by Susan Gnucci
“Yes, right over there.” She directed their attention to a park bench almost directly in front of her house. “The bench by the big oak tree. I sit there sometimes for a rest after my walk. He was sitting there too that day. He wasn’t with any of the children in the playground,” she advised them with a knowing nod of her head.
“How do you know?”
“Because I asked him. Ever since all that surveillance with Tess, I’ve been very wary of strangers. But he was such a nice young man.”
“Young? How young?” McLean interjected.
“Oh dear, when you’re my age, ‘young’ is a relative term, I’m afraid,” she laughed. “If I was to hazard a guess, and you understand it’s just a guess, mind you, I would say he was in his forties. Yes,” she said, nodding her head as though to convince herself, “somewhere in his forties.” She looked at them then, trying to gauge if her information was at all helpful, but both detectives merely nodded.
“Did he give you his name?” McLean asked. Of course, they knew their killer would never use his real name, but knowing a name could nevertheless prove useful in eliminating this person.
“Let me see, now. Yes, he did give me his name. It was David, I believe.”
“Any surname?” McLean probed, hoping she would not pick up on the anxious edge to his voice he found hard to mask once his emotions were in play.
After a moment’s hesitation, the elderly woman admitted, “Well, if he did, I’m afraid it escapes me.” Witnessing the disappointment on the young detective’s face, she was quick to add, “But I do remember he said our neighbourhood would be perfect for him and his wife.”
“Can you remember what else you talked about?” Baxter asked.
“Well, let me see.” Mrs. Peterson puckered her lips and frowned as if deep in concentration. “I seem to recall he asked me a few questions about our neighbourhood. Was it safe? What were our taxes like? That sort of thing.” Looking up, she clapped her hands together as if to congratulate herself for remembering so much of their conversation.
“Did you leave first or did he?”
“Why, he did,” she replied.
“When he left, did he get in a car?” With this question, both detectives leaned in.
Mrs. Peterson took a moment to answer as though she had to think about it. “Well, no. He just walked off across the park. Yes, yes. I remember thinking how tall he was,” she mused.
“Did anything about this guy strike you as odd, Mrs. Peterson? Anything about his demeanour, an accent, a tattoo?” McLean was grasping at straws and he knew it. And more importantly, he had to tread carefully so as not to lead the witness.
“Now that you mention it…” Her brows knitted together in concentration. “There was a large scar on his cheek, the right one, I believe. Poor fellow. He had concealer on it so it wasn’t very noticeable until you were right up close.” Noticing the puzzled looks on the detectives’ faces, she continued, “Oh, I used to be a nurse in my day, so I know all the tricks of the trade for concealing scars. He hid it pretty well, just not well enough for my keen eye,” she explained as she winked at them.
Both detectives sighed heavily and put their notebooks away. This didn’t match their sketch. And without any other information to go on, they decided this lead was not worth chasing. Although Mrs. Peterson invited them to stay for tea, they took their leave, graciously accepting the cookies she insisted on pressing into their hands.
Tess knew she’d been incredibly lucky. Using his antique hairbrush, her captor had stroked her hair for ages, fussing and fawning over its weight, texture and colour. Engrossed in his fantasy, he had forgotten all about the hairbrush on the floor under the sink. He’d stood perhaps feet from it the entire time. Tess retrieved it the moment he left, carefully setting it back on the lip of the sink, its handle concealed once again underneath the now damp towel. Afterwards, she had waited, hoping against hope he would leave the house again like he had the day before, so she would have the opportunity to fashion the brush into something sharper.
Later in the day, after he had delivered her dinner tray, she heard the basement door open and close, and her heart almost skipped a beat when a car engine started. Glancing down at her watch, she noted the time – 4:30 p.m. Same as yesterday. Would he be gone until late again, she wondered? Of course, she had no way of knowing, but she was determined to make the most of whatever time she did have. It crossed her mind he might have some kind of evening job like a night clerk at a motel or a janitor, but whatever the reason for his absence, she was elated.
It took only a few minutes to devour the simple meal he had prepared for her after which Tess turned her attention to the task at hand. Quickly retrieving the hairbrush from the sink and sliding out the mattress from the wall, she put on her sock ‘glove’ once again and set to work, fueled by the horror of his frank intention to kill her at some point. This was day two of her captivity. How many more days would he keep her? She decided then and there she had to finish her weapon tonight. To wait even one more day could cost her her life. As the reality of that settled over her – the grim, stark fact she was going to attack a man with nothing more than a crudely sharpened brush handle – her resolution faltered. Who was she kidding? He was not a large man by any means, but a woman her size had virtually no chance against someone who outweighed her by a good forty pounds. Not to mention this man was incredibly agile and inordinately strong for his size.
Sitting back on her haunches, she closed her eyes and briefly gave in to her despair before the face of her beloved guardian came to her. Breathing deeply, it was as if she could feel Emmy’s presence, and for a brief instant, she was certain she caught a hint of lavender, Emmy’s favourite perfume. Opening her eyes, Tess took comfort from the steadfast belief her guardian was with her, even now. She remembered fondly how Emmy had always told her she could do whatever she set her mind to, so she vowed to live up to the faith her guardian had always placed in her. And so, she resolved to see her plan through.
With any luck, she would have the element of surprise on her side. He had always benefited from that in the past. With the tables now turned, she was hoping he would be thoroughly unprepared for a planned attack. All she needed was seconds, mere seconds to wound him, get the keys, and make her escape.
Suddenly, something dawned on her – she had been so focused on a plan of escape from her room, she hadn’t given any thought as to what she would do if it was actually successful! She knew he had a keychain with multiple keys; she had heard the keys jingling when he locked and unlocked her door. Surely the door to the house wouldn’t be locked from the inside, would it? If so, would she have time to figure out which key to use? She knew the basement door was near her room. She decided she would try for it first. If it was indeed locked from the inside, she wouldn’t waste any time trying his different keys. Instead, she would simply bolt upstairs and make her escape through a door or a window on that level. Surely, they couldn’t all be locked or barred, could they?
If she was very lucky, his keychain would also include a key to his car. If it didn’t, what would she do then? What if his house was out in the middle of nowhere? True panic descended on her in that instant and in her desperation, Tess wasted precious time struggling to regain her composure.
“Think! Think!” she finally scolded herself. Realizing it would be foolish to run down the road if he indeed had the car keys on another keychain, she decided she would try for a neighbor’s, and if there weren’t any, she would strike out cross country. She knew he could probably track her easily enough, but she really had no other alternative. Admittedly, he had moved around a lot, so hopefully, he hadn’t lived on his property very long. Maybe he didn’t know the surrounding area very well; at least that would level the playing field. Thankfully, it was late in June, which meant the nights would be cool but not unbearable if she had to spend a few days hiking her way out.
Feeling somewhat better after her strategizing session, Tess set to work once a
gain with the hairbrush, carefully pausing time and again to listen for the sound of a car that would signal her captor’s return. As the hours ticked by, the brush in her hand began to take shape, the once oval handle gradually crafted into a crude dagger.
Rationalizing his likely return at the same time as the previous evening, Tess rose gingerly from her mattress just after 10:30 p.m. in order to clean up. She didn’t think it possible to be stiffer than last night, but her legs felt like jelly as she struggled to stand, and her arm ached and throbbed from hours of concentrated effort. She hoped she hadn’t overdone it. In addition to the element of surprise, she also needed strength and agility, no matter how sore she was.
After washing and drying both her hands and the brush, she spent some time planning the actual attack. Holding the brush in front of her, she admired her handiwork. Although small, the dagger would definitely do some damage if she could plunge it into her captor. She debated where to land her blow and decided his chest would present the largest target. All she had to do was avoid his breastbone. A blow to either side would suffice.
Testing out the feel of the dagger in her hand, Tess turned it this way and that, trying to gauge the easiest to way to hold it in order to get the best grip. She practiced whipping it out of her back pocket and lunging forward with a quick stabbing motion. Hopefully, she would be able to wound him before he even knew what had happened.
Preoccupied as she was, Tess never even heard the car’s approach; it was only the muffled sound of a car door that alerted her to the fact her captor had returned. Glancing quickly at her watch, she noted the time – 11:05 p.m. He was back! Quickly replacing the brush handle under the towel at the sink, she scurried back over to her mattress, shoving it against the wall before she hurriedly put her sock back on. Lying down on her mattress facing the door, she waited. She was not prepared to launch her plan of attack until he brought her breakfast tray in the morning, so it was crucial if he entered her room tonight that he didn’t notice anything amiss. She needn’t have worried, for as with the previous night, he simply knocked on her door to check on her.
Before sleep had a chance to overtake her, she crept soundlessly to the sink and retrieved her make-shift dagger, taking it to bed with her. As she lay still and silent, she prayed that the one thing she was counting on – her captor’s overconfidence – would be his downfall.
The sound of a bolt being slid back on the door woke Tess the next morning, prompting her eyes to fly open. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” she cursed as she flailed around on the mattress for the hairbrush. She’d been so exhausted from her exertions the previous night, she’d slept late. Instead of waking in the pre-dawn hours as she had on the previous two mornings, she hadn’t stirred even when the sun rose. And now she had to act or risk exposure with her weapon – she had nowhere to hide it. Thankfully, she immediately spied the brush on the floor beside her mattress where she must have kicked it during the night. Snatching it up and stuffing it into her back pocket, she rose hastily and swatted at her wrinkled clothes to straighten them. Her captor entered the room and turned to key the lock, giving her time to catch her breath.
Feigning interest in the food he carried, Tess licked her lips and moved forward with her arms outstretched as if to take the tray from him, all the while praying he would not sense her intentions. Surely, her outstretched arms posed no threat as he could clearly see her upraised, empty palms. He appeared momentarily taken aback by her eagerness, but then simply smirked at her, clearly amused by it. As he continued into the room; however, his smile slowly faded…
Tess followed his gaze and realized with horror he was staring at the condition of her right hand. Even though she had used her ‘sock’ glove yesterday, her concentrated efforts had produced a large, angry-looking blister. Her heart sank. Knowing her element of surprise had now been compromised but desperate to launch her plan of attack anyway, she reached behind her back and pulled out the brush, rushing him as she did so.
In life or death situations where one must choose to act in a matter of a split second, it is said adrenalin kicks in and instinct simply takes over, often making one’s actions a blur, but if truth be told, Tess was hyper-aware of the movement of every single muscle in her body. It was like she was part of a movie that was playing out in excruciatingly slow motion.
The moment he saw Tess come at him with her hand-made dagger, her captor recoiled in alarm and dropped the breakfast tray he was carrying. As it fell, the tray glanced off Tess’ knee, upsetting its contents, causing her to falter. As she began to fall, Tess lunged forward and made a vain attempt to plunge her weapon into her captor’s chest. Instead, it glanced off his left arm, slicing open his sleeve in the process. As Tess sprawled onto her side, the hairbrush flew from her hand and clattered along the concrete floor coming to rest against the wall underneath the window. She landed heavily on her right hip, the jarring pain momentarily stunning her. Catching her breath, she turned to face her captor and was elated to discover that the blow had felled him, for he was crouched against the opposite wall of the room, one hand covering his injured arm.
When he looked up at her, it was with a mixture of shock and disbelief as though he couldn’t quite fathom what had just happened. Recovering swiftly, he broke into a lopsided grin. “Brilliant plan, my dear!” he exclaimed, spittle escaping from his mouth at the force of his words. “Simply brilliant!” The look he gave her was one of fiendish delight behind which lurked a hint of grudging admiration. His mood changed instantaneously, however, when he noted the degree of injury to his arm. Narrowing his gaze and motioning with a quick toss of his head, his voice suddenly flat and deadly serious, he challenged her – “Now come and get the key…”
Tess swallowed hard. Biting her lip, she looked longingly at the hairbrush resting against the far wall much closer to him than to her. She was plagued with indecision. True, he was probably in shock, but she did not underestimate, not even for a minute, his agility even while wounded. And even if she managed to get to the brush first, she would realistically have only seconds before he’d be upon her, at which point, he could very well use it on her! She had to face facts – the element of surprise that had been to her advantage was now gone, and with it, perhaps her best chance at freedom. It was a harsh reality to face.
She had to fight against the urge to scream out her frustration, but knowing such a display would only amuse him, she restrained herself. She knew he would savour every morsel of her despair. Well, she would bloody well rob him of that. It was the least she could do. “You’re bleeding quite a bit there.” She pointed to his arm in an attempt to distract him.
The hand covering his wound was bright red, and blood had already seeped down the sleeve of his shirt to his elbow.
Carefully pushing herself into a sitting position facing him, wincing at the stabbing pain in her hip as she did so, she motioned with her head. “You’re in no shape to make it to the door.” Tess knew her attempt at bravado must look unconvincing, but she continued anyway, “Let’s just talk about this, OK?”
He did not respond but simply cocked his head at her as if sizing her up.
Tess swallowed past the lump in her throat and attempted to reason with him. “You let me go and I swear I won’t go to the police for at least 24 hours. You’ll have plenty of time to get away. I…I…don’t even know your name.”
“Ah, you’re a clever girl, Tess,” he finally spoke, shaking his head slowly back and forth. “Such a clever girl. Trying to stall while I bleed. Weaken your opponent to the point where you have the upper hand, no? I am duly impressed,” he clucked, “but I can assure you, this is only a flesh wound. A few stitches, and I’ll be as good as new,” he boasted.
Tess’ face fell.
“But most definitely,” he advised her as he wagged a bloody finger at her without letting go of his arm, “I will not underestimate you again, my dear. You can be certain of that!” He spoke as though he was admonishing a naughty child. Gritting his teeth, he made
an attempt to stand.
“How do you know I won’t try again before you get to the door?” Tess glared at him, rising to her knees despite her sore hip, her body language making it clear she was prepared to make a break for the hairbrush. Hoping to intimidate him, but knowing the futility of such a gesture, she began to look wildly about her for any other way to stop him, her eye dismissing the spilt breakfast on the floor between them.
“Why, I don’t,” he shrugged nonchalantly as he straightened, albeit shakily. “That’s what I love about you, Tess – your un-predict-ability.” He pronounced the word slowly with relish. Wincing, he leaned against the wall for support. “But you and I both know you’re no match for me. Granted, you’ve had your little fun, but to think you can outwit me?” When he caught her defeated look, he grew conciliatory. “Ah, come now, my dear. Notwithstanding my superior intellect, I’ve had so much more practice at this than you.” His stare was mesmerizing, incapacitating her will to fight. Before she knew it, he had moved along the wall to the hairbrush and had begun to gently kick it along in front of him towards the door.
Not knowing what else to do, Tess snatched up the small plastic dinner tray and moved to block the door, holding the tray in front of her like some kind of shield.
He raised his eyebrows as if to say, ‘Really?’ and for a moment, both of them simply stared at one another.
“Get out of the way, Tess,” he finally spoke. Although it was a command, his voice was strangely quiet. It had a patient quality to it much like a parent talking to a small child who was being petulant.
“No.”
“No?” he cocked his head. “Do you know what I will do to you if you do not?” he asked her.
Her mouth fell open and a gasp tumbled from it.
“Ah, yes. I can see you know what I’m capable of,” he nodded wickedly.