“Wait here,” she said.
“But…”
Attwell paused. The paramedic placed a hand on her shoulder. “She’s getting the best care now,” she said. “You’ll be updated as soon as we know what’s going on. But I’ll be frank with you. Your friend has been through a lot. Her body is in rough shape. I suggest you contact her family as soon as possible.”
Lacey remembered Bonnie’s husband’s name: Owen. But she had no telephone number, no contact information, no way to reach him. The police had taken their statements outside Kessel’s after learning about the women’s brave escape. They would know. Her disappearance was already a matter of record. Perhaps Owen had been told his wife had been found, safe but injured, and was back at Kessel’s looking for her.
The authorities would inform him that she had been transported to the hospital. They would soon be reunited.
If she were still alive when he arrived.
Lacey felt a rising panic. What if Bonnie didn’t make it? What if she had come this far, only to die now? The concept of that possibility was too much to bear. The oppressive stress of the past forty-eight hours, the non-stop fearing for her life that she had refused to show to her co-captors finally caught up with her.
Back to the wall, racked with a need to release the pent-up emotion, Lacey slid to the floor, drew her knees to her chest, and sobbed.
A moment later, she heard a familiar voice. “Lace?”
Lacey looked up, wiped away her tears, caught her breath.
The big man from the Odyssey stood in front her.
“Anton,” she said. She held out her arms.
Anton leaned forward and helped her to her feet. He kissed her forehead, held her close. “Thank God you’re okay,” he said.
“What are you doing here?” Lacey asked.
“What do you think?” Anton replied. “It’s a nice day for a drive. I had nothing better to do, so I thought I would cruise the local hospitals, maybe pick up a hot chick. You?”
Wrapped in Anton’s powerful arms she felt the tension begin to leave her body. Lacey half-cried, half-laughed. It felt good. She pointed to the double doors. “I have a friend in there who’s fighting for her life,” she said.
“I know.”
Lacey had been so focused on Anton she had not noticed the man in the dark blue jacket accompanying him. “Ms. Chastain, my name is Detective Rick Pallister, NYPD. I need to ask you a few questions. May we chat for a minute?”
Lacey looked up at Anton. “Stay with me?”
Anton looked down at her. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Lacey smiled. She turned to the policeman. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
Outside the hospital entrance, a taxicab slowed to a stop.
“Wait here,” Otto said as he opened the door.
“Not a chance,” the cabbie replied. “You want me to wait, you pay in advance.”
Otto fished five twenties out of his pocket and tossed them onto the back seat. “Will that do?”
“For now,” the driver replied. “Half an hour, then I’m gone.”
“I won’t need that long,” Otto replied. “Stay put. Don’t make me come looking for you.”
“Thirty minutes,” the driver said. “Not a second longer.”
Otto slammed the cab door shut and walked through the automatic doors into the Emergency Room.
155
JORDAN, CHRIS AND Agent Penner met Detective Rick Pallister in the Emergency lounge at Bellevue Hospital.
“What do we know?” Penner asked. “Is she alive?”
“She’s hanging on,” Pallister replied. “By how much I don’t know. The docs are keeping pretty tight-lipped about her condition.”
“Keon said there were three other survivors.”
Pallister nodded. “Two are still at the scene… Kessel’s Bookbinding and Restoration. You wouldn’t believe the basement in that place.”
The detective glanced over his shoulder, pointed out Lacey and Anton. “The woman sitting over there is the fourth vic, Lacey Chastain.”
“Who’s the guy?” Penner asked.
“A friend.”
“They arrived together?” Penner asked.
“Mr. Moore came with me. He’s been looking for Ms. Chastain since she disappeared. She accompanied Mrs. Cole in the ambulance.”
“Mrs. Cole?” Jordan said.
The detective nodded. “Victim number three. Her husband has been notified. He’s on his way.”
Penner glanced at Lacey. “She tell you anything?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Pallister replied. “Four of them were held in the basement. As far as we know, Ms. Chastain was his latest victim. Looks like he picked the wrong girl. She was responsible for their escape.”
“Just four?” Penner asked.
“That’s what she said.”
Lacey overheard their conversation. “There were others,” she offered. “He’d kept them for a while.”
Jordan walked over, presented her credentials, and sat beside Lacey. “Ms. Chastain, my name is Special Agent Jordan Quest. I’m with the FBI. What do you know about the other victims?”
“Just what Melinda and Victoria told me,” Lacey replied. “They were the other two women he held prisoner. Kept them caged, like animals. He used Bonnie as a skin donor. Can you believe that? He kept her sedated for the sole purpose of removing layers of her skin.” Lacey’s body started to shake. Anton placed his arm around her.
“What can you tell me about him?” Jordan asked.
“Where do I begin?” Lacey said. “A ten out of ten on the creep scale. He was careful never to reveal himself to us. He wore a masquerade-style mask. You know the kind I mean? Black, rhinestones, feathers around the eyes, long, beaked nose. And a cape, draped around him, buttoned at the neck. Like in the opera.”
“What did he say to you?”
“Not much. Threats mostly. His voice was unrecognizable.”
“Why was that?”
“He didn’t talk like you and me. He sounded… electronic.”
“He was wearing a vocal synthesizer, disguising his voice.”
“I guess so. One more thing.”
“What’s that?” Jordan asked.
“He didn’t imprison me like the others.”
“Why do you think that was?”
“I think he wanted me.”
“You mean sexually?”
“Maybe, maybe not. It seemed more like he wanted my companionship.”
“You were special to him.”
“So it seems. But I honestly don’t know why.”
“Is there anything else you can think of that could be of help to us?” Jordan asked.
Lacey considered the question. “I think he knew all of us before he kidnapped us. We all seemed to have two things in common: rare books and an appreciation for the arts.”
“How so?”
“I’m a dancer. I also study English lit and historical folklore in addition to my psychology major at NYU. Melinda and Victoria study in the same field. Bonnie’s family are provisioners to the rare book restoration industry. And one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I think he’s rich.”
“What makes you say that?”
“If he’s the same guy you’re looking for he picked me up in a Bentley.”
Anton spoke. “Lacey’s right. I saw the car. He picked her up at the club. That was the last time anyone saw her until now. I saw the car again this morning. I went to Lacey’s place to look for her. Someone tried to knock me out. The guy took off, but I saw the car, a Silver Bentley. A friend of mine ran the plate. It came back to Kessel’s. That brought me to you guys and here with Lacey.”
Anton conveniently neglected to share with Jordan the gunfire that had taken place at the apartment and how he believed he had shot and wounded his attacker.
“He gassed me, knocked me out,” Lacey said. “He handed me a prese
nt. It was a mask, like the one he wore in the dungeon. The box started to smoke. Next thing I knew I was out cold, then restrained.”
Jordan thought of the other victims and the lab reports within their case files. All the reports indicated the presence of sevoflurane, isoflurane, ether, halothane, and Fentanyl in their bloodstream; components of the knockout gas used to subdue Lacey. The woman was lucky to be alive. The potent mixture had proven deadly to Scroll’s previous victims.
“Do you think you would recognize him if you saw him again?” Jordan asked.
Lacey shook her head. “I wish I could say yes, but he disguised himself completely.” Lacey stood. “This is too much for me right now. I need a minute for myself. Do you mind?”
“Not at all, Ms. Chastain,” Jordan said. “Take all the time you need.”
“Thank you. I need to go for a walk, get my head straight.”
“I’ll go with you,” Anton said.
Lacey shook her head. “That’s okay. I’m fine. I just need a little time on my own to think.”
“You sure?” Anton said.
“Positive.”
“Okay. I’ll be right here when you get back.”
Lacey stroked the side of his face. “I know you will, sweetie. Thank you.”
Lacey walked down the corridor and turned the corner. The reader board adjacent to the elevator indicated the cafeteria was located on the second floor. A cup of hot coffee would be perfect, she thought. She pressed the call button, waited for the elevator to arrive, stepped inside. The doors began to close.
A voice called out. “Hold the door!”
Lacey pressed the OPEN button on the panel and waited for the doors to open.
“Thank you,” the man said as he backed a wheelchair into the small elevator.
“You’re welcome,” Lacey replied. She watched the doors close. “What floor?”
The man turned and covered his mouth and nose. “Hello, Lacey,” he said. “Did you miss me?”
Otto shoved the small canister in her face and pulled the trigger. Lacey breathed in the gas. Immediately she fell forward into his arms, unconscious.
Otto eased her into the wheelchair and redirected the elevator to the first floor.
Together they exited the hospital. The driver had waited.
The cabbie looked puzzled. “She okay?” he asked.
Otto opened the back door and eased Lacey into the seat. “Fine,” he said. “My sister. Colonoscopy. She never could handle the sedative. She’s still pretty out of it. Do me a favor and pop the trunk.”
The driver nodded. “I can’t handle anesthesia either,” he said. “Takes me forever to come around. Where to?”
Otto folded the wheelchair and placed it in the trunk of the cab. “Home,” he replied. “Take us home.”
156
HOMICIDE DETECTIVE DAVID Keon stood over The Wolf’s body as members of the forensics team photographed the scene, dusted the bathroom for fingerprints, swabbed her body for evidence and removed the balloon bags of cocaine from her stomach cavity.
Crime Scene Investigator Evan Mallory spoke as he watched his team work. “We should just leave her to rot. Let the rats have her.”
Keon examined the evidence bag that held the latest scroll intended for Commissioner Haley. “No argument here,” the detective replied. “What problem do you suppose Scroll had with a low-life drug dealer like Rosalita Sanchez?”
“Beat’s me,” Mallory said. “But I’ve got no problem with him taking out the trash.”
Keon’s phone rang. He checked the display. Pallister was calling. He stepped out of the room and picked up. “Tell me you’re having a better day than I am,” he said.
Pallister replied. “Maybe. I’m at Bellevue with Lacey Chastain and our friends from the Bureau.”
“How is she doing?”
“As well as can be expected.”
“And the other vic? Bonnie Cole?”
“Don’t know yet. She coded on the way in. Girl’s in rough shape.”
“Fucking bastard.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Scroll hit again. I’m at the scene. He took out The Wolf.”
“Rosalita Sanchez? Did he leave a scroll?”
“Yeah. But you’ll never believe this.”
“What?”
“He says he did it to save the lives of her kids. And I quote: ‘The children are innocent. The woman is not. This is the start. There will be more.’”
“Nice to know we’re dealing with a compassionate psychopath.”
“You want me to head over to Bellevue?”
“Yeah. And bring the scroll. Perhaps Agent Quest can tell us more if she reads it.”
“By reading you mean doing her psychic mumbo-jumbo thing?”
“Yeah,” Pallister replied. “But I’ve gotta say, my opinion of the woman is changing.”
“How’s that?”
“Penner told me she zeroed in on the Cassidy Valentine crime scene like nothing he’d ever seen before. Took them straight to ground zero.”
“You believe the guy?”
“I might think he’s an asshole, but he’s got no reason to lie about that.”
“That’s high praise coming from you.”
“He said if he hadn’t experienced it personally, he’d never have believed it.”
“Good enough,” Keon agreed. “We’ve got nothing to lose. I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. I’ll wrap up here and be on my way. Give me thirty.”
“Later,” Pallister replied. He hung up.
The mood in the Emergency waiting room was somber as the team waited for an update on the status of Bonnie Cole. Special Agent Penner spoke to Chris. “You two been working together for a while?”
Chris shook his head. “Just since Jordan graduated from Quantico.”
Penner scoffed. “They paired you with a rookie? Jesus, who’d you piss off?”
Chris let the comment go. It would be just like Penner to make an uninformed and pompous remark. Instead, he answered, “The Director himself partnered us.”
“Dunn set you up?”
Chris nodded. “You’ve never heard the story?”
Penner shook his head.
“It happened three years ago,” Chris said, “Someone had kidnapped the Director’s daughters. Jordan was instrumental in saving their lives. She wasn’t with the Bureau then. He had learned of her abilities and sought her out. There is no doubt in my mind that if it had not been for her Director Dunn would have lost his girls. We worked together on that case, which also came with a great personal loss to Jordan. A lesser woman would have folded under the pressure, but not Jordan. She made it through and came out the other side, stronger than before. That rookie you’re talking about is already a legend in the Bureau. Which leaves me with just one question.”
“What’s that?” Penner asked.
Chris stood and stared down Penner. “While that rookie’s been busy making bureau history, what the hell have you been doing?”
Chris left the senior agent to think about his words and walked over to Jordan. “How are you doing?”
“I’m not sure,” Jordan replied.
“What do you mean?”
“Something’s off.”
“I know that tone,” Chris said. “What’s up?”
“Have you seen Ms. Chastain?”
“Not since she went for a walk. Why?”
“Something’s wrong. I can feel it.” Jordan called out to Agent Penner. “Search the hospital. Now.”
“What’s wrong?” Anton said.
“I think Lacey is missing,” Jordan said.
Anton overheard, ran down the corridor, looked around the corner, ran back. “I don’t see her.”
“I’ll check the cafeteria,” Penner said.
“Jordan and I will sweep the even floors. Anton, Detective Pallister, you take the odd.”
“You got it,” Pallister said. “I’ll contact security and have them station
a guard here. If Lacey returns, I’ll have them call me. Then I’ll call you.”
“Go!” Chris said.
The teams ran off in search of the young woman. Jordan reached the elevator and stopped. She turned to Chris. “She’s not here.”
“We have to check.”
“There’s no point.” She placed her palm over the lift’s keypad. “Scroll was here.”
“Are you telling me he came here looking for her?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. He has her. Again.”
“Then forget checking the floors,” Chris said as he headed for the stairs. “We need to look at the security footage. No one knows what Scroll looks like. We find Lacey on camera and we find our guy. As soon as we know who we’re looking for it’s over. Scroll is ours.”
Jordan followed. “And Lacey is safe,” she replied.
“Assuming he hasn’t harmed her.”
“I’m not getting that. Just a lot of anger.”
“What about a timeline? How far ahead of us is he?”
“Ten minutes. Fifteen maybe.”
“We can work with that.”
The agents broke through the basement doors. A sign on the wall, Security Services, indicated that the office was down the corridor. Chris and Jordan ran inside, flashed their credentials. “FBI,” Chris told the officer seated at the reception desk. “I need to see the footage for all floors going back fifteen minutes. Put it up, now!”
“Yes, sir,” the guard replied.
The twelve screens, one for each floor, came alive.
“Speed up the replay,” Chris said. “Hurry!”
The officer turned the master control knob. Fast motion images flickered across each of the screens.
“There!” Jordan said.
Lacey Chastain, chin resting on her chest, unconscious and seated in a wheelchair, was being wheeled out of the hospital by an unknown man.
Chris pointed to the screen. “Freeze it!”
The security officer stopped the footage, then advanced it slowly. The agents watched as Scroll eased Lacey into the back seat of a Yellow taxicab, then hopped into the car himself. Slowly, the taxi pulled away from its stand.
For the first time since the investigation began, the agents got their first grainy glimpse of the man the media had dubbed The Scroll Killer.
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