by Leslie Wolfe
24
Questions
Julie hadn’t moved in a while.
The stomachache had subsided, leaving in its wake a cold so unbearable it drained every last drop of her energy with shivers and shaking that were uncontrollable. Yet she remained determined to lay against the door, spending endless hours in a dazed state between sleep and wakefulness.
She’d taken the covers from the bed and set them on the floor, desperate to keep the cold at bay. Later, she’d given in and wrapped herself in the comforter she’d stripped off the bed, so white it reminded her of a shroud. She still kept her back against the door, ready, at least in her weary mind, to jump to her feet if someone came for her.
But she wasn’t going to be able to do any of that. She’d be lucky if she could bring herself to stand.
Her mind wandered, searching for answers, for a reason why this was happening to her. Why it had happened to her mother, maybe to Heather and Erin too. She shuddered, her teeth clattering as if she were standing naked at the heart of a snow blizzard.
She’d read about girls missing, taken, found, held in dungeons and whatnot. Seen them on the news, featured in movies. But that was them, some other girls, just distant strangers no one really knew. Maybe they’d done something to provoke their captors, to tempt their fate. But her? She’d done nothing of the sort.
A suffocating sob erupted from her chest. Her mother… she was gone, and it was all her fault.
She’d told her they had to leave, to escape the danger she was in. She’d known ahead of time it was coming, and had made plans to save them, to save her, Julie, her oldest and most defiant of the three sisters. But Julie didn’t obey, didn’t take her seriously.
Because it was all surreal.
Maybe if her mother would’ve explained it to her, she would’ve understood why they had to run, leaving behind their lives, their house, all their friends. And Brent.
But maybe she couldn’t explain, because it was inexplicable. What could possibly explain someone wanting to snatch a girl and keep her locked up in a basement?
Things like that didn’t happen to people like them—to average, boring, small-town people. To a widow raising three girls by herself. To a dental hygienist and her kids. No… things like that happened to people in movies and TV shows, to stunningly beautiful girls who had stalkers and secret admirers, and who, for some reason, never had curtains hanging at their bedroom windows.
Why her?
What made her so special, enough for someone to kill her mother to get to her? Only to lock her in that cold and damp basement, without food, without a word?
It couldn’t be explained.
No matter how hard she tried, her thoughts kept going back to the last image of her mother, fallen in a pool of gushing blood on the kitchen floor. Julie recalled ridiculous details, things she didn’t think she’d noticed at the time. The small stain near the stove, right where the knife had dropped to the floor, by her mother’s side. Was that tomato paste? And why was Heather wearing her pajama pants, dragging the pant legs throughout the kitchen, stepping on them, too long for her size? She used to do that a lot, steal her clothes and wear them around the house. And why had Mom fed Erin breakfast cereal for dinner?
Why didn’t they all leave when they still could? Even if it was dark and raining, why stay, why wait another day if her mother knew this was going to happen? Had she known, really? How could she?
Another sob shook her entire body as it left her chest in a wail that resounded strangely weak against the gray concrete walls. The yellow light coming from the bulb hanging by its wires from the ceiling seemed to fade a little more, as cold engulfed her again, rattling her body in draining shivers that never ended.
Letting herself slip into oblivion a little deeper, she recalled his face, the man who’d killed her mother.
He seemed familiar, and still, she couldn’t place him. She’d definitely seen him before, and her mother knew him too. Had she said his name at all? She tried to remember, but everything that had been said was a blur of senseless words that belonged to a surreal world.
Yet she remembered his face; he was a handsome young man with fascinating gray eyes, as gray as the concrete floor she lay on. A man she would’ve given a moment’s attention if she’d met him at a party. A little too old for her, maybe, but not too much older. Twenty-fiveish was too old by law, but not by her law.
Then an unexpected thought dissipated the haze engulfing her mind. Had she met him somewhere else, under different circumstances, would she have been able to tell he was a murderer?
25
Delusion
“She’s been gone almost forty-eight hours,” Kay said as they entered the precinct. “Her chances of being found alive have dropped to almost zero, but I’m not giving up on her.”
They had driven their cars from the ME’s office through pitch blackness lashed by unrelenting rain, the sky lighting up on occasion as a new line of thunderstorms crossed through their region. They had to make a three-mile detour to avoid a section of road that had been washed away by a landslide, giving Kay more time to think as she drove behind Elliot’s SUV.
No matter how unlikely it seemed, her partner’s case was closely related to Cheryl’s murder and Julie’s kidnapping. For some reason, John Doe had visited the Coleman residence and had left a small amount of his blood behind.
Before she could think of scenarios in which that could’ve happened, they had arrived, and Elliot was holding the door open for her, right after he’d asked, “Do you think she’s still out there?”
It was more about the words he didn’t say that had ignited the fire in her blood. Yes, her chances were slim to none, and Julie was entering her third night in captivity—if she was still alive—but the lead about John Doe visiting the Coleman house opened up a new array of questions.
Had Cheryl killed John Doe? Evidence pointed in that direction. If yes, why? What motive could the dental hygienist and single mom have to shoot a man in the back, in her house, especially if her children were there? And they probably were. Could it have been self-defense? If yes, what were the odds that two different men came to her house with the intention to cause harm, within a day or two of each other?
Zero.
Well, technically, the odds were more than zero, but so small Kay could easily say they didn’t exist. And still, that was the only explanation for what they’d learned from Dr. Whitmore.
Reaching her desk, she took off her jacket and hung it on a nearby chair to dry, glad to be out of the soggy piece of clothing after a long day. She wished she’d driven by her house to get fresh clothes and get rid of the turtleneck that bothered her, but she couldn’t bring herself to take time away from her work for such trivial matters.
“What do you think?” Elliot pulled his chair next to hers as she fired up her laptop. “Your vic killed my vic?”
“Seems that way,” she replied, typing in her password with frozen fingers. Waiting for the screens to load, she rubbed her hands together to warm them up, then texted Jacob, asking if he could bring her dry clothes and some food. Hesitating for a moment before sending the message, she threw her partner a quick look, noticing the soaked pant legs and shirt collar, then added to the message, For two. She tapped send and slid the phone into her pocket, just as her laptop chimed. She had new email.
“Do you see your vic able to dispose of John Doe’s body all by herself? She’s five-foot-nothing, thin as a gnat’s whisker,” Elliot ended his comment with an incredulous chuckle.
“Maybe she had help or maybe she was that desperate.” She must’ve been, if the girls had been in the house at the time, but there was no way of knowing.
A wave of excitement coursed through Kay’s body when she saw the email she’d been waiting for. “The nine-one-one call is back.” She double-clicked and the recording started to play.
It had been cleaned up digitally, and Heather’s voice now sounded muffled, her breathing sounds almost gone. Ca
rrie’s voice had also been muffled, but somewhat less; her voice spanned too wide a frequency range to be completely removed without losing critical parts of the recording. The background had been amplified, now sounding closer, more real. Intelligible.
Holding her breath, Kay listened to the initial part of the recording, where the dialog between Heather and Carrie had taken most of the spectrum, and nothing much else could be understood. Then, she heard Cheryl’s voice, her words intelligible, albeit only barely.
“You won’t take her, you hear me? I won’t let you,” she had said, her voice coming across strong, determined. Brave. “Let us go.”
Then a man’s voice, stern and low and menacing. “Not going to happen. She’s coming with me. Tonight. Like it’s meant to be.”
A small silence, during which Heather’s muffled voice had replied to Carrie’s question, then Cheryl, continuing to plead. She could hear tears in her voice, the tremor that usually accompanies intense pain and desperation. “I wanted to leave. Please let us leave. No one has to know.” A beat. “Please, I’m begging you, let us go.”
The man spoke again, the first part of what he said hard to discern, still buried under the dialog between Heather and Carrie. “I can’t,” he replied with what sounded like a matter-of-fact, almost indifferent tone. “You know I can’t. This has to happen, and you—” Words were unintelligible for a brief moment, drowned by Heather’s voice. “—why you haven’t left. It’s her… her power pulling you back, holding you here. It has to be done.”
A split second after the man’s words, the sounds of struggle were all that was heard, the crashes and loud bangs of furniture, then the thump of Cheryl’s body hitting the ground as Julie screamed. Then the teenager’s heartbreaking voice, calling for her mother before she too was silenced.
Kay stopped the playback and took her head in her hands. “What the hell was that? Some shared delusion?”
“Who is her,” Elliot asked, “the woman they’re talking about? Cheryl didn’t seem to doubt a word the man was saying, about her power and all that madness. That’s crazier than a hare in a hat.”
Kay let out a long breath of disappointment. She’d expected a lot more from the nine-one-one call; she’d expected answers. Solid leads. A name. Something she could use to find Julie before it was too late.
Instead, it was as if she’d glimpsed a world where nothing made any sense. It was, perhaps, the weirdest dialog she’d witnessed, and Cheryl had lost her life at the end of it.
For a moment, she kept thinking—if she were to label that conversation with one word, what would that word be? She liked that exercise, finding labels for situations or events, because it helped her crystallize her thinking and prioritize the many thoughts she had about what she’d just heard. That label was easy to find; only one word could characterize the conversation she’d witnessed.
Delusional.
“This unsub is a mission-driven killer-kidnapper,” she said, pulling herself out of the myriad thoughts swirling in her mind. “We don’t know what the mission was, but I believe we can agree Cheryl was aware of it, and, for some reason, didn’t dispute it. As insane as that may sound, she wasn’t challenging it.”
“I know crazy when I see it,” Elliot said, leaning back against his chair. He lifted his hat only long enough to run his fingers through his hair, then immediately set it back on his head. “Hear it, I should say. These folks sounded delusional to me.”
The moment he spoke the word she’d been thinking, something tugged at her gut, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.
“Are you thinking it’s one of those weird cults?” he asked. “We had one of those in Waco, if you remember. Seventy-six people died in that one.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” Kay unscrewed the cap off a water bottle she took from a desk drawer and gulped half of it thirstily. It helped wash away her hunger, for a while anyway. “You see, cult members aren’t free to walk around unrestricted. From what we can tell, Cheryl was free. She held a job, visited with people. Cults don’t normally let their members do that; they’re afraid they’d lose their grip on their victims.” She looked at him quickly. “Oops, I meant members.”
He smiled, and, for a second, she forgot where she was, wishing they were sharing dinner and a bottle of wine. And whatever else the evening might bring for dessert.
Then Julie came back to her mind, front and center, and her daydream was ripped to shreds. Later, there’d be time for that dinner. Later, after Julie had been found safely and returned to her sisters. After her mother’s killer had been locked up.
“Ta-da,” she heard Jacob’s voice behind her, a second after she’d picked up on the mouthwatering smell of hot pepperoni pizza and was about to wonder whom she could beg a slice from. She sprung from her chair and hugged him.
He was wearing his favorite plaid shirt, unbuttoned over a white T-shirt, and jeans. Water drops clung to his unruly mane of hair, but he didn’t seem to mind. He seemed to be something he hadn’t been in a while. Happy.
“Ugh, you’re wet,” Jacob said jokingly, pulling away, visibly embarrassed by her show of affection. “And you stink.”
“Really?” she asked, her cheeks burning up. “Why don’t you buy some ad space, put the news out there in the paper?” But she wasn’t really mad; she’d already opened the box and grabbed the first slice. She bit into it, the juices filling her mouth with the urge to swallow it whole. She took her time chewing and savoring every bite, and beckoned Hobbs over, seeing how he was eyeing their small gathering from a distance.
“I got more for you two,” Jacob said, handing her and Elliot shopping bags filled with clothes. “Lynn helped me choose yours,” he added. Kay’s jaw dropped.
“Dry socks, a shirt too,” Elliot commented, then shook Jacob’s hand. “And look at you, entering a precinct at your own will.”
“Don’t remind me—I still get the creeps when I see cops.”
“Don’t look at me,” Hobbs replied, laughing and talking with his mouth full but keeping his hand in front of it. “I’m off the clock.”
“So, you’re not coming home any time soon, sis?” Jacob asked, lowering his voice just a tad. Her little brother must’ve had an agenda, and her name was Lynn. Good for him.
“No, little brother,” she replied with a wide grin. “The house is all yours for the night.”
He pecked her cheek and rushed out of there, shouting over his shoulder as he reached the main entrance. “You’re the best.”
No, he was the best brother a girl could wish for. He’d taken her in when she’d returned to live in Mount Chester. Despite all those years living apart, she’d been scarce to call. While away, she’d stayed a stranger, not sure he wanted to be reminded of her, of their challenging time growing up together, and, implicitly, of their abusive father. Yet, he’d welcomed her with open arms and showed her nothing but love and support. She was lucky. She should’ve remembered that before treating his girlfriend with that much suspicion.
Elliot pulled a napkin from the packet and wiped his mouth, then drank an entire bottle of water without drawing breath. “Now what?”
“Now I interview Heather again. She might know something about your John Doe.”
26
Memories
Kay hadn’t seen Heather since lunch, when she ended her first hypnosis session rather abruptly. She’d been worried about the little girl, but Deputy Farrell had kept her apprised with status reports via text throughout the day.
Erin was doing somewhat better—eating, sleeping, doodling monsters without seeming to ever get tired of it. Completely immersed into what she was doing, as if in a trance, she seemed unwilling to draw anything else, and she’d spoken very few words.
As for Heather, nothing much had changed. She didn’t speak, barely touched food or water, and when she slept, she had terrible nightmares. The deputy had noticed tears rolling down her face a couple of times, the blank stare becoming slightly more focused,
but only for moments at a time.
That was a good sign. She might be ready to start living again.
Kay checked her watch and swallowed a curse. It was almost nine-thirty. She hoped Heather was still awake. Before heading over to the nap room, she waited impatiently for Hobbs to finish his pizza.
“How did those alibis check out?” It was almost pointless for her to ask; if anything would’ve not checked out with the Montgomerys’ alibis, she would’ve been notified right away. And still, there was something gnawing at her gut about those two; she wanted to make sure Hobbs did a thorough job.
Still chewing on the last mouthful of cheesy crust, the deputy lifted his greasy thumb up in the air. He swallowed with difficulty, rushed. “They both checked out just fine. The ski lodge has Avery Montgomery on premises until, um,” he pulled his notepad and flipped through a few pages, “twelve forty-five a.m. That’s the time stamp on his valet card.”
“And you talked to people there?”
“Yes, I did. They showed me security footage placing him at the cards table. He was there. He didn’t move; he barely got up once to use the restroom, but I don’t blame him. He was on a winning streak; he was cleaning the mayor out, and the other two folks.”
Ironclad. “How about Marleen Montgomery?”
“I spoke with three of her book club ladies,” Hobbs replied, looking at his notepad again. “She was at the house with them until ten-thirtyish, talking Harlan Coben. Do you want me to do the rest?”
There was no point. “Nah, but thanks, Hobbs, I appreciate it.”
“You bet.”
She stopped by the kitchen to wash her hands, still a little greasy from the pizza, then quickly changed in the locker room, regretting she didn’t have the time for a shower. Lynn was growing on her, but with mixed feelings; Jacob’s new girlfriend had packed her deodorant in the bag, and clean underwear. Pushing the thought of a stranger going through her undies drawer out of her mind, she chose to be grateful for the clean and dry feel of her fresh clothes.