The Shadow Cell: A Chilling Psychological Thriller (Wolf Lake Thriller Book 6)

by Dan Padavona

  “Justice Thorin’s staff photo shows he has blonde hair. What are the odds we’ll match his hair to those found on the victim?”

  “Pretty good. But we’ll need a stronger case before a judge gives us a warrant. Didn’t you say there were no red Camaro convertibles registered in Poplar Corners?”

  “Right.” Thomas typed at his keyboard and checked Justice Thorin’s vehicle registration. “My records say he drives a blue Tesla.” He called up Thorin’s history and clapped his hands together. “But he owned a Camaro four years ago.”

  “So he gets rid of the Camaro and buys another high-end vehicle to impress people.”

  “Agent Bell described him as a narcissist. This must be our guy, Gardy.”

  “The coincidences are starting to add up. We need to tie him to the other murders. He’s a distinguished professor with awards listed on his bio. Ten bucks says he travels a lot.”

  “Ten whole dollars? Don’t break your bank account, Gardy. I’ll call the university.”

  Gardy stepped out of the room to place a call while Thomas waited for someone in the fine arts department at Kane Grove University to answer. After a long wait, a woman picked up. She sounded rushed and out of breath.

  “Kane Grove University, fine arts department. This is Professor Felicia Armstrong. How may I help you?”

  “Yes, this is Thomas Shepherd with the Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department. I’m looking for a professor named Justice Thorin.”

  A pause.

  “Professor Thorin didn’t come in today.”

  “Is today his day off?”

  “No. He missed three classes, and he’s supposed to administer final exams in two days. I just covered his image editing class. Did something happen to Professor Thorin?”

  “I need to speak with him.” Thomas glanced at the notes on his desk. Agent Gardy had listed the abductions and murders in the Great Lakes, Mid-Atlantic, and New England he’d tied to the unsub over the last eight years. “Tell me something. Does Professor Thorin teach at other universities, perhaps as an adjunct professor?”

  Armstrong scoffed.

  “Doesn’t he wish?”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Professor Thorin . . . never mind.”

  “Please, tell me what you were going to say.”

  “I don’t like to speak ill of others. But why not? He screwed me today by sticking me with his classes. Professor Thorin has a bit of an ego. He only teaches at Kane Grove, but he’s a frequent speaker at universities around the northeast. He volunteers to speak. It’s not like every institution in the northeast clamors for him. He’d spend every day on the road if Kane Grove let him.”

  “I noticed he won his share of awards.”

  “The man has talent. I’ll give him that. Professor Thorin isn’t considered a big deal nationally. But if you speak at universities ten, fifteen times per year, people believe you are.”

  Agent Gardy returned to the room. Thomas held up a hand.

  “Mrs. Armstrong, I’m putting you on speaker. I’m here with Agent Neil Gardy with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

  “Did you say the FBI? What’s going on?”

  Without answering Armstrong’s question, Gardy read her a list of dates from the last eight years which matched disappearances and murders tied to the unsub.

  “Can you tell me if Professor Thorin traveled on these days?”

  “I’ll try. We have a Google-based staff calendar that goes back several years. What’s the first date again?”

  Gardy read it back to her.

  Armstrong muttered to herself.

  “Sorry. Our internet is slow today. Hold on.” After a moment, Armstrong said, “Yes, Professor Thorin spoke at Bates University that Friday.”

  Gardy nodded at Thomas. They had a match.

  “Let’s try another day. How about four years ago on May the fourth?”

  Armstrong confirmed the date as she typed.

  “Wow. Professor Thorin spoke at Western University that evening. How did you know he traveled on that date? Is he in some kind of trouble?”

  Gardy and Thomas shared a glance. They had their man. Gardy read Armstrong the rest of the dates. Every murder lined up with Thorin’s travels.

  “Professor Armstrong,” Thomas said. “If Thorin returns to the university today, or you hear from him, call me immediately.”

  Armstrong’s voice quivered. She sensed something was horribly wrong.

  “I will. Sheriff, should I phone campus security? Am I in danger?”

  “You’re not in danger. But you need to stay away from Thorin if he returns to the school. We’ll call campus security.”

  After Armstrong hung up, Thomas opened his desk drawer and removed a folder. Intensity blazed in his eyes as he divided the stack of communion photographs and handed half to Gardy. They scanned the names written on the backs of the pictures. Thomas couldn’t find Thorin. With a frustrated huff, he started over, certain he’d missed the unsub. It was Gardy who found him first.

  “Bingo. Justice Thorin from twenty-eight years ago.”

  Gardy flipped the picture over and jabbed his finger at a boy in the back row. Thomas held his breath. He expected to find a monster, a psycho with crazed eyes, or a devil with horns protruding from his head. Instead, he stared at a blue-eyed child, who seemed the epitome of the good old American boy. Except for the wary fear tingling through his eyes. While the others smiled at the camera, Thorin stared out of the corner of his eye.

  At Father Fowler.

  48

  The creep left the cellar door open again. Just a crack. Enough to spill dim light into the cells.

  Aguilar’s muscles screamed. Her body dripped with sweat, the dirt and grime coating her flesh like a second skin. Beside her, the mound of excavated dirt grew taller. Every time she needed a break, she smoothed the soil into the corner of her cage. The slope became obvious despite her efforts to level the soil. And there was no hiding the gaping maw in the ground beneath the two loose bars. She’d clawed away three feet of earth. How deep did the damn bars go? With her arms exhausted, she shoved her shoulder against the cage. The bars shifted three inches.

  She was almost out.

  Lonnie shivered on his side. His skin had paled since the last time their kidnapper visited, the child’s face cadaverous and sallow.

  “Wake up, Lonnie. Sit up and look at me.”

  The boy didn’t reply. Terror skittered on spider legs across Aguilar’s skin. Was the boy dead?

  Neither Lonnie nor Aguilar had eaten in the last twenty-four hours. Maybe longer, as the concept of time didn’t apply underground. She needed food. Energy. Something to replenish her lost strength.

  Breathless, Aguilar grasped the bars and hung against the cage.

  “We’re almost out. Hang on a little longer. Please.”

  The boy moaned and shielded his eyes from the light shaft. At least he was alive.

  Though conserving strength was a priority, it was crucial to give the boy hope. Aguilar rattled the bars, pulling clumps of soil out of the ceiling. His eyes widened.

  “See what I mean? Another ten minutes, and I’ll break us out of here.”

  Lonnie shook his head.

  “He’ll kill you.”

  “He’ll kill me if I don’t get us out of here. Stay awake. The second I break through the cage . . .”

  Then what? It occurred to her she had no way of breaking Lonnie out. Without the key, it would take Aguilar hours to dig under Lonnie’s cell.

  There was no choice. She’d wait for the creep to return and attack him, then steal the keys and unlock Lonnie’s cell.

  The boy slumped against the cage. His eyelids fluttered.

  “Please, Lonnie. Stay awake.”

  He gave her a fatigued, bone-weary smile that tore her heart in half. The kidnapper visited every several hours. He was due to return. When he did, he’d spot the hole the second he entered the enclosure.

  An idea came to he
r. The psycho had left water bottles in each cage. She hadn’t touched her bottle, suspicious of its contents. Lonnie’s bottle lay in the corner. Aguilar needed the creep to believe Lonnie was moments from dying. The boy already appeared on death’s edge. It wouldn’t take much convincing.

  “When he returns, you need to distract him.”

  The boy gave her a blank look.

  “I mean fool him. Drink from the water bottle, but don’t swallow. Hold it in your mouth. Do you understand?”

  Lonnie nodded.

  “When he’s outside the cage, spit the water and pretend you’re throwing up. Can you do that?”

  “I think so.”

  She searched the cage for some way to hide the hole she’d excavated. No choice. She’d feign sleep and lie across the hole when the creep returned. Which could be any second now.

  Aguilar grabbed the rock and scraped another inch out of the ground. She’d lost two fingernails. Blood dripped down her blistered, callused hands. Ignoring the pain, she tore through the earth and tossed the soil into Scott’s enclosure. Bits of dirt and sediment covered his face.

  Her arms trembled. She was in no condition to break through the cage, let alone fight for their lives. In the gym, she pushed herself past preconceived limits. If she’d squatted two-hundred pounds during her last workout, she added another five pounds this time, or push through an extra set. In doing so, she overcame the impossible and broke personal records. But today was different. She’d never encountered exhaustion this crippling. And she’d never tested her limits after a day of fasting.

  Aguilar tossed another inch of earth into the neighboring cage. She should have spread the dirt across her cell, so it wasn’t obvious. Too late for that now. Another scrape of rock against soil. Blood slicked her hands. Her heart wanted to leap through her throat.

  When her endurance betrayed her, she slumped against the cell and wept, certain she’d never break through the cage.

  The bars shifted. She caught her breath and opened her eyes.

  The two loose bars hung ajar. If she had time to recover her strength, Aguilar felt sure she could shoulder her way through the opening. But she was too tired.

  The way out lay before her. Mocking. An ironic grin dimpled her cheeks. She wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cry.

  One glance at Lonnie got her moving again. The boy hung against the cage, face squashed between the bars, gaze fixed on her. There was hope in his eyes.

  Aguilar dragged herself to her feet and shoved against the cage. Straining. Sweat pouring down her brow and stinging her eyes. The bars shifted outward. Not far enough for her to squeeze through.

  She rested for a moment and tried again. Failed. She wasn’t strong enough.

  Her eyes flicked to Lonnie a second before a stair creaked inside the cellar. He was coming.

  “Hurry!”

  Aguilar nodded at the boy and pushed harder. The bars refused to bend.

  The kidnapper’s shadow preceded him, the black outline of his head drawn against the soil outside the basement door.

  “Remember what to do,” Aguilar said, staring at the boy.

  Lonnie dropped to the ground and twisted the cap off the water bottle. Aguilar fell over the hole and lay flat on her back, her eyes open to slits as the creep entered the enclosure.

  The kidnapper glanced from Aguilar to the boy. The sanctimonious smile vanished when his eyes landed on the child. Lonnie wretched and spilled the water out of his mouth. Perfect timing.

  Alarmed, the creep ran to Lonnie’s cell. When he looked back at Aguilar, she closed her eyes and pretended she was unconscious. Aguilar’s body felt like rubber. Her heart pumped at a disturbing rate as she struggled to control her breathing. Just a little longer. Another few seconds to summon what remained of her energy.

  “Lonnie, where do you hurt?”

  The boy pointed at his belly. Jamming his hand into his pocket, the creep glanced at Aguilar with indecision. He’d refused to take Lonnie to a doctor. Was he worried the boy would die on his own? The creep would lose power over life and death if fate stole Lonnie first. Or did he care for the boy?

  “I have medicine upstairs. Wait here while I—”

  Lonnie moaned and spit out more water. He’d held some back, Aguilar thought with wonder. Smart boy.

  The creep turned his back on Aguilar and knelt before Lonnie’s cage.

  Then he removed the key from his pocket.

  The moment the kidnapper worked the key into the lock, Aguilar opened her eyes. She sat up, moving with cat-light silence as the man swore beneath his breath. The lock rattled. He swore again as the mechanism jammed.

  A black, furious shadow grew against the kidnapper’s back as Aguilar rose to her feet. It seemed to Aguilar he should have sensed her behind him, as one might sense the tracks rattling between his feet before the train arrives. Her back crackled and popped as she straightened. He didn’t notice.

  She grasped the bars and gritted her teeth. Placed one leg in front of her and leaned forward, her muscular body at a thirty-degree angle to the enclosure.

  The creep jiggled the key. The lock refused to open as Lonnie pretended to vomit again. In frustration, the psycho shoved the keys into his pocket and turned. His eyes widened in shock.

  Aguilar bellowed and threw her body against the cell. The bars burst forth, and she tumbled out of the enclosure with a mask of rage drawn against her face.

  The kidnapper threw up his hands as Aguilar barreled into him.

  49

  “Justice Thorin. Six Aurora Road in Poplar Corners, NY,” Thomas repeated over the radio.

  His foot pushed down on the gas pedal, and the cruiser shot down the interstate with Agent Gardy beside him. Bell watched Thomas through the mirror, again reminding him of his psychologist, Dr. Mandal.

  Lambert’s voice came over the radio.

  “Read you loud and clear, Lambert,” Thomas said.

  “Sheriff, the results came back from forensics.”

  “That was fast. What did we learn?”

  “Get this. Forensics matched the hair fibers on Fowler to hairs from the confession booth.”

  “We figured that. So it’s the same guy.”

  “There’s more. They also pulled a hair out of the wooden box the unsub left inside the booth.”

  “And?”

  “It doesn’t match the others. But Lawrence Santos gave Harmony’s hairbrush to the department after she went missing. It’s a positive match. The unidentified hair from the box belongs to Harmony Santos.”

  Thomas’s stomach turned over. The evidence suggested the severed hand belonged to Harmony Santos. Had the unsub held Harmony captive for four years?

  “Where are you now, Lambert?”

  “Leaving the station. New York State troopers are en route to Poplar Corners. I’m ten minutes behind you.”

  “Meet us on the access road. That’s the best way to approach Thorin’s house without him seeing us.”

  As they raced toward the town, Gardy studied a digital map of the terrain.

  “Six Aurora Road is near that meadow. The one the Peeping Tom disappeared in.” He turned the laptop so Bell could see. “How did he get from the thicket to his house without the camera catching him?”

  Bell scrunched her brow.

  “Hand me the laptop. Sheriff, is the drone footage on this computer?”

  Thomas met her gaze in the mirror.

  “It is. Check the video directory. Why?”

  “We’re missing something important. Hold on.”

  One more exit until they reached Poplar Corners. Thomas clutched the steering wheel and pushed the cruiser faster. Gardy stared into the fading daylight. They both knew how the day would end. Thomas only hoped Thorin had spared his victims.

  They were halfway to their destination when Bell inhaled.

  “Remember when your friends said the ghost disappeared in the meadow?”

  “Yeah. Did the video glitch?”

  “He di
dn’t disappear. He descended.”

  “What?”

  “I’m watching the video frame by frame. He appears to drop into a hole. Then there’s a flash of light, as if the moon reflected off a metal object.”

  “Like the hinge on a trapdoor?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  Bell handed the laptop back to her partner. Gardy replayed the video in slow motion.

  “I’ll be damned. There’s a hidden entrance to an underground enclosure.”

  Thomas took the exit and said, “That explains how he disappears before anyone can catch him.”

  Gardy nodded.

  “And it gives us another entrance into his house. It’s possible he keeps his captives underground.”

  Thomas glanced at Bell. If anyone understood the psycho’s motivations, it was the BAU profiler.

  “Why does he keep them underground?”

  “Besides the obvious reason—no one will hear the screams—concealing them underground dehumanizes his captives and feeds his God complex. He’s master of his domain, and he can work in total secrecy. Imagine the time and effort it took to build a subterranean enclosure. This is his masterpiece and his refuge. I expect we’ll find cages, some method of containing his victims. I also believe the enclosure is attached to the house with an entrance through the basement. This allows the unsub to visit his captives anytime he desires. And the enclosure gives him an escape route into his home, in case someone catches him peeking through windows.”

  A cold shiver rolled through Thomas.

  “Did he hold Harmony Santos for four years?”

  “Underground? Doubtful. My guess is he brought her inside the house, fed her, cleaned her up. Perhaps he chained her so she couldn’t escape. I can’t imagine a civilian surviving four years underground. If I had to guess, Thorin only spares captives who meet his desires and submit to his will. The others, he murders.”

  Trooper Fitzgerald awaited Thomas and the agents on the access road. It was a quarter-mile walk through the meadow to reach Justice Thorin’s property. Two more state trooper cruisers pulled along the roadside as Thomas climbed out of his vehicle. After conferring with Gardy over the digital map, the other troopers drove across Poplar Corners to cut Thorin off if he attempted to escape.