by Vella Day
“He’s right, Lena. It won’t take but a sec.”
Lena. He liked the nickname. As he waited for them to write the script as to when and how they would die, he held his breath.
“I say we call 9-1-1.”
Eyes open, he watched Charlene unhook her phone from her waist. Quicker than lightning, he shot her in the upper arm with his dart gun. Her mouth opened as if to scream. Before any sound escaped she crumpled to the ground.
Patience.
“Lena!” Julie shrieked.
Like a good little friend, she bent over Charlene. He sprung from his seat, grabbed Julie by the neck and yanked, twisting her head to the side. The sweet snap gave his heart a boost. He loved the sound of a woman dying.
With a clean handkerchief he wiped the makeup from his eye and stuffed the cloth in his pocket. After he opened the back of the car, he dumped Charlene on the plastic sheet protecting the carpet. He certainly didn’t want to mess up his clean car. Her chest rose and fell slowly. She wouldn’t last long locked up, but then again, he wouldn’t need much time with Julie.
With Charlene safely in the back, he picked Julie up by the armpits and dragged her into the wooded area. Her limp body’s dead weight gave him trouble over the downed tree limbs. The cunt had to weigh close to two hundred pounds. Next time he’d be more choosey.
Branches scraped his bare arms. Shit. Bruises and cuts were not only ugly, they were evidence he’d been in the woods. Too bad he had to dress in a t-shirt tonight. It had been a bad costume choice, but he couldn’t have the grease paint and her blood on his good clothes.
The thick elms and oaks blocked out almost all vestige of moonlight. He let go of Julie’s arms and bent over to catch his breath from the hundred-foot haul.
He had a flashlight but didn’t use it for fear someone would drive by and see him. He extracted his blade and flicked it open. Now how the hell was he going to scalp this young woman in the dark? He straightened and debated whether to take her to his workshop and do the job right.
Not that it mattered. She was merely a practice round. He’d read scalping required a lot of precision and wasn’t as easy as one-two-three like they showed on the old TV movies with Cochise and his men. Besides, he doubted he could lift her fat ass into his wagon.
Julie moaned, and he stepped back. The bitch should be dead. He’d broken her damn neck.
He shrugged. Too bad for her.
He brought the knife to her forehead, made an incision from left to right and slid the blade under the skin.
Trevor must have been more tired than he realized, because daylight was already filtering in through the crack in the hotel curtain. He swung his legs over the side and checked Lara’s bed. She was rolled up in a ball under the covers. Just as he was about to crawl in with her, his cell rang.
Ethan. “What’s up?”
It was probably better he stayed away from her. He could feel it in his bones that this case was about to crack. Once they arrested the guy, Lara would be snug in her house, and working long hours at the lab, probably not interested in seeing him again.
“A fax came in for you that I think you’ll want to see. Where are you?”
“At a hotel. What does it say?”
“It’s about another case. Remember the nude man on the beach?”
“Yeah.” A little relieved it didn’t involve his missing men, he finished gathering his clothes.
“The photo looks like that man’s photo you showed me. It could be him.” Ethan filled him in on a few details.
He wasn’t sure if there was even a connection between the nude man and his men, but Lara seemed to think there might be. “I’ll be at the station as soon as we catch a bite to eat.” He wasn’t up for the precinct coffee or snack machine food this morning. “Later.” He disconnected and shoved his feet in his shoes.
He woke Lara up. “We have some information on the nude man found on the beach.”
She yawned and crawled out of bed. “The no fingertip man?”
“Yup. The fiancée’s brother called and sent a fax. Ethan seems to think it’s him.”
“I want to come with you.”
“I thought you wanted to go to the lab this morning. I don’t think this case has anything to do with your unidentified skeleton if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“He’s the one I wanted to exhume to see if he has tranquilizer in his system. He might hold the key to the rest of the missing men, and to my John Doe #1.”
Damn, she had a good memory. “Fine by me. I’ll worry a lot less if you’re by his side.”
They took the Interstate north and exited at Fletcher Avenue. They passed several fast food places, finally stopping at one. Lara claimed she wasn’t in the mood to eat, but he ordered two ham and egg sandwiches and a large coffee. He’d have to work out extra hard tomorrow to wear off that fat.
At the station, he brought Lara to the break room hoping she’d agree to eat something. She crossed her two index fingers in front of the snack machine.
“Then how about some black sludge?” He waved his nearly full cup.
“Sure.”
He smiled as he fixed the coffee the way she liked it. “Here ya go. Cream and sugar with a bit of java.” He motioned her to the table.
She took the cup in both hands and blew on the steaming liquid. “I’m sitting with you at your desk. I want to see what the fax says.”
She leaned in closer to him, their lips nearly touching, though it was more a stance of defiance than a desire to kiss him, he bet.
Ethan cleared his throat behind him. Christ.
“Sure. You can sit and watch but be prepared to become bored.” He spoke loud enough for his brother to hear.
Ethan clasped a hand on Trevor’s shoulder. “You two love birds finished fighting? Or doing whatever. You have work to do.”
Trevor’s head dropped back as he faced his brother. Ethan was grinning. Bastard. “We’re coming.”
Lara tossed him a victory smile, the first one he’d seen in a while.
He threaded his way to his desk knowing she’d follow behind. Though he wanted to take her hand, he didn’t. Couldn’t. God, the razzing would be endless. It was bad enough Ethan had seen them within kissing distance.
Swiping Caleb’s vacant chair, he dragged it next to his desk for Lara then picked up the fax and placed it between them. There was a black and white image of Maggie Jones and George Sanchez in front of a non-descript brick building. “You recognize the guy as the beach man?” Lara had studied the file more than he had.
When she leaned over, he angled the picture toward her. “They’re so young and seemingly in love. I couldn’t say one way or the other if this is the guy on the beach. But if it’s them, then Maggie is Maggie Sanchez.”
“True.” He shoved his chair back. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
In the file room, he retrieved the cold case box that contained the information about the nude man on the beach. He signed for the information and carried the container back to his desk. After sorting through the photos, he extracted the one that gave the best facial view of the victim. He placed the two side by side. “What do you think?” The dead man’s face was pale and flat.
“He could be the same man. The forehead and chin size appear to match.” Lara pointed to the woman’s face.
Ethan walked out of the Captain’s office and handed Trevor Maggie’s brother’s number. Had the office not been so noisy, Trevor would have put the phone on speaker so Lara could have listened to the exchange. “Let’s see what he has to say about the loving couple.”
Ethan stood there while Trevor called. Someone picked up on the first ring, and he introduced himself. The man said his name was Ben Jones.
“Thanks for getting back to me so quick,” the brother said. “I was looking on Maggie’s computer and found her Orbitz travel plans to Tampa for a week last August.” Ben’s voice came out soft and halting. “That’s the last I heard from her. I was hoping you Florida guys
might be able to help me find her.”
The kid sounded young, sixteen maybe, and scared, almost as if he’d done something wrong by invading his sister’s privacy.
“What was she doing in Florida?” If she was here to sightsee, he might check on Disney, Sea World, or Busch Gardens.
“My sister wanted to marry her boyfriend at home, but my dad had a fit.”
Not the question he’d asked, but he’d go with the flow. “Why’s that?”
“My dad...he wanted to have this big Native American ceremony, but Maggie didn’t because George is Mexican American.”
The blood nearly drained from his face. “Your sister is Native American? Or are you from India?”
“Native American. We’re Ottawan.”
Oh, shit.
20
Trevor covered the phone’s mouthpiece and looked up at Lara. “The woman was Native American.”
Every muscle on her face froze. “No way.”
He nodded and returned his attention to Ben Jones. “What date did your sister and her fiancé arrive in Tampa?”
“August 10th. She told me she and George were planning to elope someday, but she never said when or where. I can’t believe she just left without a word.”
A morning cleaning crew had found George’s body on the beach August 11th, making him believe the man could be Sanchez. “Why did you wait seven months to report her missing?”
“Are you shitting me? My parents have been going crazy calling the police up here in Ohio every week. They put out APBs and everything. Maggie and George just vanished. I only now had the guts to go into my sister’s room.”
He understood. “Did her computer indicate which hotel she was staying at?”
“The Holiday Inn.” Ben gave him the address.
Bingo. The hotel was near where they found the nude man. He asked the brother their heights and approximate weights. Trevor would have a hard time talking so clinically about one of his sisters if she went missing.
He flipped the page over on his yellow pad. “Do they have any distinguishing marks?”
“You mean like tattoos or something?”
“Yes.” He pressed so hard on the pencil, the tip broke. Shit.
Lara handed him a pen and tossed him a weak smile. He was glad she had his back.
“George had a tattoo of a snake on his right shoulder. Do you think you can find them?” Ben’s voice cracked.
Poor kid was working hard to hold it together. “We’ll try. Do you have George’s parents’ number?”
“Sure.” He spit it back immediately.
Trevor wrote down the information. “Are your parents home?” He wanted to get Maggie’s medical records in case she turned up. Lara could confirm her identification if a skeleton appeared.
“No, but I can have them call you.”
“You do that.”
“Look, you have to find her. She’s diabetic and has to have her insulin.”
The medicine wouldn’t do her any good if she were dead. “I’ll do my best. I promise.” As he hung up, his head swam with possibilities.
Lara grabbed his arm. “What did he say?”
He read off his legal pad to make sure he had all his facts right.
Ethan took a drink from his cup. “Looks like we might be working together. You on Maggie Jones Sanchez, me on her husband.”
“I find it hard to believe she’d be alive after all this time. It didn’t sound as if she was the type to elope and not return home, especially since she’d purchased return tickets.” He ripped off the bottom half of the page on his pad. “Here are George’s parents’ number. We’ll probably have to exhume the body and run tests to see if it’s him.”
Ethan nodded. “I’ll get on it now.”
Trevor pushed back his chair. Lara’s eyes looked glassy, which wasn’t good. “Are you ready to go?”
She blinked. “Absolutely.”
Maggie’s knuckles bled from stabbing at the wallboard for the last few days with the knife she’d stolen from CG. She’d pulled out the sofa and worked in the cramped space between the sofa back and the wall, hoping he wouldn’t notice her attempt to escape once she replaced the furniture.
He’d stopped by yesterday to drop off a shitload of food and enough insulin to last two weeks, but he didn’t say why the big dump. When she asked if he was going away, he’d merely shrugged. Not showing any signs of excitement at the possible reprieve took her acting to a new height.
If he was going to be gone, now was the time to work on her escape plan.
So far, she’d managed to create a one-foot wide hole in the plasterboard, but making headway through the cinderblock would be a different story. She prayed the concrete block was hollow.
The rumble of a car engine jerked Maggie from her chore. Shit, shit, shit. He’s coming. How could that be? She was positive he’d be gone for at least a week.
The floor was covered in plaster dust. This wouldn’t do. She was filthy. He’d know she’d been up to something. He’d kill her for sure.
She picked up the knife, shot to her feet, and shoved the sofa against the wall. The strain of an engine sounded nearby. Oh, no. She sprinted to the kitchen and stuck her hands under the faucet. With a damp towel, she wiped her face and her clothes the best she could.
Maggie stilled. It wasn’t the car door she’d heard but a garage door opening. He was going into the garage, which, the best she could tell was at the far end of the property. He said he had a hobby and liked to work in there for hours.
She let out a breath and relaxed for a moment. He could come to her afterwards, or not at all. With all the windows boarded up, she couldn’t see anything, not even if it was day or night. After waiting ten minutes without her jailer returning, she ran the vacuum over the floor. To insure he wouldn’t catch on to her escape plan, she took a quick shower. He liked her clean. It made him less pissy when she smelled good.
She’d just pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt when the kitchen door opened.
“Maggie? You here?”
Like she could go anywhere? Idiot acted like they were married or something. What a sicko.
“I’m in the bedroom.” He’d hurt her less if she were cheerful. She was ready for an Oscar when she escaped from this hellhole. And she would get out.
“Come out here. I want to show you something.”
She rushed into the kitchen. His normally solemn face appeared brighter, his eyes shinier. Confused, she stepped back, unsure what was on his mind. His usual MO when he came in was to list how bad she looked and how messy the kitchen was. Not now. What was up?
“Yes?”
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. “We’re going outside. I have to blindfold you.”
Outside? OMG. Clean air. Fresh wind. She gave him her back. She hadn’t been outside since the monster had kidnapped her. Seven months, three weeks and two days, but who was counting? She should be thankful he’d bought her a television, HD no less, and a laptop. She spent her time writing and watching TV—but not just any mindless show. Fitness shows. Maggie wanted to get strong—strong enough to escape.
He tied a cloth around her eyes. Tight. “So you don’t try to escape, I need to tie your hands.”
Fine by her. She could almost taste the air. She turned back around and offered him her wrists. It felt like he used some kind of plastic to hold her hands together, but it didn’t matter. She wanted to be outside, if only for a short while.
He clasped her arm. “Don’t scream. Not that it really matters. No one can hear you anyway.”
Oh, she’d be good. So good in fact, he’d forget about her. Somehow, she’d learn what was out there.
With more care than she thought possible, he led her outside and even told her when to step around a rock or something. Whatever he wanted to show her must be something special.
She opened her mouth, dropped her head back and gulped in the cool air. She inhaled and inhaled, never reaching her fill. The fresh a
ir was like eating a fully loaded chilidog and slugging it down with a cold beer on a hot day. Being cooped up had to have been the hardest ordeal to handle—that and getting repeatedly raped, despite his claiming they were making love. Pu-lease.
“Almost there.”
She scrunched up her toes, enjoying the cool, wet grass on the bottom of her feet. Man, she had missed the outdoors something fierce. When he pulled open a squeaky door, a foul odor blasted her. She was tempted to complain but kept her mouth shut. If she was good this time, he might take her on more outings, assuming she didn’t escape first.
Once inside, he removed the blindfold but not her wrist shackle. She blinked at the bright lights hanging from the ceiling. Three worktables, covered with clean white cloths, sat in the middle of the room. She choked. Did he plan to operate on her? Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest.
She glanced around as stealthily as possible. Two bales of hay were piled against the left hand wall. Leaning against the darkened wood was a shovel, a pitchfork, and a wheelbarrow. To the right were several bags of fertilizer. Maybe that’s what caused the stench. That or dead rats.
“I need you to help me,” he said.
He walked to a blue station wagon he’d parked on the left side of the barn.
She wondered what all the sheets were for. Halloween was months away. He turned his back, opened the back and fumbled with something inside. With his back to her, she debated strangling him with the plastic tie wrap he’d used for her wrists. If he weren’t so much bigger than she, she might succeed at stealing his breath.
“Come here,” he said.
She did as he asked and gagged at the still woman. “Is she alive?”
“I’m not sure. Here, help me carry her to the table.”
He wasn’t sure? Wasn’t he going to check? “What are you going to do with her?”
His body stiffened for a moment. “Make her beautiful and everlasting.”
Maggie didn’t understand, but that was all right as long as she wasn’t the one on the table. “Are you a doctor?”