An Evil Shadow - A Val Bosanquet Mystery

by A. J. Davidson

  Val grabbed one end of the desk. “Everybody has something to hide. It is just a matter of knowing where to look. Give me a hand with this.”

  They moved the desk to one side, exposing the eight by four sheet of plywood underneath. Val took a flat-head screwdriver from its spot on the pegboard and inserted its point under the edge of the sheet. He pressed down and levered up the plywood slightly, then, seizing the sheet, he lifted it free.

  “Jackpot,” Blemings said, when she saw the steel trapdoor.

  Val grabbed hold of the inset hand ring and raised the hatch. A set of wooden steps disappeared into the gloom beneath. He flicked a switch fitted to the wooden collar of the opening, flooding the hidden basement with light. He peered down into the oubliette.

  “Looks like it was a wine cellar for the main house,” he said. Built along one wall was a set of bottle racks.

  Val took a few steps down into the basement. A sense of disappointment washed over him when he saw a rowing machine, an exercise bike, and a treadmill. It appeared Harrell had been using the basement for nothing more sinister than a home gym. On the opposite wall was an ancient door, looking as though it had not opened for half a century.

  “Well?” Blemings asked.

  Val ventured further down the steps. “Come see for yourself. Be careful, there’s no handrail.”

  He held up a hand to offer the young deputy some support as she descended. He watched her eyes scan the contents of the hidden cellar. The original brick-lined walls had been lime-washed, better to reflect the light from the two bare bulbs hanging by their flex from the ceiling.

  “It seems our boy was a bit of a mole.”

  “A vain one at that,” Val said, indicating a large mirror fixed on a wall.

  Blemings crossed over to the heavy oak door. “Presumably this would have led to the main house, probably coming out in the kitchens.”

  Her face showed her surprise when she found that the handle turned effortlessly and the door swung open on silent hinges to reveal another unlit room.

  Val touched her shoulder.

  “Let me check it out first, it could be dangerous.”

  Val used his hand to explore the nearest wall for a light switch. He was in luck and the room flooded into brightness. It was a third of the size of the first room. The brick walls again painted to help lighten the gloom. Three of them at least. Harrell had sheeted the fourth wall, the one opposite the door he had entered through, in galvanized steel and fitted a metal door in the center. Along the right-hand-side wall, was a pine table, stacks of paperback books, a couple of chairs and a Swedish-style closet. Ikea’s finest.

  “Looks like the door to one of our cells,” Blemings whispered, echoing precisely what Val had been thinking. “There’s even an observation panel.”

  A spring-loaded bolt secured the metal door. Val slid it back and hauled open the door.

  His mouth dropped open.

  Lying on a bunk inside the cell was a woman, her skin as shiny and white as candle wax. At her first sight of the deputies, she started to scream. Her piercing screeching reverberated off the steel walls of the cell, magnifying its intensity. For that’s what the room was, Val thought grimly, right down to the metal toilet bowl and wash hand basin.

  Blemings pushed past him and wrapped her arms round the terrified woman, stroking her hair and trying to comfort her. She told her that they were parish deputies and that she was safe now.

  Val could only stand and stare, desperately trying to make sense of what they had stumbled across. The woman seemed in good health, well-nourished and groomed. An electric fire heated the cell and there was a bulkhead light above him.

  Gradually the woman’s ear-piercing shrieking abated, replaced with huge chest-wracking sobs. Blemings grabbed hold of the folded duvet from the bunk and wrapped it around the abducted woman.

  It was ten long years since the East Feliciana Parish Sheriff’s Office circulated her photograph to the media. But the intervening years did not prevent Val from immediately recognizing Diane Laing. The final one of the young women abducted. Four women in their prime had disappeared without a trace.

  Until now.

  Chapter Two

  Val had nothing but admiration for the remarkable job Nicki did calming down Laing. The unfortunate woman’s initial trepidation quickly transformed to euphoric relief when they produced their deputy badges and she fully grasped that her lengthy ordeal was finally at an end. Physically she seemed fine, but Val could only speculate as to her mental state. He recalled a couple of other long-term abductions: the horrifying Elisabeth Fritzl saga and, nearer to home, the Jaycee Lee Dugard case. He wished he had paid more attention as to how the authorities had handled the victims immediate to their release. He appreciated that Laing was about to find herself swept up in a whirlwind of well-meaning but intrusive attention from law enforcement officers, medical professionals, welfare agencies, the media and her friends and family. Val felt certain the more psychologically equipped she was for the battering, the better she would cope. He and Nicki’s moral duty was to help prepare her, yet his experience told him that the next couple of hours would be crucial to the investigation. Was it conceivable that the other three missing women were still alive? Did Harrell have access to other concealed underground cells? They needed to locate the women before they died excruciatingly from starvation and thirst, now he was not around to tend to their needs.

  “How did you find me?” Laing asked. “Where’s Jake? Have you arrested him?”

  Val and Nicki fielded the torrent of question as best they could.

  “He can’t harm you now,” Val said, purposefully avoiding telling her of Harrell’s death, mindful of Stockholm syndrome. For over a decade, Laing’s only human interaction was with her abductor and, wholly dependent on him, God knows what complex relationship had developed.

  Val hunkered down beside the bed and made solid eye contact with Laing. “You are safe now. Nobody will ever harm you again. I promise you that. I want you to come with us to the hospital. Do you feel okay with that?”

  Laing nodded.

  Val had to stop himself from pressing Laing’s hand. Any form of physical contact from a male might traumatize her again. “Good. You have a sister?”

  “Helen,” Laing said.

  Val had spoken to her during his cold case review. To have someone she could trust beside her would make the next few days a lot easier for Laing.

  “I can arrange for her to meet us at the ER?”

  “That would be nice. She lives in Slaughter, with my mother. She could pick her up on the way.”

  The sister had left her mother’s house when she married, though she still lived in the same town. Laing’s father had died the year before her abduction, but her mother was now in a care home suffering from advanced Alzheimer’s. “Maybe just your sister at first. Your mother’s elderly and it would be best if she heard the news from Helen face to face.”

  Laing nodded hesitantly. Nicki helped her to her feet and went to replace the quilt around her shoulders.

  “Please don’t. I don’t need anything from here.”

  Val led the trio from the cell, leaving the door ajar. “Help Diane upstairs, I want to have a quick look around before we leave.”

  It was unlikely there were other concealed rooms they had missed, but Val had to make sure. Besides, he required some time to think. He intended taking Laing to the Earl K. Long ER in Baton Rouge. It was a charity hospital and Val knew one of the doctors. He could depend on Suzy Wong to handle Laing’s medical evaluation and initial rehabilitation with compassion. There was a hospital closer, but the longer drive would afford him extra time for questioning. He suspected it might be the only chance he would get once the FBI learnt of the breakthrough. The agents from Baton Rouge’s residency office would no doubt sweep in and claim jurisdiction. There were so many answers Val required from Laing before then, that any opportunity to talk with her was valuable.

  Satisfied the
re were no further secret cells, Val climbed the steps to the workshop. He should stay here and preserve the scene, let Nicki drive Laing to Baton Rouge, but he had found her and he was not stepping aside just yet. He would phone the sheriff’s office and have them dispatch a uniformed deputy to keep watch.

  The two women were waiting for him next to the SUV. Laing’s eyes were wide open in obvious delight as she absorbed the sights and sounds of the Louisiana landscape, one she must at times have thought she would never see again. Val took his cell phone from his pocket.

  “Chunky phone,” Laing said. “I imagined they would have got a lot smaller after all this time.”

  Just wait to you see everything a SmartPhone can do, Val thought, speculating as to what else Laing would have to catch up on. How informed had Harrell kept her? She was around for 9/11, but was she aware that America had gone to war in Iraq and Afghanistan? Or that US Special Forces had finally tracked down and killed Osama bin Laden? Did she know that America had elected its first black President? That Brad had left Jennifer for Angelina? How Hurricane Katrina had pulverized coastal Louisiana?

  After Val finished on his phone, they climbed into the truck and headed for Highway 67 and Baton Rouge.

  “I suppose there’s all sort of things you want to ask me,” Laing said from the middle of the rear seat. She leaned forward and rested her arms on the backs of the front seats. “I’ve spent months dreaming of someday being rescued and what I would say and do. I had it all planned in my head so many times.”

  Val made no comment. If Laing wanted to talk, then he was not going to stop her.

  “I need to state right off that I was not sexually assaulted. Jake made no moves in that direction. He fed me well, ensured I made regular use of the exercise equipment, and bought me any medicines I needed.”

  Val fired a surreptitious glance at Nicki. Harrell, soldier and Southern gentleman.

  Laing carried on, “I was driving home after an evening PTA meeting and stopped at a four corners country store to grab some groceries. As I left, a man I had never seen before, dressed in Marine fatigues, was putting a note on my windshield. He explained that he had scraped my fender with his car and was leaving his phone number and insurance details. I went with him to inspect the damage. I know it was a dumb thing to do, but he seemed normal, respectful, and was kinda neat in his uniform. He sprayed something in my face and I blacked out. When I came to, I was in the cell where you found me. Until a few minutes ago, I had never seen what was above ground level. For all I knew it could have been a city house.”

  “You’re absolutely positive you hadn’t seen him before that night?” Nicki asked.

  “One hundred percent. In my mind, I have gone back over every moment of every day for the weeks before my abduction. Playing scenes from my memory like an endless loop on a VCR. Not once did I envisage ever having encountered him. What about the others?”

  Val and Nicki traded looks.

  “One of them was his sister, Samantha Thomas,” Val said.

  Puzzlement clouded Laing’s face. “Jake never said. Not a word.”

  Probably ashamed of what he had done, Val reasoned. “She has a different surname; adopted as a child.”

  “But she’s okay?”

  Val cleared his throat. “She hasn’t been located. Nobody has seen or heard from her since the night she went missing.”

  “Surely some trace was found?”

  “Nothing. Not one solid lead.”

  “And the other two?”

  “Same story. Still missing.”

  Laing slumped back in the seat as the enormity of what she had learnt struck home.

  Val turned onto the highway that would take them to Baton Rouge. The asphalt rippled in the evening heat. Traffic was light and they would make good time. He glanced at the speedometer and eased off the gas. Another few minutes would not hurt.

  They had driven a further ten miles before Laing spoke again.

  “I wasn’t allowed a TV or radio. No newspapers, no phone calls obviously,” she said. “He did bring me books to read. Mostly historical fiction, nothing current. I was terrified of him for the first few weeks, expecting the worse, but the longer I knew him the more certain I became that he intended me no physical harm. Don’t get me wrong, he probably would have used violence if I had tried to escape, but the chance never arose.”

  “You weren’t shackled,” Nicki said.

  Val fired his fellow deputy a warning look. He did not want Laing feeling that they were accusing her of being complicit in her own imprisonment. Others would judge, but they had to be on her side without reservations.

  “Soaking wet I don’t weigh a hundred pounds,” Laing explained. “Jake was twice that and a marine. Who do you think would have won that scrap? He made sure there was nothing I could use as a weapon. Plastic knives, paper plates and cardboard cups. Besides, he warned me that even if I made it up the steps, there was no easy way out. He pointed out that should anything ever happen to him, I would die slowly from thirst. You have no idea how I relieved I was to hear the trap door opening each day. I had nightmares of him having a heart attack while jogging.”

  Nicki reached through the seats and gave Laing’s hand a comforting squeeze.

  “Or falling ill myself,” Laing added quietly.

  Val’s phone beeped. It was the sheriff, the barbecue abandoned, he had dispatched a car to Harrell’s house and another deputy was driving over to the home of Laing’s sister. Val brought him up to date and explained that they were on their way to the Earl K. Long ER. The call took longer than Val would have wished, eating up the miles to Baton Rouge.

  “I’m going have to contact the FBI,” the sheriff said finally. “This is way too important a break for us to handle by ourselves. We’ll need its CSI technicians. I’ll be crucified if there’s any delay.”

  “I understand,” Val said. “But I want to run with it as long as I can.”

  “Fair enough, just don’t you go starting any pissing contests with the agents.”

  Val ended the call and pocketed the cell phone. Up ahead he could see the hospital on the skyline. He had little time to lose.

  He looked over his shoulder at Laing. “We’re almost at the ER. I’m guessing the doctors will not want us around while they check you out.” He was reassured to see how well Laing was adjusting to her release. Her eyes moved from side to side as she took in the passing panorama of streets and buildings, capturing images that were new to her. He noticed her attention being held by a billboard poster advertising a children’s clothing store. Not having had any kids would pain her. Though she was still young enough for that to change.

  How do you possibly cope with losing ten years of your life? To have a stranger steal most of your twenties and a good chunk of your thirties. The best years of your life. No fund of good memories, nights out, or vacations to share with friends. All the birthdays, Thanksgivings and other celebrations she would have missed. No husband to spoon against on cold evenings.

  Val recalled a fellow New Orleans detective who had caught a bullet one January night and had spent five months in hospital, finally being discharged when summer was at its peak. The guy would often talk about how the city and its people had changed in those few months. Stuck inside a building 24/7, he had had no opportunity to acclimatize. No chance to witness the minute daily shifts. The nuances of sunlight, temperature and humidity, the foliage, the clothes and mood of the citizens. It freaked him out for weeks.

  How would Laing possibly cope with losing a decade?

  Val cut short his reflections and dove right in. “We’re almost there. Is there any information you can provide us with on the three missing women? Anything at all. Did Harrell ever explain why he abducted them? Give you any clue as to where he’s holding them?”

  Laing looked at him as though he had suddenly sprouted an extra head, then she started to laugh. Not an easy laugh, but one heavy with uncertainty and doubt.

  “You really don’
t know?” she asked.

  “Know what?”

  “Jake didn’t kidnap those women.”

  “He abducted and held you captive.”

  “Sure, but you couldn’t be more wrong about the others. I suppose Jake’s military training’s kicked in and he’s refusing to answer your questions.”

  “Not exactly.”

  Laing laughed again, bordering on hysteria this time. “Jake had nothing to do with those women going missing. He must have been trying to trace his sister, though he didn’t want me to know.”

  “Why not?” Val asked, pulling up in an ambulance bay close to the ER’s entrance.

  “I see I’m going have to spell it out,” Laing said. “He abducted me because he believed I was the one responsible. He conducted his own investigation and somehow came to the conclusion that I had snatched the three women. He insisted I would never again leave the cellar until I told him what I had done with them.”

  Incredulity transformed Nicki’s face. “Didn’t you tell him you had nothing to do with the disappearances?”

  “Every damn day. He never believes me. He has made up his mind and there is no turning him. Jake claims to have proof.”

  “What proof?” Val asked. The last time he was this far off track was when he tried to coax a frightened young girl down from a tree and she had swung an axe at him, severing the tip of his finger.

  “My abduction brought an end to the disappearances.”

  “That means nothing,” Nicki said.

  “Tell that to Jake. He won’t listen to me. He’s convinced he’s identified and imprisoned the culprit. He acted as investigator, prosecutor, judge and jury. The court of Jake Harrell found Diane Laing guilty as charged.”

  Val stared at Laing, lost for words.