returned empty-handed to his car a few minutes later. Dispatch asked her if she went inside to see what the man left behind, but Ms. Kenney became agitated and hung up. A few of us wondered if she was lingering out there’ – he tipped his head toward the gathering of the curious – ‘but if she is, she’s not coming forward or admitting to it.’
Cord ran his hand over his head. ‘Any other witnesses or people you’ve talked to?’
A frown turned down the corners of Vogler’s lips as he lifted his chin towards the ever-growing mob standing on the sidewalk. ‘They might gather out of morbid curiosity, but they scatter like birdshot when it comes to procuring witness statements.’
Alyssa and Cord both nodded. ‘Unfortunately, it seems very few people feel compelled to step forward when it comes to matters of speaking to or assisting the police.’ Before she could thank Officer Vogler, a commotion behind them grabbed her attention.
Lynn Sharp, the medical examiner, had arrived and was making her way through the crowd. Alyssa’s mind flashed back to the last conversation she’d had with the woman, the one where Lynn had informed her that Evan Bishop’s DNA indicated he was Alyssa’s sibling.
‘Damn vultures. They’re lucky I’m not holding my scalpel,’ Lynn groused as soon as she reached Alyssa’s side.
Alyssa chuckled. Despite the fact that the doctor was indirectly threatening mutilation, she was actually one of the gentlest women she’d ever met. And maybe that was because she had to be, especially when she was the one present for grieving individuals brought in to identify their loved ones.
‘Alright then, lead the way so I can make sure they’re preserving evidence the way they should be.’ As gentle as she may be, it was no secret that no one wanted to be on the receiving end of Lynn Sharp’s wrath if a deceased person’s body wasn’t handled the proper way – and by proper, she meant her way.
As Lynn snapped pictures, Alyssa pointed to the mark on the young girl’s hip. ‘Does that look familiar to you? I’ve seen it somewhere, but I can’t think of where.’
Lynn spared a glance before directing someone to place protective bags over the girl’s hands. ‘Off the top of my head, I can’t say. But once I get her on the table, I’ll have more time to check it out, and then I can let you know what I think. For now – based on the rigor mortis – I’d guess she’s been deceased between twenty-four and forty-eight hours.’ Gently, she placed a gloved finger on the girl’s chin. ‘Unfortunately, from the damage to her face, I don’t feel comfortable yet even guessing at an age range.’
By the time the young girl’s body was escorted to the morgue hours later, the sun was blazing high in the sky, making Alyssa hot and sticky. And irritable, because the heat and the scent of death were attracting flies and other critters she loathed. She moved over to Cord who was busy scribbling something in his notebook. He glanced up when she approached.
‘You’ve been quieter than usual. You okay?’
He went back to writing. ‘I’m fine. Aside from the obvious.’ He waved his hand around the abandoned building.
She wasn’t convinced, but she let it go. She waited for him to finish jotting down his thoughts then sucked in a deep breath before lobbing her verbal grenade. ‘Did that mark look like a branding to you?’
‘I’m not sure what I think yet.’
It wasn’t the answer – or lack of one – that concerned Alyssa; it was the delivery. Since it was the anniversary week of his sister’s suicide, she wondered if she needed to talk to him about stepping back from this case, as well as Rachel and Jersey’s, maybe even taking a little time off. Normally she wouldn’t even consider it, but this situation was different. Watching for his reaction, she said, ‘If it is, I can only think of a few reasons for those. Pimps marking their prostitutes or, worse, sex traffickers branding their product.’
Cord’s jaw clenched and he wiped a hand down his face before shoving his fingers through his hair. ‘The thought crossed my mind, too.’ Then he swung around, catching her staring at him. ‘I know what you’re thinking, but I’m fine. I wouldn’t risk jeopardizing a case because of… what happened to Shelley. I can handle it. So, please do me a favor and stop looking at me like I’m going to fly off the handle any second. Allow me the same courtesy I gave you when you found out Evan Bishop was actually Timmy. Now, I think it’ll help if we can figure out where we’ve seen that symbol before.’
Alyssa nodded. He was right; he’d never treated her like she would break w
hen the Bishop case became far too personal, and she owed him that same respect.
Chapter Sixteen
Tuesday, May 21
Tuesday afternoon, a bleary-eyed Alyssa unlocked the conference room and set her items on the long table before moving to the wall so she could flip on the lights. A too-early call-out and lack of sleep were biting at her heels.
Be that as it may, the issue of at least two missing girls, one of whom was her daughter’s friend, and another involving the Jane Doe who was now lying in the morgue awaiting Lynn Sharp to perform the autopsy dictated that sleep deprivation was the least of her concerns.
As she waited for the rest of her team, she thumbed through several of the witness statements Officer Vogler and the others had managed to get. Cord walked in as she was reading one from a guy with no known physical address who claimed the girl was in the line of fire from a gang fight. He swore he’d watched her be gunned down. Since there were no bullet holes in the deceased’s body, they could safely toss this one aside.
Alyssa waved her hand over the statements. ‘From these, it would seem that right now our best lead appears to be Naomi Kenney.’ Randomly, she grabbed one of the papers and read from it. ‘I watched the chick and her dog trying to rob a guy, and so he stabbed her and took off.’ Her eyes lifted to her partner’s. ‘I didn’t see stab wounds. Did you see stab wounds?’
‘None that I saw. Hal’s checking to see if we can locate this Naomi, right? If nothing else, maybe she’s got family who would know where she is. And if that doesn’t pan out, we can always send Tony or Joe out to patrol that area, see if she shows up again. Who knows? Maybe that’s where she regularly lays her head at night.’
Alyssa agreed. ‘Worth checking out.’
Just then Hal rolled in with a stack of folders in his lap and his phone and laptop in the large pocket on the side. ‘Morning Alyssa, Cord. Sure would be nice if Liz was back. We could get her to do a sketch of this mystery male – if we locate Ms. Kenney – and we could even show the composite to the homeless shelters in the area, see if anyone else recognizes him.’