by Lori Gordon
They had another suspect.
Alec rolled up the blueprint of the reptile house Hannah provided, shoving it in his pocket. A call went out over the radio’s requesting information on Victor Vasquez’s whereabouts. From all indications, William Thorpe was the last person to see him.
Sam tossed Lombardo a t-shirt they’d recovered from Victor’s locker. “Let’s use the dogs.” She drew her weapon, checking to make sure it was loaded. Giving her team a quick nod, she said. “Let’s do this.”
They fanned out across the perimeter, uniformed officers surrounding the building. The dogs went wild, picking up a scent. “Stay close,” she instructed the canine unit. “We’ll take it from here.”
“Basement,” Sam mouthed, as they headed into the building, Once inside, she shivered, staring into the cold-flat eyes of an alligator.
“Ah, Sweet Frickin’ Jesus,” Lombardo swore, clamping his hand on her shoulder. “I got one of the victims right here.”
Rafe gagged and turned away, covering his mouth with his hand. Heart pounding with dread, Sam followed Lombardo’s gaze. In the far corner of the glass-enclosed cage, a gator was chewing on breakfast. A woman’s fingers dangled between its blood stained teeth for an instant before disappearing into its mouth. Bile splashed in the back of her throat. She quickly looked away, sickened by the enormity of Vasquez’s cruelty.
“Now we know why he chose the reptile house,” Alec said. “Easy disposal.”
In the end, even if Vasquez got the death penalty, he would never endure the level of pain he’d inflicted on his victims. Her expression hardened. “Let’s get this sonofabitch.”
“Frickin’ A,” Lombardo said. “Guy resists, I say we shoot to kill.”
Sam knew she should say something in response to Lombardo’s comment, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. If Vasquez put up a fight, they’d do what they had to do. Weapons drawn, they hurried down the concrete stairs, keeping their backs to the wall as they entered the short hallway. The basement spanned the length of the reptile house. Sam jerked her head to the right, indicating she and Alec would take that side.
Lombardo gave her a curt nod, heading left with Rafe.
Sam exhaled, leaning against the cold, concrete wall. She slipped her gun into her bag, wiping sweaty palms on her dress before drawing it again.
Alec looked at her, understanding what was bothering her. “This isn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it is. Maybe I was too late to save the first two women, but I’m responsible for Cassie.”
“Don’t go down that road, Sam,” he warned. “It will trip you up. I keep telling you, don’t make it personal.”
He was right but she couldn’t help thinking of her sister. A bad call by a good cop could make the difference between life and death. “Our job is personal. It has to be or the sonofabitches win. Somebody has to give a damn.”
She crept into the darkness before he could answer. Up ahead, they heard the sound of water dripping. Alec’s breath was on the back of her neck, as they inched forward. They reached a closed door. She exchanged a look with Alec. He reached for the knob as she leveled her gun.
SAM entered first; extending her weapon, ready to shoot. Her gaze swept the room. She prayed she would hear a cry or a moan, anything to indicate Cassie was alive. The only sound was the steady drip of a faucet coming from an old laundry style sink mounted to a wall to the right.
Alec hugged the concrete wall, arms bent, gun drawn, and moved to her left. The stench inside was unbearable, a mixture of human waste, blood and fear. Sam fumbled for her Maglight, switching it on with shaking fingers.
This was his room, his killing field.
Sam’s gaze traveled across the dark space, feet sticking to the wet floor as she crept deeper into the room. Blood puddled the floor, spattering the walls, and ceiling coating them a grizzly shade of red. She knew instinctively that most cops finished out their careers without ever encountering this kind of evil.
“Alec, over here.” A pulley hung from the ceiling, a worn, bloody rope dangling from its center. Two metal tables stood in the middle of the room, fashioned so Vasquez could stretch out the victim’s arms and legs, making amputation easier. Long leather belts hung from the tables, used to strap down his victims. Sickened, Sam moved the beam onto the second table, heart stopping for a long anguishing moment A cart stood beside it, holding a spent syringe, a small vile, an assortment of knives, a small axe and an electric saw.
His tools.
“Alec,” she whispered. An empty chair sat in a corner, heavy ropes attached to the arms and legs. Cassie had been tied to the chair; she knew it with every fiber of her being, tied to it, waiting her turn.
They were too late.
Her gaze flew back to the cart. A cheap tiara hung from the edge. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands. Blood splatters colored the cheap glass. The design and shape were different from the tiara Cassie wore. Sam’s heart started to thump wildly in her chest. “Alec, we have to go. Now.”
“Hold on .I’ve got something,” he shouted back. “Man down.” Alec crouched over a body, wedged halfway beneath the sink, feeling for a pulse. “He’s alive. I have a heartbeat.
“Ten to one it’s our suspect, Victor Vasquez.”
Sam tore into the café, heading to Hannah’s table. The UNSUB finally tripped himself up, and she was going to nail his ass to the wall. “Give me the pictures.”
Hannah stared up at her with startled, blood shot eyes. “What pictures?” she slurred.
Sam slapped her hand on the table. “The reunion pictures. You had them a little while ago.”
“Oh, those,” Hannah shuddered, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I dumped them somewhere behind the bar. I don’t want to see them again. What do you want those for anyway?” She called over her shoulder as they hurried towards the bar.
Ignoring her, Sam searched through the clutter, knocking empty cans and dirty plates to the floor.
“Here, got them.” Alec said, passing a stack to Sam. “What are we looking for?”
“Our two victims are in these pictures. Check the women’s feet and see if you recognize the shoes.” She handed half the stack Alec gave her to Lombardo, not ready to tip her hand. She’d already been wrong once. Cassie’s life depended on her being right this time “You,” she said to Lombardo, “see if you spot a zoo employee in the background of any these pictures.”
Sam yanked the blueprint of the zoo’s buildings from Alec’s pocket, spreading it out on the bar. The Lion House and the Café both boasted full basements. She rubbed her forehead, so did a number of other structures, but her gut told her she’d find him in one of the older buildings.
“Sam,” Lombardo slapped two photos in front of her. “I think I found our vics.”
She pressed her hands on the bar, studying the pictures. Lombardo pointed towards the shoes two of the women were wearing. “They look like a match to me.”
Sam’s eyes filled with tears she quickly brushed away. Two women in the prime of their lives, sharing a happy moment with old friends, within hours, both would suffer a horrific death at the hands of a madman. Her nails pressed into the palms of her hands, feeling her blood turn to ice. Their deaths were a prime example of life and death intersecting when the wrong paths crossed. Like Melanie, her sister, who’d gotten involved with a mysterious stranger, months before vanishing from their lives.
“Guess who else I got in these pics?” Lombardo’s voice pulled her back to the present.
“William Thorpe.” Alec said, holding up another photo. “Here he is with our two ladies.”
She snatched the picture out of his hand. “Damn it. Why didn’t I see this sooner?” Sam banged her fist on the bar. “The bastard was in front of us the whole time.”
“Wait, there’s more.” Alec held out another photograph. “Some old pictures got mixed in with the batch; somebody must have brought them to the reunion and forgot about them.”
“Thorpe again?”
she asked.
“Yeah, but check it out.”
She snatched the photo out of his hand. The shot was taken in a High School gymnasium. A large banner strung over the stage read “Senior Prom 1987.” The picture was a standard posed shot of a young William Thorpe with one of the victims.
Twenty years ago, he had to have been the class geek. His head was a crown of untamed curly brown hair. He wore thick black glasses, his gaudy light blue tux, and ruffled shirt clashed with the girls red satin gown. On her head was a silver tiara, she wore a sash over one shoulder decorated with the words “Prom Queen Class of 1987.”
The girl’s posture was rigid. The fake smile plastered on her face couldn’t disguise her disgust at being photographed with Thorpe. In the left-hand corner of the snapshot, another boy hovered in the background. He was tall, blonde, and muscular, with handsome features and cold blue eyes. That boy was wearing a black tux with a red shirt and boutonniere. He was obviously the girl’s real date.
Sam closed her eyes, imaging what came next. Kids that age could be cruel, devising viscous pranks to torture kids who didn’t fit in.
William Thorpe hadn’t fit in.
She thought about his nervous speech patterns, his preference for animals over humans, the rage that had cooked inside him for twenty years. What could they have done to Thorpe all those years ago that was bad enough to turn him into a cold-blooded monster?
She gripped the edge of the bar. That’s why he couldn’t resist taking Cassie, despite the risk. It was her prom night, and she was the prom queen. He took Cassie to punish her. Alone, behind the shelter of the shade trees, she was an easy target, especially for someone dressed in a security uniform. Sam felt a sharp twist in her stomach. Thorpe hadn’t counted on a witness. CeCe came forward, forcing him to change his plans.
“The sonofabitch thinks he in the clear,” she said. “He set Victor Vasquez up to take the fall, knowing CeCe’s story would confirm that a security guard took Cassie. He leaves Victor for dead, thinking the blow to the head killed him, loosening the ropes on the chair, wanting us to believe Cassie escaped, killing Victor in the struggle.”
“The bastard tied things up in a neat little bow, then handed it to us on a silver platter.” Alec swore.
“We’ve got one chance to get this right. I’m not taking risks; I want men in every building, searching top to bottom, but I think I know where he is. We have the advantage.” Sam pulled out her glock, double-checking the chamber. “Let’s go get the sonofabitch.”
Sam crouched on the ground, searching for a trap door.
“You sure about this, Sam?” Alec knelt nearby. “Seems like a long shot to me.”
“While you and Lombardo were going through the pictures, I was studying the blueprints. There’s an old coal shaft behind the reptile house .Thorpe probably used as a way in and out since we had men guarding the main entrance.” She used the back of her arm to brush the bangs off her face. “Thorpe is clever. He led us to Victor, counting on the fact that once we processed the scene there would be no reason for us to come back. One of the vials we found in the basement contained an elephant tranquilizer. I’m guessing he drugged Cassie, shoved her in the shaft for safekeeping, and plans to kill her the same way he murdered the other women.”
Lombardo grunted, “Only a fool would go back to the scene of the crime.”
“Thorpe’s cocky.” Sam reminded him. ‘He thinks he’s won. All he has to do is sit tight until we clear out, then he has his playground back again.”
“Hey,” Alec called. “I found the coal shoot.”
Alec slid his fingers through the ring, pulling the metal door open with ease. He raised a brow, peering down. “There’s a ladder, and it’s new.”
“All right.” Sam straightened to a stand. “I’m going in. You both know what to do.”
Alec grabbed her arm. “Be careful.”
“You too.” She ran around to the front of the building, entering through the front door, making no effort to conceal her presence. Her heels clattered on the concrete stairs. If Thorpe was in the basement, she was giving him ample warning.
“Mr. Thorpe,” she called out. “William? It’s Detective Black. Hannah Phillips told me I might find you down here. I want to thank you for helping us close the case.”
Nothing.
Sam followed the narrow hallway. “Mr. Thorpe?”
Her heart pounded in her chest. Damn it, she couldn’t be wrong.
“William?” She suspected the use of his first name would irk him. “Your boss told me I might find you here. I want to thank you for your assistance, but I must also remind you that this is a crime scene and you have no authority to be down here.”
He came at her from behind, knocking her off balance. Before she could react, she felt the knife at her throat.
“Detective Black,” his voice was smooth, without a hint of a stutter. “Or should I call you Samantha Blackstone? That is your real name, isn’t it?”
“My name is Sam Black.” The blade was cold, pressing against the pulse in her neck. She lowered her eyes, watching his sweaty hand tremble on the handle.
“That may be what you call yourself now, but I did my research. Amazing the sorts of things you can find out.”
“Don’t be a fool, Thorpe,” she said, slipping her hand inside her purse to reach for her gun. He anticipated her move and yanked it from her bag, sending it flying across the floor.
“That’s what you take me for isn’t it? A fool? Samantha Blackstone, former Michigan Avenue shrink to the city’s elite, former prom queen, wanting to thank the likes of me?” He dug the blade into her throat. “Did you really think I’d fall for that? Did you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The gun was at least three feet away. There was no way to reach it. She swallowed her fear, hoping she hadn’t made a fatal mistake by walking in unarmed.
“Don’t play dumb, Samantha. It doesn’t suit you.” He dragged her towards the basement door, towards his killing room. “You are one of those women who think they’re better than men. I knew it the instant I met you, when you undermined that nice Detective Lombardo by insisting you were in charge.”
“I am in charge.” She had to keep him talking. Sam never anticipated him lying in wait for her. She’d planned on catching him off guard and distracting him while the men rescued Cassie.
“You see, that’s exactly the kind of attitude I’m talking about. Any fool can see he’s a more experienced detective than you, but instead of being grateful for his help, you humiliated him.”
She had to switch gears, get him talking about something else. “What did they do to you, William? How did they humiliate you?”
“Who?” The knife wavered slightly.
“Your prom date? Class of 1987? And her boyfriend? What did they do to humiliate you?”
“Shut up,” he yelled, unlocking the door, and tossing her inside. “Shut the hell up.”
Sam fell to her knees, feeling the sting of concrete rush up to greet her. Thorpe pulled the door shut behind them, waving the knife in her direction. She scrambled to her feet, looking for something to use as a weapon when her eyes locked with Cassie’s.
The girl was bound and gagged, tied to the chair, with a dirty cloth shoved in her mouth. Her bloodstained tiara sat on her head at a haphazard angle, there was a wide gash on her face from where Thorpe backhanded her into submission. Her dress bunched up at the waist, Thorpe exposed her when he shoved a blue and white garter high on her thigh.
Sam instinctively knew that was the amputation point.
Cassie moaned through the gag, eyes pleading for help. Her wrists and ankles were raw and bloody from her struggle to escape.
Sam ripped her gaze away, focusing on Thorpe. “Whatever they did must have been pretty bad if the only way you can get off is by killing and torturing women.”
“I said shut up,” he screamed, rushing forward, jabbing at her with the knife.
She sideste
pped the blow, darting towards Cassie, hoping for a chance to loosen the ropes. “What did they do Thorpe, pull your pants down? Show everybody your little pecker? Now the only way you can get it up is by tying a woman down?”
“You bitches think you’re queens with those dime store crowns on your heads. That little whore.” He swung the knife towards Cassie. “Was mouthing off to her boyfriend, making a fool of him in front of you,” Thorpe spat on the ground. “She’s not so proud now, is she?”
“Her boyfriend is a two bit punk who slaps women around, just like you,” Sam challenged. She needed to find his breaking point so she could gain the advantage. “You’re a pig Thorpe, a cowardly sonofabitch.”
“You bitch,” he screamed, lunging at her with the knife.
Sam dodged him, baiting him further. “Why do you cut women’s legs off, Thorpe? Is that the only way you can keep them from running away from a sad, pathetic creature like you?”
His panted, face mottled with anger, darting back and forth with the knife. “You wanna know why I took their legs? Because they didn’t deserve them.”
“That’s bullshit Thorpe and you know it. A coward always blames someone else for what he does.”
“They accepted the garters I got them, that I paid for with hard-earned money I made by mopping floors working as a janitor so I could afford to go to a private school. They teased me, raising their dresses, showing me their legs, making me think I’d get a chance to take the garter off and wear it on my arm, showing the world they belong to me.”
“You sick, twisted bastard, that’s not what a garter means. It’s a stupid, silly tradition that means nothing,” she screamed, chest heaving, exhausted from trying to elude the knife.
“That didn’t give those bitches the right to humiliate me, to dress me up, invite me to the prom, and then…then when it came time for the prom queen’s dance, do you know what they did?” He shrieked. “They waited until the spotlight was on us. Waited until the entire Senior class parted, watching us take our place in the middle of the gym.” His eyes glazed over, reliving the memory. “The queen’s court dumped buckets of dog shit all over me while everyone laughed. Their boyfriends held me down, putting on rubber gloves to smear it all over me. Then one of them pulled down my pants and bent me over…and they…they raped me with a god damn shoe. When they were finally done with me, they threw me in a dumpster, slammed the lid shut, and wheeled me out in the alley, leaving me there to rot.”