by Leslie Wolfe
The man who took Stacy threw her over the bench and tied her hands in front of her, then moved behind her and spread her legs with his knee. Then he crouched down and tied each of her ankles, forcing them apart with black zip ties secured against the bench legs. Stacy started to regain consciousness and opened her eyes, looking at Melissa for help.
Melissa pounded on the window with both her fists, shouting, screaming. “No, you bastard, leave her the fuck alone! No!”
The man finished tying Stacy’s ankles and rose, taking position behind her. Then he grabbed a fistful of Stacy’s hair and pulled abruptly, forcing her head up. She screamed, a blood-curdling scream ended in an open-mouthed sob.
That’s when the man grinned widely and turned to look Melissa in the eye. His fierce eyes drilled into hers and his crooked grin widened, filled with contempt. She gasped as she thought she recognized a technician from the hospital, someone she’d run into casually, in the cafeteria and the hallways. But Mike, the young man she remembered from the hospital was a nice, seemingly gentle person; it couldn’t be the monster she watched with eyes opened wide in horror, as he made Stacy scream over and over again, not taking his maniacal eyes from Melissa, as in a promise of vengeance and pain.
Then Melissa froze, and even Stacy’s screams seemed to fade away in the distance. There was a second man in the room. He was shrouded in darkness, and, from where she stood, she couldn’t see much of him. The side of his right arm. Coiled rope, held tightly with white-knuckled fists. A shoulder that seemed familiar, although it could have been anyone’s. She couldn’t bear to look anymore.
Oh, God… please, no.
54
Courage
Tess watched the officers break down Michael Walden’s apartment door, barely hiding her frustration. It was an end-of-the-hallway, ground-floor apartment in a huge building; hardly the place he could hold women captive, rape and kill them, then haul their bodies unseen, unheard. A waste of time, another dead end.
She dialed Donovan as she entered the small apartment, barely registering any details. A typical bachelor apartment, relatively clean and organized. She didn’t know what she was hoping to find, but nothing really stood out. No restricted drugs in the medicine cabinet. No rope in the tool closet. No blood-stained clothing in the laundry hamper. Nevertheless, she slid a glove on her hand and fished a few hair fibers from the bathroom counter, then sealed them in a Ziploc bag. Per Doc Rizza’s instructions, she made sure at least some of the hairs had root follicles still attached, for DNA comparison. Then she pressed the green button on her phone and connected the call.
“I was just about to buzz you,” Donovan said, in lieu of a greeting. “Michael Walden just got promoted from person of maximum interest to confirmed suspect. His grandmother, although ninety-one years old at the time and living in a retirement home, bought and registered a black Crown Vic, almost two years ago. Online auction; everything was done remotely.”
“He’s not here, D. Is his phone on?”
“That’s a negative, and his car is too old to have GPS onboard. Even if it does, it was installed aftermarket, and I can’t trace it.”
“How about Melissa’s phone? Is that pinging anywhere?”
“Nope. Last place it registered was the tower near the hospital, last night. Nothing since; I would’ve told you.”
“Give me something, Donovan, don’t leave me hanging. We’re running out of time. Stacy and Melissa—”
“Yeah, I know,” he interrupted. “Listen, I have an idea, but it might be a wild goose chase. Walden’s phone history shows a weird behavior; it’s like he goes to a particular place a lot, but whenever he’s there, he switches his phone off, and the device doesn’t ping for a few hours. Then, when he turns it back on, it pings the same tower. That’s where it pinged last time it was on, and that was a few hours ago.”
“Meaning?” Tess asked, frowning impatiently. Sometimes Donovan could pour endless amounts of nerd speak into her ear, managing to make very little sense while at it.
“Meaning he probably spends a lot of time there, and while he’s there, the phone’s always off.”
“What’s there? What are you talking about?”
“An abandoned warehouse, in the middle of nowhere, off Reagan Turnpike, near the Everglades. That place was part of a large building supply plant that was shut down a few years back. The only structures still standing are two warehouses and a loading ramp. It’s the only thing that fits, within range of that cell tower.”
“Send me the—”
“It’s sent,” Donovan replied. “Good luck, Winnett, go get them.”
She ended the call and scampered to the car, briefing Fradella and Michowsky on the way. She looked at their faces and saw the same determination and urgency she felt; it was one of those moments where it actually felt like they were making progress, finally getting somewhere after endless days of stumbling and feeling their way in the dark.
The convoy of vehicles took almost twenty minutes to cross the city, despite the blaring sirens. Tess could barely contain her anxiety, worried they’d be too late. She didn’t say a word the whole time, and neither did the detectives. Fradella’s hands gripped the wheel tightly, while his eyes were focused on the road and on the many maneuvers he was making through the dense traffic. As for Michowsky, he pressed his lips together every now and then, but didn’t say a word. Soon enough they’d know.
On the final stretch of the road they silenced the sirens, unwilling to give the perpetrators a warning and time to disappear. As soon as they entered the old factory yard, she noticed the black Crown Vic parked outside one of the warehouses, but Fradella was already headed there. He brought the SUV to an abrupt stop in front of the entrance, shooting loose gravel against the undercarriage, then rushed inside, gun drawn, followed closely by Michowsky. Tess unholstered her weapon and removed the safety, then entered the structure right behind them.
The warehouse was vast and almost completely dark. The only light came from the door they’d left open behind them, and from several small, dirty windows in the high ceiling. They turned on their flashlights and proceeded cautiously, checking behind each steel shelf or pile of cardboard debris.
Then Tess heard a scream, and felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. It was muffled, distant, and was coming from inside the warehouse. She signaled Fradella and he nodded, then they rushed ahead, following the direction the scream had come from.
They’d almost reached the far end of the warehouse, when they heard another scream, this one longer, ending in a heartbreaking sob. Tess squinted and projected the flashlight beam in all directions, seeking the source of the sound. The beam landed on a door to what seemed to be an enclosure of sorts, probably an office space built against the back wall of the warehouse.
They took positions left and right of that door, then Fradella kicked it wide open.
Tess froze for a split second, taking the disheartening image in. Stacy, barely conscious, was bound to a high bench, just as Doc Rizza had described based on the autopsy results. Michael Walden stood behind her, holding a handful of her hair twisted around his fingers and a long knife in his other hand. He had an expression of pure shock in his eyes, but that didn’t dilute the viciousness of his lewd gaze.
“Step away from her,” Tess commanded, approaching Walden. “Don’t even breathe. I’m itching to put you out of your misery. You make me sick.”
Walden dropped the knife and the clink of it hitting the floor resonated and echoed against the warehouse’s metallic structure. Fradella grabbed him and handcuffed him quickly, then pushed him toward one of the uniformed officers.
“Keep him handy,” Fradella said. “He’ll need to answer some questions.”
Tess rushed to Stacy and felt for her pulse. It was weak and fast, thready, but she was still alive.
“Get medical in here, now,” she shouted, and someone confirmed they were already on their way. Two EMTs rushed inside with their emergency bags
and huddled around Stacy. Tess stepped back to give them room to work.
That’s when she noticed the window into the other room, and the armchair farther toward the back wall. She took a few steps closer and saw Melissa’s tear-streaked face, as she was shouting something inaudible from behind the tinted, soundproof glass. She looked around, searching for an entrance to that room, and didn’t see it at first. Almost at the back end of the warehouse there was another door, and Tess unlatched it and pushed it open.
Melissa rushed out and landed in Tess’s arms, mumbling something unintelligible, as she buried her face in Tess’s shoulder and wept.
“It’s all right,” Tess said, “you’re all right. We got you.”
“Come with me,” Melissa whispered and tugged at Tess’s hand.
She followed Melissa back into the room that had been a prison and watched her lead the way to the far wall, next to the bedpost. Without a word, Melissa pointed at the names scratched on the wall there, behind the bed.
Tess crouched and squinted, trying to read the scratched lettering in the fluorescent light. She turned on her flashlight and read the seventeen names, one by one, feeling her blood turn to ice. Many names were familiar; she’d seen them before, on the missing persons open-cases report. A few weren’t familiar though, leaving unanswered questions for what would probably amount to months of additional investigations to come. The last name on the list was Stacy’s, but for her, it wasn’t too late. She didn’t belong there, on that wall.
She stood and turned to leave, but Melissa grabbed her hand again.
“There’s more,” she whispered, then pointed at the dresser. She pulled open the center top drawer, and revealed a locked display of diamond rings. Each of them had its own red velvet box, showcased as if in a high-end store, and arranged neatly in a transparent case. A few empty boxes were lined up with their lids open, awaiting their bounty.
She recognized a few of the rings, based on the descriptions and photos she’d seen in case files. Sarah’s yin-yang design with two stones was there, and so was Katherine’s three-stone mounted in gold that had drawn her drug dealer’s attention.
She counted the rings and then counted them again; there were twenty-three. Why so many? Maybe some of the first women didn’t write their names on that wall. She looked at Melissa with an unspoken question in her eyes, but Melissa didn’t have an answer; just a rebel tear hanging from her long eyelashes. Tess grabbed her arm and led her out of there. She noticed Melissa shivered and whimpered quietly when they re-entered the adjacent room, where Michael Walden was being searched and handcuffed.
“It’s all right,” Tess whispered, and hugged her gently. “He’s finished. It’s over.”
Melissa lifted her head and looked around the room, then pushed herself away from Tess. She watched the uniformed officer haul Walden out of there, and shuddered.
“There’s another one,” she whispered. “A strangler, just like you said. You have to find him.”
There was an undertone of urgency and fear in her voice, and Tess resonated with that. “We’ll find him, don’t worry. I bet by now Walden’s singing like the proverbial birdie. Rapists are nothing but cowards. Let’s get you some help.”
She walked Melissa outside the warehouse, holding on to her arm, supporting each other. The adrenaline that had fueled Tess for so many days was starting to vanish, now that Stacy and Melissa were safe, and she felt lightheaded and faint. The pain in her back had returned with a vengeance, making her feel like she’d been stabbed all over again. But there wasn’t time to lick her wounds just yet. The strangler was still out there somewhere, and the manhunt wasn’t over. She still had work to do.
When they exited the warehouse, the sun was almost setting, and Tess squinted a bit under its sharp rays. Melissa whimpered, smiling among fresh tears, and squeezed her arm. “I never thought I’d see the sun again,” she said. “Thank you.”
They were almost at the ambulance when Tess heard a man call Melissa’s name. Then she saw Derek rush and lift her in his arms.
“Mel, thank God, you’re okay,” he said, then put her down and wrapped his arms around her. “I was so worried. Are you… did they hurt you?”
“N–no,” she stammered, and wrapped her arms around her husband.
Tess watched the reunion with mixed feelings. It made her happy to see families reunited; it gave her work purpose and meaning. But she had a question she couldn’t delay asking, and a gnawing uneasiness in her gut she couldn’t put her finger on.
“Mr. Henderson, how did you know where we were?”
He kissed his wife’s hair once more, then looked Tess in the eye, seemingly embarrassed. “I followed you from a distance the entire time,” he replied. “When you left my office, I was right behind you. I forwarded our home line to my cell, to pick up any ransom calls, just like you said. But I would’ve gone crazy alone in that house, waiting for a sign from you. I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me.” He buried his face in his wife’s hair, rocking her gently back and forth, and whispered, “Oh, God, my darling, I love you so much.”
Reluctantly, Tess turned and walked away, slowly, as if something wouldn’t let her leave. It wasn’t rational; after being held captive by the strangler, Melissa would have recognized him, no doubt, especially considering the layout of the crime scene. The room where the women were held captive had a window into what Tess could only call the torture room, so Melissa must have seen every gory detail, including the face of the strangler. So why was it that her gut felt so unsettled?
Tess shuddered, imagining how the women must have felt, seeing other victims raped and killed before their eyes, and knowing this was going to be their future. She let out a frustrated breath of air, thinking how the profile had failed to identify the sadistic streak in the strangler. Just because he wasn’t a sexual sadist, that didn’t mean he wasn’t sadistic, skilled in the hellish art of physiological torture. That’s why the victims overlapped, to allow the cruel son of the bitch time to break their spirits before ravaging their bodies.
She stopped and turned around to take another look at Melissa and her husband. He was facing away from Tess, and Melissa still kept her arms around his back, her face cuddled in his shoulder. But as she turned, Tess saw Melissa open her eyes wide and search hers in an unspoken cry for help. Tess approached them slowly, unsure what Melissa wanted to say. As if reading her uncertainty, Melissa extended her arm toward Tess in a pleading gesture.
Tess felt a chill and a tingling down her spine. She stopped a few yards away from them and pulled out her weapon. “Freeze,” she shouted. “Step away from her with your hands up.”
Her imperative got Fradella and Michowsky’s attention, and they approached quickly with their guns drawn, taking positions around the couple.
Henderson pivoted half a circle to face Tess, and grabbed Melissa by the neck with one hand, while with the other he shoved a gun in her side.
“Don’t be an idiot, Henderson. The moment you pull that trigger, you’re history. Look around you.”
Several other officers had their guns drawn and trained on him. His panic-filled eyes searched desperately for a way out. “No way,” he shouted. “I’ve got the hostage, I make the rules, you hear me?”
“All right,” Tess replied calmly. “Tell me what you want.”
Tess looked at Melissa and repositioned her gun in her hand, as if to aim better, but in fact she was asking her a question. Melissa nodded once, almost imperceptibly, then closed her eyes and turned her face away, as much as her husband’s grip allowed.
Then Tess fired her weapon, and Derek Henderson dropped to the ground, with a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. Melissa shrieked, then crouched to the ground sobbing, hugging herself. Tess rushed toward the fallen body and kicked Henderson’s gun away, then kneeled with difficulty and slid on a glove to search him for other weapons. In Henderson’s right jacket pocket, she found a neatly coiled piece of jute rope, with traces of bl
ood on it. She let it drop in an evidence bag held by one of the officers, then took Melissa away from there, shielding her from viewing the corpse. Her frail body trembled hard, in shock.
“How did you know?” she asked Melissa.
“I felt the gun on his belt and…” she hesitated, then looked at Tess with pleading eyes, “I had suspicions. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you before. I couldn’t believe he…”
“It’s all right,” Tess said. “What you did right there took a truckload of courage, Mel. Know that.”
Tess handed her over to the EMTs, then walked toward the car where the handcuffed Michael Walden was already spilling his guts to Michowsky.
“You know that deal we just offered?” Michowsky was asking, while pointing at Henderson’s body. “It’s off the table.”
“What? You can’t do that,” he argued. “I already told you—”
“You should’ve gotten it in writing, you moron,” Michowsky said. “Feel free to shut up and be misunderstood. We’re not curious about what a lecherous piece of scum like you really thinks.”
“Argh…” Walden grunted. “You act so full of yourselves, but these women, they ain’t no saints. Derek’s right. They’re whores, cheaters, even his own wife. They’d date anyone, except me. All of them refused me... I was a fucking virgin when I finished college! But no, Derek got them all; they’d line up for him, while with me, they were polite and making up excuses. How’s that right?”
“I don’t know, buddy, why don’t you tell me? You and Derek were in college together?” Fradella asked. Tess glanced quickly in Fradella’s direction, and he nodded. “You’re an accountant, that’s your background?”