Tahoe Payback (An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller Book 15)

by Todd Borg

  “Any more sense of anyone watching you as you came up the mountain road?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Nothing bothersome but my nerves.”

  “Self-defense training will help that,” I said.

  “I don’t want to get a gun. That would make me too nervous. You once said that there are many non-gun skills that are good to have. You also said there was a simple but devastating thing that even a small woman can do to stop even the biggest attacker.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” I said. “There’s no guarantee that you can pull it off, although it’s not particularly difficult. But if you can do it, it will stop a giant in his tracks.”

  “What is it?”

  “Gouging out his eye.”

  SIX

  S treet looked at me in shock.

  “The sun is setting, but there’s still enough light to go outside and try some moves.” I picked up the bayonet off the table and brought it outside. The dogs came back outside with us.

  Street’s eyes widened when she looked at the bayonet. I put my hand on her shoulder and then rubbed her back. “Are you okay with this?”

  She nodded, determined if unsettled. “Yes. I want to learn whatever it takes to protect myself. But what if my father is in the trees watching? He’d learn about my preparations.”

  “If he had followed you up here, the dogs would find him and make a lot of noise.”

  “Good,” Street said.

  “Okay. Let’s start with principles of self defense. The first principle is to get used to being uncomfortable and scared. Once discomfort and fear become familiar, they can be oddly reassuring. You won’t waste energy on the distress of discomfort. Instead, you’ll focus on preparedness. The second principle is to develop an explosive reaction. You don’t carefully gauge a threat situation, decide on the best response, and then react. You immediately explode in action. You are violent. You are a bomb that goes off. When the explosion hits your attacker, it is the surprise and size of your reaction that disables them more than the actual moves you make.”

  I waited to see how Street responded. She looked very somber.

  “Do you want me to continue?”

  She made a slow nod.

  “In essence, an attacker can do just three things. One, he can kill you. Two, he can hurt and torture you and then kill you. Those both produce the same result. Three, he can really scare you even though he intends to let you live. In the first two cases, if you fight him, you may get even more hurt before he kills you. But you might also get away.”

  “I see where you’re going with this,” she said. “With a serious murderer, there is no reason not to fight. And if you die, you might want to die sooner rather than later.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “So what about the attacker who just wants to scare you but doesn’t intend to kill you?” Street said. “I would think that if you fight that person, you might push him over the threshold and he’ll kill you even though that wasn’t his original intent.”

  “That can happen. But in all of the murders I’ve investigated over the years, the evidence suggests that the killers had intent before they committed murder. Even when we see evidence that the victim fought back, we see prior intent. The important thing to remember is that sometimes the victim who fights back gets away. We’ve even seen it happen with serial murderers. A killer can commit a string of murders, and then one of his victims suddenly fights back and gets away.”

  Street looked very somber. “I should always fight back.”

  “With a potential murderer, I think so, yes. If someone merely wants to steal your money, then it’s best to give them what they want. But I think it’s good to assume that whenever someone comes after you with what looks like intent to murder, they are going to follow through. I believe the best approach is to assume you have nothing to lose in fighting and everything to gain.”

  Street thought about it and seemed to steel herself. “Okay. I’m ready.”

  “When someone attacks you, there is an order to your priorities. First, if at all possible, run away. You can run faster and farther than anyone but a young, serious athlete. Certainly, your father could never catch you. And after you are running, yell for help. ”

  “What if he is holding me so I can’t run?”

  “Then you try a diversion. If you have a free hand and that hand is holding keys or something else, use them as a weapon if possible. A key can be stabbed into someone. If you are being held on the ground, a handful of dirt or sand can be thrown into the attacker’s eyes. If you have any opportunity to hit him in the throat, do it as hard as possible. Use your knuckles. Your goal is always to startle and hurt him enough to loosen his grip. Then you run away.”

  “What if he has a gun?”

  “You still run away. Immediately. Explosively. Don’t talk. Don’t try to negotiate. Just sprint away. Maybe he shoots you. Maybe he misses. Maybe he hits you but you can still run. Always run. That’s your most effective defense.”

  “What if he sneaks up behind me and puts a knife to my throat? If I move, I get my throat slit.”

  “That is one of the worst cases, but it isn’t hopeless. Now I don’t want you to be startled. So I’m going to tell you each thing I do before I do it.”

  She nodded.

  I continued, “Let’s say someone surprises you and puts a knife to your throat. Knives are much scarier than guns. That means that, when it comes to creating disabling fear in a victim, an attacker with a knife has an advantage over an attacker with a gun. We’re naturally terrified of knives.”

  I held up the bayonet. “I want you to notice that this has really dull edges. So as long as I don’t stab you with it, we can use it for demonstration.”

  Another nod.

  “First, I’m going to step behind you, reach around and put the dull blade of the bayonet up against your throat. I want you to feel the cold metal. If you know what it feels like, then you won’t be so startled if it ever happens.”

  “I understand.”

  I did as I said. When the cold blade touched her neck, she made a little jerk, and her body went rigid.

  Holding the bayonet in place so that she could begin to get a bit of familiarity with how it felt, I spoke from behind her. “A knife against the throat terrifies by its feel and the knowledge of what it can do. The attacker with a knife counts on it to paralyze you. But the knife is no more deadly than a gun pointed at you from ten feet away. You want to memorize that feeling of metal against your skin.” I moved the bayonet across her throat for emphasis. “Every time you think of what that feels like, tell yourself that it is just another deadly weapon. I don’t mean to sound flip. But when you put it into the same category as a gun across a room, you won’t be so paralyzed by the knife.”

  “Okay. So if I’m not paralyzed by the knife, what do I do?”

  “What you do is watch and listen for an opportunity to startle your attacker. Then you can create a diversion, push away, and flee. For example, let’s say your attacker is moving a bit or even just talking. That may give you an opportunity to glance down and see the placement of his feet. Before you make your big move, you relax your muscles. When he feels the tension go out of you, he’ll loosen his grip on you. Then you explode, and he won’t be ready. You can stomp the top of his foot.”

  “His instep.”

  “Right. Even if he’s wearing heavy shoes, it’s likely to give him serious pain and distract him long enough for you to get away.”

  “Got it,” Street said. “What else?”

  “Assuming he’s behind you, an elbow punch backward into his gut can be very effective. It won’t give him serious pain like a foot stomp, but it might make him loosen his grip on you.”

  “But what if I still can’t get away?”

  “Rotate toward him. Even if he maintains his grip on you, you can often spin around if you do it suddenly and forcefully. If, after you stomp his foot, he still has the knife at your throat, you’ll hav
e to make a quick judgment about whether or not he’s loosened his grip a bit. You might do the foot stomp and elbow punch in succession.”

  Street tipped her head sideways to look down at my feet. I felt her muscles tense as if she were about to rotate. She was getting a feel for possibilities even though I still had the bayonet at her throat. This pleased me, because when a victim can even think about possibilities, that dramatically increases their odds of escape.

  “Now, imagine you’ve rotated toward him, even just a bit. If you have some distance between you, punch him in the throat.”

  “Like a fist punch?”

  “Any kind of punch will do if you aim for his Adam’s apple. The most effective punch is with your knuckles. Bend your fingers so your knuckles make a sharp point.” I held out my hand and showed her. “Even a mild blow with your knuckles to his throat can break his trachea. That will be severely disabling.”

  “You said to use a throat punch if I could get some distance between me and my attacker,” Street said. “What if I can’t get any distance? Maybe I rotate and I’m still right up against him? Should I knee him in the groin?”

  “You can. But that is the one move that men are most prepared for. It’s easy for him to raise his knee toward the inside and block the blow. Better to use the heel of your hand to strike under his chin. Men don’t expect that. And it can often be done when you’re pinned.”

  “Show me.”

  I had Street rotate so that she was turned toward me. But I continued to hold her tight. Her head was below my chin. Mixed scents of sweat and stress and even fear rose around my head.

  “Now you just have to figure out which side of your head my chin is on. Then you lean a bit away from my face and slam the heel of your hand up against the bottom of my chin.”

  Street did it in slow-motion, the heel of her hand connecting with my chin and slowly pushing up as my teeth clenched shut and my head tipped back.

  I said, “Even a weak woman can do it hard enough to break an attacker’s teeth, maybe cut through his tongue, and jar his brain. The effect is similar to someone falling and striking their chin on the ground. The blow will stun and disorient.”

  Street turned around so that her back was once more against me. I held the dull bayonet against her neck. She made more slow moves, using me as her attacker, acting out the foot stomp and elbow gut-punch and rotation and knuckle punch to trachea and heel slam to my chin.

  “Now let me get some props and we’ll try it at full speed,” I said.

  I went inside and pulled my old motorcycle helmet off the top shelf in the closet. I grabbed two towels and a pillow. In my tool drawer were some elastic shock cords.

  Back outside, I rolled one towel into a tight roll and set it on the ground. “This is my foot.” I used the shock cords around my body to hold the pillow against the front of my stomach and chest. I pulled on the helmet, which was a full face model. I tucked the other towel around the lower bar of the helmet, padding it.

  “Don’t try the knuckle punch to my Adam’s apple. My head will be tipped too far forward, and my helmet is in the way. But I think you can practice the palm heel slam under my chin. You’ll hit the towel on the helmet. The pillow will allow you to practice an elbow punch to my abdomen.”

  So I held her from behind, bayonet to her throat. She struggled a bit, then relaxed like a pro so that any sudden movement would be a surprise. Next, she foot-stomped the rolled towel, gut-punched me with her elbow, rotated and slammed her palm heel up so hard against the towel on the helmet that my head bounced back and I felt stunned.

  Without even realizing it, I’d let go of Street. She pulled away from me and sprinted away up the road. After a few seconds, she turned and came back.

  I was taking off my padding and helmet. “That was excellent,” I said. “You gave me a headache and my stomach hurts. If you’d stomped my foot instead of the towel, I’d be in trouble. I’ll need to rest before we try it again.”

  “Now that I’ve been through a test run, I can replay it by myself.” She seemed to turn inward, thinking. Then she went through the moves in the air, assaulting an imaginary attacker. Foot stomp, elbow gut punch, rotation, palm heel chin slam. When she was done, she said, “We can practice these again, later. Let’s move on to the big item on the self-defense list.”

  “The eye gouge,” I said.

  “Right.”

  SEVEN

  I heard my phone ring from inside the cabin. I went inside to answer it.

  “Owen McKenna.”

  “Sergeant Bains calling. I was talking to Santiago at Placer County, and he said you and he have talked about a missing woman. I thought I’d give you a courtesy call.”

  I said, “A man named Douglas Fairbanks was in my office this afternoon asking about his girlfriend who went missing in Tahoe City yesterday at lunch. The woman we’re looking for is five seven, brown over hazel, one-forty, and has a tattoo of three red roses on her left ankle.”

  “That’s the woman in question. This morning, the El Dorado Sheriff’s office got a report from a boater in Emerald Bay. The caller said there was a body hanging upside down from the outside southeast corner of the tea house on Fannette Island. I went out there with two of our men. We found a woman hanging from a line that was tied around her ankles and stretched up over the top of the tea house wall.”

  “Dead?”

  “Very. Close to frozen, too. Her skin was crunchy stiff, but I could tell she was still unfrozen inside. She was late twenties or early thirties, about five-six, one thirty, long brown hair, and had the red rose tattoo you mention on her ankle. Eye color is obscured by lividity.”

  “In other words,” I said, “the pooling of blood happened in her head because she was upside down when she died. Or turned upside down right after she died.”

  “Apparently. Her neck was also ballooned out. It was not pretty. So we know she wasn’t strung up post-mortem. She was strung up to die. There was no ID on or near the body. We don’t yet know cause of death. But that cold front that came through was serious. So it looks like the cause of death could be hypothermia. Either way, we’ve got homicide first degree. Whoever put her there is a nasty piece of work.”

  “Any other details?” I asked.

  “The victim had three red roses duct-taped in her mouth.”

  “The killer is sending a message,” I said.

  “Yes. And the line holding her was thin. One of my deputies is a rock climber. He said it was paracord. The line went up over the tea house wall and was tied off on one of the window frames.”

  “Paracord?”

  “Yeah. A specialty line made of a certain weave. Green in color. Although I guess it comes in other colors as well. Thin but strong enough to hoist a woman. He thought it was probably seven hundred fifty-pound test.”

  “Any sign of sexual assault?”

  “No. The woman’s clothing wasn’t torn. Her skirt had flipped upside down because she was hanging by her ankles. Her underpants weren’t torn. And there was no bruising near the groin. So probably no sexual assault. Besides, when have you ever heard of an assailant putting underwear back on his victim?”

  “Right,” I said. “The man who came to my office said her name was Isadore, just the single name. But he doesn’t know any more about her identity or where she’s from.”

  “Quite a name,” Bains said. “I’ll see if we can find any match between the name and this corpse. What’s the suspect’s name?” Bains asked, following the assumption that any man romantically involved with a murder victim is automatically a prime suspect.

  “Douglas Fairbanks.”

  “Like the movie star? That sounds as fake as Isadore.”

  “Yeah, but I think it’s real.”

  “Address?”

  “He got mad at me and left before I could get local contact info. So I don’t have anything but a phone number and a business address in Vegas. If I locate him, do you want me to inform him of the woman’s death?”
/>   “Well, it’s police business. But you’re an ex-cop, so you may as well. Let me know what you find out.”

  “Will do.”

  We hung up.

  EIGHT

  S treet had come into the cabin and heard my conversation.

  “Was that about the woman your client was looking for?”

  “Yes, I think so.” I explained what Bains had said, leaving out the description of lividity and the fact that the victim was hanging upside down.

  Street looked stressed. “I need to keep a broader perspective. Here I am fussing about a potential problem, while your client’s girlfriend is found dead.”

  “You’re not fussing.”

  “Do you want to call your client?”

  “In the morning,” I said. “Shall we resume self defense?”

  Street nodded. She seemed distracted by the news of the dead woman. I thought it would help if we got to work.

  I said, “Again, I should reiterate that the simplest and most effective response to a dangerous threat is to run away. So as you focus on self-defense moves, always keep that in your mind.”

  “Sure,” Street said. “But if he comes into my lab or condo, I’d likely be trapped, unable to get out the back door.”

  “True. And when confronted with a threatening invader in your home, killing him with a gun is arguably the best thing to do. Of course, if he comes into your business, that’s different, as a business with an unlocked door is considered a public place, and you can’t just shoot unless he threatens you with a weapon. All you can do is call nine one one.”

  “You say a gun is best, but you don’t have a gun in your house,” Street said.

  “True. And that choice, for an ex-cop, is by definition an ill-considered one. But as you know, I live without a gun not because it’s smart but because of my past. When I was on the San Francisco PD, I killed a kid. I responded properly during a bank robbery. But it still bothers me. If I carried a gun, I’d be living with the spector of a potential repeat. Of course, most of my friends and former colleagues think I’m somewhere between a wimp and a fool for not carrying a sidearm. My resistance to carrying a gun may be stupid, but there it is.”