by Alexa Grace
With clenched fists, Margaret moved closer to him, searching his face. "You bastard, tell me you didn't hurt my Alison. If you did anything to my little girl, I'll kill you. Do you hear me?" she screamed.
Bolting from the room, Raymond slammed into Brody, knocking him to the floor, and raced down the stairs and out the front door. Carly hurtled over Brody's body, and gave full chase. Brody was close behind. By the time they reached the front yard, Denison had Raymond pinned to the ground and was handcuffing him. Margaret pushed past Carly, and threw herself on top of her husband, sobbing and pounding him with her fists.
"Where's Alison? You bastard. What have you done to Alison?"
Brody pulled a hysterical Margaret off her husband, so Denison could pull Raymond to his feet, and hand him over to an Indianapolis deputy, who'd arrived with his patrol car, lights flashing. Once Raymond was secured in the back seat, the deputy whisked him away.
Sobbing, Margaret broke away from Brody and went into the house. Denison introduced himself and said, "Obviously, Mr. Brown didn't like his record thrown in his face."
"Nope, he didn't like it much," Brody agreed. "Did you get your search warrant?"
"Sure did. Want to join me as I search the house?"
Carly nodded quickly and asked, "Did you put computer equipment on the warrant? I'd like to see his online activities."
"Sure did. Let's see what we can find," Denison responded as he headed for the house. "Later, we'll head down to the station. You may ask Mr. Brown anything you like. I know I have some questions for the pervert."
"Detective, one more thing. Did you talk to neighbors on this street?"
"Yeah, all except house number 600. No one was home that day."
Carly looked at Brody. "If it's okay with you, I'd like to talk to some of the neighbors about Alison."
"Go for it. I'll catch up with you as soon as we finish searching the house."
<><><>
Carly talked to the Brown's neighbors, showing each one Alison's photo. No one had much to say about the young girl. A few neighbors didn't even know who Alison was and were surprised to learn the missing girl lived just a few houses away from them.
Walking to the next house, Carly felt her heart squeeze as she thought of Alison. She was certain Alison was being molested by her stepfather. Based on Margaret's reaction, she was also sure Alison hadn't confided in her mother. Add to that typical teenage angst over her weight, braces, and who knows what else, Alison must have been miserable. The girl was an Internet predator's favorite target—vulnerable and lonely with problems at home, ripe for the flattery and manipulation of a stranger.
Carly reached the small white house at 600 Oak Street. At the end of the street, it sat next to a weed-infested lot littered with trash. Carly knocked on the door several times, and had turned to leave when she heard a voice call her back.
Standing on the porch, was a frail man who looked to be at least one-hundred-years-old.
"Sorry, I can't get to the door as fast as I used to. I'm here now. What do you want?"
Carly inched closer and said, "I'm Carly Stone. I'm working with the Shawnee County Sheriff Department. I'm hoping you'll answer a couple of questions I have."
"Don't mind answering questions, but I do mind standing up to do it. Come up here on the porch, and we'll sit a spell." He sat down on an old aluminum glider and motioned for Carly to sit down on a nearby wooden chair. "My name's Edward Webb. What is it you'd like to ask me?"
Carly pulled Alison's photo out of the file folder she was carrying, and showed it to the old man. "Do you know this girl or have you ever seen her?"
Pulling the photo out of her hand, he held it up, studied it and handed it back to Carly.
"Yes, I've seen her, and it wasn't that long ago. I stood right here on my porch and watched a group of girls beat the crap out of her."
"When was this, Mr. Webb?"
"Last week, I think. Not sure about when I saw her, but I know what I saw. Those girls dragged her through the weeds and broken beer bottles until they reached the dead center of the lot. Then they started kicking and pounding on her with their fists. Poor little thing was screaming her lungs out.
"The girls stopped and ran when they heard me screaming at them. But the girl in your photo wouldn't let me help her. She was beaten up pretty bad and bleeding. I wanted to call the police, but she begged me not to. She ran down the street. I've been wondering about her and whether or not she's okay. Is she?"
"Not exactly," Carly said.
"Hell, if her parents want me to testify against those girls, I'll do it," he promised.
"It's not that, Mr. Webb. She's missing, and we're trying to find her. Thank you for your help."
Carly pulled out her cell phone and called Brody, filling him in on the beating Alison suffered at the hands of a group of girls. He promised to give the information to Denison, who would follow up at the school later.
<><><>
Through closed circuit television at the police station, Brody and Carly watched Denison question Raymond Brown. Sweating profusely, Brown wiped at his forehead with his shirt sleeve. Each time Denison asked him about Alison, Brown lowered his eyes to the floor and refused to answer. Frustrated, Denison prepared to leave the room.
"Could I have a bottle of water or something?" asked Brown.
Over his shoulder, before leaving the room, Denison said, "I'll see what I can do." Slamming the door behind him, he met with Brody and Carly.
"This asshole is not talking," he remarked with disappointment. "We can't hold him on sexual misconduct until we can find Alison to testify."
"What did you find when you searched the house?" Carly wanted to know, still watching Brown who was now pacing.
"Found some porn magazines hidden in his dresser drawer in the bedroom, and a box of them along with DVDs in the attic. None of it was child porn. The women in the magazines and DVDs were all in their twenties and thirties."
Denison got a can of Coke out of small refrigerator and continued, "Our computer tech says Brown's a frequent customer at a couple of porn sites. They also said he visits several social media sites and a couple of chat rooms for consenting adults on a regular basis."
"Was there any online contact with preteen girls?" asked Carly.
"Nope," said Denison after a gulp of Coke. "Brown's been exchanging racy pictures with a twenty-year-old from Ohio for about six months. He's using a photo of a twenty-something blonde body builder instead of his own. There's a lot of sex-talk, but no mention of getting together in person. We're contacting her today for an interview."
"Brown may not be our killer," Brody remarked to Carly.
"But don't forget he was sent to prison for molesting a child twelve-years-old and Alison is thirteen."
"Right. But wouldn't perverts who prefer preteen girls, also prefer porn that features young girls?"
"Yes, but I still want to talk to him," Carly insisted.
Brody nodded in agreement. "You question him first. I can tell by the way he looks at you that he doesn't like assertive women. You might be able to get him emotional and talking."
<><><>
As soon as Carly entered the interview room, Raymond Brown rolled his eyes in disgust. "Haven't you asked enough questions at the house?"
Carly shot him a sharp look, sat down and placed a couple of manila folders on the table. "By the way, Raymond, your wife called and told me to tell you a locksmith is changing the locks. You'll find your things on the front lawn."
"This is all your fault," he said through gritted teeth.
"How is it my fault, Raymond? I didn't serve time for molesting a little girl, and then didn't bother to share it with my wife."
"Shut up!" A vein near his right eye bulged as his face grew red.
"Not going to happen. I've got some questions for you," Carly said.
"Denison already asked me questions."
"Inquiring minds want to know, Raymond. I have a very inquiring mind," Car
ly said sarcastically. "Where is Alison?"
He looked down and said, "I don't know."
"C'mon, you can do better than that."
"I said I don't know."
"Want to know something interesting I learned a long time ago, Raymond?"
He glared at her for a second and said, "Not really."
"I learned that when people are lying, they don't make eye contact. I couldn't help but notice when I asked you about Alison, you looked down. So let's try it again. Where is Alison?"
His dark eyes bore into her. "I don't know."
"Sure you do. What happened with Alison, Raymond? Did she threaten to tell her mother you were raping her?"
"What?!" He jumped to his feet.
"Sit down." Carly ordered.
He sat and said, "I never raped her. I swear I never did that. I love Alison."
"Oh, you love Alison? Is that why you were molesting her?"
"It wasn't like that. I loved her. I wanted to be her first, so she'd know what love felt like." A tear threatened to spill from Raymond's left eye.
"So you raped her?"
"No, I did not," he insisted. "It didn't get that far. Only touching. I just wanted to hold her and touch her."
"What makes me think Alison didn't like you touching her? Oh, I remember. She was blocking her bedroom door with her dresser."
"I never hurt her. I swear. I wish I knew where she was."
"I think you know exactly where she is, Raymond. Where are you hiding her?" Carly asked, leaning toward him.
He scrubbed his hands over his face. "If I knew where she was, I'd tell you."
Picking up a folder, she opened it and slid a photo of Amanda Jenkins across the table. "Does this girl look familiar?"
Pulling the photo closer with his index finger, Raymond said, "No. Never seen her before."
Ripping Sophia Bradford's photo out of the file, Carly slapped it on the table, "How about this girl?"
Examining the photo, no sign of recognition appeared in his expression. He shrugged his shoulders and said, "No, why are you showing me these?"
Carly pulled out another photograph, and pushed it toward him. "This was taken after the two girls' bodies were pulled out of a burning car."
"Oh, God," Raymond uttered. He looked as if he might get sick.
"Their names are Amanda Jenkins and Sophia Bradford. They're both thirteen and you met them on the Internet. You played mind games with them and convinced them to meet you in Morel where you raped and murdered them."
"No way! I've never killed anyone," he insisted, as he pounded his fist. "I don't even know where Morel is." Unexpectedly, he leaned across the table, and grabbed Carly's arm. "You're not going to pin these murders on me, bitch!"
The interview room door flew open, and Brody pinned Raymond in his chair. "You're in enough trouble, Brown. Do you really want to add a charge for assaulting an officer?"
Carly retrieved the photos, slipped them back into the file and headed for the door. "I'm finished here, Sheriff."
Once they were back in the conference room, Carly confided, "I don't think he's our guy. He'd never seen Amanda or Sophia until I showed him their photos. I don't think he has Alison."
"I agree, plus, there's nothing to connect Alison to our killer yet," Brody said. Touching her arm, he said, "Are you okay? Let me see your arm."
Carly rolled up her shirt sleeve and said, "See, it's nothing."
Brody lightly rubbed his thumb across her arm. His touch was oddly soft and caressing. Standing so close she could feel the heat from his body, she inhaled his clean, spicy scent. He projected an energy and power that undeniably attracted her.
Denison cleared his throat. Carly hadn't noticed he was even in the room. Embarrassed, she stepped away from Brody.
"I thought you might want to know," Denison began. "We talked to his wife and Brown's alibi checks out. He hasn't left the house since the day Alison disappeared."
<><><>
Chapter Six
Alison regained consciousness and discovered her wrists and ankles still handcuffed to the floor, but, thankfully, her assailant was nowhere in sight. In so much pain she could barely breathe, her mouth and jaw throbbed, and the welts on her back were on fire. Every time she tried to move, sharp slivers of pain cut through her body.
The humiliation of the rape washed over her in a nauseating wave. What had she done to deserve such a savage attack? How could she have been so stupid to run away from home? She'd give anything to be held in her mother's arms. Anything. Tears streamed down her face, burning the back of her throat.
Alison thought she heard Jasmine whisper her name.
"Jasmine?"
"Oh, thank God," she cried. "I was so afraid he'd killed you."
"Everything hurts so badly, I wish he had," Alison said.
"Please don't say that," Jasmine pleaded.
"Talk to me, Jasmine," begged Alison. "Distract me from this pain."
"What do you want me to talk about?"
"Tell me about yourself and how you got here."
"Before I ran away," she began. "I lived in West Lafayette. My daddy is a preacher of the First Baptist Church there. Daddy is a huge man and has a voice like thunder on Sundays. He can be heard for blocks around the church preaching his sermon. My mom is the choir director, and I sing soprano in the choir. At least, I used to."
Hearing the sadness in her voice, Alison said, "Jasmine, if this is too hard to talk about..."
"No, I can do it. I want to talk," she insisted. "I started making online friends last year when I was twelve. At school, I was known as a computer geek. I didn't have very many friends, until kids started contacting me on my Facebook page and Teen Chat. It was great having so many online friends, and I couldn't wait to get home after school to talk to them."
"Your home doesn't sound so bad. Why did you run away?"
"I fell in love with a boy online. I've never had a boyfriend before, and he was the best looking boy I'd ever seen. If he had gone to my school, he would have been the most popular boy there. He said he liked everything about me, even the geek part," Jasmine said. She paused for a second. "We wanted to meet each other in person really bad. He only lived forty-five minutes away from me. We figured we could meet on a Saturday morning, and I’d be back by evening. My parents would never know. So he mailed me a bus ticket, and I told my parents I was staying at my girlfriend’s house. But when I arrived in Morel ..."
Just then there were loud voices coming from the floor above them. "Did you hear that?" asked Alison.
"Yes, the Master and woman are fighting again. I hope he doesn't come down here. He's extra mean when he's mad."
The upstairs door opened and then slammed shut with a bang. Heavy footfalls on the basement steps announced they would soon have a visitor.
Alison froze, lying perfectly still as sick fear coiled in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, he ripped open a section of the sheeting, and appeared menacingly above her, his eyes dark and piercing through the holes of the ski mask.
"No, don't hurt me again," Alison begged, pulling at her restraints.
"Silence, slave," he seethed, as he bent down to her. “When are you going to learn to call me Master?”
In his hand was a brown leather dog collar that he fastened around her neck. He attached a long leash to it, and removed the handcuffs from her wrists and ankles. Roughly pulling her to her feet, he steadied her, and pulled her by the leash toward a small bathroom. "Clean yourself up, slave. You're filthy."
Stepping inside, he turned on the shower, shoved Alison under the hot water and closed the door. The water pelted against her welts and stung. There was caked blood on her stomach and between her legs. As blood-tinged water slipped down the drain, she used shampoo to wash her hair, and then scrubbed her entire body with soap again and again. She wished she could wash what he'd done to her off her body and out of her brain.
After she dried herself off, Alison looked around the room for something
she could use to defend herself. But the bathroom was empty save for the dingy bath towel she was using. She spied a frosted rectangle window that was nailed shut. If she stood on the toilet, she could reach the window. It was small, and she wondered if she could squeeze her body through it if she could somehow break the glass. Before she had a chance to try, she heard Jasmine screaming in terror.
Quietly opening the bathroom door a few inches, she could see Jasmine, naked, hanging from the ceiling by her wrists, her legs thrashing the air as Alison's had her first night. Standing behind her, was the Master, holding a leather whip. 'Crack!' The whip cut across Jasmine's back, and she cried out in agony. 'Crack!'
"That's it," he said, with a sick smile. "Suffer, bitch, suffer."
<><><>
Brody organized a task force dedicated to finding their serial killer. Dr. Bryan Pittman, and Cameron and Gabe Chase would serve on the team, along with Carly. Brody finally hired Gabe as a computer forensic consultant. He was initially charged to report back with the Internet habits of Amanda Jenkins and Sophia Bradford.
Carly sat at the end of a long conference table, finishing the analysis that she'd present to the team that afternoon. She checked and rechecked the evidence, as well as her stack of notes. Her analysis would be critical in order for investigators to narrow down the number of suspects and catch their killer.
Deputy Gail Sawyer appeared in the doorway. "Carly, there's someone here to see you."
Thinking her visitor was her brother, Blake, Carly was delighted. "Thanks, Gail. What a nice surprise."
"I'll bring him back," offered the deputy.
Soon the deputy reappeared with a tall man with short-cropped, blonde hair wearing a navy designer suit, looking like he just stepped out of GQ magazine.
Carly approached him, coldly shaking his hand as if they'd never met. "Hello, Agent Isley."
To Gail, Carly said, "Please close the door after you, Deputy. Thank you."