by Brenda Novak
“They both have sharp teeth and can make a mess out of you, right?”
“Right. I wouldn’t want to come face-to-face with one. But they usually keep their distance. Romain knows what he’s doing, so I’m safe as long as I’m with him. What’s going on?”
Planning to stop by Zoe’s neighbor’s house to see if she’d left yet, he got onto Highway 65—and encountered a sea of brake lights. There’d been an accident or a spill or something up ahead. “I need your help, Jaz,” he said.
“Your message made it sound as if you’re on a tough case.”
“I could be dealing with one of the sickest bastards I’ve ever come across.”
There was a pause. “What have you got?”
He explained what they knew about Samantha Duncan’s abduction, including the recovery of the Simpson boy.
“He was found in the woods?” she said when he’d finished.
Wondering what was blocking traffic, he tried to see around the cars ahead of him, but there were only more cars, stopped just like he was. “That’s right. Near Placerville.”
“I’d check to see who owns any houses, cabins, even businesses in the area.”
“A lot of the cabins are rentals.”
“Then I’d get hold of the rental records.”
He’d already been planning to do that. “How far back do you think I should go?” he asked. “One year, two years, more?”
“I’d go two years, at least. You never know—a name might jump out at you. Criminals typically confine their activities to familiar areas, areas where they feel most comfortable and in control. Maybe Master lives in Rocklin now, but he probably had a legitimate reason for being in Placerville at one time or another.”
Problem was, sifting through the property and rental information would be a long and painstaking process, and might yield no results. Meanwhile, Samantha could be in the hands of the man who’d brutalized Toby Simpson. For her sake, he’d been hoping for easier, faster answers.
“If this Master wasn’t familiar with the area,” she said, “I feel he would’ve turned the boy loose somewhere off Interstate 80, not Highway 50.”
“Something had to draw him in that direction instead of toward Auburn, which would be a more natural choice if he was coming from Rocklin,” he agreed. “But I don’t believe he meant to set the boy free. I think Toby escaped.”
“What makes you think that?”
Reluctantly, and only because he needed the caffeine, Jonathan swallowed another gulp of stale coffee. “One look at him would convince you he wasn’t meant to survive. You should see the poor kid.”
“I’m glad to be spared that.” She didn’t have to explain why; he knew she’d seen enough in her profiling career.
“So, when they found him they didn’t get anything more out of him, other than that comment about Master treating him like a dog, and Rocklin?” she asked.
“That’s it. He was pretty out of it. But as hurt as he was, they still had a hell of a time catching him. He wouldn’t trust the man who first encountered him, so that guy got his wife, assuming a woman would seem less threatening.”
“Did it help?”
“Not much. Toby would let her come closer but dodge away before she could actually touch him, all the while crying for his mother.”
“Have any other bodies turned up?” she asked.
He could tell by her brisk tone that she didn’t want to dwell on Toby’s condition. “Not that I’ve heard. I spoke with Skye’s husband earlier.”
“David’s with Sacramento PD, not Rocklin.”
“But I knew he’d get further with the other departments than I would.” Jonathan inched forward, along with the other motorists on Highway 65. “There’ve been no homicides in the past several months, at least of pubescent or prepubescent children,” he told her.
“What about the detective in charge? What’s his name?”
“Thomas.”
“Does he believe there might be a connection?”
“I talked to him a few hours ago. He’s looking into it.”
“He might be able to get someone to check the rental records.”
That didn’t mean Jonathan wouldn’t have to do it himself. Only then could he feel confident that nothing had been missed or overlooked. “I hope.”
The next few seconds passed in silence as Jonathan gave Jasmine some time to mull it over.
“So what do you think about this guy?” he asked at length. “Anything?”
“Because Master had the boy for so long, I’m tempted to assume he’s a recluse, an outcast who hovers on the periphery of the community. He’s got to be able to hide his prize, doesn’t he?” she said.
“If he’s going to hang on to a victim for two months, he does.”
“But something isn’t right about that theory. I’m not…comfortable with it.”
“Could be the neighborhood,” he said. “It’s too new and affluent for the lonely, blue-collar worker you’re picturing.”
“True, but…it’s more than that. There could be a few outcasts, a derelict son who’s living with his parents, or a renter who doesn’t fit the normal demographic.”
“There aren’t rentals in this part of Rocklin. I’d be surprised if there’s more than one or two.”
“Maybe Master inherited a fortune from his parents. Heck, maybe he even inherited their house and doesn’t have anything to do all day but prey on kids.”
Jonathan had already talked to all friends, family and neighbors and hadn’t come across a situation like the one she described. “What about motivation?” he asked. “You think these are sex crimes?”
“The boy was found without his clothes, wasn’t he?”
Several cars in front of him, an Explorer nosed over, trying to change lanes, and almost caused another accident. “Just what we need,” Jonathan muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing. Master could’ve used nudity as a form of control. Or humiliation,” he said. “I mean, if he’s a sex offender, it’s odd that he’d switch genders, isn’t it?”
“Not especially. Not if he’s more interested in sex as a form of torture than sex for its own sake. Studies have shown that a lot of psychopaths are working to fulfill one particular fantasy, to act it out until they get it ‘perfect,’ which never really happens because it’s more like an itch that comes back even after it’s been scratched. The fantasy revolves around their particular fetish.”
As interested as Jonathan was in this discussion, he was growing impatient with the traffic jam that kept him idling. At this rate, he’d miss Zoe for sure. But he had no option except to wait it out. The other lanes weren’t moving any more quickly, and the next exit was quite a ways off. “Isn’t that why so many of them choose similar victims? This guy went from a fourteen-year-old boy to a thirteen-year-old girl.”
“These kinds of offenders have to weigh the odds of getting exactly what they want against fulfilling their craving. It could be that Master would rather have had a girl when he took the Simpson boy or would’ve preferred a boy when he took Samantha, but one or the other became available to him, and he capitalized on the opportunity. Or…”
There was a slight break in traffic and he pulled ahead, hoping the congestion was finally about to ease, but it didn’t. He had to brake again to avoid hitting the motorcycle in front of him. “Or what?”
“Or you’re grasping at straws. Maybe there’s no connection between the Simpson boy and the Duncan case. You could be dealing with two different perpetrators. You know that.”
“I admit there’s not much to link them—except the Rocklin connection. That has me convinced Master’s our scumbag. And Sam was taken on the same day Toby was found. For two crimes against children of a similar age to happen one right after the other in such a small geographic area, an area that sees very little of this kind of thing…it’s too much of a coincidence.”
“Well, if it is him, he’s confident, I’ll give you that.”
> “What makes you say so?”
“Any normal person would be shaking in his shoes if a victim got loose, would decide to lie low for a while.”
“Probably.”
“Yet he took Samantha immediately after the Simpson boy’s escape.”
“Maybe he’s overconfident,” Jonathan muttered.
“Or his compulsion is growing so strong the usual inhibitors are no longer effective. And there could also be other reasons. That’s the problem with profiling. It’s not an exact science.”
A siren sounded behind him, and Jonathan inched to the side to make room for the ambulance. “The type of area he lives in leads me to believe he’s not a disorganized personality,” he said.
“That’d be my guess, too. And I’d say he’s smart.”
“Which means we have to be smarter. But we have no leads.” Red and blue lights flashed up ahead. He was almost at the scene of the accident, but still couldn’t tell what’d happened.
“Have you checked out the postman, the meter reader, the lawn service, the pool service—anyone who had a reason to go there on a regular basis?”
“The police and I are both working on the same list, so those people are getting checked and rechecked. I’ve talked to a lot of them. I just need to verify a few alibis.”
“Maybe Samantha got bored and walked to the closest convenience store,” Jasmine suggested. “Have you spoken to the clerks at any of the nearby stores? Examined their security tapes?”
“The police have checked the tapes, but I haven’t. She had mono. I highly doubt she walked anywhere.”
“Still…”
“The more I get to know her mother, the more I doubt she’d leave home without permission.”
There was a brief pause. “The more you get to know her mother? How close are you?”
“Not particularly close, but I’ve spent a few days with her.”
“Be careful.”
He knew the emotional hazards of the job. Maria, the first woman he’d ever loved, was also an early client of his. He’d had other relationships, but none as intense as the one he’d experienced with her. She’d come to him for help documenting her husband’s abusive behavior and many affairs so she could gain sole custody of their son. Jonathan had had no trouble gathering the evidence she needed. Dan Bartolo was a dirty son of a bitch. But love—and all that evidence—wasn’t enough to save Maria. One day she suddenly went back to Dan, who shot and killed her two weeks later.
In Jonathan’s line of work, it was never smart to mix business with pleasure. Maria’s death had been a painful lesson. “She’s not married.”
“And you’re not getting involved with her.”
“No. Ours is a professional relationship,” he said and tried to tell himself he could keep it that way.
“Good. The world can get pretty warped when you’ve just lost a child. Her love life might look completely different to her in a few weeks or months. Chances are she’ll go back to her fiancé.”
“I don’t think so.”
“She was with him for a reason, Jon. Once she adjusts to whatever the future holds, that reason might reassert itself.”
He had a hard time believing Zoe would reconcile with Anton. But he realized it was possible. She had issues with father figures, and no doubt it was those issues that’d attracted her to Anton. It didn’t take a psychologist to figure that out—or to understand that acknowledging the cause didn’t eradicate the problem. “I’ve been around the block a few times, Jaz,” he said to get her off the subject.
“I know, but you like to fix people, and she’s probably pretty broken right now. Remember that abused woman you took in who ultimately went back to the man who’d been abusing her?”
He rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the reminder, but Maria thought reuniting her family was best for her son.”
“I don’t care why she did it. Find someone who’s whole and healthy, who has something to offer you,” she said.
As frustrated by the stalled traffic as he was with Jasmine telling him what he’d already learned—the hard way—he crept forward. “Enough advice.”
“Fine. I’ve done my duty as your pseudo–big sister. So…do you want to send me an article of clothing or a cherished item that belonged to Samantha Duncan?”
This was why he’d been trying to reach her in the first place, what he’d secretly been hoping for all along. He hadn’t mentioned Jasmine’s special abilities to Zoe. He knew she’d think he was crazy if he admitted that he was planning to turn to a forensic profiler who was also a psychic. But he’d seen Jasmine work, witnessed how many of her predictions came to pass.
He prayed she’d be able to help Samantha. “Would you mind?”
“Not at all. But don’t get your hopes too high. You know how it is. Sometimes I get impressions, other times I get nothing at all. And half the time I don’t know how to interpret what comes, or even whether to trust it. I’m not sure I’ll be much help.”
“I know you don’t have a crystal ball. Whatever you can give me…it’s worth the chance. I’m hitting one dead end after another.”
“I’ll do what I can,” she promised.
After ending the conversation, Jonathan rolled down his window so he could lean out. There was a cop allowing one car to go through at a time, but several lanes fed into that drip system.
Surely Zoe would be gone by now. Despite that, he called her again—to see if he could swing by her motel to pick up an article of Sam’s clothing.
Hello, this is Zoe. I’m currently unavailable. Please leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can….
With a curse, he sent her a text instead. Call me. I need to talk to you.
* * *
Sam was tired. She wasn’t sure if it was because she hadn’t gotten all the drug out of her system or because of the mono, which made her tired all the time, or the anxiety of the evening, but she was having difficulty fighting the drowsiness. She wanted to close her eyes and drift away, but she knew nothing would change if she did—at least nothing would change for the better. She had to remain alert so she could make out a slam, a voice, a thud. Anything distinctive enough to tell her what was going on. But everything felt so hopeless. It’d been forever and she hadn’t heard much of anything yet. Had Tiffany’s company even arrived?
She was afraid her plan wouldn’t work, but desperation kept her fighting. Lying with her ear pressed tightly to the floor, she could hear a sound now and then. Or she thought she did. Maybe she was imagining it because she wanted to hear something so badly.
So when should she act? Was it only Tiffany and Colin moving around the house? Had whatever they’d planned been canceled? Or had their visitors come and gone without her knowledge? Had she missed her opportunity?
Her prison was so quiet, so isolated. It was as if they’d locked her into a different universe.
Finally giving up, she curled into herself, and the crudely made marks on the baseboard near the mattress began to blur as her eyes filled with tears. She couldn’t survive sixty-six days like this; she couldn’t survive another week.
“Mommy, where are you?” she whispered. She wasn’t sure how long it’d been since she’d called her mother Mommy, but she felt so young and frightened. “I want you,” she said, pleading with the silence.
And then she heard something that came to her as more of a vibration. At first she couldn’t tell what that vibration signified, but when she pressed her ear to the floor again, she could tell that someone was shouting.
“Colin! Hey! Your cars are in the driveway, so where the hell are ya? Tiff?”
“Dad? Stay downstairs! Tiff’s not dressed,” came the equally loud response and, a moment later, footsteps pounded down the stairs.
“Whatever happened to knocking, for God’s sake?” she heard Colin snap before his voice dropped too low for her to make out the words.
Shoving herself into a sitting position, Sam began to shiver. Someone besid
es Colin and Tiffany was definitely in the house. It was time to draw the attention of their guest.
But if Colin’s dad came to see what was going on, would he take her side—or his?
CHAPTER 23
Colin couldn’t believe it. What was his father doing stopping by unannounced? Paddy knew Colin and Tiffany valued their privacy. Almost every visit occurred at Paddy’s smallish tract house in Antelope, and that was how Colin liked it. That was the only way the relationship could work.
At Easter, Paddy’s new wife, Sheryl, had said it’d be nice if Colin and Tiffany would host dinner at their place for a change, but Paddy had immediately responded by telling her to shut up and get them all a beer. He’d seen how easily Colin had cut Tina, his real mother, out of his life. He wasn’t about to push Colin. He was too busy trying to make up for allowing Tina to get away with what she did when Colin was little. At least he and Colin were still on speaking terms. Colin’s sister had sided with their mother and, after the divorce, refused to communicate with him or Paddy.
Colin didn’t like his stepmother much more than he liked his own mother. But she was a decent cook and, because she didn’t enjoy serving them, he gained some satisfaction in making her do it practically every holiday. Being on friendly terms with his father enabled him to use his father’s vacation cabin, too, which had proved to be a great perk. Some of his fondest memories involved torturing his second pet at the cabin. Her remains were even buried up there.
“What’re you doing here?” he asked as soon as he reached the living room.
His father stood in front of the fireplace, staring up at the photograph that’d been taken for their wedding announcements. He turned and watched as Colin finished pulling on his shirt. Colin had Zoe tied up, the video camera positioned just right, and had barely removed his clothes when he’d heard his father’s voice. Being interrupted at a moment like that was beyond enraging. But at least he’d heard Paddy before the old man surprised him in the bedroom.
His father didn’t seem to care that he’d dropped by at an inconvenient time. He shoved a shaking hand through his short gray hair, which was still thick despite his age, and met Colin’s impatient eyes. “I need to talk to you.”