by Cole Baxter
“Sure,” I muttered, still unsure. “What’s his name?”
“His name is Morrie Jenkins. He’s well into his sixties by now, but his crime took place in the late eighties.”
“That’s awful old to be stalking someone. Why do you think he’s connected?” I asked.
Gabriel shifted in his seat. “There are a couple of things this guy has going for us. He was released the year before the attack on you and your husband took place. Plus, at the time, he was an avid hunter.”
“I’m sure there were lots of people let out of jail that year. Please tell me you have something more concrete.”
He grinned. “I do, I’m just trying to take things slow, okay?”
“Okay,” I whispered. He really was a good man. “What’s his story?”
Gabriel looked around the lobby as a pair in uniform strolled in and greeted him. “Why don’t we go back to my office?”
My face paled, flashes of him cuffing me and raping me filling my mind. I covered my hands, trying to stop the trembling. At the hospital, it was one thing. But being left alone with a man behind closed doors was another. Even if he did make me feel comfortable in the time we’d spent together, I wasn’t ready to be alone with him just yet. Especially not when he was in his own element.
He saw the change in my demeanor and changed course at once. “Or, we have a conference room we could use. We can close the door, but it’s got glass walls, so everyone can see what’s going on. I just thought you’d feel more comfortable away from the hustle and bustle.”
“Thank you,” I said quietly. “The conference room sounds perfect.”
He got up and led me through a secured door and back into the heart of the precinct. People milled around, but no one seemed to pay any attention to us. There was an old woman sitting in a chair and talking with a set of officers. Another man, younger and covered in grime, was handcuffed on a bench. Everything about the place seemed so normal, just like I’d seen on television. When he led me into the conference room, I felt a little surer of my decision to be there.
Reyes hadn’t been lying. Glass walls kept everything perfectly in view of the rest of the police officers. I stepped in and sat down on the far side of the long table as Gabriel spoke to a younger looking officer before the man darted away. He quickly reappeared with a stack of manila folders. Reyes poked his head in before the younger officer left.
“Do you want coffee or anything?” he asked.
My phone vibrated. It was Jacob. An unusual burst of aggravation coursed through me. “No, I just want to get this over with.”
“Sure,” he muttered.
Taking a seat next to me, he pulled out a piece of paper and started writing. “Okay, I’m going to have you fill out this form so I can forward it to my team in car retrieval. This should get us the information on the van.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
I started writing down everything that had happened that afternoon. It seemed almost mundane compared to everything else going on in my small world. I wrote quickly, trying to keep my handwriting legible while still moving at a fast pace. When I was finished, I shoved the paper in Gabriel’s direction.
“Now tell me about this man, Morrie,” I demanded.
He sighed, pulling a file from the stack and flipping it open. The police report was attached to an inmate’s photo. Jenkins looked older than what Reyes told me, but I had to assume prison life wasn’t easy.
“In the eighties, the officers got a tip after this idiot was caught too close to a park. He was a registered offender even back then. That’s the only reason we linked him to the attack and found the little boy.”
“A pedophile?” My voice was hoarse. “You think he wants to abuse Gregory?”
“It’s a very real possibility, I’m afraid.” He shifted in his seat. “I don’t know how much detail I should go into with this. I don’t want to make things harder.”
Glaring at him, I snatched the file from his hands. “I want you to tell me everything. Just like I told you, okay? Start from the beginning.”
Gabriel looked shocked at my force but nodded his head. “Okay. But you’ll tell me if you need a break?”
“Sure,” I curtly replied.
“In nineteen eighty-seven, Janice and Micha Goldstein were at their home in Pennybrook.”
“I know that area. It’s nice,” I interjected.
“Very. Even back then, it was an up and coming neighborhood. The Goldsteins were just about to sit down for dinner when Jenkins broke into their home. He entered through the front door and took down Janice first. He used a taser on her. When Micha, whom we don’t believe he knew was home, came into the room, he used a baseball bat and clubbed him over the head. Patrick was nine at the time.”
“Oh, my God,” I whispered.
“He took Patrick and held him prisoner for a year before the police found his hideout. In that time, he sexually assaulted the boy up to five times a day.”
“That . . .” I swallowed. “That sounds like what the man did to me.”
“Oh, shit,” Reyes said before quickly recovering. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
I lifted my hand, stopping him mid-sentence. “This is what you need to know. I understand that. It’s fine. My captor would come five, six, seven times a day. It was always something new, something twisted.”
“Well, we found Patrick and we will find Gregory. Now, we have some photos here from the crime scene. It would help us if you could look at them and try to connect it to where you were being held. If we can, then we can arrest Morrie and start the process from there. Hopefully, he can lead us to Gregory.”
“You really think this is the guy?” I asked, running my fingers over the photo.
“Do you?”
“I don’t know. I can’t be sure. It was so dark, and I’ve blocked out so much of it. He doesn’t seem large enough though.”
“That would make sense. This is an old photo. I have CPS finding me a more recent one, but he’s put on almost a hundred pounds since the eighties. To be honest, he’d mostly fallen off our radar. The man’s been in therapy and on meds for most of his life outside of jail. We haven’t even had a report of him being near a school or park since his release.”
“So, what makes you think he’s connected?”
“Something in the boy’s statement,” he said as he flipped through another file. “Here it is.”
I looked down at the report, reading the typed letter and desperately trying to keep myself from breaking down into tears at his account.
‘The rooms were dark, like a maze that I couldn’t figure out. My belly always felt funny while I was there, but it was okay. When he gave me the happy juice, the pain stopped for a while. It always came back, though, whenever ‘Daddy’ came to play doctor with me. I told him that it hurts but he doesn’t listen. He told me I was a bad boy, and this is what happens to bad boys. I promised him I wouldn’t cry anymore, but it hurts, everything hurts. My arms, my legs, all over.’
I sucked in a sharp breath, trying to keep the sobs at bay. Quickly turning the paper over, I closed my eyes. I couldn’t read any more of it. Every time I started to, I saw what was happening through the young boy’s eyes. I thought about my own son and the suffering he could be enduring.
“Hey,” Reyes said softly, his hand sliding over mine.
I jerked it away. “I can’t, I’m sorry. I don’t want to read anymore. You said you had pictures that I had to see.”
He nodded slowly. “Are you sure about this? You look a little green around the edges.”
“I will be fine. If it will help us, then I will get through it.”
“Okay,” Gabriel said, still looking doubtful. He pulled out another folder and slid it over to me without opening it. “I have to warn you, though, that these are pictures of his house, the basement where he was holding Patrick, and where we found his parents.”
The file felt heavy in my hands, like it was weighed down with the sham
e and horror of what had occurred. Reyes cleared his throat and I looked up at his kind, dark eyes.
“I’m going to give you a little space to look these over, but I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay? Please, Annabeth, if it becomes too much, just take a break, okay? We can always bring in Patrick to take a look again.”
“And make that poor man relive everything that’s happened to him?” I questioned. “Absolutely not. As a survivor, I can tell you that this would fuck up anyone’s world, having to go through it all a second time. Leave the poor man alone. Let his past stay in the past.”
Reyes stood just as a female officer came to the door. “We’ve got a few reporters out here who want to talk to Ms. Simmons. What should I tell them?”
“Tell them she is not, and will not ever be, making a statement,” he snapped.
My heart fluttered at his authority. He looked down at me and smiled. “Actually, I will go deal with them. Officer Gander, can you stay close in case Ann—” Reyes blushed. Ms. Simmons needs anything?”
“Sure, Detective,” the woman said, smiling at me. “I’ll be right out here at this desk if you need me.”
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“I’ll be right back. I’m going to go deal with those sharks. If anything looks familiar in the photos, just set it aside and we can go over it when I get back, okay?”
“Okay,” I promised him.
I watched him go, my eyes lingering a little longer than they should have on his rear. The desire that was stirring inside me quickly dampened as I looked down at the folder. No one else could help my son except me. I was the only one who knew where he was being held. As my phone rang a second time, I took a deep breath. Reaching down, I shut it off. Anything, anyone else, they could all wait. I knew that going through the images was going to take all the strength that I had.
Chapter Nine
My hand moved slowly to open the folder. The first image wasn’t as bad as I expected. It was an outdated photo of a seemingly normal living room. The only indication that it was a police report was a stack of yellow numbers in the corner. Three had been removed, their bold, black numbers sitting on the carpet in the picture. One of them was next to a broken glass of some sort. The others were next to dark stains on the carpet.
I didn’t need to be a detective to know that they were bloodstains. Given the circumstances, it was an easier photo for me to start with. Carefully, as if it could break, I slid it to the other side of the opened folder and looked at the second one. The stark difference in images came as a shock to me. I sucked in a sharp breath and looked away. They hadn’t done a very good job of documenting the Goldsteins’ home, but Jenkins’s place was well photographed.
“Come on,” I whispered to myself. “Do it for Gregory.”
Dragging my gaze back to the images in front of me, I had to gather all of my strength. It was a house in the city, perfectly normal looking, if not a little rundown. Nothing about it said there was a pedophile living inside. Everything was just what you would expect in a slightly poor area of town for that timeframe. A bland, off-white house sat pinched between two others with run-down wire fencing wrapping around an unkempt lawn.
The next image made me more curious than upset. Inside the home looked just as ideal as the outside. The faded photo showed a living room and part of a bathroom. The threadbare couch sat near a dinner tray and an old, large box television. The faded carpeting had seen better days, and there were no photos on the walls or decorations to speak of. Everything about the photo seemed almost sloppy. I flipped to the next image and my heart pounded a little harder.
It was an image of a bookcase, just slightly ajar, and behind it, a dark staircase. I knew that I was getting close to the pictures that would really upset me. My fingers lingered over the photo, wondering if I should keep going or let someone else compare photos. But there was nothing else for them to compare it to. I was the other photo. My memories were what they needed. Taking a calming breath, I flipped the page and shuddered.
Even though I tried to close my eyes against the image, it was already too late. The shot flashed through my brain. It was a simple room with a bed in the corner. Near the foot of the bed was what made my heart break. A chain, obviously used and dirty, was sitting on the floor. It was too small to hold an adult but just the right size for a child. The same matching chains were also at the head of the bed.
I shook my head, begging for it not to be true. My son couldn’t be this monster’s new pet. What if he had escalated? What if Jenkins knew that the police were onto him and decided to kill my baby? I felt a panic attack as it started to creep in. I shoved the chair away from the table and closed my eyes. I’d had more panic attacks in the last hour than I’d had in months. I started to question everything I was doing.
What could I have done differently to keep my baby safe? The police had every harassing phone call on record, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough if I didn’t get him back. More than anything, I wanted to hunt down Jenkins and put him six feet under where he belonged. The hair on my neck stood up. I felt someone watching me. I quickly scanned the area and saw the culprit. The officer from before was sitting at her desk, watching me. She looked ready to run into the room at a moment’s notice.
“Of course she is,” I muttered under my breath. “Everyone here thinks I’m a nut job.”
Realizing that they all probably thought I was insane gave me a boost of energy to keep going. I had to prove them wrong. If anyone was going to crack the case, it would be the only eyewitness that they had, and that was me. Grinding my teeth together, I looked away from the woman and scooted back up to the table, taking in the images once again.
The next photo was not easy for me to cope with. Patrick had been right. The basement Morrie was keeping him in was a maze. Rough-cut lumber built up and sectioned off smaller areas of the basement into bedrooms. When I saw the second bed in its own room, my heart sank. Jenkins wasn’t just a pedophile. He liked his numbers. I flipped through another two images, both of them the same with just minor differences.
“Four,” I whispered.
“How are you doing?” said a familiar voice.
I jumped as I looked up, nearly falling out of my chair. “Jesus, Reyes, you scared me.”
His eyes grew wide. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay. It’s going fine,” I said. I had to ask. I had to know for my own sanity. “How many?”
He didn’t need me to elaborate. “Ten, as far as we know. There were ten people who came forward. A few of the missing children, though, we think were his victims too, but we couldn’t charge him.”
“Any you let that bastard back out on the street?”
He cringed. “It’s not really my call. Once someone does their time, we can’t keep holding them.”
“And now this prick is out there doing the same thing to my son, and you guys won’t make a move against him. Wow.” I whistled.
“Annabeth,” he cautioned. “I’ve been at this for a long time. I know that you want us to go in there, guns blazing, but what if we are wrong? Or what if we are right and we don’t follow protocol? He will be out on the streets again because of a technicality.”
“Fine,” I snapped. “Whatever. I’ll let you know when I’m done going through the pictures.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me in here with you?” he asked
“I’m positive. I don’t want to be around anyone right now. Just give me a few more minutes.”
“Okay, one more thing. Your friend, Jacob, called the station looking for you. I told him I couldn’t give out any personal information, including your whereabouts, and he got pretty pissed. Should we be looking into him?”
I rolled my eyes. “No. He’s harmless, just a little overprotective.”
“A little?”
I chuckled. “Okay, a lot, but he’s fine. If he calls again, just tell him I’m busy, okay? Thanks.”
I turned back to the
photos in front of me, ending the conversation. I didn’t look up when the door softly shut behind him. My playful thoughts from before were burnt off as soon as I started digging. As I turned the next photo over, my heart sank. It was a photo of the entire basement’s blueprints. The officer who made them left size and other indications of the basement in the corners.
They’d been thorough, even back in the eighties. They tracked everything, from where he got the lumber to the plumber he’d called to put in a makeshift shower. I had to wonder what the man thought when he went down there. Did he even think that something strange was going on? Would the man still be alive to question?
Everything about the layout felt outdated and half-assed, like he hadn’t put that much thought into what he was doing. And why would he? He was after little kids, not an architecture award. I had to find out if he was the same man. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and let the memories flood back again. I saw Greg, lying in a pool of his own blood. The hands on my face restricted my breathing.
And the smell, it was overpoweringly sweet and bitter at the same time. Like his cleaning lady had tried to cover the stench of something dark. He knew better though. The more time I spent as his sexual prisoner, my rapist and his habits became clearer. The man would always clean my jail himself, taking care that I never saw his face. Or perhaps, I did see it, but my mind had destroyed that image long ago. It was the only way for me to protect myself against the nightmares.
They needed a face. Or some other detail that could point them in the direction of my husband’s killer. I searched back through the memories, doing my best to use blinders against the pain and torture he was submitting me to. Beyond the searing wounds, past the stench of his body, and above the feel of woodchips under my skin, I felt something wet.
Bile rose to the back of my throat as I realized it was his sweat dropping down onto my face. I shook my body, my face trying to get rid of it. I thought that I was lost in the memory. I would never escape it now. But someone grabbed me by the arms, shaking me and calling my name. I followed the voice back into the police station. Gabriel was watching me, his eyes full of fear.