“Please,” he said, “tell me.”
“We… we forced her out. At seventeen, we couldn’t hide what she was no more. When some other folks in the community found out… she just wasn’t welcome anymore. So we sent her on her way. Out into the world.”
Wolfgram tilted his head slightly. “You kicked out your own daughter because your neighbors weren’t happy?”
The mother swallowed. The girl wouldn’t even look up. She was playing with her fingers, transfixed by them.
“You don’t… You ain’t a part of this community. You don’t know what that’s like. Sarah’s of the devil.”
Wolfgram, despite himself, laughed. “The devil? She has a marvelous gift that you dolts can’t even begin to understand, and you throw her out on the streets to be eaten up by the world.” He shook his head. “You disgust me.”
The mother’s lower lip quivered, but she didn’t say anything for a long time. “Let my daughter go. Let my daughter go, and I’ll tell you everything you wanna know about Sarah.”
Wolfgram drew the hunting knife that was strapped to his ankle. He stood up with a groan. Only now was he feeling the tug of middle age in aching muscles and knees that cracked. The knife dangled from his fingers, and he tapped the edge against his leg.
“No,” he said softly, “I think I’ve heard enough.”
44
The last couple of days had been a blur. Sarah had spent most of her time at the safe house. Once, she’d gone out grocery shopping at a nearby Wild Oates, and one other time Giovanni took her out to a movie, which was awful, and they ended up teasing it throughout the film, cracking jokes about the star’s acting and what he might be thinking in various situations. It was the most fun Sarah had had on a date as far back as she could remember.
After the movie, Rosen had been at the house, ready to go through what the plan was. Basically, an article had been planted in the Skid Row Gossip. Because that was where the story originated and it was cited by other news sources, it was likely the killer would begin perusing that website for information about himself, if he wasn’t already. Rosen had told her that he had not had a serial murder case yet in which the subject had not followed themselves in the news. Something to do with their inferiority complexes, he assured her.
The plan was simple. Rosen had printed out an image where it would occur. The piece in Skid Row Gossip discussed Sarah’s hobbies and listed one of them as Bikram yoga at Center Philly Yoga. The only class was on Thursday nights at eight.
The parking lot, Rosen told her, was probably where he would do it. It was dark and far enough away from the actual studio that someone might think they could do a quick grab in a van or SUV. The parking lot would be planted with agents in cars, and several vehicles would be covering both exits. Two snipers from the Hostage Rescue Team, the FBI’s paramilitary unit, would be stationed on the roof of the studio and across the street on top of a small grocery store. She would be monitored with both audio and video, and a GPS tag would be placed on the inside of her thigh.
“More eyes will be on you than a model on a runway,” Rosen told her.
Somehow, she didn’t feel better.
The night before everything was going to happen, she sat on the front porch and sipped apple juice out of a bottle. Some children were playing hockey outside on the street, and the mother of one of the boys came out every few minutes to yell at him to come back inside. The boy would say he would be right there and then continue to play as though he hadn’t heard her.
Sarah felt someone else come and sit next to her. Giovanni was quiet when he moved; his steps were light, and he carried himself as though he was constantly on alert.
“Can I have a sip?” he asked. She handed him the bottle, and he took a swig and handed it back. “You sure you’re okay with this?”
“No. But Arnold seems to think it’s the best way.” She looked at him. “Do you?”
“I’ve been against it from the beginning.”
“You’re not really answering my question, though.”
He watched the boys for a moment. “It might draw him out. But it’s dangerous. He may just want to attack you, not kidnap you.”
“Arnold said he won’t get near me. As soon as they see him, they’ll swarm in.”
“We will. But it’s still dangerous.”
A long silence fell between them. Sarah watched the moon a bit and then turned her attention back to the boys. The mother came out again and yelled, and the boy again told her he would be there. “I can’t handle this. This hiding. I want this to be over. What if they never find him? What if it takes years? Am I just supposed to look over my shoulder the rest of my life?”
He shook his head but wouldn’t look at her. “I don’t know.”
“And what if—”
Giovanni took her face in his hands gently and kissed her. His lips were soft, and though she was surprised at first, she closed her eyes and kissed him back.
“Sorry,” he said, pulling away. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
She grinned and put her hand on his. “No, you should have.”
The next day was spent in preparation. Going over and over Sarah’s actions. Though really all she had to do was walk out of the yoga studio after everyone else had left. Once she was at her car, she would pretend to be cleaning something out of the back. It would be well past 9:00 p.m. and dark. The FBI would fill the lot with cars beforehand so that she would be forced to park far away, toward the back of the lot in a dark corner.
A signal would be given. Rosen would just tell her, “Now,” in her earpiece, and she was to immediately drop to the ground. They would take the suspect down at that point. If he didn’t surrender, the snipers had instructions to fire if he threatened anyone.
“He’ll never touch you,” Rosen said. “He won’t get within ten feet of you.”
Sarah’s nervous energy prevented her from doing almost anything else. She tried to go for a walk, with the agent watching her in tow of course, but was only allowed around the block. Rounding the block twice, she grew bored and went back inside.
Television was no help. The only books in the house were old encyclopedias and leather-bound editions of classics—just enough to fill bookshelves and help make the house look lived in.
She called Giovanni, but he was in the field and couldn’t talk long. She thought about calling Jeannie but decided against it. Something told her that even though Sarah had tried to help her, just seeing or talking to her would remind Jeannie of what had happened. It would hurt her more than it helped.
So Sarah waited. Mostly, she sat on the front porch and watched the boys playing after school. Schooling among the Amish was a dreary affair, and she had never had friends like the ones the boys had—people to have fun with and rely on. As far back as she could remember, the only person she ever thought she could rely on was her sister, Star.
Though Star was much younger than Sarah, she had a maturity and sociability that Sarah had never had. All the boys paid attention to Star, whereas they left Sarah alone. Star had the blond hair and the face with perfect proportions. She was bubbling and happy nearly every moment. Sarah wondered if she had married yet. She wanted desperately to go back and visit but knew her father wouldn’t allow it. Star had been the only one to stick up for Sarah when she was thrown out. For her troubles, Sarah had no doubt her father had given her a beating.
By the time evening came around, Sarah was starving and was relieved to see Giovanni pull up with a pizza and a six-pack of beer.
“You look bored,” he said, walking up the front steps.
“I am bored.”
He glanced back at the boys in the street. “This’ll be over soon. I promise.”
They ate on the front porch and talked about high school. Sarah knew nothing about what it was like but had seen television shows depicting it as the best times in people’s lives.
“No,” Giovanni said when she asked him about it, “it was definitely not the best t
ime in anybody’s life.”
Darkness fell, and the boys had gone home, but Sarah didn’t want to go inside. Sitting out here, talking to someone about trivial things, was something she desperately needed. And only now did she realize it.
Rosen drove up around six o’clock. He came up to the porch, his hands in his pockets and a worried expression on his face. “You ready?” he said.
Sarah took in a deep breath and got to her feet. “Yes.”
45
Center Philly Yoga was little more than a run-down shack surrounded by trendy gift shops, a Mediterranean restaurant, and two coffee shops. When Sarah walked in, she was struck by the sheer smell of sweat and overpowering perfume.
As part of this whole thing, the FBI had bought her a yoga outfit, which she wore now. It was tight but comfortable, though she felt ridiculous in it. The plan was to make this as authentic as possible. She would have to do the Bikram yoga.
Her instructor was a young hippie-looking woman who seemed stoned. She was almost nude, only covered by the tiniest scrap of shorts and a sports bra. The room was so hot Sarah instantly felt as though she might pass out. Temperature was something she was acutely sensitive to.
Only lasting ten minutes, she knew that was her limit. She felt faint and dehydrated. She hadn’t been told what to expect and didn’t bring a water bottle. She left the class and toweled off but remained inside the studio.
When the class was over, she waited until the other people filed out. None of them had been told what was occurring, and even the instructor didn’t say anything to her. She wondered how the government could do something like this without warning a business owner.
It didn’t matter, though. Her mind was unfocused right now, and she was just jumping around from topic to topic. She had to stop it and focus. She needed to be aware of her surroundings. Her stomach was in knots, and she suddenly felt she might vomit. She sat down and inserted her earpiece. The GPS had been taped to her thigh by a female agent, and she could hardly feel it. The mic, a small black stick that was clipped to a strap on her black yoga outfit, was just as light and unnoticeable.
Once the earpiece was in, she said, “Arnold?”
“I’m here. You okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. I’m freaking out.”
“You’re fine. You wouldn’t believe the manpower we have out here. There’s still a few people from your class in the lot. I’ll let you know when they’re gone.”
She leaned back in the seat, her arms on the armrests. The lighting in the studio was beginning to bother her, and then she thought of something. “Arnold?”
“Yeah.”
“What if the owner asks me to leave? They’re closing up.”
“The owner knows what’s going on. He’s fine.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Looks like the last of the class is driving off. You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” she said, standing up.
“I’ll be right here. Just walk out casually… Okay, I got you. Pretend like you’re distracted as you head to your car… You see that red one right there, there’s an agent tucked into the backseat. Right across from you in the truck with the tinted windows are two of us. I’m across the street in that gray van.”
She knew he was trying to put her mind at ease, but it was just making her more nervous. Despite what she’d been told, she couldn’t help but look around. She had to. A quick glance around the lot, and she didn’t see anything. No one waiting around with their lights off or anything.
“I don’t see anyone,” she said.
“Hang tight. We got a car on the street that just started and is pulling in.”
A long silence followed as Sarah strolled to her car. Her heart was pounding. She wanted to open up the walls in her mind and see anything she could. Anything that would put her mind at ease about what was going to happen. But if the impressions rushed in too quickly, it would crumple her over in pain—something she couldn’t risk right now.
“He’s getting outta the car, Sarah. Keep walking.”
Sarah realized that the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. And, if she listened intently enough, she could hear footsteps in the parking lot behind her.
“Is he behind me?” she whispered.
“Yes. Hang tight, just a little longer.”
Sarah approached the car. She took out her keys and pretended to fumble with them. As she bent down to pick them up, she glanced over and saw a shadow approaching her. The man was in a jacket and had a cap on his head. He looked around, and their eyes met. He stopped in his tracks, and she didn’t say anything.
“Now!” Rosen shouted into her ear.
She hit the ground just as the cacophony of shouting men and screaming tires filled the air. Several cars surrounded the man, and it sounded like an army swarmed over him. The man was tackled from two directions. His arms were twisted like rubber as the cuffs went on. He was searched for weapons and then lifted to his feet and slammed against the hood of a car.
He was shouting something. Something about checking his pockets for his identification.
Giovanni, wearing a T-shirt with the letters F.B.I. across the back and his badge dangling from his neck, sprinted over to Sarah and helped her off the ground. He stood between her and the hysterical man and held her, his arms wrapped tightly around her.
“You did great,” he said softly. “You did great. It’s over.”
46
The FBI offices were the last place Sarah wanted to be. But she also knew she had to be here. She had to look the man in the eyes and… Well, she wasn’t quite sure what looking him in the eyes would do. But she felt she had to do it to make sure this was the man who had killed those women so brutally.
Sarah sat in the hallway as Rosen and Giovanni interrogated the man. They were in there a long time, hours, and she spent most of the time wandering up and down the hallways. Down one long hallway were photos of special agents who had been killed in the line of duty. The photos were hung on plaques, and at the bottom were brief biographies of the men and women. She read a few. Almost all of them said “Beloved mother” or “Beloved father.”
In a flash, she saw children standing next to grave sites. An expression on their faces of such utter loss and pain, they couldn’t react with any emotion. So much agony coursed through them that their little minds had shut down.
She saw an entire fleet of children left directionless at the loss of a parent. A hole they would never be able to fill, though they would certainly try.
“Sarah?”
The name startled her for some reason, as though she had been in a trance, and she looked over to see Rosen standing in the hallway. Giovanni came out a moment later and shut the door behind him.
“What happened?” she said.
Giovanni looked distraught, his forehead creased. He put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall. Rosen looked at him and said, “What’d you think?”
“I think he’s lying,” Giovanni said.
“Me too.”
Sarah looked from one man to the other as she walked toward them. “Lying about what?”
“He says he’s a reporter that’s been following you around since the story broke. Jerry Ridge, with the Cardinal Post. But he doesn’t have any press credentials. His driver’s license and credit card say he’s Jerry Ridge from Philadelphia. So we’re running him right now. We should know soon if he’s telling the truth.”
Sarah stopped between the two men. She looked at the door. “Can I see him?”
Rosen looked at Giovanni, who didn’t say anything. “Sure. He’s cuffed right now.”
“I’ll take her in,” Giovanni said.
Giovanni opened the door and allowed her to enter. The room was carpeted in a dull gray carpet. A long table was there with an iron bar at the end. The man’s wrist was handcuffed to the bar, and he was staring down at the table.
Suddenly, he looked up, their eyes met… And nothing happened.
&nb
sp; Sarah took a step toward him, and Giovanni stopped her. She gently removed his hand and said, “It’s okay.”
The man was greasy and bald. He had a sweat ring around his collar, and his face was flushed from either exertion or alcohol. He didn’t say anything, but his brow furrowed when he saw her sit across from him at the table.
Sarah swallowed. No use beating around the bush.
She reached out and grabbed his hand. The man, surprised, didn’t remove it. And Sarah’s head began to pound.
A cliff overlooking the ocean… A woman was there with this man, and she called him Jerry. They kissed as they watched the waves roll into shore. She said, “I love you,” and he kissed her again and said, “I love you, too.”
Sarah saw them screaming at each other next. Each looked maybe five or ten years older. They were in an apartment, and the woman was throwing dishes at him, and he ducked and tried to tackle her, though he never struck her. But he was hauled away by the police anyway.
Then they were in a courtroom with a child sitting at the stand testifying. The judge was asking her which parent she wanted to live with. The girl began to cry, and Jerry cried with her.
Sarah removed her hand and took a moment to catch her breath. “I’m sorry about your daughter. That she had to go through that.”
The man didn’t reply.
Sarah looked at Giovanni and said, “This isn’t him.”
She rose and walked out of the room without another word. Rosen was on his phone with a glum look on his face.
“Yeah… yeah I know,” he said. “Yeah… okay, bye.”
“What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
He swallowed before speaking. Their eyes locked. Rosen cleared his throat and said, “I’m sorry, Sarah. Your mother and sister were attacked tonight. They didn’t survive.”
Sarah’s eyes went wide and tears streamed down her cheeks. She turned and ran out of the building, Giovanni and Rosen both shouting from behind her.
Blood Dahlia - A Thriller (Sarah King Mysteries) Page 19