by Keith Yocum
“You told Dr. Forrester that you liked torturing those prisoners?”
“It’s not torture!” he barked. “That’s propaganda from the media and left-wing nutjobs. It was enhanced interrogation—” he drew out all six syllables as if he was teaching English as a second language.
Judy could see Simpson’s rising agitation; she noticed he had started to clench and unclench his fist.
“Did Dr. Forrester help?”
“Help? Hardly. She made me feel dirty. Like I was filth. Like I was sick.”
“Did you stop going to see her?”
“Yes, of course. I had no choice but to stop.”
“Why?”
“I think she grew a little frightened of me. And I know this is going to sound strange, Ms. White, but the more she was frightened of me, the more I liked her being frightened.”
“What happened to her in New Zealand?” Judy said quickly; the more Simpson talked, the more agitated he became. Her instinct told her she needed to break up his monologue with questions.
“Oh, that. I had her killed. She would have turned me in, I’m sure of it. The bitch.”
Judy kept both arms tight against her sides to cover the huge sweat stains spreading into her blouse.
“Did you do it yourself?”
“Do what myself?”
“Kill her?”
“God no! I just put out an order to a group we work with a lot. I kept it off the books. It’s done all the time.”
“What did they do to her?”
“You are a nosy one, aren’t you? Well, if you must know, they were ordered to rough her up enough to get that damn safe combination in her office and alarm code to her house. For noncombatants, it’s often enough to smash a finger or two in order to get what you want. The hand, you know, has three nerves: the median, ulnar, and radial nerves. Quite painful to crush a finger.”
“What happened to her afterward?”
“Oh, they shot her. All gone. Poof. No more Dr. Forrester and her condescending judgment.”
“Why did you have her body moved? Dennis said her body was moved to a beach after being buried somewhere else.”
“I needed to get that stupid boyfriend of yours out of Washington and back to New Zealand. I thought he’d go back after they found her body was moved. I thought he’d be curious about that. But no! He stayed here and found out that someone stole her therapy notes. You know, it took a lot of work and planning to make it look like the Ghorbanis had kidnapped Forrester. They scraped enough skin cells off that woman to fill a jar, and then spread it all over the back of the Iranian’s car.”
Judy was petrified; she instinctively tried to keep Simpson engaged with questions that he seemed almost gleeful to answer.
“Do you think Dennis suspected you all along?”
“You know, I’m not sure. But why take chances? And that ambitious little twit Louise started poking her upturned nose into stuff. I think she had eyes on my job.” He looked at Daria and they shared a smirk.
“How did you get Dennis to Las Vegas? Was it C24?”
“That Louise could never keep her little mouth shut. Yes, it was C24. We picked up Cunningham walking the streets of Rosslyn, for god’s sake. Easy peasy. He never knew what hit him. That stuff is truly amazing.”
“Who killed the prostitute?”
“Who cares? The team paid this idiot prostitute to check him into the hotel, get him as high as possible, then meet up off the Vegas strip somewhere nice and seedy. I gather Cunningham was a total wipeout at that point, and the contractors carved up the woman like a Thanksgiving turkey. They made sure your good friend Cunningham had his slimy little paws all over the knife, and they let him go. They said he removed his clothes on his own volition. Brilliant move. Loved it.”
“Why Louise?”
“Well, she figured it out, or most of it, didn’t she? She just didn’t know it was me.” He chuckled. “She was always a little too smart for her own britches.”
“When Louise came here that night,” Judy said, “you decided she knew too much and needed to be removed.”
“Poor thing was depressed about her divorce. It was too much for her and she killed herself.”
Judy’s throat was parched.
“I saw you shoot her,” Judy said, fingering the pendant again.
“Yes. We know that, don’t we Daria?”
She nodded.
“Oh, and stop with that recording device thing on your neck. It’s not a recording device.”
Judy’s fingers froze with the pendant between them.
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s not a recording device, silly!” he laughed, and for the first time, Daria laughed out loud too.
“Karl, get moving. Now!” Judy said into the pendant.
Simpson and Daria looked at each other and smiled.
“Karl!” she yelled.
Daria stood and slithered into the kitchen with Simpson’s glass.
“Karl works for me, Ms. White. At least now, he does. I’m sorry. I pay better than you. Did you know Peter Harbaugh and I are old friends? And like old friends, he was sympathetic to my problem. He filled me in on your plan. All I had to do was reach out to Karl and make a counteroffer; he was just as happy to go along with my plan. He’s got your $15,000 and another $50,000 from me. He wasn’t thrilled to turn on you, but he likes money. Though, to be honest, Daria and I think he’s a little rough around the edges.”
Judy tried to clear her throat, but it felt as dry as a ravine in the Gibson Desert.
“Why don’t you look in that box on the table in front of you?” Simpson said, taking another sip of his drink. “Go ahead. Open it.”
“I don’t want to,” she said. “I think I’ve seen enough today.”
“Don’t worry about there being something ghoulish in there; it’s just a box of mementos. Really, you should see them.”
She did not want to open the box, but she needed to keep the conversation going with Simpson because she was afraid of what would happen when he stopped talking. She had trouble believing that Karl and Harbaugh had turned on her, but then, this entire visit felt upside down.
Judy leaned forward and opened the expensive, hand-made wooden box. She was half expecting to see a severed finger, ear, or another body part; instead, there lay random items, including several different earrings, a magnetic hotel room key, a physical key, and some folded papers.
“See anything familiar?” he said, almost giddy with excitement.
Judy leaned closer and stabbed the items with her right forefinger, moving them around.
“No.”
“How about one of the earrings?” he said.
She leaned in closer and noticed there were two different single earrings. She tried to appear engaged with the contents but kept an eye on Simpson on the far side of the room.
“Huh,” she said, picking up a small earring. “Who’s earring is that?”
“Excellent!” Simpson said. “Louise wore them the night she visited. I like to keep mementos.”
Judy remembered Louise’s earrings and felt a combination of disgust and cold fear as she fingered it.
“Why not look at those folded papers in the box?” he said, looking alternately at Daria and Judy as if he was showing a set of jewels.
She reached for the folded pieces of lined paper and opened them. There were at least five pages stapled together at the top left. Judy strained to read the writing, and quickly surmised that there were dates followed by phrases and half-sentences. Each new date was separate from the prior date with a hand-drawn horizontal line.
“Look at the last page,” he said.
Judy flipped the pages to the end, and saw a date at the top followed by the scrawled words “DSM diagnosis,” “sadistic tendency?” “violent?�
� “personality disorder?” “refer to Dr. Mattusch?”
She refolded the papers quickly and tossed them into the box and slammed it shut.
“I gather those are Forrester’s notes she took on you. Looks like she was going to refer you out to someone who could help with your particular disorder.”
“It’s not a disorder!” he yelled, a tiny fleck of spittle flying out of his mouth.
Judy stood and shoved both hands into the front pockets of her jeans. “There are a lot of items in there, so you must have been a busy person. And I don’t believe what you said about Karl and Harbaugh.”
She reached behind her back and pulled out the gun. She flipped the safety off and pointed it at him. Daria came out of the kitchen with another drink at the same time and chuckled.
“The gun doesn’t work, Ms. White. Do you think Karl was going to give you a working gun? Please! Go ahead, shoot me. I’m serious.”
Judy took two steps toward Simpson.
“Don’t make me do this,” she said. “Karl will be here in a second.”
“Good lord, you really don’t believe me. Karl’s outside to make sure you don’t get away.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“If you don’t believe me,” he said taking a sip, “then shoot a hole in the ceiling. Daria, darling, are we really almost out of this bourbon? Is it Pappy Van Winkle?”
She nodded and went back into the kitchen.
“We’ll get some more tomorrow,” he said, watching her move about the kitchen. “Put it on the grocery list, would you?”
Judy pointed the pistol at the ceiling and pulled the trigger, wincing as she prepared for the explosion. The trigger hinged backward, but nothing happened. She furiously toggled the safety off and on, then tried again. Nothing.
She backed up slowly.
“Karl said he fixed it so the trigger wouldn’t work. I guess he really is good at this stuff. He’s outside the front door, or maybe he’s in the car,” Simpson said. “I don’t know. Either way, you’re not going anywhere in a vertical position.” He laughed. “I’m sorry. I only wish I had a German Shepherd to keep things exciting.”
Judy inched backward, keeping the malfunctioned weapon pointed at Simpson in a reflexive but useless gesture. She stepped back toward the hallway behind her. If nothing else, she could throw the stupid gun at Simpson and run for the front door.
The edge of the couch rubbed the back of her legs, and she tried to skirt around it. Simpson looked amused and not the slightest bit alarmed. If she was confused about the apparent double-cross from Karl and Harbaugh, she was equally astonished by Simpson’s nonchalance.
And then it happened with stunning viciousness.
Judy screamed, but her voice was muffled by the thick, clear plastic bag pulled over her head from behind. Daria had disappeared and reappeared behind, slamming the bag tight around Judy’s neck and forcing her down onto the couch. In a panic, Judy dropped the gun.
Each giant breath Judy struggled to inhale was blocked by the plastic sucked into her mouth. Judy’s eyes bulged as her fingers clawed at Daria’s hands, but the woman was standing behind the couch with her forearms pressing Judy’s shoulders down.
Judy squirmed furiously in a sitting position on the couch and kept pulling at Daria’s hands.
Through the gauzy plastic, she could see Simpson moving toward the struggle. He sat in front of Judy on the coffee table and stooped forward. He grabbed Judy’s wrists and held them down on her lap. She felt completely and utterly helpless, and it occurred to her that Louise had been disabled in the same way. They probably suffocated Louise until she passed out, then administered C24.
“Relax,” she heard Simpson yell, through the amplified crinkling of the plastic. “Just relax, you poor woman.”
She could see him smile through the plastic. His cruelty and audacity were enough to spark a final attempt to save herself.
Judy gave in to Daria’s downward pressure by sliding lower into the couch. As a result, Daria was forced to lean forward over the back of the couch to press down and to keep the bag tight around Judy’s neck.
Scrunched very low in the couch, Judy simultaneously pulled her legs up into her chest. With her back pressed hard against the couch, Judy slammed her feet into Simpson’s chest and sent him flying backward off the coffee table onto the living room floor. With her hands now free, Judy reached up and grabbed both sides of Daria’s long neck and sank even farther down into the couch. She managed to pull Daria forward into an awkward position so that her stomach was over Judy’s head.
Judy barely had the strength to plant her legs down on the floor and, using her forehead in Daria’s stomach as a fulcrum, she jerked the woman further forward. It took every bit of her runner’s thighs and hamstring muscles to stand up while pulling Daria and flipping her completely over. Daria’s back came down hard on the coffee table and onto Simpson, who had gained his footing.
Judy ripped the plastic off her head and careened over the back of the couch and onto the floor. She sprinted toward the front door but stumbled as she struggled for air. Scampering on all fours she grabbed the front door and yanked it open, sucking in huge gulps of air.
The warm summer air hit her at the same time she saw a startled Karl at the base of the front steps.
“Hey!” he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a Glock and pointed it at her.
“Sorry,” Karl shrugged.
Judy slammed the door shut and turned to look back in the living room. She was shocked to see Simpson kicking Daria, oblivious to Judy.
“You stupid bitch!” He leaned down and punched her twice, creating a sickening fleshy thud.
Judy fled to her left into the kitchen, quickly scanning for a weapon. But she heard banging at the front door and Karl’s voice, and she kept running through the kitchen and into an unlit large family room beyond. She tripped over a small leather ottoman but bounced up in front of two large windows facing the dark street. She tried to open one of the windows but there appeared to be some anti-burglary device locking the double-hung windows in place. She could see the windows were triple glazed. It would take something heavy to break those windows, and she looked around the darkened room.
“Shit,” she said under her breath. The ottoman looked too soft and round to break a thick window. She heard the front door open and Karl’s voice.
“Look around the outside the house,” Simpson said to Karl. “Check the windows. We’ll search inside.”
“Judy could make out a large, wall-mounted TV screen, several bookcases, a couch, and several large leather chairs. The room had two closets, and though it was the most obvious place to hide, she quickly opened one of the louvered, bi-fold doors and closed it behind her. She had no choice.
She tried to bury herself under what felt like a pile of blankets, but it was no use; there was only a single blanket.
Judy remembered her phone, pulled it out, and dialed 911.
“This is 911 Emergency Services,” a woman said. “This call is being recorded.”
“I’m being held against my will in a house in McLean, Virginia. My name is Judy White. Please send police.”
“Judy, what address are you calling from?”
She gave Simpson’s address.
“Can you give me a number to call back in case we get disconnected?”
Judy gave her the number.
“Judy, you are whispering. You said you’re being held against your will?”
“Yes.”
“Does the person have a weapon?”
“One of them does.”
“How many people are holding you?”
“Three: two men and a woman.”
“I’m sending police to that house. They’ll be there within ten minutes. Please try to stay on the line.”
“Don’t let the polic
e leave here without looking for me.”
“Judy, I read you loud and clear. They will certainly search the house. Are you injured?”
“No.”
“Is anyone injured?”
“Not yet.”
Judy heard Simpson in the kitchen; he was furious.
“How could you let that woman get away?” Judy heard what she took to be a slap, then another one. And then what sounded like a loud thump, followed by something or someone hitting the kitchen floor.
“Get up, you bitch. Now go look in the family room; I’ll look in the spare bedroom. Use this if you find her.”
“I can’t talk any more,” Judy whispered into the phone. “I’m going to hang up.”
“No, Judy! Do not hang up. Keep the line open. I won’t speak unless you ask me to. Let me know when you hear police sirens by tapping with your fingernail on the phone two times, then wait and tap again. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Judy saw the lights in the family room come on, their glare creating horizontal shafts of light through the louvers. She could barely make out Daria’s soft steps as she traversed the room, looking behind the chairs. But it did not take long for Simpson’s wife to search the only places left, the two closets.
Judy heard the closet bi-fold doors open on the other side of the room, and then close. Daria walked over in front of the closet Judy sat in. Judy could see the shadow outside through the louvers. Simpson had given Daria a weapon to use.
Judy’s heart pounded as she waited. She decided not to launch herself at Daria. If she had a gun it would be over in seconds. Better to get captured and play for time, presumably they didn’t know she called 911.
The bi-fold door opened. Judy looked up at Daria, who had taken several steps backward. The woman had a taser in her right hand. Judy raised her hands in a feeble attempt to surrender.