by D P Lyle
At least she now had clothes. Draw-string cotton pants, tee shirt, no shoes. The first two days, after he had completed his work, he had abandoned her naked, wrapped in a blanket. The flimsy garments were one of the few comforts he had allowed. Those and the air mattress and blankets, the toilet chair. Jesus. And the space heater. That had been a life-saver. Okay, bravo for him. Still, she remained a caged animal.
A cage for Christ’s sake.
She examined her arms, lifted her shirt exposing her chest and abdomen. Now almost completely covered with thick orange and black stripes. She was a freak. His private stuffed animal.
She sat on the mattress, legs folded to her chest, cheek resting on her knees, and cried. So long and hard it hurt.
Stop it, Cindy. Don’t give in to that self-pity crap. Think.
There had to be a way. She couldn’t die here. She simply couldn’t. But it seemed her mind only ran in circles, always returning to the same place. There was no way to escape this steel prison.
While her mind traipsed over familiar territory, discovering no new pathways that might lead to escape, she watched the shards of sunlight that stabbed through the cracks in the barn’s walls creep across the floor toward her. When they winked out, darkness fell quickly. The temperature dropped. She wrapped herself in the two blankets and stretched out on the air mattress. But sleep didn’t come. Her mind wouldn’t relent as she relived the last few days.
She had fought him. Argued, pleaded, cried, anything that might melt his heart. She now realized that he didn’t have one. At least not one she could reach.
Who would do this? Why?
Twice her protestations had led to the plastic bag being secured over her head. Pulled tightly against her face as she struggled for precious oxygen. Each time, just as she felt consciousness slipping away, he had removed it, smiling calmly as she gulped air.
Smiled.
As if this was some schoolyard game.
Fighting him, defying him, wasn’t an option. But if not that, what? How could she possibly escape? Everything she thought of only led her back to the plastic bag. Or worse. The Taser was always nearby.
She jerked awake. Confused for a moment. She had apparently fallen asleep. For how long? She sat up, one blanket wrapped around her like a shawl. She could see light through the gaps in the wood. Faint, almost invisible. Early morning.
During the night, her brain had apparently sorted through her meager options and had stumbled on a different tact. Might not work. But maybe, just maybe, he was human after all. Wasn’t he? He seemed intelligent, and at times almost normal. Soft spoken, kind—if in a fake sort of way. But would he respond like a truly normal person? Could she appeal to whatever sliver of humanity he possessed?
Her plan? Praise him. Admire his talent. Make him think she had bought into his madness. Make him complacent. Make him trust her. If so, would that offer her a crack, an open door, a way to escape?
Weapons were available. Not just her hands and feet and teeth. Not just her anger and fear, which given the chance she would unleash on him. If she could. She had never been violent. Never had to be. Always preferring a smile and a pleasant attitude to navigate life’s problems. Wasn’t sure she could reach that deep into her own darkness. Did she even have such darkness? Could she really release the anger she felt inside?
Other weapons? The tool box that sat in the far corner held a thick-bladed knife, a ball-peen hammer and a screwdriver, she knew for sure. She had seen those. But unless he let his guard down, made a mistake, she would never reach any of them.
She wasn’t optimistic that flattery would gain her any advantage. But she saw no other options. She had nothing to lose by trying.
The door scraped open. He was back. Even earlier than usual. He walked toward her and handed her a bag. Her breakfast. This one from McDonald’s.
“Thanks.” She tugged the bag through the bars. Inside she found two bacon and egg biscuits. She was starving. She unwrapped one and took a bite. Then another. Seemed like only a minute and she had devoured both biscuits.
By the time she finished, he had arranged his tools, flicked on the bright lights that surrounded the table.
“Ready?” he said.
Like she had a choice.
She knew the routine. She stripped, he opened the cage. He strapped her to the cold metal platform. Then went to work on her left leg. The needle seemed extra sharp this morning, the buzzing an assault on her senses. She tried to block it out, going over her plan again. Still trying to see the pitfalls. Where it could all go wrong.
How to begin? What should she say? She had gone over this a dozen times but right now everything that in her dreams had seemed so clever, now felt weak and transparent. She knew she had only one shot at this. If he saw through her ruse, all would be truly lost.
Miraculously, he gave her an opening.
“You’re very quiet today,” he said in that maddeningly soft voice of his.
“I’m tired I guess. And embarrassed.”
He lifted the needle from her skin and looked at her. “Embarrassed? For what?”
“The way I’ve acted. I mean, all of this. You did all of this for me.”
“That’s true.” He returned to his work.
“I should be thanking you, not fighting everything. You took me away from those other men. The two guys who tazed me, tied me up. I know they would have used me until there was nothing left. Then I’d simply disappear. No one would ever know what had happened to me.”
“That’s what men like that do. They don’t create. They consume.”
“But you saw something in me. You saw a potential beauty that even I didn’t know existed.”
He lifted the needle again and smiled. “You’re a beautiful young lady. You know that. Beautiful women always do.”
That was true. Her beauty had opened doors, offered her certain privileges. Garnered special attention, moved her to the front of the line. Cheerleader, homecoming queen, all that crap that now seemed so meaningless. But beauty was also the proverbial double-edged sword. Was it not her beauty that led her into the hands of Adam and Carlos? To Carlos’ two thugs? To this place at this time?
No, that wasn’t the complete truth. She had delivered herself here. On the proverbial silver platter. Why had she ever agreed to sleep with all those strange men? For money. Something she had never needed. But that wasn’t it. Not really. More to color outside the lines. Do something exciting, foreign to her, dirty.
Stop it. Focus.
“But you saw more,” she said. “Yesterday, after you left, I looked at what you’ve done. Really examined it for the first time. How you’ve transformed me. It’s remarkable.” She offered a smile that she hoped looked genuine. “You’re truly talented.”
“I know.”
“I’m grateful that you chose me for your canvas.” Canvas. She chose that word carefully. Mimicking his own choice.
His smile broadened. “And a lovely canvas you are. Your skin is flawless. A pleasure to work with.”
“And all this. This barn. The preciseness of that cage. The electrical set up. That took vision and planning.”
“It did.”
“I can’t imagine it was easy.”
“It took a while.”
“I’m sure. I mean, this must be in the middle of nowhere. Where do you find electricity out here?”
“We aren’t that far removed from such things.”
“Really? I assumed we were in the boonies somewhere.”
Another smile. “Let’s just say it’s very private.”
Could that be true? Was she actually closer to civilization, to help, than she had assumed? If she could find a way out, could she reach help?
Keep him talking.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so difficult,” she said.
“That you have. At times, anyway.”
“I just didn’t understand. Didn’t see your vision for me. Now I do. I’m flattered that you chose me.”
&nb
sp; “You were chosen. From many options. But your beauty and perfection made the ultimate choice easy.”
“You’re going to make me cry. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so loved.”
“Soon the entire world will love you.”
The tattoo machine buzzed to life as he returned to his work. She lay there for several minutes before asking, “Am I the only one?”
“More or less.”
What does that mean?
“I’m truly honored,” she said.
“Soon you’ll be ready for the world. You’ll be breathtaking.”
“When?”
“A few more hours. I’ll finish this leg, touch up the other one, then your face, and you’ll be complete.”
“Then what?”
“The grand finale.”
“What do you mean?”
“All in good time.” He patted her thigh. “But your public will love you.”
A tightness rose in her chest, her lungs suddenly stiff, unable to take even the shallowest breath. Her heart swelled as if it were an overinflated balloon nearing its rupture point. She struggled to tamp it down. Not let him feel her panic.
But it was too late. She saw it in his eyes. He knew. Saw the fear evident on her face.
Think.
“You said we were near an electrical source?” she asked.
“We are.”
“And maybe a shower?”
“That, too. Why?”
“Before I meet my public I’d like to be clean. To show off your work better.”
He smiled. “That won’t be necessary.”
“But, I’d feel better.”
“We’ll see.”
#
She’s a clever girl. Finally realizing that resisting him was impossible, she was trying to win him over. Flattering, praising, hoping he’d let his guard down. So transparent. Desperate.
Wasn’t going to happen. He’d made that mistake before. Never again.
That teacher. He had wasted days working on her, making her special. And all for nothing. A partially completely canvas would never do. Not for his debut. All had to be perfect.
But he had learned. Replacing a tether with a cage. Buying a girl, a canvas, rather than taking what opportunity gave him. Cleaner, simpler, safer.
So let her think she could manipulate him. That her plan was working and that she could lull him into errors. Much better this way. Made her more compliant. More manageable.
He returned to his work. Another two hours and she would be complete. A true masterpiece. Better than he had hoped. Much better than the school teacher.
Then he could turn his attention to the evening’s festivities. The final act.
CHAPTER 16
The call from Captain Lee Bradford came early. Just before seven-thirty a.m. The ME had agreed to let them see the remains. Cain hadn’t been optimistic. With most medical examiner/coroner-types, jealously protected their domains. The weight of General Kessler’s name no doubt.
Bradford introduced Cain and Harper to Dr. Walter Curry. A short, stocky guy, with thinning white hair and ruddy cheeks. Rimless glasses, tethered to his ears by almost invisible nylon loops, seemed to hover above the tip of his nose as if by magic. His handshake firm, smile inviting.
“So you’re employed by General Kessler?” Curry asked.
“His granddaughter Cindy is missing,” Cain said. “He asked us to look into it.”
“You guys P.I.s or something?”
“We’d be under the ‘or something’ category,” Harper said.
Curry nodded, a question, maybe several questions, in his eyes.
“The General and I go back to our military days,” Cain said. “Harper and I do special investigations. That’s what he hired us for.”
“Special, huh?”
Cain nodded, letting it lay there.
Curry hesitated, obviously waiting for an explanation, but when none came, he said, “Let’s head down to the lab.”
Autopsy rooms are not the most pleasant places to hang out. The yech factor alone makes most people squirm at the thought. It’s not just the smell, that combination of astringent cleaning agents and the sick, sweet odor of death and decay, it’s also the fact that the corpse had once been a person. A spouse, parent, child, friend, whatever. The loss was often palpable. Particularly if it were a child. Or, like now, a young woman.
A life ended.
Not from age or illness. Those deaths rarely found their way to the ME’s table. Rather, it’s the unexpected, unexplained, suspicious, and violent deaths that required the ME’s skills.
And in this case, a young woman had most likely lost her life in a flurry of violence.
Cain had seen autopsies before. Not many, but he remembered each. Vividly. Watching a body sliced open is an unforgettable event.
This one was different. Only a leg, an arm, and part of a rib cage. The parts arranged on the examination table before him looked odd, unreal. Not human. But, they were.
Cain and Harper stood next to Bradford, across the table from Curry and the pitiful remains of Jane Doe.
“Not much to work with here,” Curry said. “Female, for sure. I estimate mid-twenties, maybe up to early thirties, but not beyond that. About five-seven, medium build. Based on bone size, length, and the epiphyses.” He pointed to the leg. “And then there are these tattoos.”
Under the harsh lights, the tattooing was clear and stark. Thick, black stripes that spiraled from the ankle up the leg, ending near the knee where the pigs had gnawed and fed. A similar design wound up what tissues remained on the arm.
“Did Cindy have tattoos? Like these?” Curry asked.
“Not that we know. We’ll check it out but I suspect the answer will be no.”
“Based on?”
“Doesn’t seem to be the kind of thing she’d do.”
Curry gave a one-shouldered shrug. “These days you never know.”
“Any prints?” Bradford asked.
Curry reached out a gloved hand and rolled the arm so that the partially destroyed appendage was now palm up. “Got three fingers remaining. Not in good shape.” He bent forward, examined the hand more closely. “I might be able to get prints from them. Then I’ll load them in the system and see if anything pops up.”
“When will that happen?” Cain asked.
“I’ll get to work on them as soon as we finish here. If she’s in the system, I’ll have something fairly quickly.”
“DNA?” Harper asked.
Curry nodded. “I took some samples and they’ll go over to the lab. Once they get a profile they’ll load it into CODIS. Probably won’t help. Young lady like this is not likely in the database, but you never know. Could have a history. Might get lucky.”
“Still, the tattooing could help,” Cain said. “Even if the prints and the DNA don’t get us anywhere these might point you in the right direction.”
Curry’s brow furrowed. “Maybe. Not optimistic though.” He waved a hand. “These aren’t gang tattoos. We’ve got a pretty big database on those. These look like those aboriginal designs kids seem to like.” He shrugged. “Fashion statement, I assume.”
Cain glanced at Bradford. “Any local tattoo folks do this kind of work?”
“We only have two in town. That I know of. I suspect both have done this kind of thing.”
Cain leaned forward and looked at the leg more closely. “These look fairly fresh. Still have sharp edges. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”
“Luck would help,” Bradford said.
“Any clue as to the cause of death?” Harper asked.
“None. And with no cause, the manner will be impossible.” Curry tossed her a look. “Probably have to sign it out as undetermined but my gut tells me we’re looking at a homicide.”
Bradford nodded. “Apparently no clothing was found, so an accidental fall, or something like that doesn’t seem likely. Unless she was in the habit of stomping around naked in the woods.”
“Drugs?”
Cain asked. “Maybe she got sideways on LSD, or E, or something like that? Those people seem to fly out of windows from time to time, so a romp in the woods would be possible.”
“I’ve seen crazier things,” Bradford added.
“I took some tissues samples,” Curry said. “We’ll do a tox screen on it but muscle and skin aren’t all that good for such testing. Without hair, urine, liver tissue, or vitreous fluid I’m not hopeful.”
Time and decay were major obstacles in toxicological examinations. Dried and decayed flesh and a handful of bones weren’t the ideal samples for such testing. Drugs don’t tend to concentrate in either.
“No boney injuries?” Cain asked. “Other than that done by predators?”
“Not that I can identify.” Curry turned to the table behind him that held several instruments and metal pans. He picked up a fractured tusk. Maybe an inch long. “Meet the predators.” He extended it toward us. “Feral pigs.”
“You think they might have killed her?” Bradford asked.
Curry laid the tusk on the table. “I guess it’s possible. But pigs don’t eat clothing. What are the odds that some girl running naked in the woods would encounter a pack of hungry pigs?”
“Not very likely,” Bradford said.
“For sure, I wouldn’t want to run into a pack of them,” Curry said. “But to answer your question, I don’t think they had anything do with this young lady’s demise. They came along later.”
“What makes you think that?” Harper asked.
“First off, the investigator’s report stated that the remains had been buried. Pigs don’t do that. Like squirrels and hickory nuts.” He smiled. “Then there’s the nature of the wounds. Or should I say chew marks? Not much blood. That means the blood was clotted before they went to work.” He lifted the leg, exposing the bottom of the foot. “Also, there’s this.”
The sole was gouged and gashed, several chunks of tissue missing.
“From the pigs?” Cain asked.
“That’s what I thought at first, but I believe these happened pre-mortem.” He pointed. “See the blood settled in the lacerations?” He turned and retrieved something from one of the pans and held it up toward the overhead light. “I dug this bit of limestone out of one of the gashes.”