by Lolli Powell
“The keys are under the floor mat,” the squirrel said. “Leave your car where it is and take it. Stay on the phone.”
Will sat for a second and then opened the driver’s door. He wasn’t surprised that Artie was taking precautions with the car, just as he had with the phone. He stepped out, shut the door, hit the lock button on the remote, and slipped the keys into his pocket. With any luck, Artie wouldn’t make him leave the keys.
“Uh-uh-uh,” the squirrel said. “Leave the keys on top of the left front tire.”
So much for that, Will thought as he pulled the keys from his pocket and slid them onto the tire. It’s up to the medallion and shoe inserts now. With my luck, he’ll probably send me somewhere to strip down and put on new clothes.
“Where to now?” he said into the phone as he crossed the street to the Malibu. But the phone had gone dead.
Inside the Malibu he reached under the floor mat and found an envelope containing the keys and a typewritten note. It instructed him to simply drive around for a while. As he did so, he kept an eye on the rearview and side mirrors and tried unsuccessfully to spot someone tailing him. Artie had to be watching. He’d seen him put the keys in his pocket—or had he? Maybe he’d just played the odds that that was what Will would do.
Or maybe not. Everybody had doorbell cams these days, and Will bet that most of the homes in the neighborhood he’d just left had them. Had Artie hacked into one? Maybe that explained the address he’d been sent to. Electronic security devices were a mixed blessing it seemed. The good guys benefitted from them, but so did the bad guys.
He’d been driving for nearly twenty minutes, his stress level ratcheting up to an almost unbearable level, when the phone he’d last used rang, causing him to jump.
“Yeah?” he almost shouted into the phone.
“Now is that any way to answer a phone?” It was a sultry female voice this time. “Shame on you, Agent Anderson.”
“Enough!” Will shouted, his hand clasped so tightly around the phone he was surprised it didn’t crack. He started to follow the shout with a string of obscenities directed at the voice that had been running him in circles, but he gritted his teeth and took several deep breaths instead. Calling the killer names was not a good idea. He couldn’t afford to anger him because it would be Jen who’d pay the price for it.
“Enough,” he said in a calmer tone. “You want me, Artie. Let me come to you.”
There was silence for a few seconds before Will heard a chuckle. The sound made his skin crawl.
“Sooo impatient,” the voice said. “I understand it. I’ve had years to learn to be patient unlike you. But you’re right.”
The voice hardened.
“I’m tired of waiting, too. Turn around.”
Will saw a chain drugstore up ahead on the right. He slowed and turned into the entrance drive and out the exit, heading back the direction he’d come.
“Now where?” he said.
The voice instructed him to head for a mall located at the edge of town.
“Park at the Dillard’s’ end,” the voice said. “Throw this phone out the window and call me again on a new one.”
“When would I have had time to put a tracker on this phone?” Will demanded. “Stop jacking me around.”
“Or else what?” the voice said. “You’ll leave the delectable Detective Dillon to me and go home?”
“Please…” Will uttered the word before he could stop himself, and the sultry voice laughed.
“I didn’t think so.” It turned hard. “Now be a good boy and do what I told you.”
The line went dead.
Will had to blink several times to clear his eyes as he headed toward the mall. Whether it was tears of frustration and anger or tears caused by imagining Jen’s face on some of the bodies Artie had left behind, he wasn’t sure. Both probably. He knew he had to get himself under control. His nerves were at a snapping point, and that could lead to mistakes that he couldn’t afford—that Jen couldn’t afford.
As he pulled into the mall, he dropped the phone he’d been using out the window before driving to the Dillard’s anchor store at the end of the lot. He pulled into an empty spot and left the engine running while he picked up one of the two remaining phones and punched in the number the Walmart clerk had handed him.
“Let’s take this to the next level, shall we?” the sultry female voice said. “See the Holiday Inn across the street?”
Will looked out the driver’s window and saw the motel.
“Yes.”
“Room 103 is reserved in your name. Inside you’ll find a change of clothes. Take off yours and put those on.” The sultry voice giggled. “I’ll be watching, big boy, so don’t try to hide anything from me. And I do mean anything.”
The phone went dead. Will struck the steering wheel once in frustration, then stopped himself. Artie could be watching from anywhere. Will ran his hand along the back of the rearview mirror and pulled the visors down for a look. He couldn’t see anything that looked like a camera, but electronic surveillance devices were getting smaller and smaller. Artie had forced him into this car, so it was likely that he had it set up to watch what he did while in it.
He pushed the visors back up, put the car in reverse, and backed out of the parking space. At the motel, he parked in front of the office and went in.
“Reservation for Will Anderson,” he said.
The desk clerk, a young man in his early twenties, typed on his keyboard.
“Yes, sir, we have it. You requested a specific room, is that right?”
The clerk looked up.
“Yes. Room 103.”
The clerk nodded.
“I’ll need a credit card.”
Will handed him his Visa and waited while the clerk processed the transaction before handing him a key card.
“103 is at the rear of the building two doors from the end.” The clerk gestured to the hall leading off the left side of the lobby. “It’s at the end of this hall, or you can park at the back. There’s an entrance door on the side of the building. Your key card will open it.”
“Thanks. I’ll do that.”
Will hurried back outside to the car and pulled to the side near the entrance door. It took him three tries to get the card to work, but the door finally opened. He hurried down the hall to the second door on the left, slid the card into the slot, and pushed open the door.
It was a typical motel room with two queen beds, a dresser, an upholstered chair, and a desk and desk chair. On the bed nearest the door were two Dillard’s bags. Will upended the biggest one, and a pair of jeans and a short-sleeve tee fell out on the bed. The smaller one contained socks and underwear.
He scanned the room. Artie had installed cameras. He was sure of it. How he’d gained access to the room was anyone’s guess, but he’d probably lifted a master key from a housekeeper or even bribed staff to give him one. For that matter, he could have rented the room himself while he installed the cameras, then simply asked staff to leave the Dillard’s purchases in the room.
Will checked the lamps, the TV, and the mirror above the dresser, but he didn’t find anything. A sprinkler head in the ceiling was a possibility, as was the overhead light just inside the door and the smoke alarm. Or a camera could be concealed in one of the pictures on the walls or…
He let it go. They were there. He was sure of that. Artie was watching him.
The phone rang.
“Take it off, big boy,” the sultry voice purred. “Put me on speaker, and take it all off.”
He removed his suit jacket, and the voice instructed him to lay it and the rest of his clothing on the other bed. Not taking any chance that I’ll slip a tracker into the new stuff, Will thought. He removed his tie, shirt, and undershirt, then sat down on the bed, untied his Oxfords, and slipped out of them. It hadn’t escaped his notice that the Dillard’s bags had not contained any shoes. Maybe Artie hadn’t felt like he could guess a shoe size as well as he could guess the s
izes of shirts and jeans. It gave Will hope that he might be able to hang onto the insoles.
He left the shoes by the bed as he slipped out of his suit pants and briefs. He started to reach for the clothing on the other bed, but the voice stopped him.
“Step over by the window,” it said. “Hold your arms out and turn around. Slowly.”
Will did as instructed, wondering if the camera was in the HVAC unit under the window.
“Good boy,” the sultry voice said. “Now get dressed.”
Will wasted no time doing as ordered. What he’d just had to do was humiliating, but he could live with it. He would do whatever it took to get Jen away from the monster that Artie had become.
After he was dressed, he sat down on the bed and started to slip on his shoes, but the sultry female voice stopped him.
“No shoes yet, big boy. Pick ‘em up and shake them for me.”
Will did as instructed.
“Now twist the heel on each one. Pull on it good.”
Will did.
“Good boy. What are those—a ten? An eleven?”
“Eleven,” Will managed to get out between gritted teeth.
“Big feet.” The sultry voice giggled. “Guess what they say about judging the size of a man’s wand by his feet is true.”
“Now what?” Will said.
“Oh, just chill for a bit, sweetie. Put your shoes on, and go sit in that nice chair by the window. I’ll call you back in a few.”
The phone went dead.
Will did as he was told. He collapsed into the upholstered chair and bent forward, his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. Was Jen still alive? Artie had taken her to bait him, but that didn’t mean he’d leave her alive. He’d know that as long as Will had hope that she might be, that would be enough. If he hadn’t shown interest in her, Artie wouldn’t have seen her as bait. It would be his fault if something happened to her. He should have kept it strictly professional. He should have known—
No, he thought, sitting up straight and dropped his hands. No. I couldn’t have known. It never occurred to me in all the years since that night in Minneapolis that Artie would be out for revenge.
Blaming himself was only going to make him careless. He needed to keep his wits about him because when the time came, he would do what he had to do to save Jen. And if she was already dead—well, he would do what he had to do to make sure Artie never saw the inside of a courtroom.
CHAPTER 56
Pain.
As she came back to consciousness, Jen’s world was filled with pain. Her head throbbed and her body stung from the cuts and abrasions she’d sustained being dragged over gravel, but the pain in her face made the rest seem no more important than a hangnail. Blood clogged her nose, forcing her to breathe through her mouth, and her right cheek throbbed. She’d bitten his left hand, and he’d used it to hit her, so the right side of her face had taken the brunt of the blow. What surprised her was that he seemed to have stopped with only one hit. She’d seen what he’d done to the others, so why had he stopped?
Had he stopped because she’d passed out? Maybe, but the others would have passed out at some point, and he hadn’t stopped with them. But then they’d been inside their homes. While she didn’t know where they’d been when he struck her, she knew it had been outside. Maybe he’d been afraid they’d be seen.
She struggled to a sitting position, noting that her hands were cuffed behind her again, and looked around. She was sitting on faded and torn linoleum in a small and empty room. There was an overhead light fixture, but it was off. The only light came from a window on the other side of the room that was partially covered by a torn roller shade, and the light visible through the dirty glass was dim. Jen remembered it had been sunny most of the day. It must be nearly dark, she thought, trying to estimate how long he’d had her. After a few seconds, she gave up. How long wasn’t important—where was.
Her mouth was dry, and she tried to close her mouth. A sharp pain shot through her jaw as it wouldn’t budge, and she felt a moment of panic. She couldn’t close her mouth! Something was wrong—a whimper escaped from her cracked lips, but she fought down the panic. Maybe her jaw was broken or maybe it was just dislocated. Neither would kill her. She couldn’t afford to lose control now.
She tentatively tried to wiggle her lower jaw from side to side. The sharp pain was an incentive to stop, but she kept at it. After a minute or so, something gave and her jaw slid back into place. The pain was still there, but she could moisten her mouth. Since she couldn’t breathe well through her nose, she was going to have to keep her mouth open anyway, but somehow just knowing she could close it was enough.
She leaned against the wall for a minute or so, breathing deeply, while she took stock of her surroundings. A closed door was to her left. She listened for sounds beyond it but heard nothing. Had he gone out again, she wondered? She couldn’t picture him simply waiting on the other side of the door until he heard her move or cry out. He would want to watch as she regained consciousness so he could see her panic as she realized he was going to kill her. He must have gone out. She needed to take advantage of that while she could.
He’d tied her ankles again, and this time he’d made sure the rope was tight. Try as she might, she could only get the rope to move a fraction of an inch, and she wasn’t even sure the rope actually was moving. It might have just been her pants legs sliding under it.
First things first, she thought. She scooted around and lay down on her back. Pulling her knees toward her chest, she tried to slide her cuffed hands over her butt like she had in the trunk, but they would only go so far. She could extend her legs, so she wasn’t hogtied, but something was stopping her from moving her hands. She rolled to the side and pulled out and back from her body and felt the tug in her midsection. Looking down she saw a brown leather belt with a brass buckle around her waist. It was the belt he’d been wearing when he opened the trunk. A long piece of belt extended beyond the buckle, indicating he’d had to punch new holes in the belt to make it fit her. Then he’d run the chain connecting the cuff through the belt, ensuring she couldn’t work the cuffs around over her feet.
He’s smart, she thought, but not that smart. She twisted her hands around to the left, ignoring the pain caused by the cuffs ratcheting tighter around her wrists, and worked her fingers under the belt. He’d pulled it tight around her waist. She was surprised she hadn’t noticed it before she’d tried moving her hands to the front, but she supposed the pain in her face and head had taken precedence. She sucked in her gut as she tugged on the belt and felt it move a little. She kept at it, inching the belt around her body, ignoring the ache in her shoulders and her fingers growing numb. When the buckle had reached her left side, she stopped to rest.
Where was Will, she wondered? Did he or Al or Lonnie even know she was missing? More importantly, what had happened to Brandon? Her eyes filled with tears as she thought of her son, but she gritted her teeth and blinked them away. She had to believe he was okay. She had to. Because if she didn’t, she would have no reason to fight.
“That’s not true,” she said out loud. If he had hurt Brandon, she’d have plenty of reason to fight. She might not have any reason to live, but she’d have plenty of reason to make sure he didn’t either.
She hadn’t believed it was him. To tell the truth, she hadn’t been sure it was anyone they’d talked to, but if she’d had to guess, she would have picked Larry Adams. Bias because of his job dealing with the dead every day? Maybe, but more because of the look she’d seen at Trish’s crime scene. That look told her he was a slimy creep. Maybe he’d been glad Trish was dead, but he hadn’t done it. And now that she knew who had, she had to get loose to stop him.
She sucked in her belly and began working on the belt again. She was halfway there.
CHAPTER 57
“Police! Get your hands in the air! Now!”
Al leveled his gun at the back of the sk
inny man dressed in black jeans and a black tee. They were in an alley that ran between a secondhand store and a tattoo shop. When Al had stepped into the alley, he’d seen the man by a dumpster, hunched over something. When he’d shouted his order at him, the man had straightened, dropping something before raising his hands.
“Move over to the other side of the alley, and put your hands on the wall,” Al said, and the man obeyed. Before he moved, Al saw him give a little kick to whatever he’d dropped,
“I didn’t do nuthin’, officer. Just having me a little smoke is all.”
Keeping an eye on the man, Al moved closer to the dumpster and saw the edge of a small plastic bag sticking out from under the dumpster. He picked it up and saw it contained approximately ten pills, two rolled joints, and a white chunk of what Al was pretty sure was meth.
“Yeah, I can see you were having a little smoke,” he said. “Turn around and keep your hands in the air.”
The man turned. Al pegged him late twenties, maybe early thirties. His hair hung below his ears and blended in with the sparse facial hair he’d probably started growing to hide the meth sores. His brown eyes darted between Al and the entrance to the alley as he calculated whether he should try to make a run for it.
Al held up the baggie.
“You want this?”
“What?” The man looked at the baggie and then at Al.
“You want your goodies? Because I’m not interested in them—or you. I’m interested in the phone you stole.”
“I didn’t steal no phone.”
“Oh? Maybe you found it? In the last hour or so?”
The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed several times. Al could see him calculating whether he should pretend he didn’t have the phone or whether he should admit it.
“Well, yeah—I found one,” he finally said. “I was gonna turn it in, though, if I couldn’t find the owner.”