A Killer's Watch

by Tallulah Grace

  The staircase made of rock headed straight down, then curved, taking them deeper beneath the surface. As she and Ethan led the two officers, Jeri felt her stomach churn at the thought of being trapped down here, for more than a minute. Those poor girls, they would have nightmares about this place for a lifetime.

  The stairs led to a corner, and a long hallway peppered with doors.

  “Get these open,” Jeri told the officers as she stopped at the first one. Turning the handle did nothing, so she stepped back and kicked the wood structure as hard as she could. Nothing.

  “Here, let me,” Ethan told her, after kicking open the first door on the opposite wall, only to find an empty room. It took three tries, but he managed to open it. Nothing.

  “You need to see this,” one of the officers called out. He stood outside the door of what looked to him to be a strange operating room. The metal table, the overhead lights, and the trays filled with instruments looked like a scene from a horror movie. The camera’s set up around the table only added to the strange backdrop.

  “He’s Anson’s student, all right,” Jeri commented, coming to stand behind the man. The room was small enough to clear, without walking inside. “Nobody goes in there except forensics. Tape it.”

  Ethan was already kicking in the next door in the hallway, but he was having a more difficult time. It took two men, him and the other officer, to break open the door.

  As soon as it opened, Jeri stepped to the doorway, her eyes adjusting to the darkness in the room. Shining her light into the cavern, the first thing she saw was Allison Wells, tied to a cot.

  “Get some blankets, and check on that ambulance,” she ordered the officer as she entered the room. As soon as she stepped inside, she saw Diana, in much the same condition, lying on the other cot. Neither girl was awake.

  “Ethan, check her pulse,” Jeri ran to Allison, leaving Ethan to handle Diana.

  “She’s alive, but I think she’s been drugged,” Ethan answered, after lifting Diana’s eyelids.

  “Same here,” Jeri struggled with the tape. “I need a knife.”

  “I’ll check Monique’s bag. Back in a flash.” Ethan ran from the room.

  Jeri resisted the urge to try and awaken the girls. It would be better for them to wake up in the hospital, rather than still tied to the bed. Glancing around, she saw the three cameras, all with red lights blinking.

  “You’ll regret this, you son of a bitch,” she told one, looking straight into the lens. Grabbing the tail of her shirt, she pressed the button on each camera to stop the feed, careful not to smudge any fingerprint that may still be there. Not that Grant was that stupid.

  Hearing someone pounding down the hall, she looked out the door to see Ethan carrying blankets, and what looked like a hunting knife. Monique was prepared for anything, apparently.

  “It’s the best I could find,” he said, handing her one of the blankets. “The ambulance is ten minutes out.”

  “The son of a bitch had all three cameras recording. I shut them down,” Jeri told him as they covered the girls. “I’ll cut the tape, you send for forensics.”

  “I’ll tell Monique to have Graham Grant placed under arrest first,” Ethan growled as he left the room.

  “You’re safe now,” Jeri crooned to Allison as she sliced the tape loose from the bed. She didn’t try to remove it from the girl’s wrists and ankles altogether, the EMT’s could do that without hurting her. “Everything is going to be all right, now.”

  She repeated the phrases as she freed Diana, believing that the girls could hear her, even if they had been drugged. Somehow, in some part of their psyche, she had to believe that they knew they were safe.

  The girls never stirred, but Jeri kept talking, running her hand over Diana’s forehead, then Allison’s, soothing them with a gentle touch, and calming reassurances. She knew what the girls would face after this was over, knew too well the trauma of remembering the torture, the assaults, and the feelings of helplessness. If there was any way she could spare them that future, she would. But she couldn’t.

  Anger roiled within her at the way Grant had kept them. Tied to the bed, naked, completely vulnerable. Even as she attempted to soothe them with her words, she seethed at Graham Grant on the inside, promising to give him exactly what he deserved.

  She heard the gurneys clamoring down the stone staircase, and knew that help had arrived. Watching over each girl as they were loaded onto the stretcher, then carefully carried to the waiting ambulance, Jeri kept up her monologue, telling them that they were safe, that they would be okay.

  Ethan came to stand beside her as the ambulance pulled away. He’d watched her take care of the girls as if they were her own, and wondered if she knew how strong her mothering instincts had become.

  “Where’s forensics?” Jeri asked as the ambulance pulled away.

  “On the way. I wanted the FBI, not the local team. Grant’s been arrested, but they’ll be holding him at the station, until we arrive. I told them that no one speaks to him but you.”

  “I’m sure that his attorney will have something to say about that,” Jeri said wryly.

  “Probably, once we allow him to make that call. By the way, you should notify the girl’s moms. I’m sure they will want to be at the hospital.”

  “Yes, yes I will. Then we can head to the station. Monique and Chloe can wait here, until the forensics team arrives.”

  “Make the calls, I’ll get them down here.” Ethan squeezed her shoulder, resisting the urge to take her in his arms. There would be time enough for that, later.

  Jeri stepped off to the side and searched for Trudy Wells’ phone number. The frantic woman answered on the first ring.

  “Mrs. Wells? This is Jeri Forbes. I have wonderful news.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “I demand to speak with my attorney!” Graham Grant kept his voice calm, though he wanted to pound his fist on the table.

  “Certainly, Mr. Grant. We’ll get right on that for you,” the young officer placed a cup of water on the table, then quickly left the room. He’d been ordered to take care of Grant until the FBI arrived. Ordered to be polite, and agreeable, but that was all.

  “Idiot,” Graham breathed, not willing to let them know that they were getting to him. He’d been in the interrogation room for over two hours. No windows, stale air, at best, and one overhead fluorescent light that flickered in time with an annoying buzz, every two minutes. He understood that they were trying to break him, even before the interrogation began. It wouldn’t work.

  Staring at the glass wall in front of him, he made sure to maintain a pleasant façade, while his mind clicked over the checklist of precautions he’d taken from the very beginning.

  First, there was no way anyone could trace the video feeds back to him. The firewalls he had in place were beyond state-of-the-art, not to mention the servers he had routed all over the world. Even with the cameras they found in the cellar, they would not be able to track the footage.

  Next, he had always worn gloves upon entering the cellar. No fingerprints to find on the outside door, the lock, or the interior switches.

  Wearing gloves inside the cellar, no matter what he was doing, was also routine. Wearing a hood during filming, as well as whenever he visited the girls, was also a part of his safety structure. No visuals, no fingerprints. He was certain.

  It was possible that the forensics team would find a stray hair, or skin cells, but they would not be able to prove that he’d deposited them in recent days. He played in the cellar as a child, visited with his father during his teen years, so he was covered, should the need arise. Anson had also mentioned something about DNA transference in one of his tutorials. A relatively new defense, but effective, nevertheless. How could they possibly prove that Thomas had not picked up one of his stray hairs, or even skin cells, via transference, then deposited them in the cellar? They couldn’t.

  He was safe from every possible tie to the cellar.

  Next, he
moved on to the truck. Each time he had transported a girl, he’d used plastic to line the truck bed. Subsequently, he had disposed of the plastic in various secluded dumpsters. Confident that the material was long gone, he considered the truck tracks, leading to the cellar. Of course, Thomas availed himself of his truck, whenever necessary. As house manager, it was necessary for Thomas to pick up supplies. Graham had left hairs he found in Thomas’s brush inside the truck cab to solidify his story.

  Finally, Graham moved to the weakest link in the account of his innocence; the laptop. Hidden in the safe, Graham was confident that the officers searching his home would never realize that the wall panel moved. It was virtually impossible to detect, unless you knew where to look. And why would they search, with a desktop computer, and a laptop, sitting in plain sight in his office? They wouldn’t. He was sure of it.

  After recapping his security protocols, he felt better. They would never pin this on him, never. He’d even taken extra precautions to point the finger to Thomas by leaving a few of his belongings in the cellar. A shirt, a handkerchief, a pair of scissors, all of which he had taken from Thomas’s things, before sinking them in the river, next to his body.

  The authorities had every reason to blame Thomas for these horrible crimes, and no reason to blame him. Once his lawyer got him out of here, he could dispose of the laptop properly, eliminating the only thing that tied him to anything.

  Assuming his lawyer ever arrived. With the monthly retainer Benson’s firm charged, he expected for the man to be waiting at the station. But hours had passed, and the cretin had not shown his face.

  Surely Mother called him. Graham frowned at the possibility that Belinda had been so distraught at his arrest, that she had completely forgotten to contact Benson.

  Could she be that useless?

  As they led him out in handcuffs, he told her to call Benson, that this was a mistake, that he was not responsible.

  Did she listen?

  He would never forget the look on his mother’s face, when the FBI bitch ordered his arrest.

  “They found the girls, arrest him.” Spoken in her soft French accent, the order had a lilting quality that made it sound pleasant.

  His mother stared, mouth hanging open, eyes wide, as the officer mirandized him as he placed him in cuffs.

  “What’s happening, why are you doing that?” she’d asked, her expression confused and clueless.

  “Your son is under arrest for kidnapping, Mrs. Grant. We found the two missing teenagers tied to a bed in the cellar.” The French bitch spoke to his mother calmly, but her eyes flashed fire at him. He could feel the heat of her gaze, even now.

  “Kidnapping? Two girls? Graham would never do such a thing, never!”

  His mother’s protests had been genuine, and heartfelt.

  “Of course I didn’t do this, Mother. Please don’t worry, everything will be straightened out soon. Call Benson, have him meet me at the station.”

  He hadn’t heard her response, only saw her fallen face, as they led him from the room.

  Had she come to her senses? Had she contacted their attorney?

  ~~~

  “He doesn’t seem the least bit perturbed,” Ethan commented as he and Jeri observed Graham Grant through the two-way mirror.

  “Sure he is, watch his left pinky finger. It jerks, every time the light flickers. And notice how stiff he’s holding himself, not at all like the gracious host I met earlier today. But his eyes are the true tell, see how they narrow, then dart from side to side? His mind is whirring, probably coming up with ways to pin this on the butler.”

  “According to forensics, someone left a man’s shirt in the cellar, starched white, like the one Monique described Thomas as wearing. There were also strands of hair, and a handkerchief with DNA. Another thing, they found a pair of scissors on the tool tray in the operating room. The scissors were the only item in the place with fingerprints. Imagine that.”

  “Sounds like a frame-up to me,” Jeri nodded, grinning. “This should be fun, let’s do it.”

  “After you,” Ethan followed her from the viewing room, to the interrogation room. His role was one of silent observer, this was Jeri’s show, all the way.

  “Mr. Grant, I’m so sorry that we’ve kept you so long,” Jeri began, smiling as she sat down across from him. “Oh, my, they left you cuffed? Ethan, please remove Mr. Grant’s handcuffs. Mr. Grant, this is my partner, Ethan Barnes.

  “Pleasure,” Ethan smiled disarmingly as he unlocked the chains.

  “Yes, thank you.” Graham was more than a little confused by the genial treatment. He’d expected angry accusations, at the very least.

  “Would you like coffee, or something cold to drink? I can’t imagine that the water is worth drinking here,” Jeri rolled her eyes, as if sharing a private joke with him.

  “Coffee would be nice, thank you. I would also like to speak with my attorney. I haven’t yet been offered a phone call.”

  “I told you that these idiots were incompetent,” Jeri said to Ethan, her voice barely above a whisper, but loud enough for Graham to hear. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Grant. Here, feel free to use my phone.” Jeri reached into her back pocket, then slid the phone across the table.

  “I’ll get that coffee,” Ethan told them, then left the room.

  Feeling more confident that the FBI agents were treating him as a man of his stature deserved, Graham relaxed somewhat as he reached for the phone.

  “Thank you,” his tone relayed his superiority.

  “Of course,” Jeri smiled, leaning back in her chair. “But it’s a shame, really, to waste the effort. Once you call your attorney, we can’t speak with you any longer, until he arrives. Then the conversation becomes much more formal, not as pleasant, I’m afraid.” Jeri crossed her legs and sent him her warmest smile. “At the moment, we only have a few questions, then we can set this matter aside. But please, if you feel the need for an attorney, be my guest.”

  Graham’s hand froze on the phone. Could this be real? Could he get himself out of this, and be on his way? Calling an attorney did make him seem guilty. And truthfully, he knew as much about the law, in these matters, as Benson. Why not handle it himself?

  “Well, then. If you only have a few questions, then I’m happy to answer them. But first, I have one. Why did the officer arrest me? Am I being charged with kidnapping, or not?”

  “Arrest you? Oh my goodness, did he really?” Jeri looked shocked. “I told him to bring you in for questioning, standard procedure. After all, we found the girls on your property.” She seemed apologetic.

  “Yes, well, I can’t imagine how they came to be in my cellar. Unless Thomas was more than a thief.”

  There it was, Grant’s first lobby to blame the butler. Right on schedule.

  Jeri nodded as Ethan rejoined them.

  “Here you are, Mr. Grant. Can I get you anything else?”

  “No, no thank you,” Graham ignored the packets of sugar and cream, opting to drink the coffee black.

  “Mr. Grant was just telling me that he had no idea that the girls were in the cellar. He thinks that perhaps Thomas, the butler who ran off last night, may be the culprit.”

  “Is that right?” Ethan sat next to Jeri, then smiled at Grant.

  “Yes, it’s the only thing that makes sense,” Graham answered. “Obviously, Thomas was a sick, sick man. We’re lucky to be rid of him.”

  “The girls will be fine, by the way,” Jeri offered. “I’m sure that you meant to ask.”

  “Yes, yes of course,” Graham stuttered for the first time. “I’m happy to know that they are well.”

  “I didn’t say they are well,” Jeri shook her head. “They are both severely dehydrated, and Allison is showing early signs of starvation. It’s good that they had a heater down there, or else they both would have succumbed to hypothermia.”

  “Well, that is good news,” Graham was the picture of concern. “I would hate to think that anything bad happened to them.”
<
br />   “Do you know Allison Wells, or Debra Post?” Jeri deliberately misspoke Diana’s name.

  “No, no I don’t.” Graham hid his smile as his confidence bloomed. The woman couldn’t even get Diana’s name right, how would she ever figure out that he was behind the crimes?

  “Have you ever been to Fremont, Missouri?”

  “Fremont? No, not that I recall.” Graham settled in to lie his way out of there.

  “What about Marsville, Kansas? Have you ever been there?”

  “Marsville? I believe I may have passed through it on my way to Nebraska, a time or two. But not recently.”

  “Mr. Grant, can anyone besides your butler, Thomas, corroborate your alibi for Tuesday night, of this week, and yesterday afternoon?”

  “No. As I told you, I was home, working with Thomas on the household accounts yesterday afternoon. Mother may have seen us in the study, but I can’t be sure.”

  “And Tuesday night, around midnight?”

  “Goodness, I was asleep by that time, of course.”

  “So if your car was spotted in the parking lot of a club in Smathers, Nebraska, you weren’t the one driving it?”

  “My car? In Nebraska? Of course not,” Graham injected the right amount of surprise into his response. “Are you saying that my car was spotted, Agent?”

  “Oh, I’m not an agent, Mr. Grant. Our company assists the FBI, when needed. You can call me Ms. Forbes.” Jeri easily sidestepped answering Grant’s question about the vehicle.

  “You are not with the FBI? Is this interview even legal?”

  “Of course, sorry for the confusion. Speaking with us is the same as speaking with an agent, or with an officer. We all work for the same team, we all want the same thing.” Jeri’s tone held a question, one that she hoped Grant would jump on. Allying himself with them would be a natural step for Grant to take.

  “Of course, I want that as well. Whatever I can do to help, Ms. Forbes, I will gladly do.” Graham was elated, but careful not to show it. He was part of the team now, on the inside. He could guide the investigation to its logical end, with minimum difficulty.