Susan parked at the curb and climbed out of the car. She walked up the driveway and peeked behind the house. More weeds in an overgrown yard. An old charcoal barbecue lay on its side, rusted and disintegrating. She approached the back door and could see that it opened into the kitchen. She tried the knob and found it turned free in her hand. The entire locking mechanism had been broken.
The kitchen was frozen in time. The small stainless steel sink, the white Formica countertops, the blue plastic dish drainer still full of the last set of dishes Rose Anderson had ever washed. An overwhelming odor of sewage came over Susan as soon as she walked in. A Formica table and four mismatched chairs remained in the center of the room.
The carpet in the living room was littered with debris. A tiny dining room off the kitchen held boxes full of papers and bills and old magazines. It appeared the room had been used for storage and nothing more. Black mold climbed up the walls like sickly fingers reaching toward the ceiling. Susan turned back into the kitchen and opened a door next to the refrigerator that she figured led to the basement. She was right.
The steps creaked as she made her way down, the dampness and mold hitting her at the same time. She took her phone from her pocket and turned on the flashlight, sweeping the beam from side to side as she stepped onto the concrete floor.
The basement walls were cracking. Long, thin lines spiderwebbed all the way down. The boiler and hot-water heater were in the far corner. A pipe over the oil tank had burst and flooded half of the basement until it had turned to ice.
Susan walked to the opposite end of the dark room, trying to imagine what it had been like for Rose and Lily to be trapped down there or for Randall to be forced to do the things he’d done. She felt a twinge of sympathy for the man. He’d been through so much. But she also knew it was that very sort of trauma that could cause someone to step over the edge of sanity and never come back. She thought about Amanda’s body lying in the medical examiner’s office and knew it wasn’t a far leap to imagine Randall had been responsible. There was a loneliness to this place, a kind of desolation where hope simply could not breathe. She could feel the desperation and futility in the air. To be part of what had happened down there was unthinkable. The pain. The fear. The torture. The madness.
A noise.
Susan heard some kind of scraping coming from the far end of the room. She walked toward the sound, making her way around shelving that had been fastened to one of the walls, figuring a mouse was running around but cautious that it could be a raccoon or something bigger. She pulled her weapon from its holster in case she had to take a rabid animal down and swept her light in front of her as she walked.
She could see the section of the basement where Gary Anderson had built his false wall. Pieces of the beams and metal studs remained bolted to the concrete foundation. Part of the steel track that had slid the wall in place was still attached to the floor. The police had removed everything else after the raid. She stepped over the track and shined her light inside what had once been a torture room.
The walls still had holes where the manacles had once been fastened. In the corner was a large iron vent that shot out of the floor and curled up into the ceiling, which eventually led through the rest of the house and through the roof. On one end, a shiny chrome chain was clasped around the vent pipe. The other end was attached to the wrists of a man who was cowering in the corner, his eyes wide with terror, his mouth covered with some kind of cloth that was fastened to his head with packing tape. Dried blood covered his face from a head wound she couldn’t see. His hair was dirty and matted. He was wearing a black-and-red flannel shirt and boxer shorts. No coat or blanket. Nothing else to keep him warm. He shivered as he kicked himself farther into the corner, muffled cries coming from his throat. The sound she’d heard was the heels of the man’s shoes scraping the ground.
Hooper Landsky.
Susan rushed toward him and bent down, turning off the light so she could work her phone. She placed a hand on his shoulder as they were swallowed by the darkness.
“Hang in there, Mr. Landsky,” she said. “Help is on the way.” She dialed 911 and alerted the operator that she needed medical assistance as well as backup and a crime scene team. She hung up and slipped her phone back in her pocket. “I can’t remove your gag right now. There might be evidence on it. Just hang tight. I got you.”
Tires crunched on gravel outside of the house. Susan listened and could hear an engine idling. She got up and made her way toward the stairs, her pulse racing. Backup couldn’t have arrived that quickly.
Hooper began screaming through his gag.
She turned and held a finger to her lips. “I’m not leaving you, but I have to check on who that is.”
She crept up the basement stairs and slipped into the kitchen. If whoever had done that to Hooper had come back, better to confront him up here than down in that dark basement. But the house was still. She could hear her breathing, but nothing else made a sound.
If the car was still outside, the noise of its engine was muffled by the home’s insulation. Susan tiptoed across the kitchen, weapon aimed in front of her. She eased the back door open and placed one foot on the outside stoop, crouching just a bit to try and get a look at the driveway in both directions.
An engine roared to life from the direction of the garage. Susan made it outside in time to see the maroon Subaru Legacy speeding down the driveway toward the street. Without thinking, she leaped onto the hood as it passed, gun still in hand, screaming as the car careened into a small retaining wall in the front yard, then righted itself.
“Police! Stop the car!”
She tried to get a look at the driver, but everything was happening too quickly. Her fingers fumbled for something on the hood to hang on to, but as the Subaru hit the curb and bounced onto the road, Susan flew off and crashed onto the sidewalk, slamming violently into a stone retaining wall in front of the house next door. In the distance, she could hear the car speeding away, then registered the pain in the back of her head where she’d hit it on the wall. The pain quickly spread across her right shoulder and collarbone. All she could do was sit up and keep the gun on her lap until backup arrived. If the Subaru returned, she’d be ready. Until then, she wasn’t moving from the scene.
47
Randall heard the mudroom door open, and he paused the documentary he was watching on the television. “That you?”
Amanda appeared in the hall, the shadows hiding her face. She dropped her pocketbook on the kitchen table and kicked off the sneakers she’d been wearing.
“How was the meeting?” Randall asked, getting up from the couch. “You get all the donors in line?”
“The meeting was fine.”
He could see her face in the light when she opened the refrigerator. She was crying. Tears glistened on her cheeks. Her eyes were swollen. The lipstick she’d been wearing was gone.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” Randall asked, crossing through the family room. “Why are you crying?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
He walked into the kitchen and stood on one side of the island, watching as she pulled a bottle of merlot from the chiller under the sink. “I think we should,” he said softly. “I’m here. Whatever’s bothering you, tell me.”
Amanda poured herself a large glass of wine and took a gulp, shaking her head and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“But honey—”
“Just leave me alone, okay? Let me figure this all out, and we can talk. But not now. Not yet.”
He walked around the island and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Are you sure?”
She pulled away. “Don’t touch me.”
“Amanda—”
She pushed past him and ran down the hall, stopping when she reached the bottom landing. “You love me, right?”
“Of course.”
“I thought I knew you.”
“Amanda,” Randall said as
he walked down the hall toward her. “Please, tell me what’s going on.”
She shook her head and disappeared up the stairs.
When Randall opened his eyes, he was in bed. It was already dark out. He looked at the clock on his nightstand and saw it was just after six. When had he gotten home? How long had he been sleeping?
“It’s time.”
Sam was standing in the doorway, his coat buttoned up to his chin, his hood covering his face. The only thing Randall could see peeking out from beneath the hood was Sam’s mouth and chin. He was smiling. His teeth looked like razors.
“Please,” Randall said, pulling his covers up to his neck. “I can’t take this anymore. I can’t do this.”
“I want your truths. I want you to confess to being the man you are and not the man everyone else thinks you are. You’re no victim, Dr. Brock. Maybe you’ve convinced yourself that you are, but I know. I know because I always know. Everything. It’s time for you to face your truths. I’ll help you see. I’ll show you who you really are.”
Sam stepped forward and produced a straight blade he’d been hiding behind his back. “Does this look familiar?”
The mere sight of the blade froze Randall in place.
“Gary told you to do things. He told you to do things to Rose and Lily, and when you refused, he cut you with a blade just like this one. Isn’t that right?”
Randall absently lifted his T-shirt and rubbed the tiny scars that littered his back. He could hear the whimpering, the crying, the shouting echoing in the basement. He could remember the way the blade slid across his skin, so sharp he didn’t feel it at first. Only the warm blood as it trickled from the wound.
“Get up,” Sam commanded.
Randall kicked the covers off and rose.
“Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Away from here. You do everything I say, or I cut you like Gary cut you. Only deeper. Do you understand?”
Randall nodded.
“We’re going out the back door and through the woods to avoid the police out front. You’re going to be quiet. If you call for help, I’ll cut you.”
“I have to get dressed.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I’ll freeze out there.”
“Then you better walk fast.”
Randall crossed the room, and Sam grabbed him by the back of the neck. All the lights in the house were out. They made their descent to the first floor and walked through the kitchen, then out onto the back deck. As soon as the wind hit his bare legs and arms, he began to shiver.
“I have no shoes,” Randall whispered. “My feet will get frostbite. I’ll slow us down. I at least need to get something on my feet.”
Sam slashed the razor across Randall’s arm without speaking, then grabbed him by the hair before he could cry out, snapping him back so they were face to face. “Walk. Quietly.”
Randall tried to clasp his hand across the wound on his forearm, but the cast on his hand got in the way. Tears slipped down his cheeks as he stepped off the deck and into his yard, closer toward the dark woods that stretched beyond his property. He had no idea where he was going.
He had no idea how this was going to end.
48
The first set of NYPD cruisers arrived within minutes of Susan’s 911 call. Four officers swept the house to ensure no one else was inside; then two came down into the basement while the remaining two stood outside the front and back doors.
One of the responding officers had a small pocketknife, and they were able to remove the tape and gag from around Hooper’s mouth and bag them so Forensics could take a look. They had to wait for the tactical team, however, to come with something to cut through the chain.
Hooper was alive but delirious. He hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since he’d been abducted from inside his parking garage in the city, and dehydration was beginning to get the better of him. Another officer retrieved a bottle of water from his squad car, and they let Hooper sip it until the EMTs arrived.
The ambulance came at about the same time as a small tactical team pulled up with bolt cutters. The EMTs got Susan on a stretcher and loaded her into the back of the ambulance, then went into the house to retrieve Hooper, check his vitals, and call in a prognosis. He was loaded into a second ambulance that arrived within minutes of the first.
Her phone rang, and she fished it out of her pocket. It was Crosby.
“Yes, sir.”
“Jesus, Susan. Are you okay?”
“Looks like I dislocated my shoulder. They set it on scene. Bumped my head too. They’re going to have a look at me at the hospital, but I’m fine.”
“You found Landsky?”
“He was being kept in the basement of the Anderson house. Just like William Feder.”
“What gave you the hunch to go to Queens?”
She didn’t want to tell him about Tommy and her suspicions. Not yet. Not until she had a chance to get the story from the kid. He deserved the benefit of the doubt. She wasn’t going to ruin a budding career without learning the facts.
“Just a hunch, I guess. Thought I’d take a quick ride to get a feel for what Randall went through, and I end up finding our guy.”
“Did Landsky tell you anything?”
“He was pretty out of it, and I was getting treated, so we’ll have to interview him when he’s stable. One of the uniforms told me he said someone knocked him out in the garage. When he woke up, he was chained in the basement. I had them show him a picture of Randall from my phone, but he was too woozy to know one way or the other. We’re both heading to Mount Sinai. In the meantime, I suggest we bring Randall back in and have a chat.”
“Randall Brock is gone.”
Susan sat up on her stretcher, the phone pressed to her ear. “What?”
“When I got the call that you found Landsky, I had the troopers who were sitting outside his house go knock on his door. He wasn’t there. We gained entry, and the place was empty.”
“You gotta be kidding me.”
“Doesn’t look like he took much of anything, so I’m thinking he somehow got word that you found Landsky and fled. Didn’t even take his wallet.”
“How would he get word?” Susan asked.
“No idea,” Crosby replied. “I have a BOLO out on him. He didn’t take his car.”
“Yeah, well, if he’s the guy who hit me, he’s driving Hooper’s maroon Subaru Legacy. Update the BOLO to include that car.”
“Already done.”
“You hear from Tommy today?”
“No. He’s out running down some leads. You need him there?”
“No, I’m good.” Susan could see a lieutenant from the NYPD standing just outside the ambulance bay, waiting to talk to her. “I gotta go give a report before they take me to the ER. I’ll be back up as soon as I can. Just get everyone looking for Randall Brock. North Salem. Somers. Brewster. Everyone.”
“We’re on it,” Crosby replied. “And I’ll be down there in an hour. You’re not hanging in that hospital alone. I’m leaving now.”
Susan hung up and motioned for the lieutenant to step into the ambulance. It had crossed her mind that perhaps Hooper and Randall had been working together, but maybe she had things spun around and backward.
You hear from Tommy today?
No. He’s out running down some leads.
49
Susan sat on one of the beds in the emergency room, her knees pulled up to her chest, a curtain separating her and the patient on the other side, who’d come in with the flu. They’d put her shoulder in a sling for the time being, but the doctor on duty said she shouldn’t be anything more than sore for the next two days, and she could return to work once the soreness subsided. As for her head, it was cut, but no signs of a concussion. They were just waiting on the results of two other tests before they would sign her release.
Over the last few hours, troopers, fellow investigators, NYPD officers, and a few detectives had begun milling about the
waiting room, lending support by simply being present. That’s what cops did when one of their own was hurt in the line of duty. Just showing up was always enough. But the mass of bodies with radios crackling and conversations growing louder was a distraction to the staff of doctors and nurses, who had other patients to tend to, so she knew they’d be asked to leave soon. Hopefully, she could leave with them.
Crosby slipped through the curtain and walked to her side. Susan tried to sit up but couldn’t get the right leverage with her arm in the sling.
“How you doing?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You look banged up.”
“I look high.” Susan pointed to the IV sticking out of her arm. “Whatever they have me on is some serious stuff. Can’t hardly feel a thing.”
“I stopped by your house to talk with your mom. She’s pretty shook. I told her you’d be home later and that I’d drive you. I offered to bring her here, but the kids were already asleep, and she didn’t want them to see you like this.”
“Good call on her part.”
Crosby nodded and sat in a chair positioned next to the bed.
“Any word on Brock?” she asked.
“Nope. No sign of him. You really think he could’ve been behind the wheel? He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to go looking to hurt a cop.”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe you finding Hooper Landsky pissed him off.”
“Maybe.” Susan thought for a moment. “Hard to put the puzzle together with my brain swimming like this.”
Crosby got up out of his seat. “I’ll be waiting to take you home. I’m going to send Tommy in. He wanted to see you. Just got here.”
“Where’s he been?”
“Said he was up at the Quarim campus. Didn’t hear what happened until he called into the barracks.”
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