[Special Agent Tess Winnett 01.0] Dawn Girl

by Leslie Wolfe

  Jennifer’s chin trembled, and a tear rolled on her cheek. Tess waited quietly for her to be ready to speak.

  “He was doing drugs,” she finally said, “when we were together. Not the usual stuff, like everyone does. Not cocaine, or meth, no. He was into exotic stuff that he prepared himself. Dealers brought those drugs to him on order. Stimulants, enhancers of all sorts. He… experimented.”

  “What did that look like?”

  She didn’t answer for a while.

  “He was sweet, and kind, and smart when I met him, or so I thought he was. But he hated himself, and he hated his mother. Oh, my goodness, how he hated her.”

  “Why? Do you remember?”

  “I’m not sure if she’d done something to him, but he kept saying she was limiting him, holding him prisoner, humiliating him, and that she was going to pay for it, one day.” Jennifer paused for a little while. “When he was on those drugs, you didn’t know what to expect. At times, he wanted me to try some of that stuff, but I was scared. I wanted to leave him… I got more and more scared of him, until…”

  She trailed off, and didn’t continue.

  “How about your sex life with Matthew? What was he like?”

  She pursed her lips and another tear fell, staining her light blouse.

  “I know it’s hard to talk about this,” Tess said, “but a girl is missing.”

  Jennifer’s eyes locked with hers, wide open. Somewhere inside, Jennifer must have known this day would come.

  “Please help us find her. Any information you could give us is critical.”

  She sighed, then cleared her throat quietly.

  “It got rough at times,” she said, turning her head away from them. “Especially when he was high. He liked to tie me up. He experimented with that too, at first, but then it got rough.”

  “How rough?” Tess asked in a whispered tone. “Hospital visits?”

  She hesitated, staring at her feet.

  “No… private doctor house calls. Portable X-ray machines at his house. Private clinic surgery, at night. Then one day, the NDA and the settlement. That day was… rough. Really bad.”

  Tess exchanged a quick glance with Michowsky, and stood, getting ready to leave.

  “Thank you, Jennifer,” she said, touching her arm gently. “I know how hard this can be. One more question, if I may. Who paid you off? Who had you sign the NDA?”

  “His mother.”

  39

  The Cleanse

  He took his time shaving, making it an elaborate ritual. First, he gave his face a gentle massage, savoring the scent of lime extract, the signature essential oil in Castle Forbes Shaving Cream. Then he gently shaved every inch, making sure not a single undesired stubble survived the process. He rinsed the remaining foam thoroughly, and then patted his skin dry. The final touch was a few sprinkles of Serge Lutens aftershave.

  Satisfied, he took a step back and looked into the wall-sized mirror. He liked what he saw. A lean, fit, muscular body, a strong, almost intimidating appearance, a fierce, unforgiving look in his eyes. He was getting close… he could feel it.

  He’d cleared his mind and had groomed his visage. One more step remained in his ritual, before he could go downstairs for another serving of his special treat: a cleansing shower. Already naked, he entered the impressive shower cabin and closed the patterned glass door. He turned a knob, and water started falling from an intricate showerhead that emulated rainfall. He let the hot water fall on his head, as he leaned forward, his hands pressed against the marble-tiled wall. He closed his eyes, and let his visions take control.

  In his mind, he saw the girl downstairs, tied up, suspended, getting ready for him. If he listened hard enough, beyond the water falling on the marble tiles, he could hear her cries, fueling his fantasies. Without opening his eyes, he squeezed shower gel in the palms of his hands and started washing his body, gently, thoroughly, feeling his erection growing stronger. She’d scream as he’d touch her, writhing against her restraints, begging, pleading, crying. He loved the way she struggled against him, trying to get away when there was no escape.

  A ghost inserted itself into his vision, and he grunted angrily. He pounded his palm against the wall, then pounded again, with another grunt. Jennifer… the last one who lived. The one he couldn’t finish, because some stupid concierge doctor had expressed his concerns. Unbelievable. He was paid a fortune to keep his pie hole shut, patch Jennifer up quickly, then get lost. Instead, from there he went straight to his parents, to squeeze more money out of them. That was his first bitter lesson. He couldn’t let them live, not ever again. Not after being with him, not after knowing what he was like.

  He would have finished Jennifer; he knew he had it in him even back then. He just wanted the pleasure to last longer, so he’d kept delaying the moment he’d let her blood spill. But he made a mistake; he hadn’t thought of everything back then, he didn’t know how to extend his pleasure without damaging her too soon. People are messy when they’re broken… he’d learned that too. Sometimes he fantasized about going back to Jennifer and finishing what he started, but the risk was too big. It wasn’t worth it. There were others out there he could get.

  Keeping his eyes still closed, he pounded on the wall once more, angrier than before. His blissful anticipation was gone, leaving him stymied and resentful, while his erection vanished, defeated. Whenever Jennifer’s face appeared in his visions, his mother’s image wasn’t far. Yes, he’d made a mistake letting Jennifer live, but he’d learned his lesson. Since then, it hadn’t happened again. Yet remembering his mother, and the day she came in to clean up his mess, that hurt him still, humiliating him at a level he didn’t think possible.

  Her terms had been awful. She dictated everything, in a manner that left no room for any negotiation. What he’d do, where he’d live, how much money he’d have, who he was allowed to date. She’d been cruel, merciless, taking pleasure in twisting his life around her fingers like it was a twig she snapped out of boredom. Maybe she did enjoy punishing him; there was something awry about her he couldn’t understand. She’d demanded that he bring his dates home for sex, not hotels or anywhere else, but home, where she had installed cameras, “to make sure he stayed true to their agreement.” Yes, their so-called agreement demanded that he lived the life of a saint, without so much as a parking ticket. That his sexual partners would leave the premises without so much as a broken fingernail. Or else he’d lose everything, the entire family fortune, worth more than a billion dollars. And that’s how the bitch won. That’s how she owned him.

  For now.

  Little did she know.

  Good thing she’d still let him gamble and didn’t care much about how much he lost. Her stupid shrink must have fed her some bullshit, that he was getting back at her by losing her money at the green table or some other crap like that. He was a decent, cool-headed poker player. He’d easily siphoned cash the following months after she’d pinned his balls to the wall. That cash, elegantly invested in the local drug scene, turned into millions of dollars no one was surprised he had, given his heritage. It turned into his secret home, bought and paid for in cash, that the bitch didn’t know about. Then he’d stopped messing around with the drug networks; it wasn’t worth risking jail over something he no longer needed. He had his secret lair, and, for the rest of his unofficial needs, there was always gambling.

  Water still rained on his head, relaxing, yet strengthening. He opened his eyes, not bothered by the falling water, and, against the cream-colored marble, a vision started to form. It was the girl downstairs, strapped in her harness, screaming for mercy, fighting desperately to free herself as he circled her, getting ready to possess her body. As he moved around her in the almost complete darkness, he noticed her hair was no longer brown, but blonde and short. When she looked at him and pleaded for his mercy, her deep blue eyes pierced his, jolting him. He touched himself again, and he was strong and ready. He found his release, as the woman in his vision was no longer the
girl downstairs. It was his mother, begging for his forgiveness.

  40

  Family

  Tess drove north on the Interstate, her lightbar flashing and horn blaring, weaving through traffic whenever she didn’t drive on the shoulder. It was late. It was close to noon, and they still had no idea where Dahler held Julie. But Dahler looked better and better as the unsub, not just a twist in her gut, but a strong, viable lead, supported by evidence. He was seen buying exotic drugs, pain enhancers no less. He had developed a method to syphon untraceable cash from his bank account; Officer Brooks had already confirmed he cashed out over two hundred grand in the past three months. He had a history of severely abusing his girlfriend; finally, there was someone who could testify in court. Now they could probably get a ballsy judge to sign a search warrant. But for what address?

  Driving as fast as she could to Key Biscayne, Tess didn’t know what to expect from her visit with the Dahler family. Would they even be home? She hoped so. Was Matthew Dahler living with his parents? Or did he just forget to change his address on his driver’s license? How come a rich kid in his 30s still lived with his mom and dad? That didn’t fly. Especially him. He needed privacy to torture his victims. He couldn’t have done any of that in the family mansion, surrounded by countless staff and always risking to get caught. Then where? Officer Brooks was back at the precinct, doing property searches, and he’d come back with several choices. Too many. Irritated with her own powerlessness, she bit her lip angrily.

  “Gary, can you please call our very own Garth Brooks?”

  “What’s up?”

  “I got an idea. Dahler suspends his victims, that’s what Doc Rizza said.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not following.”

  “I’m thinking he might have needed modifications to his property. Dial him.”

  A few seconds later, Officer Brooks picked up.

  “Garth, here’s the second field assignment of your career. Harness suspension requires some modifications to the home. Typically, athletes request such installations for their home gyms, those who do inverted ab crunches and stuff. It could be a long shot, but I don’t think there are a lot of companies who install suspension bars or any type of ceiling equipment. Run Dahler’s photo by all of them. Maybe we’ll hit the jackpot.”

  “On it, ma’am,” he replied, with a smile in his voice.

  “Is Fradella there?” she asked.

  “Where else?” Fradella replied.

  “We haven’t found out where he kept the victims when he was killing out of state. Let’s say here, in Miami, he has a place. How about Chicago? Where did he keep May Lin?”

  “We’ve been digging for that, but—”

  “Because we were looking for straight-up transactions, like home rentals and stuff. Now we know he doesn’t like paper trails. Dig deeper. Pull financials for all his businesses and correlate with the geographical locations and his air travel. He must have traveled there, eaten there, stayed in hotels there. Then see what else he bought.”

  “That will take a while,” Fradella replied.

  “No, it won’t. Call the FBI analyst, Donovan, I told you about. He’ll turn that around in minutes. Call me when you got something.”

  “You got it,” Fradella replied. “Hey, here’s another thought. I want to check the properties he owns, to see if any of them were purchased in cash or if taxes are being paid in cash.”

  “That’s brilliant, Fradella. Get it done.”

  She ended the call and immersed herself back in her thoughts. They were close, so close.

  “I should have thought of that, you know,” Michowsky said.

  She glanced at him quickly and saw the deep frown on his face, the tension around his mouth, the bitterness.

  “Give yourself a break, Michowsky, you’re sick. You’re on pain killers. That does stuff to your brain.”

  “No. Maybe I’m just too old for this job.”

  “Hang in there. You’ll feel much better after we nail this sick son of a bitch. I promise you that.”

  He was silent for a while, then changed the subject.

  “I’ve never been to Key Biscayne before. On official duty, I mean.”

  “I knocked on a few of those doors before,” Tess said with a crooked smile. “Went badly every single time, and lawyers were the least of it. By the way, my offer still stands. You can wait in the car.”

  He kept his eyes focused on the road ahead, and his face immobile.

  “You lied to her,” he eventually said.

  “To whom?”

  “To Jennifer Alvarez. Only if subpoenaed she can break the NDA. You knew that.”

  “Oh, come on. It wasn’t really a lie, just a time-saving maneuver.”

  “Just a timesaving lie. Own it, Winnett.”

  She bit her lip again, but managed to contain the biting answer that was fighting to fly off her lips. Seconds later, they pulled in at the Dahler residence.

  “Wow,” she whispered.

  She stopped in front of the covered porch done in modern marble columns, worthy of a high-end hotel. From there, a flight of marble steps flanked by the same type of columns led to a recessed double-door entrance.

  A man dressed in uniform opened the door before they had a chance to announce themselves.

  “We’re here to see Matthew Dahler,” Tess said, pulling her badge.

  “He is not available at this time,” the man replied, unimpressed with Tess’s badge. “You can leave your business card, and he’ll be in touch.”

  “How about Mr. Dahler? Or Mrs. Feldman Dahler?” Michowsky insisted.

  The man hesitated a bit, then stepped aside, inviting them in.

  The interior was just as impressive, and marble remained the common theme, covering floors, walls, even some ceilings. They waited in the vaulted ceiling atrium for a while, then they were invited to the living room. The entire oceanfront wall was glass, welcoming the morning sun. The wall-to-wall windows incorporated several French doors, overlooking a patio, a pool, and a stretch of ocean beach. In the distance, on the beach, Tess saw a woman in a yoga pose, facing the sun.

  “Yes, how can I help you?”

  She recognized John Dahler from the news; he had at least one weekly appearance in the local media. She’d never met him before, and she hated to admit that in person he was even more imposing. Tall and bulky, with reddish-blond hair that only showed beyond a seriously receding hairline, and with features carved in stone, Mr. Feldman was not displaying even a hint of helpfulness. Just determination to get the issue over with.

  “We’d like to speak with Matthew Dahler,” Tess asked, after clearing her throat.

  “He’s out at the moment,” he replied dryly. “What is this about?”

  “We need to speak with him regarding an old friend of his who was killed.”

  “Who?” Dahler seemed genuinely surprised.

  “May Lin from Chicago,” Tess replied.

  He softened a little bit.

  “Yes, Hank’s daughter. What a tragedy. I didn’t know Matthew knew her though. He should be home soon; he’s at work.”

  “On a weekend?”

  “My son is ambitious, driven.”

  “Where does he work?” Michowsky asked.

  “With his mother,” he replied frowning, then broke eye contact and looked outside for a second, a shade of concern clouding his eyes.

  He seemed uncomfortable, almost embarrassed, and Tess was dying to learn why. She waited patiently, and he didn’t disappoint.

  “Like most affluent young men, our Matthew drifted without purpose for a while, after he finished school. We asked him to make a choice of careers, and he chose to work with her, not me.” He scoffed quietly, and the ridges lining his mouth deepened. “He doesn’t have an inkling of interest in real estate, although everything I own will be his one day. It broke my heart. He’s my only son.”

  A French door whooshed open behind them, and they turned. Edwina Feldman Dahler walked in, barefooted,
wearing a black swimsuit, with a white beach towel around her neck. She looked familiar somehow, but Tess couldn’t place her. When their eyes met, she noticed Edwina’s irises had a stunning shade of ultramarine blue, giving her the same unsettling sensation in her gut she’d felt when she’d first seen Matthew’s mugshot: fear and the unexplainable urge to run. They had the same eyes, mother and son. Same color, same expression in them. As Tess recalled details about Matthew’s appearance, she realized Edwina seemed familiar simply because she looked just like her son. She was a more feminine, older version of Matthew. Same tousled, short, blonde hair, same square jaw, same powerful, proud demeanor.

  Tess presented her badge without a word. Although polite when she spoke, Edwina Feldman Dahler made them feel small, insignificant.

  “What is this about?”

  “Poor May Lin, Hank’s daughter,” John replied quickly. “They’re looking to talk to Matthew.”

  “Ah… I see. Well, Matthew’s not here right now.” She turned around, opened a drawer, and then offered each of them a business card. “This is our attorney. Please call him to set up a meeting with Matthew, sometime next week.” Edwina’s eyes were ice cold, and the intelligence in them, the determination Tess saw in her jaw as she spoke, told her she had little hope of getting more information out of the Dahlers. The conversation was over.

  She pulled out her own business card and handed it to Edwina.

  “Please hand this to Matthew when he returns. He might want to give us a call before next week. We’d appreciate a call today, if possible.”

  She took it reluctantly, barely touching it, and dropped it on the side table. Then she showed them the door with a definitive gesture.

  Tess turned to leave, but then stopped in her tracks.

  “How come he still lives with his parents?” she asked serenely, like they were chitchatting over coffee.