Pushed Too Far

by Ann Voss Peterson

  He focused on her, his gaze so intense, it was all she could do to keep from looking away.

  “I’d like to have a word with you. Is your lawyer on her way?”

  “Gandhi,” he continued. “I had a lot of time to read in prison. Got to fully understand all that was taken from me. He and I are a lot alike.”

  “You’re comparing yourself to Gandhi?”

  He shrugged and rose to his feet. “You want to talk? Let’s talk.”

  Val stood to the side, allowing him to step into the secured area outside the cell. She gestured to a small room with a short table jutting from one wall and benches secured on either side. Made of coated steel, it came complete with thick rings in the frame for attaching cuffs and leg shackles.

  He sat down, hands and legs free.

  “Do you want to wave your right to an attorney?”

  One side of his mouth crooked upward. “I think I already have.”

  That was easier than she expected. “Why did you go to the high school today?”

  “I was asked to speak. And do you know what I was asked to speak about?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Justice.”

  “Did you bring a weapon into the school?”

  “A weapon? Why would I do that?”

  He was having far too much fun with the question for her to believe his innocent act. “When you walked in, you had something in your hand. What was it?”

  “Just some construction paper.”

  “Let me guess, construction paper made to look like a gun?”

  “Of course not. It was a harmless piece of paper. Whoever told you it was a gun has quite an imagination.”

  He’d either set the girl up, or convinced her to help him with his charade. “I thought you didn’t play games.”

  “I don’t. Everything I do is very real.”

  “No, me nearly putting a bullet in your head today, that was real.”

  He chuckled.

  She knew Hess had balls. She didn’t realize they were the size of cantaloupe. “Don’t push me. Shooting you would be a treat. I see what you are, what you did to that girl in Nebraska.”

  “You looked at the files? Did you notice any differences?”

  “She was tied.”

  “Very good.”

  “So you could torture her, burn her.”

  “I didn’t do anything. A jury found me not guilty, remember?”

  Okay, she’d keep it hypothetical. “Why does someone do something like that? What possesses them to do something so evil?”

  His lips tightened, and he shook his head. “People deserve to get what they dish out. Eye for an eye. The thief who steals loses his hand, that sort of thing.”

  “Justice.”

  He shot her a wide grin, showing those perfect teeth. “Exactly.”

  “What did that girl do to you?”

  “Nothing. Except suck my dick. She was pretty good at that.”

  Val kept her expression neutral. “She was the thing someone loved the most, wasn’t she? Who was that someone?”

  “And you said you read the police reports?”

  She thought about the reports, the transcripts of the trial. “Her father.”

  Hess smiled. “What is the point of revenge if the person you want to hurt isn’t around to enjoy the pain? At least for a little while.”

  “You tortured a girl to death to get back at her father?”

  He tapped his chest with his fingertips. “Not guilty, remember?”

  “What did he do to you?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “At trial, the prosecutor argued that the girl refused to date you.”

  “If by date you mean open her legs, she dated anything that moved.”

  “I could ask the father. His number is in the police report.”

  “He wasn’t a good man, Chief Val. Whatever happened to him, he deserved it.”

  “Okay, I’ll ask him to explain.”

  “Do that. And while you’re at it, ask what he did to Rascal.”

  “Rascal?”

  “A kid’s best friend is his dog.”

  His dog. The neighbor had done something to his dog, so Hess had tortured and killed the man’s daughter. Dixon Hess’s version of justice.

  “It was nice meeting the kids at school today. All those fresh faces, bright futures. Especially this blond beauty. I think her name was Grace.”

  Val leaned close. “You touch her, you’re dead.”

  The intercom gave a light buzz. “Chief?” Oneida said over the speaker.

  “Go ahead. Answer.” Hess smiled. “I think we’re done here anyway.”

  Chapter

  Thirteen

  Val completed the details of Hess’s release as quickly as she could, and when she got back to dispatch, she was still shaking.

  Oneida, too, looked more pale than usual. “Mr. Haselow has called an emergency meeting.”

  It had to be about what had happened at the high school. Typical for the village president to hold an emergency meeting after the emergency was over. “In the conference room?”

  “He and The Chief are waiting for you in your office.”

  “Thanks, Oneida. Why don’t you go home now? Your shift was done hours ago.”

  The big woman shook her head hard enough to send her earrings jangling. “No chance. Not until everything’s back to normal around here.”

  Val had the sense that things wouldn’t return to normal until Hess either killed again and was caught or moved on. Unwilling to lay that kind of pessimism on poor Oneida, she resigned herself to a lame nod. “Then you probably won’t be getting home for quite a while.”

  “I have tomorrow off. I can sleep then.”

  “Working all the time, not getting proper rest, you’re as bad as I am.”

  Oneida gave her a wink. “But I smell sweeter.”

  She probably had a point.

  And when Val entered her office and was almost knocked over by a wave of cologne that reeked as if it had passed some kind of expiration date and soured like milk, her first thought was to make sure the odor wasn’t coming from her.

  The village president, a skinny little balding man named Haselow who never seemed to like Val very much, gave her a screamingly phony smile. “So glad you’re finally here. I guess we can start the meeting then.”

  Lounging in one of the chairs in front of her desk, Jeff Schneider pressed his lips together. Not a smile exactly, but a show of support, subtle as it may be.

  She circled to the power side of the desk and sat. “Sorry for keeping you waiting. It’s been busy.”

  “So we’ve heard.” Haselow perched on the edge of his chair. The man was nervous, always moving, a jiggling leg, shifting eyes, hand fiddling with his suit jacket.

  Just watching him exhausted her. How he’d convinced people to vote for him, she’d never know.

  “All the news outlets are covering it,” he rattled on. “It’s very unfortunate. We are very concerned.”

  Val laid out the facts of the afternoon, trying to keep her voice even and reassuring; Hess’s gun that turned out to be paper, the way he’d wheedled a speaking invitation in her niece’s class, the fact that they’d secured the building without anyone getting hurt.

  Schneider nodded understandingly.

  Haselow seemed to grow more nervous. “Oh, that’s bad. Very bad. It seems we should have made this move as soon as that girl was found in the lake.”

  “This move?”

  Schneider folded his hands in his lap.

  Haselow fluttered out of his chair and crossed the room in short strides.

  “You’re planning to fire me?”

  “Heavens, no.”

  “Ask me to resign?”

  The village president waved his hands. “Nothing like that.”

  “Then what?”

  “I really hate to do this, but after great deliberation, I think it’s the only sensible solution. Lake Loyal
has to know that during this difficult time, it can still rely on its police department.”

  She wished he would just spit it out. “I’m fired?”

  “Oh, no, no, no,” Haselow shook his head as if that conclusion was the silliest thing he’d heard all day. “You’re suspended. With pay. Just until the county can complete its investigation.”

  And then she would be fired.

  “And I’m putting myself on this suspension?”

  Now the bobble head switched to an incessant nod. “After the stressful situation at the school, you thought it best if someone else was in charge for now.”

  “Then I should probably be impressed with myself. Who knew I was so level headed, selfless, and responsible?”

  Schneider cracked a hint of a smile.

  Haselow switched back to shaking head mode and glanced longingly at the door.

  She forced herself to breathe, in and out, in and out. How had she failed to see this coming? Now she had no clue how to deal with it. She stepped to the front of her desk and leaned a hip on the edge. She couldn’t just walk away. Suspended or not, she felt responsible for the town’s safety.

  Now more than ever.

  Maybe she could work with the interim chief. Maybe she could convince him to let her help, even if it was on her own time. “Who’s taking over the department?”

  Haselow glanced around the room, shoulders hitched up around his ears. He looked like a frightened mouse, too frightened, apparently, to come out with it.

  She looked up at Chief Schneider. “Who?”

  He gave her an apologetic smile. “It will all be okay, Val. Don’t worry about it.”

  “You?”

  “It’ll work out. For everyone.”

  Val wasn’t sure if she was supposed to feel betrayed or relieved, but—as seemed to be happening a lot lately—all she could muster was numb.

  “If you have any concerns, anything I should be aware of, don’t hesitate to let me know,” said Schneider.

  Concerns? Was he kidding? She’d just spilled her list of concerns to him this morning. Concerns he’d obviously turned around and used to convince Haselow and the board that she should be suspended.

  “I’ll leave you two to work out the transition.” Haselow shrugged on his coat, fumbling with the sleeves. Once he finally managed to get dressed, he gave Val a strangely awkward bow.

  Schneider stood and shook the man’s hand. Val expected him to wipe his palm on his pants afterward, but instead, the father she always wanted circled the desk and lowered himself into her chair. He leaned back, looking at home, in control, back where he belonged.

  Transition complete.

  Val hardly noticed Haselow close the door behind him. “What’s going on, Jeff?”

  “Just trying to help.”

  “You think I handled things the wrong way? You think I should have just ignored a report of Dixon Hess entering the high school with a gun? Would you have ignored it?”

  “I think the stresses of the past week have caught up with you, that’s all. It could happen to anyone. I’m just trying to help.”

  She had to calm down, choose her words carefully. But at the moment, anything short of slamming her fist on the blotter and yelling seemed inadequate. “I don’t need your kind of help, Jeff.”

  “Don’t need it? Really? One minute you’re telling me you don’t think Dixon Hess is guilty, the next you’re almost shooting him in front of a classroom of school children.”

  She opened her mouth, ready to fire back something sharp and hurtful, but the words wouldn’t come. The fact was, she could understand how her words and actions wouldn’t add up. “I can explain—”

  “Don’t have to. You’ve been stressed. No one is blaming you. But you’re under investigation, and now with Hess stirring up trouble and the media lapping it up ...” He heaved a sigh so heavy his whole body convulsed. “It’s a good time to take a break. If you weren’t so close to this, you’d see. Hell, you probably would suggest the suspension yourself.”

  “I do have to explain. Remember what I told you about Hess?”

  He looked at her with dull eyes.

  “Whether you agree doesn’t matter. He’s going to start killing the people he blames for putting him in prison.”

  “He made threats? Why haven’t you arrested him?”

  “He knows which words to choose to get his point across.”

  Schneider nodded. “He is slippery. But I’ll take care of him. I know how to do the job.”

  She didn’t think he meant to imply she didn’t, but he also didn’t know what he was up against, not like she did. “I’m serious. People are going to die.”

  “If you’re trying to tell me Hess is a dangerous man, Val, believe me, I know. That’s what I was trying to get across to you this morning, what Pete has been saying all along. You can’t make a deal with a man like that. He played you at the school today. He’s playing you on this Jane Doe case.”

  She wished she could argue with any of that, but until she had hard evidence, nothing she could say would convince Schneider that Hess hadn’t killed Jane Doe.

  She wasn’t entirely convinced herself.

  “The investigation will be over soon, and with me taking over the job, you won’t miss a beat.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “I am. Now gather what you need from your office, go home, catch up on your rest, and spend some time with that niece of yours.”

  His suggestions sounded wonderful, if a killer’s threat wasn’t hanging over her town.

  “Everything will be fine. Just fine,” he said.

  She located her coat and bag and took a last glance around her office. Staring at her from the wall above Schneider’s head, hung her college diploma, certificates from Staff and Command school and the FBI’s National Academy and—in the ultimate twist of office décor irony—the framed newspaper clipping announcing Hess’s conviction.

  “I’ll bet you don’t know why you’re here.”

  Tamara Wade wasn’t sure if the male voice was part of her dream or calling her out of it, but she didn’t want to wake.

  “I mean you didn’t do anything wrong, did you? You went through the motions, stood up there in your tailored suit and your power pumps and played your part.”

  Not a dream. Real. And when she realized that, something inside of her cringed.

  Where was she?

  The place smelled musty, dank like a basement and cold. She was lying on her side, naked, hard concrete underneath, so cold her muscles twitched and jerked in shivers. She tried to open her eyes, but her lids were heavy, her head looping and spinning even though her body remained still.

  “You didn’t lie. Not one word. You told the truth, but not the part that would help me.”

  She tried to bring her hand to her face, to find out what was wrong with her eyes, to support her head, but they wouldn’t reach.

  Tied. Her wrists were tied.

  To each other. To the floor.

  A blindfold wrapped her eyes.

  Where in the hell was she?

  It all came back then, the parking garage, his smile when she saw him, the smile of a predator. She’d been so proud of her role in getting him out of prison, in saving a man from a punishment the state failed to prove he deserved.

  Now she was the one being punished. “Am I still in the garage?”

  “No.”

  “Where am I?”

  “A place where we can have some privacy.”

  Privacy. To kill her. To rape her. To do whatever he pleased. “What do you want, Dixon?”

  “You really weren’t listening, were you?”

  What had she missed? “I’m sorry. My head.”

  “Just talking, talking, talking. You never gave a shit about what I had to say. You still aren’t listening.”

  “I’m sorry. I am now. I promise.” Why couldn’t she see? She needed to get a look at his face, read his expressions, tell him what he wanted to he
ar. “Please.”

  “Talking again. Talking instead of listening.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her throat was going to be raw from apologizing, but she didn’t know what else to do, how else to reach him. “Take the blindfold off, please. I need to see you. I can listen better if I can see you.”

  “Listening is done with the ears, Tamara.”

  “Please.”

  She heard the shuffle of shoes on concrete and could feel him near her. He tugged at the fabric binding her eyes, yanking her hair along with it.

  A bare bulb hung from the ceiling, the energy saving kind with the pigtail curls. She blinked back the glare.

  “Has your listening improved?”

  She was in a basement, a pile of boxes near her head, an old bed spring leaning against the wall. Her hands were tied in front of her, fingers purple from lack of circulation. The rope securing them was fastened to a steel ring embedded in the concrete, like something from a dungeon.

  Shadows surrounded her, but she still couldn’t see Dixon Hess. “Where are you?”

  “Behind you. Just getting a little something to help you listen.”

  A shudder worked over her skin, fear adding to cold until she could no longer control her muscles.

  “You know what your problem is, Tamara? Why you are a shit listener?”

  Her teeth chattered together, the tremor taking her. She craned her neck, trying to spot him.

  “Do you?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “You always have to be talking, always talking. You can’t listen if you’re constantly flapping your gums.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  “You still don’t get it?” His voice wasn’t angry but cold.

  Somehow that frightened her more than anything. “Don’t get what? Just tell me what to do.”

  “Listen.”

  “I’m listening. Really, I am.”

  “No, you’re not, Tamera. You’re talking. You love talking more than anything in the world. And I’m about to take that away from you.”

  A scream worked up the base of her throat.

  And when he stepped into the light, and she saw the long sewing needle in his fingers, thread trailing from the eye, her shriek broke free.