by Lolli Powell
Al was downcast and silent during most of the drive to Jen’s apartment. As they pulled into the lot, she turned to him. He looked tired and old.
“Are you okay?” she said softly.
“Sure.” He didn’t look at her. “It’s just frustrating, that’s all.”
“We’re doing everything we can, Al. You know that.”
“Are we? Sometimes I wonder.”
“Say, would you like to come upstairs with me and have coffee? Or a drink? I promise to behave myself.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Al managed a smile.
“Well, okay, if I don’t behave myself, I promise to respect you in the morning.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“You can trust me.” She squeezed his arm. “All kidding aside, I hate to see you like this. Maybe it would help to talk. Help us both.”
He shook his head.
“I appreciate the thought, Jen, I really do, but I don’t think I’m up to discussing it. It would just depress me more. I’m tired and I’m low and all I want to do is go home, have a couple of stiff drinks, and sleep for about twelve hours.”
“Okay. I understand. But if you need anything, you call me. Promise?”
“Promise. And thanks.”
“What are partners for?”
She kissed him on the cheek and opened the car door. She hurried through the light mist to her building. From the protection of the hall, she watched him pull away. He wasn’t holding up well under the pressure that was bombarding them all. She wondered if she should say something to Lonnie but decided against it. She and Al were partners. She’d help him work it out. She turned and started up the stairs to her apartment, fishing her key out of her purse as she climbed.
CHAPTER 51
“What do you mean, she’s not here?” Will was angry. “How can you misplace a six-year-old girl?”
“Sir, as far as I know, we didn’t misplace her. She’s simply not here nor has she been here.” The matronly nurse spoke in soothing tones, accustomed to dealing with distraught individuals in the emergency department. “Is there someone you can call to check your information? Perhaps it was another hospital.”
“Look, I know what the nurse said. I’m in the right hospital.”
“If you could remember the nurse’s name, that would help.”
“Damn it, I don’t know his name.” Will was becoming more frustrated and angry by the minute. “If I knew his name, don’t you think I’d tell you?”
“I’ve already checked with the only two male nurses on duty. Neither of them called you.” The woman looked genuinely sympathetic. “Why don’t you try contacting your ex-wife?”
Will glared at her for a moment and then took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping. He’d been acting like a jerk, taking out his frustrations on this poor woman. She couldn’t very well produce Christina if Christina wasn’t here.
“You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’ve been behaving very badly, and you’ve been more than patient with me. I’m just worried, that’s all.”
“I can certainly understand that.” The woman patted his shoulder. “Now, go call your ex-wife.”
He’d tried Gloria’s cell several times on the way to Indianapolis and left messages every time, but she hadn’t called back. Gloria and Joe’s home was situated in a valley, and cell reception depended on where you were standing in the house, so they had kept a landline. Now he tried the landline three times, but like the cell, it rolled to voicemail every time. On the third try, he left another message asking her to call him as soon as possible and then tried her cell again with no success.
He spent the next half hour calling every hospital in the metropolitan area. No Christina Anderson had been admitted to any of them. He would have to drive by Gloria’s and find out for himself if Christina was there or not. He promised himself if she were home and unharmed, he would find out the identity of the sick, practical joker who had called him and cram a phone so far up a certain part of his anatomy that he wouldn’t be able to hear it ring.
***
Jen let herself into the apartment and shut the door behind her, automatically locking it. The apartment was silent. Brandon’s probably over at Ada’s, she thought. She considered getting out of her clothes and drawing a hot bath before calling him, then changed her mind and went to the phone instead. She dialed Ada’s number. After the twelfth ring, she hung up, worried. It wasn’t like Ada to take Brandon anywhere when she knew Jen was due home, at least not without leaving a note on the door.
She lifted the lid from an empty sugar bowl on top of the refrigerator and fished out the key to Ada’s apartment. She replaced the bowl and was turning to leave when she heard a noise. It was a faint sound that seemed to come from Brandon’s room. Maybe he was home after all and sleeping.
His bed was empty, as was the room. Jen stood in the doorway, puzzled. She had been certain the noise came from this room. It had sounded like a little squeak or high-pitched groan, like someone might make in his sleep.
“Maybe we’ve got mice,” she mumbled to herself, “or ghosts.”
She was turning to leave when she heard it again. It came from the floor on the other side of the bed. This time there was no mistaking it as anything other than a groan, and she hurried across the room and around the bed.
Ada lay face down on the floor. She groaned again and tried to move. Jen squatted beside her and felt her pulse. It was fast, but it was steady and strong. There was blood on the back of her head. For one second too long Jen was puzzled, wondering how Ada could have struck the back of her head when she had fallen forward. Then she realized Ada had not fallen but had been knocked down.
She started to rise, the hairs on the back of her neck standing at attention, when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She tried to turn, at the same time bringing her hands up in a position of self-defense, but she was too slow. She saw a metal flashlight moving toward her, as if in slow motion, and the world went black.
***
Brandon was worried. He had been at the restaurant for almost an hour, and still there was no sign of his mother or Will. The dinner reservations had been for six-thirty; it was now almost a quarter after seven. He knew his mother would have called if she could and was afraid that she had been in an accident.
He fished his cell phone from his pocket and dialed the apartment. He let it ring twenty times before hanging up and dialing Ada’s number. Again he listened as the phone rang and rang. As he hung up, he felt tears coming to his eyes and blinked them back. This was no time to act like a baby.
He pressed the speed dial number his mother had programmed into the phone for the police department’s non-emergency number. The man who answered identified himself as Dispatcher Marshall. He sounded harassed, and Brandon knew it must be a busy night.
“Hello,” he said politely. “My name is Brandon Dillon. My mother works there, Jen Dillon, and I was supposed to meet her tonight at the Oxbow. She hasn’t showed up, and I was wondering if maybe she’s still there?”
He held his breath, waiting for the officer to tell him the bad news.
“Jen? No, she’s not here. I saw her and Al Williams walking out the door at least forty-five minutes ago.”
“What about Agent Anderson? Is he there?” Brandon was puzzled. Why would his mom be with Al if she and Will were meeting him at the Oxbow?
“No, he’s gone, too. He had an emergency call, something about his little girl, and he took off for the hospital a couple of hours ago.”
“Oh.” Brandon hoped nothing had happened to Lisa. Christina, either, of course. “Could I speak to Officer Hensley?”
“Vic? He won’t be in till ten-thirty tonight. You want me to give him a message?”
“Ten-thirty? But he’s the officer who called and told me to meet Mom and Will here. Are you sure he’s not working?”
Brandon was starting to get scared. If Officer Hensley wasn’t there, who had called him and
where was his mother?
“I’m positive. He’s not here.”
“Thank you,” Brandon said and hung up. Something was very, very wrong, and he knew he had to get home as soon as possible.
He hit the button to display his call log and scrolled down to the number he’d called earlier to order a cab. Then he paid the waitress for his Coke and went outside to wait in the shelter of the doorway.
***
“It’s been cut.” Will looked at Joe Woods and held up the end of the severed telephone line. “Somebody’s cut the damn thing.”
Joe squatted beside Will and looked at the line. A light rain had begun to fall, and Joe turned the collar of his jacket up in protection against it.
“I don’t get it. Why would somebody cut our phone line?”
“To keep me from finding out that Christina was all right.” Will stood. “Or more to the point, to keep me busy chasing my tail. Tell the kids goodbye for me.”
He ran to the car. Five miles from Gloria and Joe’s house, he was finally able to get reliable cell reception, and he pressed the speed dial number he’d assigned to Jen’s cell. When it rolled to voicemail, he disconnected and pressed the speed dial number he’d assigned to her landline. There was no answer there either, and he felt a chill creeping over him. Someone should be there. Jen should be there. And Brandon. Where was Brandon? Even if Jen were still at the building, which he doubted, Brandon should be there.
He hung up and called 4-1-1 for a number for Ada Levinson. As he listened to its empty ringing, his fear mounted. He disconnected and called the police department. Fred Marshall, the senior dispatcher, answered on the second ring.
“Fred, this is Will Anderson. Is Jen there?”
“Oh, hello, Will. No, she’s not. She left with Williams close to an hour ago. Her kid’s looking for her, too, and for you.”
“Brandon? What do you mean?”
“He called about ten minutes ago. Said something about Vic Hensley calling him and telling him to meet you and Jen at the Oxbow. I guess he’d been there for some time and was starting to get worried when you two didn’t show up. I told him neither of you were here, and Vic wasn’t even working.”
“Give me Al’s home number.” He pulled to the side of the road, scribbled the number down on the back of his hand, and made a decision. There was no sense taking any chances.
“I’m going to call Al. I’m on my way back, but it will probably take me an hour and a half. Have a marked unit head over to Jen’s apartment, and have one go by the Oxbow and pick up Brandon Dillon. Take him to the building.”
He took a deep breath.
“Tell the officers you send to Jen’s to use caution.”
“What’s going on? The officers will want to know.”
“I’m not sure. I got a call that my little girl had been hurt, but she’s fine. I just left my ex-wife’s house, and her phone line had been cut. Now you tell me Brandon got a call to meet his mother and me at a restaurant, but we never planned any such thing. Somebody wanted me and Brandon out of the picture.”
He swallowed heavily and voiced what he was afraid was true.
“I think our killer has made his move.”
He heard Marshall swear on the other end as he hung up. He punched in Al’s number and pulled back onto the road. A brief conversation confirmed his fears. Al had dropped Jen off in front of her apartment building over half an hour ago. He’d last seen her walking toward the front door.
CHAPTER 52
Jen opened her eyes and stared groggily into blackness, relieved that it was still dark. She was so sleepy. Darkness meant she still had a few hours to sleep before it would be time to get up for work. Closing her eyes again, she wondered why the washer was running at this hour of the night. She hadn’t put any clothes in, and Brandon never did laundry.
She opened her eyes again and listened. Something was wrong, the world was out of kilter, and she felt very confused. The washer didn’t sound right. The bedroom smelled funny, too, like gasoline and oil, and the bed was too hard. Her mouth was incredibly dry, and her head hurt.
She tried to reach up to feel her head and felt a moment of panic. She was paralyzed. Her arms wouldn’t move! Then she became aware of something on her wrists, and memory flooded back, shooting pain through her head and fear through her heart. Panic overwhelming her, she tried to scream before realizing she was gagged as well as tied. Whoever had attacked her had done a good job of incapacitating her. She lay still in the darkness, fighting the fear and trying to slow her breathing.
As the panic subsided, she realized she was in the trunk of a moving car. She tried to wiggle her arms and legs. Her hands were bound from behind with what felt like handcuffs, very likely her own. Her legs were bound together with what felt like rope, and something with the consistency of a sponge was stuffed in her mouth and held in place by a cloth tied around her head.
Suddenly the memory of Ada lying still on the bedroom floor flooded into her mind. The old lady must have surprised whoever was hiding in the apartment. Jen remembered the groans she had heard and prayed Ada would be all right.
Brandon! Panic threatened to overwhelm her again. Had he been in one of the other rooms, lying still like Ada, his head bloody? She felt the tears coming and fought them back. She had to be “fire,” as Brandon would have said, using his generation’s word for “cool.” Maybe he was all right, or maybe the monster behind the wheel of the car had him. She had to be fire, and she had to get loose.
She flexed her legs. The rope seemed a little loose, and she sawed her legs up and down, gaining more freedom of motion with each try. The rope slid over her pants legs; as she continued her sawing motion, she felt the rope pull on her knee-high stockings and begin to abrade the skin of her ankles. Working her toes around, she forced first one pump off, then the other, and continued moving her legs up and down.
Finally, with a tremendous strain, she was able to force the rope over her left heel. Using the toes of her right foot, she moved the rope down a fraction of an inch on the front of her left foot, then moved it a little farther over her heel, then again on the front of her foot. After what seemed an eternity, the left foot of her knee-highs ripped, and the rope slid off with the stocking. She shook it off her right foot and rested.
***
Al’s and Lonnie’s timing couldn’t have been better if they had synchronized their watches. Their respective cars pulled into Jen’s lot at precisely the same moment, and they both bailed out, already in a half run for the door. A marked unit was only seconds behind them, and two uniformed officers followed them into the building.
They slowed their pace as they eased quietly up the stairs, guns drawn and ready. Lonnie motioned to one of the uniforms to stay by the front door. The last thing they needed was for a resident to return home while they were creeping up the stairs with their guns in their hands.
Nearing the second floor, Lonnie stopped, and the others followed his example. They listened. A television set played in one of the downstairs apartments, but the second floor was quiet. They continued up the stairs and into the hall.
There were only two apartments on each floor, the doors halfway down the hall. Lonnie eased down the right side of the hall, and Al took the left, the second uniformed officer covering them both from the stairwell. As he moved closer, Lonnie saw that Jen’s door, on the right side of the hall, was ajar. Al moved quickly past it and took up a position on the opposite side. They waited a few seconds, listening, then Lonnie reached out and pushed Jen’s door hard. It swung back, striking the wall, and they dropped into a crouch and waited.
Nothing happened. There was no sound and no movement from inside the apartment. Easing forward slowly, they peered around the edge of the doorframe. They could see most of the living room. It was empty. Moving quickly into it, they checked the coat closet and behind the couch, then moved into the hall. Behind them the uniformed officer moved into the living room and took up position in the doorway, his eyes
on the closed door of the apartment opposite Jen’s.
Lonnie and Al moved quickly. The bath was empty, as was the hall closet. The bedroom door on the left was shut; the other was standing open. Lonnie could see a bed and nightstand from his position, as well as pennants celebrating several NFL teams. Apparently it was Brandon’s room. It looked empty, and he opted for checking the room with the closed door first.
They took their positions, one on either side of the door. Al slowly turned the knob until he felt the latch give, then gave the door a push, slamming it against the wall, confirming there was no one waiting behind it. They tensed, but again, nothing happened. A quick search of the room showed it was empty.
They turned to Brandon’s room. It took them only a few seconds to find the old lady. She lay silent and still. On her motionless back was an envelope with a single name on its front. The name was Anderson.
***
During her time in patrol, Jen had learned that it was not unusual for prisoners to get out of handcuffs. It wasn’t that they were Houdinis in disguise. It was just that some people, particularly young women, had small hands and wrists and could easily wiggle out of the bracelets. Even many that couldn’t get out of the cuffs were adept at bringing them from behind by stretching their arms down and around bent legs. She had already wasted valuable seconds cursing the fate that had blessed her with strong and, unfortunately, thick wrists and hands. Now it was time to see how agile she was.
She rolled onto her back, bending her knees and raising her butt into the air until her knees grazed the trunk lid. Rhonda, a coach at the last fitness center she’d belonged to, flashed into her mind—Rhonda dressed in tights and lying in a similar position, exhorting the women in her class to “tighten those buns.” Jen wiggled her arms over her bottom, tightening the cheeks of her butt in an attempt to reduce their mass, and willed her arms to stretch just a little farther. Just when her shoulders were on the verge of dislocating, her hands slipped under her bottom.