When the elevator doors opened to her floor, he strolled out casually, waving to a hot nurse who had been sitting at a nurse's station. She smiled and gave a slight wave. Howard smiled back and straightened his stance a little bit as he began walking to Freya Morgan's room. He considered himself a damn good detective, but he also thought of himself to be a lady's man.
Women loved him. He still thought of himself to be fairly young—only thirty-five. He was a pretty good catch if he didn't say so himself: tall, in-shape, broad shoulders, strong jawline. He was bi-racial, so he kept people constantly guessing about his heritage. His mother was of mostly Irish descent and his father was Black, giving his complexion almost a caramel hue. Yeah, he might have been a little cocky about his good looks, but he never had problems finding a date on the evenings that he wasn't working cases. However, keeping the same girl for multiple dates was more of an issue. He wasn't exactly the type to settle down. Not yet, anyhow.
When he had strolled down to Freya's room, he took a breath and prepared himself to enter. He had seen a picture of her. She was cute. Pretty face. Slender. And some crazy long, dark brown wavy/curly hair that made her look like a freaking fairy-tale princess. It was a shame what had happened to her. No one deserved the shame and degradation of rape. And this girl had it even worse since the guy had carved up her back with a knife. Howard was looking forward to bagging this creep.
Her hospital room was bland. There were only two people in the room, one most likely being Freya's father and the other being Freya herself. She was the only patient in the room at the request of CMPD and her father, Joe Morgan. He was a big-shot publisher in New York with ties to Charlotte. His captain had given Howard a stern warning not to screw this case up and that Morgan was not a man to be trifled with.
“Afternoon,” Howard spoke up, which made Joe Morgan turn around to meet him. “I'm Detective Greene. I spoke with you earlier on the phone about getting a complete statement from Miss Morgan.”
Joe Morgan held out his hand, and they made a firm handshake. Morgan was tall and imposing. The suit that he wore looked expensive, though it appeared as if the man had been wearing it for the last couple of days. He looked to be a no-nonsense kind of guy, which Howard always appreciated.
“Detective, nice to meet you,” Morgan said. His tone was all business.
“Now I know that you've already given a statement yesterday, so if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to get Miss Morgan's.”
“Sure, she's awake,” Morgan said, gesturing to the bed.
Howard approached cautiously. There was a plate of untouched food sitting on a tray next to her hospital bed. When he got his first look at her, he had to control his reaction. He didn't want to upset her, but damn, the perp had done a number on her. It seemed like there wasn't one part of her body that wasn't bruised, including her face. She had bandages around her wrists. She had this weary look on her face like she had just emotionally shut down.
Trying to control the tone of his voice, he nodded and said, “It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Morgan.”
“Freya,” she said in a soft voice. “Please call me Freya.”
It almost looked like she had attempted a smile.
“My students call me ‘Miss Morgan.’”
Taking the opportunity to make her feel a little more at ease, Howard said, “That's right. I thought I heard that you were a teacher. Where do you teach at?”
“West,” she told him, referring to one of Charlotte's many high schools.
“Well, I'll be damned!” Howard exclaimed. “I graduated from West, although that was a long time ago. It’s a small world. What do you teach?”
“English.”
“Ah, one of my favorite subjects.”
Now, that was a lie on Howard's part. Honestly, in high school, he only had three favorite subjects and that were gym, girls, and games (football, basketball, anything exciting really). However, he had at least attempted the actual academic subjects enough for a “C” average. A lot of the crew that he ran with back then didn't do the same and were now on the streets or dead. Howard considered himself lucky that he had two supportive parents in his life.
“So, listen, Freya,” he continued. “I understand that you're probably not in the position to write a statement right now, so we'll do a voice recording if that is alright with you?
Howard took out the recorder, showing it to her. She nodded.
Good, he thought.
It would make things a lot easier.
“Do you want your father to stay in the room or leave?” He asked, knowing what she was going to tell him would get uncomfortable for everyone in the room.
“He can stay,” she said softly.
From the back of the room, her father nodded and leaned against the wall.
“Okay,” Howard pulled up a chair beside Freya's bed and flipped the recorder on. “State your name for me,” he began.
Within that next hour, Howard had heard some things that made his blood run cold. He had forced himself to remain calm throughout the whole interview. Even her father was remarkably calm as he listened, though Howard knew that Joe Morgan was most likely ready to make some heads roll. After three crying fits, four water breaks, and numerous uncomfortable pauses, Howard was able to gain the following information from her:
It had all started with a New Year’s Eve date. Freya had been seeing this guy named James Walker for about two months previously. From what she had said, he had been a nice guy, a perfect gentleman on all their dates.
According to her description, Walker was a handsome guy: tall, blonde hair, blue eyes, a nice dresser, and a smooth talker. He had told her that he was an investment banker at Bank of Charlotte, though records indicated that no one by the name of James Walker had ever worked there. He drove a Jaguar and said all the right things to make Freya like him.
So, given how perfect the guy had seemed, she had been excited that he had asked her out for New Years.
Walker had taken her out to one of the most expensive restaurants in Uptown. He had wined her and dined her and then had taken her to a swanky party to watch the ball drop.
A little after midnight, he drove her home. When he had walked her to her apartment door and suggested a nightcap, Freya had thought nothing of it. It was after they had gotten inside her apartment that Walker had started showing his true colors.
He had started things off with a kiss, but it quickly got a little too hot and heavy for Freya's taste (apparently there are still women in the world that don't immediately have sex with any man who comes knocking). When she had told him to slow down and take it easy, he got irate.
That was when he first hit her. When she tried to scream and run, he grabbed onto her and continued to smack her around until she lost consciousness. Freya couldn't tell Howard how long she had been out, but when she had finally woken up, Walker had stripped her naked and tied her to her own bedposts with some rope that he had apparently stashed somewhere in his car, making Howard think that this was definitely premeditated.
Freya had told him that she had tried to scream, but Walker had taken out a knife and told her that he was going to carve her up if she didn't comply. That was when the real hell had begun for the poor girl.
She had admitted to Howard that she had been a virgin at the time (making Howard realize that there were still virgins in their twenties—who would have thought?).
The first time that he raped her had been bad. She had thought he would leave after he had gotten what he had come for, but he stayed and stayed, continuing to brutalize her throughout many days until her dad had come to her rescue.
Walker had given her some water but little food. He had told her that he wanted her awake for everything. It was toward the end of her captivity that he had flipped her on her stomach and carved into her upper back with the knife: SLUT.
CMPD had gotten the pictures with permission from the father to be later used in a trial when they found the bastard. Howard had seen them, and i
t had been disturbing. Walker had cut into her just enough to leave a scar but not to kill her. The word was also spread in large letters across her back as if she'd always have a reminder of what he had done to her.
Howard couldn't understand how Freya was still sane. He couldn't understand why Walker had chosen that word. From all Howard had gathered, Freya Morgan was the nicest, sweetest, and probably one of the most conservative young women he had ever met. But then again, who really understood why psychopaths do what they do?
After the interview, Howard barely remembered thanking Freya and her father for their time. He was too disturbed with what he had found out. He needed some time to think. He needed to get himself together so that he could nail James Walker for what he did to that poor girl.
Chapter 2
Thursday, January 10
8:32 AM
Freya hated waking up. She hated having to face another day, even another hour. She hated the pain that pulsed all over her body. She hated having to look at her father's worry. She hated James Walker for what he had done to her. And most of all, she hated herself for allowing him the chance to screw up her life.
She should have known. She should have seen it coming. He had been too perfect, too nice. Now that she thought about him, he had acted more like a snake. He had been smooth and calculating, luring her into his trap so easily. She felt so foolish that she had thought that he was the real deal.
Freya squeezed her eyes shut and tried to hold back the tears. She was tired of crying. Trying to occupy her time, she stared at the breakfast that was still sitting next to her. It had been sitting there for the last hour, getting cold. She hadn't had the stomach to eat much. She had so much worry and anxiety that she couldn't possibly eat anything. Despite all the reassurances that the police were very close to catching James Walker, the thought of him running around loose frightened Freya. Even Detective Greene seemed very positive about catching him, but Freya wasn't so sure.
The only positive thing going for the day was that Freya had finally convinced her father to go home and get some rest. He owned a house in one of South Charlotte's upscale areas that he lived in when staying in the city. He had tried to convince her to live there with him since he only stayed there for a part of the year and the rest of the time in New York.
Freya had declined.
She loved her father, but she had wanted to go out and do her own thing. She didn't want her father doing everything for her, and she had loved the idea of living in her own little apartment. It was odd that the thought of going back to that apartment now horrified her. Too much had happened there.
There was a slight tap at the door, which startled Freya for a moment until she realized that it was a nurse coming in. Freya hadn't seen this nurse much, but the woman seemed friendly enough. At this moment, the nurse was carrying in a large vase of flowers—red roses, in fact.
“You got another delivery of flowers,” the lady said cheerfully.
Freya glanced around the room. She had barely noticed the other arrangement that was sitting around. A couple was from her father. Others were from people from her school, though her father had assured her that no one at the school knew why she was in the hospital, only that she was having medical problems.
“Hmm...” The nurse pondered as she strolled in with the large vase. “Where should we put these? You seem to have quite a collection already. Why don't we put these on your nightstand table near your bed?”
She carried the flowers over to Freya's nightstand and set them down.
“Beautiful! Now, is there anything I can do for you, dear?”
Freya thought for a moment. The only thing she really wanted was to be alone, but that was impossible in a hospital. A nurse or a doctor was coming in to check on her every hour. Then she remembered the newest nuisance of her condition: her stitches.
“My stitches itch,” she told the nurse quietly.
She couldn't muster up much more strength to talk any more loudly than that. Since her stitches made up a good portion of her back, the itch was starting to become unbearable.
“I can get you something for that, dear,” the nurse said with a smile. “Please don't start scratching and pulling at your stitches. You don't want to pull them out. I'll be right back.”
The nurse hustled out of the room, leaving Freya alone. Freya was glad; the lady was a little bit too perky for her taste.
Turning her attention to the new arrival of flowers, she tried to ponder who could have sent them. It was odd to send red roses for someone recovering. The other flowers in her room were arrangements of lilies and daffodils and some other kinds of flowers that Freya had no idea what the name was. However, roses did seem a little odd. Usually, her father read the get-well cards when flowers came, but since he wasn't here, she decided to see who had sent them.
Reaching over to her nightstand, she tried to find the card throughout the mix of flowers. There were probably about two dozen long-stemmed, red roses in the vase. It was a very expensive arrangement. As she dug through the flowers, she found something in the middle that turned her blood cold.
There was one flower hiding in the middle of the red roses that didn't belong. She pulled it out with a shaking hand. It was a black rose, and it had a card attached to it.
Hands shaking, Freya opened the card. What she saw made her scream, throw down the flower, and continue screaming until half the hospital was running into her room.
It had read in blood-red letters: Die, SLUT. Die.
9:16 AM
Howard had no idea how he had made it to Charlotte's Medical Center so quickly. When he had gotten the call that there had been an incident with Freya Morgan, his heart had nearly stopped. How could the hospital staff be so oblivious, especially when dealing with a rape victim?
CMPD had ordered no visitors, except her father and police staff. Deliveries to the room should have been checked as well, although who thought that Walker would have been so bold? Most officers working around this case had thought Walker had high-tailed it out of town. No one thought that the guy would be sending her roses. What a sicko.
This time, as Howard bounded out of the elevator on Freya's floor, he ignored the perky nurse who tried to get his attention by waving and headed straight for her room. At least when he got there, the hospital had posted security staff at her door. He flashed his badge and entered.
Joe Morgan was there, this time showered and shaven. He looked pissed, and Howard couldn't blame him. There was also another CMPD officer there, taking pictures of the vase of flowers and the black rose with the threatening note. Freya was asleep, though even in her sleep she looked worried and frightened.
“Mr. Morgan,” Howard greeted somberly.
“Detective,” Morgan greeted back. “The hospital staff is telling me that they are going to move her to another room as soon as they can...for security reasons.”
“Good,” Howard said, nodding. “And I'm having my boys back at the station working on a restraining order from the judge. It's not much, but at least it's a start. I can also get an officer guarding her here twenty-four/seven until she's ready to leave the hospital. How is she doing, by the way?”
Morgan sighed and ran his hand through his hair.
“They had to sedate her. I can't imagine how frightened she must have been. I should have been there for her. She convinced me to go home last night and try to get some sleep. I shouldn't have left.”
“Hey, there is no need to beat yourself up,” Howard told him. “You can't protect her if you don't take care of yourself too. Besides, this Walker guy seems determined. I don't know if there would have been much for you to do.”
“Speaking of that bastard,” Morgan said, an edge to his voice. “Did you find any more information on him?”
Howard sighed.
After he had submitted the police report on Walker with all of Freya's gruesome details, he had spent the rest of the evening and a good chunk of the night sifting through information to try
and find more information about him. The search had been frustrating and had come up empty.
“Here's the thing about James Walker,” he told Morgan. “I don't think there is a James Walker.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think that's a name he used, but that's not his real name. I searched through a lot of records, including the DMV. There is no James Walker listed that fits his description. The bank that Freya said he worked at hasn't heard of him. The address that he told her he lived at is a bogus one. The DNA from the apartment and her rape kit don’t match anyone from our database. Unfortunately, she never took a photo of him, so we can't try to face-match it to everyone in our police database. And his description doesn't ring any bells for any of the other officers trying these violent-type cases.”
“So, where does that leave us?” Morgan asked.
As no-nonsense and business-like as this man was, he looked upset.
“This leaves us with the fact that whoever James Walker really is, he means business. He's smart and has covered his ass very well. It also means that he has decided that he isn't done with Freya yet. I mean, he was still there when you showed up at her apartment, right? Well, I think he had more planned for her and you interrupted.”
Morgan swore under his breath and began pacing the length of the room.
“So, what exactly am I supposed to do? Freya's trying to heal right now. She can't do that if that psychopath is still trying to come after her.”
Howard shook his head. “I actually inquired about witness protection, but it's typically for during and after trials. Walker would need to be caught and charged first. Plus, it's usually reserved for organized crime and gang activity.”
“That's a no-go anyhow,” Morgan told him. “I wouldn't get to see her under witness protection, and that's not acceptable.”
“The only thing I can think of is to either get Freya some hired protection or get her away for a while until we find Walker. Which one do you think she'll prefer?”
Wicked Fascination Page 2