“I’ll try to get Amanda to—”
“Angie was calling in a tip.” The words flooded out before he could stop them. His mind raced to think of a way to get out of saying more, but his mouth hadn’t gotten the memo to shut up. “Some Buckhead penthouse has been turned into a drug den.”
“Oh” was all Faith offered.
“She’s got this girl she used to know back when she worked vice. A prostitute. Lola. She wants out of jail. She’s willing to flip on the dealers.”
“Is it a good tip?”
Will could only shrug. “Probably.”
“Are you going to help her?”
He shrugged again.
“Angie’s an ex-cop. Doesn’t she know somebody in narcotics?”
Will let her figure it out. Angie wasn’t exactly good at leaving bridges unburned. She tended to light them with glee, then throw gasoline on the flames.
Faith obviously reached the same conclusion. She offered, “I can make some calls for you. No one will know you’re involved.”
He tried to swallow, but his mouth was still too dry. He hated that Angie had this effect on him. He hated it even more that Faith was getting a front-row seat to his misery. He asked, “What did Leo say?”
“He’s not answering his phone, probably because he knows it’s me calling.” As if on cue, her phone rang again. Faith checked the ID and again didn’t answer it. Will figured he didn’t have a right to ask her what that was about, considering he’d put a moratorium on discussions of his own phone calls.
He cleared his throat a few times so he could speak without sounding like a pubescent boy. “A Taser gun means distance. He would’ve used a stun gun on them if he was able to get close enough.”
Faith returned to their original conversation. “What else have we got?” she asked. “We’re waiting for DNA results from Jacquelyn Zabel. We’re waiting to hear back from the tech department on Zabel’s laptop and the computer from Pauline’s office. We’re waiting to hear back on any forensic evidence from the vacant house behind Olivia’s.”
Will heard a distinct buzzing, and Faith pulled out her Black-Berry. She drove with one hand as she read the screen. “Phone dump on Olivia Tanner’s line.” She scrolled through. “One number every morning around seven o’clock to Houston, Texas.”
“Seven our time is six Houston time,” Will said. “That’s the only number she called?”
Faith nodded. “Going back for months. She probably used her cell for most of her calls.” She tucked the BlackBerry back in her pocket. “Amanda’s working on a warrant for the bank. They were nice enough to cross-reference their accounts for our missing women’s names—no matches—but they’re not going to give us access to Olivia’s computer, phone or email without a fight. Something about federal banking law. We have to get into that chat room.”
“I have to think if she was using an online group, she’d have access at home.”
“Her brother says she’s at work all the time.”
“Maybe they all met in person. Like AA or a knitting group.”
“It’s hardly something you can pin up on the community bulletin board. ‘Like starving yourself to death? Come join us!’ ”
“How else would they all meet?”
“Jackie is a Realtor, Olivia is a banker who doesn’t write mortgages, Pauline is an interior designer, and Anna does whatever she does—probably something equally as lucrative.” She gave a heavy sigh. “It has to be the chat room, Will. How else would they all know each other?”
“Why do they have to know each other?” he countered. “The only person they have to know is the abductor. Who would have contact with women working in all those different fields?”
“Janitor, cable guy, trash man, exterminator …”
“Amanda’s had information processing going through all those things. If there was a connection, it would be evident by now.”
“Forgive me for not holding out hope. They’ve had two days and they can’t even find Jake Berman.” She cut the wheel, turning onto North Avenue. Two Atlanta police cruisers blocked the scene. They could see Leo in the distance, his hands waving wildly as he screamed at some poor kid in uniform.
Faith’s phone rang again. She dropped it into her pocket as she got out of the car. “I’m not on Leo’s favorite list right now. Maybe you should do the talking.”
Will agreed that was best, especially considering the fact that Leo already looked a couple of notches beyond furious. He was still yelling at the cop when they approached him. Every other word was “fuck” and his face was so red Will wondered if he might be having a heart attack.
Overhead, a police helicopter hovered, what the locals called a ghetto bird. The chopper was so close to the ground that Will could feel his eardrums pulsing. Leo waited for it to move on before demanding, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Will said, “That missing persons case you gave us—Olivia Tanner. There were Taser dots at the scene that trace back to a cartridge purchased by Pauline Seward.”
Leo muttered another “Fuck.”
“We also found some evidence at Pauline McGhee’s office that connects her back to the cave.”
Leo’s curiosity got the better of him. “You think Pauline’s your doer?”
Will hadn’t even considered the thought. “No, we think she’s been taken by the same man who took the other women. We need to know as much as we can—”
“Not much to tell,” he interrupted. “I talked to Michigan this morning. I was sitting on it, since your partner’s such a ray of fucking sunshine lately.”
Faith opened her mouth but Will held out his hand to stop her. “What did you find out?”
Leo said, “I talked to an old-timer they got on the desk. Name’s Dick Winters. Been on the job thirty years and they got him straddling the phones. You believe that shit?”
“Did he remember Pauline?”
“Yeah, he remembered her. She was a good-looking kid. Sounded like the old guy had a boner for her.”
Will could not possibly care less right now about some skuzzy old cop bird dogging a teenager. “What happened?”
“He picked her up a couple of times for shoplifting, drinking too much and gettin’ loud about it. He never ran her in—just took her back home, told her to straighten up. She was underage, but when she hit seventeen, it was harder to sweep it under the rug. Some store owner got a bee up his ass and pressed charges for the shoplifting. The old cop visits the family to help them out, sees something ain’t right. He tucks his dick back in his pants, realizes it’s time for him to do his job. The girl’s got problems at school, problems at home. She tells the cop that she’s being abused.”
“Was social services called in?”
“Yeah, but little Pauline disappeared before they could talk to her.”
“Did the cop remember the names? The parents? Anything?”
Leo shook his head. “Nothing. Just Pauline Seward.” He snapped his fingers. “He did say there was a brother kind of touched in the head, if you know what I mean. Just a strange little fucker.”
“Strange how?”
“Weird. You know how it is. You get a vibe.”
Will had to ask again, “But the cop doesn’t remember his name?”
“All the records are sealed because she was a juvenile. Throw in family court, and that’s another obstacle,” Leo said. “You’re gonna need a warrant in Michigan to get them open. This was twenty years ago. There was some kind of fire in records ten years back, the old guy says. Might not even be a file to look up.”
“Exactly twenty years?” Faith asked.
Leo gave her a sideways look. “Twenty years come Easter.”
Will wanted to get this straight. “Pauline McGhee, or Seward, went missing twenty years from this Sunday, Easter Sunday?”
“No,” Leo said. “Easter was in March twenty years ago.”
Faith asked, “Did you look it up?”
He shrugged. “It’s always
the Sunday following the first full moon that occurs after the spring equinox.”
Will took a minute to realize he was speaking English. It was like a cat barking. “Are you sure?”
“Do you really think I’m that stupid?” he asked. “Shit, don’t answer that. The old guy was sure of it. Pauline bunked on March twenty-sixth. Easter Sunday.”
Will tried to do the math, but Faith beat him to it. “Two weeks ago. That could fit around the time Sara said Anna was probably abducted.” Her phone rang again. “Jesus,” she hissed, checking the caller ID. She flipped open the phone. “What do you want?”
Faith’s expression changed from extreme annoyance to shock, then disbelief. “Oh, my God.” Her hand went to her chest.
Will could only think of Jeremy, Faith’s son.
“What’s the address?” Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “Beeston Place.”
Will said, “That’s where Angie—”
“We’ll be right there.” Faith closed her phone. “That was Sara. Anna woke up. She’s talking.”
“What did she say about Beeston Place?”
“That’s where she lives—they live. Anna has a six-month-old baby, Will. The last time she saw him was at her penthouse at Twenty-one Beeston Place.”
Will had jumped behind the wheel, slamming back the seat, taking off before Faith had even shut her door. He’d raked the gears, pushing the Mini into every turn, bouncing across metal plates covering road construction. On Piedmont, he’d bumped across the median, using the oncoming lane to swerve around traffic at the light. Faith had sat quietly beside him, holding on to the handle over the door, but he could see her teeth gritted with each bump and turn.
Faith said, “Tell me again what she said.”
Will didn’t want to think about Angie right now, didn’t want to consider that she might know there was a kid involved, a baby whose mother had been stolen, a child who had been left alone in a penthouse apartment that had been turned into a crack den.
“Drugs,” he told Faith. “That’s all she said—they were using it as a drug pad.”
She was silent as he downshifted, making a wide turn onto Peachtree Street. Traffic was light for this time of day, which meant that there was a line of cars backed up a quarter of a mile. Will used the oncoming lane again, finally jumping onto the narrow shoulder to avoid a dump truck. Faith’s hands slammed palm-down on the dashboard as he banked into a turn, sliding to a stop in front of Beeston Place Apartments.
The car rocked as Will got out. He ran to the entrance. He could hear the sirens of distant cruisers, an ambulance. The doorman was behind a tall counter reading a newspaper. He was plump, his uniform too small for his large gut.
Will pulled out his ID and flashed it in the man’s face. “I need to get into the penthouse.”
The doorman gave one of the surliest smiles in Will’s recent memory. “You do, do you?” He spoke with an accent, Russian or Ukrainian.
Faith joined them, out of breath. She squinted at his nametag. “Mr. Simkov, this is important. We think a child might be in jeopardy.”
He gave a helpless shrug. “No one gets in unless they’re on the list, and since you’re not on the—”
Will felt something inside of him break. Before he knew what was happening, his hand shot out, grabbing Simkov by the back of his neck and slamming his head into the marble countertop.
“Will!” Faith gasped, her voice going up in surprise.
“Give me the key,” Will demanded, pressing harder against the man’s skull.
“Pocket,” Simkov managed, his mouth pressed so hard against the counter that his teeth scraped the surface.
Will jerked him closer, checked his front pockets and found a ring of keys. He tossed them to Faith, then walked into the open elevator car, fists clenched at his sides.
Faith pressed the button for the penthouse. “Christ,” she whispered. “You’ve proven your point, all right? You can be a tough guy. Now back off it.”
“He watches the door.” Will was so furious he could barely form the words. “He knows everything going on in this building. He’s got the keys to every apartment, including Anna’s.”
She seemed to get that he wasn’t putting on a show. “All right. You’re right. Let’s just take things down a notch, okay? We don’t know what we’re going to find up there.”
Will could feel the tendons in his arms vibrating. The elevator doors opened onto the penthouse floor. He stalked into the hall and waited for Faith to find the correctly labeled key to open the door. She found it, and he put his hand over hers, taking over.
Will didn’t go gently. He took out his gun and slammed the door open.
“Ugh,” Faith gagged, holding her hand to her nose.
Will smelled it, too—that sickly sweet mixture of burning plastic and cotton candy.
“Crack,” she said, waving her hand in front of her face.
“Look.” He pointed to the foyer just inside the door. Curled pieces of confetti had dried in a yellow liquid on the floor. Taser dots.
There was a long hallway in front of him, two doors on one side, both closed. Ahead, he could see the living room. Couches were overturned, their stuffing torn out. Trash was everywhere. A large man lay facedown in the hall, his arms splayed, head turned to the wall. His shirtsleeve was rolled up. A tourniquet was tied around his biceps. A syringe was jutting out of his arm.
Will pointed his Glock in front of him as he went down the hall. Faith took out her own weapon, but he signaled for her to wait. Will could already smell the body decaying, but he checked for a pulse just in case. There was a gun by the man’s foot, a Smith & Wesson revolver with a custom gold grip that made it look like the kind of thing you used to find in the toy section of a dime store. Will kicked the gun away, even though the man was never going to reach for it.
Will motioned in Faith, then went back to the first closed door in the hallway. He waited until she was ready, then threw open the door. It was a closet, all the coats piled onto the floor in a heap. Will kicked the pile with his foot, checking under the coats before going to the next closed door. He waited for Faith again, then kicked open the door.
They both gagged at the stench. The toilet was overflowing. Feces was smeared on the dark onyx walls. A dark brown liquid had puddled in the sink. Will felt his skin crawl. The smell of the room reminded him of the cave where Anna and Jackie had been kept.
He pulled the door closed and indicated that Faith should follow him down the hall toward the main room. They had to step over broken glass, needles, condoms. A white T-shirt was wadded into a ball, blood smeared on the outside. A sneaker was upended beside it, the laces still tied.
The kitchen was off the living room. Will checked behind the island, making sure no one was there, while Faith picked her way around upended furniture and more broken glass.
She said, “Clear.”
“Me too.” Will opened the cabinet under the sink, looking for the trashcan. The bag was white, just like the ones they had found inside the women. The can was empty, the only clean thing in the whole apartment.
“Coke,” Faith guessed, indicating a couple of white bricks on the coffee table. Pipes were scattered around. Needles, rolled-up bills, razor blades. “What a mess. I can’t believe people were living in this.”
Will was never surprised by the depths to which a junkie would stoop, or by the destruction that followed them. He had seen nice suburban houses turned into dilapidated meth dens over the course of a few days. “Where’d everybody go?”
She shrugged. “A dead body wouldn’t scare them enough to leave this much coke behind.” She glanced back at the dead man. “Maybe he’s supposed to be security.”
They searched the rest of the place together. Three bedrooms, one of them a nursery decorated in shades of blue, and two more bathrooms. All of the toilets and sinks were backed up. The sheets were balled up on the beds, the mattresses were overturned. Clothes were ripped out of the closets. All the t
elevisions were gone. There was a keyboard and mouse on the desk in one of the spare rooms, but no computer. Obviously, whoever had taken over the place had stripped it bare.
Will holstered his gun as he stood at the end of the hallway. Two paramedics and a uniformed patrolman were waiting at the front door. He motioned them in.
“Dead as a doornail,” one of the paramedics pronounced, doing only a cursory check for vitals on the junkie by the coat closet.
The cop said, “My partner’s talking to the doorman.” He used a measured tone, directing his words toward Will. “Looks like he fell. Hit his eye.”
Faith shoved her gun into its holster. “Those floors are pretty slippery downstairs.”
The cop nodded his complicity. “Looked slippery.”
Will returned to the nursery. He riffled through the baby clothes on tiny hangers in the closet. He went back to the crib and lifted the mattress.
“Be careful,” Faith warned. “There could be needles.”
“He doesn’t take the kids,” he said, more to himself than Faith. “He takes the women, but he leaves the kids.”
“Pauline wasn’t abducted from her house.”
“Pauline is different.” He reminded her, “Olivia was taken in her backyard. Anna was taken at her front door. You saw the Taser dots. I bet Jackie Zabel was taken at her mother’s house.”
“Maybe a friend has Anna’s baby.”
Will stopped searching, surprised by the desperation in Faith’s tone. “Anna doesn’t have friends. None of these women have friends. That’s why he takes them.”
“It’s been at least a week, Will.” Faith’s voice shook. “Look around you. This place is a mess.”
“You want to turn the apartment over to crime scene?” he asked, leaving the rest of the question unspoken: You want someone else to find the body?
Faith tried another tack. “Sara said that Anna told her that her last name is Lindsey. She’s a corporate lawyer. We can call her office and see—”
Gently, Will lifted the plastic liner of the diaper pail beside the changing table. The diapers were old, certainly not the source of the more pungent smells in the apartment.
The Will Trent Series 5-Book Bundle Page 110