A Fatal Obsession

by James Hayman

“I’m sorry.” Zoe paused. “No. Actually, I’m not sorry. I’m glad I did it.”

  “I deserved it. I raped you.”

  Zoe felt bile rise in her throat. She swallowed it down “Why did you do that? Rape me? I need to know that. I’d already made love to you voluntarily and I would have again.”

  “I had to find out if I could get you to hate me. I felt you were pretending to like me. Playing me by telling me that someday you might even love me. I knew someone like you could never really love someone like me. So to stop your lies I did something you could never forgive me for. Unless you really did love me.”

  “And in return I drove a corkscrew into your ear.”

  “I forgive you for that.”

  “Does it still hurt?”

  “Yes.”

  “A lot?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. You deserved it.”

  “Yes, I did. But I forgive you.”

  “Really? You’re forgiving me for driving a corkscrew into your ear? I was trying to kill you, you know. It thrilled me seeing you roll around on the floor, bleeding out of the ear and screaming in pain.” As she said it Zoe wondered if she’d ever be rescued from this house of horrors. Wouldn’t a quick death be preferable to living a long life as Tyler Bradshaw’s sex slave? “I wouldn’t ever forgive me,” she said, “if I were you. I’d want to kill me. In fact, I thought you were going to last night.”

  “I almost did. I hit you hard and I’m very strong. And I almost broke your wrist.”

  “Will you let ever let me out of this cell?”

  “Will you promise to love, honor and obey me?”

  “Till death do us part? Just like Nora promised Jeb? Just like Desdemona promised Othello.”

  “Yes. Like that. Only I don’t want to kill you. I want you to stay alive. I really do love you.”

  Zoe thought about what Bradshaw was saying. She didn’t really want to die. She wanted to stay alive. But not as Tyler Bradshaw’s prisoner. Of course, sooner or later someone might find her. Rescue her. Please God it wouldn’t take too long. “Fine,” she finally said. “I promise.”

  Chapter 46

  Maggie parked the unmarked NYPD car in the circular driveway about thirty feet from Tyler Bradshaw’s front door. Before getting out, McCabe checked the wire he was wearing to make sure Kevin Cusack could hear what was going on.

  “Hear you loud and clear,” said Cusack. “We’re in position. Ready to rock and roll.”

  The two Portland cops, both wearing body armor under their coats, exited the car and headed for the house.

  Still lying on the cot, Bradshaw looked up. A puzzled expression came over his face. “Do you hear what I do? Or is it something just going on with my ear?”

  Zoe listened. “Chimes,” she said.

  Bradshaw took an iPhone from his bloodstained Nantucket red pants. Pressed an app with his finger and looked at the screen.

  “What are you looking at?” asked Zoe.

  “The view from my front door.” He slipped his right hand over her mouth. His left arm under and around her body. “I need you to stay very, very still,” he whispered. “And very, very quiet.”

  A man and a woman were standing on the front step waiting for the door to be opened. Behind them in the background, Tyler could see the front end of a black car parked on the driveway.

  Who the hell were they? Jehovah’s Witnesses? Tyler didn’t think so. They didn’t look earnest enough. These two were something else. Police? Nah. If the cops were somehow on to him, he was sure they’d come charging in, lights flashing, sirens blaring, and maybe even guns blazing.

  Tyler turned the screen so Zoe could see it. “You know who these people are?”

  She said nothing for several seconds before shaking her head. “No. I’ve never seen them before. They’re probably just selling something.” Then she added, “Election’s next month. Maybe they’re just here to urge you and Tucker to get out and vote. Are you Republicans?”

  Tyler didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure if she was making fun of him or not. Still, the way she said it irritated him. He decided to let it go and looked at the screen just as the woman on the front step reached for the bell. With one ear out if commission Tyler could just manage to hear the distant chimes ring again. He saw the door open. Goddamned Tucker. If Tyler had told him once, he’d told him a hundred times never to open the door to any goddamned strangers. Strangers were bad people. Bad people who hated anyone like Tucker. Bad people who just wanted to hurt people like him. Like their father used to do until Tyler stopped him.

  “Tyler Bradshaw?” McCabe asked the man who answered the door.

  “He isn’t here,” said the man. He was short and slightly chubby. As he spoke, his eyelids began fluttering and his head started twitching.

  “When will he be back?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What’s your name?” asked Maggie with a gentle smile.

  “I’m Tucker.” The twitching of Tucker’s head began picking up speed. It seemed he was having a severe nervous reaction to their presence.

  “Is there anyone else in the house?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” After a pause, he added, “No. Just me.”

  Maggie asked the next question slowly and softly. “How about a young woman? Her name is Zoe? Is she here?”

  Tucker shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “I’m going to show you a picture of Zoe, and maybe you can tell me if you’ve ever seen her before. Is that okay?”

  “I guess so.”

  Maggie held her phone up to Tucker so he could see the picture on the screen. “This is Zoe. Have you ever seen her?”

  “No. Not here,” he said. The nervous tremor continued and his eyes began fluttering even faster. McCabe thought that was all they were going to get, but then Tucker added, “She was here but now she’s gone.”

  “Well, just in case she snuck back into the house when you weren’t looking—she’s the kind to do that—I’m sure you won’t mind if we have to have a look around to see if we can find her. Don’t want her hurting you.”

  Maggie smiled her warmest smile at him, “We won’t be very long,” she said.

  “Tyler’s gonna get mad.”

  “Would Tyler hurt you?” asked Maggie.

  Tucker shook his head again. “Wouldn’t hurt me. Might hurt you.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he won’t mind if we just have a quick look around,” said Maggie. She took Tucker’s arm and led him out of the house, speaking as softly and reassuringly as she would to a frightened child. Telling him everything was all right. He didn’t resist as she walked him to the car. She opened the back door and slipped a pair of cuffs around Tucker’s wrists. He looked down, clearly frightened. “Tucker Bradshaw,” she said, “I’m not arresting you. I’m simply placing you under temporary custody for your own protection. Now, I’d like you to get into the car like the good person I know you are and sit there quietly.”

  He did as she asked. When he was inside she locked the door, walked back and rejoined McCabe on the front steps. She could sense Tucker staring at her, a look of shock on his face. Luckily, he didn’t start screaming or yelling or thrashing around.

  Leaving the front door wide open to make things easier for the tactical unit to get in in case they had to call for help, McCabe drew his Glock and moved into the house. Maggie followed right behind. They both checked out the formal front hall. Nothing to see and no one there. Just a sweeping curved staircase leading up to the second floor. To McCabe’s right was a large living room. To his left what he guessed was the dining room. Ahead an open door that looked like it might lead to the kitchen. McCabe hand signaled Maggie to stand guard near the door while he checked out the rooms to the left and right.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” Tyler Bradshaw hissed, now certain the two intruders were cops. There was a good chance they wouldn’t find the hidden cover to the pit, even if they came downstairs. It was hard to see, so maybe it wa
s best just to lie low. Let the fucking cops do their thing. If they searched the house they wouldn’t be able to get into the bedroom where Zoe’s things were. Not unless they borrowed Tucker’s thumb. And if they didn’t notice the trapdoor to the cell, maybe they’d just leave.

  On the other hand, if the invaders did notice the trapdoor, he and Zoe would be stuck. Locked in as securely as if they were in prison. No. Staying in place wasn’t a good option. He took the knife from his pocket, opened the blade. He only wished he had the gun. The one he’d used to kill his father. But the damned thing was upstairs and out of reach.

  He pulled Zoe to her feet. “You’re going to be as quiet as the walking dead,” he whispered to her. “One sound, one call for help, one noise of any kind and I promise you, my darling girl, love of my life, you will be dead before the sound leaves your mouth.”

  “I thought you couldn’t kill me.”

  “I’ve changed my mind.”

  Maggie stood beside the open front door, pointing her Glock toward the kitchen and the stairs. She had an almost perfect field of fire no matter which direction the bastard came from. On the other hand, she made a pretty good target, especially if he fired from upstairs.

  Sweeping his gun across his field of vision, McCabe moved fast into the living room. The room was empty, but what he saw on the floor in front of the fireplace hit him like a punch to the gut. A deep red stain. A large one. He dipped one finger and sniffed. The coppery smell left no question in his mind. The blood was still damp, and it covered more than half of a once expensive but now worthless antique rug. Within the circle of drying blood he saw an earring. Identical to one Casey had given Zoe for her birthday a few years back. Had to be part of the same pair.

  The blood. The earring. Both meant Zoe was probably already dead. Given the amount of blood on the floor, Bradshaw had most likely cut her throat and then gotten rid of the body. She was here but now she’s gone, Tucker had told them. He was right. She was gone. McCabe tightened the grip on his Glock. Knowing if and when he found Tyler Bradshaw, the one thing he wanted to do was put a bullet in his brain.

  Tyler climbed the ladder first and then pulled Zoe up by her good arm. She winced from pain when he pulled both arms back and snapped a pair of flex cuffs on her wrists. He then marched her toward the elevator. When the door opened he pushed her into the car, holding her cuffs in his left hand and keeping the sharp edge of the blade resting lightly on the right side of her throat. Any pressure, any attempt to escape, and he would sever her right carotid artery and she would bleed out and die in little more than a minute or two. Tyler pressed the button that would take them to the first floor. The door closed and the car began slowly rising. Once again he warned Zoe that if she tried anything he would kill her. The door opened on the first floor. He marched her to the door leading into the center hall.

  At the far end he saw the same tall woman he’d seen in the video. She was crouching by the open door, pointing what looked like a nine-millimeter automatic at Zoe, whom he had pulled more tightly against the front of his body.

  “Hi. My name is Maggie. Maggie Savage,” she said in the same friendly conversational tone she might have used had she been meeting the two of them at a party. “And you must be Tyler, aren’t you?”

  Tyler and Zoe remained frozen in place, both staring at the woman who’d asked the question. Neither noticed McCabe, who’d appeared to their left near the entrance to the living room. He too held a nine-millimeter automatic, but after noticing Tyler was armed only with a knife that was pressed against Zoe’s neck, he lowered it to seem less threatening.

  “And you’re Zoe. I’m right about that, aren’t I?” said Maggie, lowering her own gun. “Zoe McCabe?”

  Zoe nodded, sensing correctly that she’d been thrust into the middle of some kind of preplanned performance, totally unlike what she might have expected. “Yes,” she said. “I’m Zoe. And yes, this is my friend Tyler.” She turned her head, looking back as best she could at the man who was holding the knife against her neck. “Tyler tells me he loves me.”

  “Hi, Tyler,” said a male voice from the living room. “I’m Zoe’s uncle. Her father’s brother. Michael McCabe.”

  “Uncle Mike,” said Zoe, managing to smile and put on a happy voice, “I’m so glad to see you.”

  “Is what Zoe says true?” McCabe directed the question to Bradshaw. “Do you love my niece? If that’s true, that’s something we have in common. I love her very much as well. Is it true you love her?”

  Tyler stared at McCabe. He pressed the knife slightly harder against Zoe’s throat. Hard enough to draw blood, though not hard enough to reach the artery. McCabe watched a thin red line trace its way down Zoe’s neck. “Well, do you? Love her, I mean.”

  “Yes. I love her.”

  “Well if you really loved her you wouldn’t want to hurt her, would you? You wouldn’t want to kill her.”

  “Othello loved Desdemona and he took her life.”

  “And the guilt he felt after he committed that evil act was so strong he could only overcome it by killing himself. I’ve got a strong feeling you don’t want to kill Zoe either. Or even hurt her. I mean, you don’t, do you?”

  Tyler’s breaths started coming deeper and faster. Tears were forming in his eyes. “No. No, I don’t.”

  “Well then, why don’t you just put down the knife and let her go?”

  Tyler turned Zoe to face him. Moved the point of the blade to the center of her neck. He pulled her to him with his left arm. He lowered the knife and kissed her softly on the lips.

  McCabe and Maggie both tensed. Both raised their weapons. Both knew it would be close to impossible to hit Tyler without also hitting and possibly killing Zoe.

  Thirty seconds passed.

  “Not wisely but too well. Farewell, my darling girl.” Bradshaw raised the knife to strike but as he started swinging it downward, he pushed Zoe away from him. She fell to the floor several feet in front of him. The blade continued its descent and struck in the middle of his own gut. He pushed it in as far as it would go and sliced upward. Bleeding profusely, he slid first to his knees and then to the floor.

  Zoe leapt back to where Bradshaw lay, dropped on top of him, and took her dying captor’s head in her arms and pressed it to her breast. “I love you too, Tyler,” she whispered. “I want you to know that before you leave me. I love you. I really do.”

  She kissed him on the lips and then pressed her face against his cheek, ignoring the tide of warm blood that was flowing from his abdomen and staining her chest.

  “Send an ambulance,” McCabe said seconds later into the wire he was wearing. “Bradshaw’s not quite dead yet. But he will be any second.”

  “Really? I didn’t hear any shots,” said Kevin Cusack.

  “He’s a suicide. His own knife. His own life. Call your crime scene guys in. We’ll also need the ME.”

  McCabe lifted Zoe from the now dead Bradshaw and, ignoring the blood, pulled her to him. “Thank God you’re safe,” he said. Then after a minute he asked, “Did you mean what you told him? That you loved this man? Really loved him?”

  “No,” she said, tears falling from both her eyes onto her cheeks. “But I’m glad I was able to say it. I would have hated for him to die without thinking I did.”

  “Really?” said McCabe. “It sounded to me like you were telling the truth.”

  Zoe smiled a sad smile. “I’m a good actress,” she said.

  Chapter 47

  Saturday was a sunless, overcast day at St. Raymond’s Cemetery in the Bronx. After a private service in the chapel, Rose McCabe’s small immediate family had gathered around as her casket was lowered into the ground. A memorial service for Rose’s friends and others would be held later, but for now it was just family. The date of her death would soon be added to the granite monument that stood in the center of the small family plot that already included the names of Rose’s husband, Thomas McCabe Sr., and her eldest son, Thomas McCabe Jr.

  F
ather Fred said a brief prayer. Then Zoe, her face still bruised and her injured wrist encased in a black brace, was the first to toss a handful of dirt on top of Granny Rose’s coffin. So much more elegant than the plain pine box she’d dreamt of on the night of her kidnapping just six days earlier.

  The rest of the mourners followed, each in their turn. Bobby. Sister Mary Frances. McCabe himself. His daughter, Casey, who had flown in from London for Granny Rose’s funeral. And finally Bobby’s wife, Cathy, and then Maggie.

  As cemetery workers began filling the grave, the family McCabe all filed out and got into two cars that were waiting at the cemetery entrance on Lafayette Avenue in the Bronx to take them to Bobby’s apartment for a quiet gathering.

  Half an hour later they were sitting in the living room on Sutton Place South and quietly reminiscing about Rose’s life. McCabe mostly sat silently thinking about his niece and what she had said after the death of Tyler Bradshaw. He got up and poured himself a Macallan and a glass of Sancerre. He handed the wine to Zoe. “May I have a few minutes alone with you?” he asked, “I need to get a sense of how you are.”

  Zoe looked up at her uncle questioningly. The shallow cut in her neck was covered with a bandage. The bruises from her ordeal were still visible, but the swelling had gone down considerably and she could now see out of both eyes. X-rays taken in the emergency room at the small hospital near Stanfield showed the injury to her right wrist had turned out to be nothing more than a bad sprain—her wrist and one finger were encased in a black wrist brace—and there were no broken bones in her face.

  Since her return, Zoe hadn’t wanted to talk about the kidnapping, and the family had respected her wishes. Still, she followed McCabe into the small study he and Maggie had briefly used as an office.

  Zoe spoke first. “I don’t know what you want to talk about. I told you pretty much everything that happened on the drive back from Connecticut. All the horrible things he did. And you told me about poor Annie. I’m not sure what there is to add. I didn’t tell my father everything I told you because I didn’t want to burden him with it. If he knew everything that happened to me, the things I told you and more, it might kill him. At the very least it would make him want to kill Tyler all over again. The one thing that’s been bothering me since then is what’s going to happen to poor Tucker. I just hope he’ll be taken care of. He’d be helpless if he was left to himself.”