by T. R. Ragan
Jessie frowned. “I thought you didn’t recognize him?”
“I didn’t.” She lifted her head, put her glass on the table again, and then looked right at Jessie. “I didn’t know who he was until I saw him and his wife on the morning news pleading for the return of their daughter. Nick Bale was the man I saw in the parking lot. His face has haunted me all these years. All the whiskey in the world can’t make it go away.”
“I’m sorry,” Jessie said, “but I don’t understand why you didn’t call the police.”
“My mother begged me not to get involved.” Rene wiped more tears away. “I wasn’t going to listen to her, I swear. But then I began receiving death threats.”
“What sort of threats?”
“Phone calls in the middle of the night. A muffled voice telling me he would kill my mother if I said one word to the police. A dead possum in my car.”
Jessie thought about the phone records. If she remembered correctly, they only kept them for up to five years. Nick Bale had stolen his own baby, and now he was following her. He could be out there right now, watching. She stood and went to the window. No blue Honda. Nothing unusual. She pulled the curtains shut, then walked through the house, making sure doors and windows were locked tight.
Rene came up behind her and touched her shoulder.
Jessie jumped. “You scared me.”
“What are you doing?”
“If what you just told me about Nick Bale is true, I’m worried about your safety.”
“He hasn’t called me in years.” She shook her head as she shuffled back to the living room.
Jessie followed her. “Your rifle is by the door. It’s not loaded.”
Rene chuckled as she plopped down on the couch again. “No?”
Jessie shook her head. “Do you want me to load it for you?”
“Nah. I’m not afraid of dying.”
“Are you saying that you think Nick Bale would hurt you?”
“Think about it,” she said. “I’m probably the only person on this earth who knows what he did.”
“I think I should call the police.”
“No,” Rene said, her voice firm. “Not yet. I’m tired and sore, and I just want to sit here for a while longer and enjoy my whiskey.”
“I’ll have to let the police know what you told me eventually.”
“I know, honey. I know.”
“Lock the door after I leave, okay?”
Rene finished the rest of her whiskey, gave her a wicked grin, and said, “I will.”
TWENTY-NINE
Zee was smothered between clothes that smelled like cigarettes and old shoes when Creeper Dude walked into the bedroom. Through tiny slits in the door, she could see bits and parts of the man she assumed was Rudy Archer. Caucasian. Bedhead. Funny-looking ears.
“You chewed off the tape,” he said. “I hope you didn’t make a nuisance of yourself while I was away.”
“Let me go.”
“Sounds as if you’ve lost your voice. Been busy making a racket?”
When the man on the bed didn’t respond, Creeper Dude laughed. “I paid you up front. You owe me another hour of work.”
“I never agreed to be drugged and cuffed to a bed. Let me go!”
“Cry me a river. You didn’t agree to a lot of things I have planned for you. And if you go to the police after I release you, do you think they’ll believe a male prostitute with a penchant for drugs, or a photographer with a thriving business?”
“They’ll find pictures.”
“I blindfolded you. You have no idea where you are. And if you think I’m stupid enough to store the digital pictures on the computers in my own house, you’re dumber than I thought.” He clapped his hands, making Zee jump. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
“The police are on their way,” the man on the bed told him.
Creeper Dude ignored him as he shuffled through a middle drawer in the tall dresser against the wall. Zee held perfectly still. The object he was holding when he turned toward the bed made her skin crawl. What the hell was he going to do with that?
“What are you doing?” the man on the bed asked since he couldn’t see a thing.
“You’ll find out soon enough. Looks like we’re going to need some lubricant.” He set the object down and began setting up the cameras. Then he walked back to the same dresser and slid on a pair of latex gloves. Zee was glad she couldn’t see what he had planned. She had an overactive imagination as it was.
“If you relax, buddy, it’ll be painless. If you want to keep fighting me, then go right ahead. The sickos who pay to see this kind of crap like to see the terror in a person’s eyes. The funny thing is, they think it’s all an act.”
A few seconds later, the man started to scream.
Zee squeezed her eyes shut and prayed Colin would get here soon.
“Help me! Girl in the closet, please help me!”
Shit. Zee stiffened.
The room grew quiet. Then sure enough, she saw a shadow of a man coming her way. She was going to die. She was an idiot, just like Francis always told her. “Plenty of sunshine headin’ my way,” she sang under her breath. “Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay!”
Shut up! Francis shouted inside her head.
The closet door swung open. “What the hell?”
Head first, Zee rammed into him. He grunted and fell backward. On the way down, the back of his head hit one of the tripods and sent a camera flying into the wall.
“You dumb bitch,” he ground out, grabbing hold of her ankle as she tried to jump over him to get to the door. She fell on top of him and clawed at his face. When he tried to twist away, she jammed her elbow into his side.
He wasn’t very tall, and he was overweight, but he was strong enough to push her away and get to his feet in quick order. At the same time she heard a knock at the door, a pillow came down over her face, pushing her nose sideways. Arms flailing, she tried to reach over the pillow for his hand or his arm, but she couldn’t find anything to grab on to.
He was putting all his weight into holding the pillow over her face. It was impossible to breathe. How much longer would she last? Light-headed, she could tell that she was going to black out soon.
A doorbell sounded.
In a last desperate attempt to get away, she kicked both legs straight out and finally connected with Creeper Dude’s shin. He stumbled backward, giving her a chance to draw in a much-needed breath of air.
And then the man on the bed found his voice again, screaming so loud, she was certain he’d just pierced both of her eardrums.
Creeper Dude made a run for it.
There was a lot of banging on the front door. Somewhere inside the house glass shattered. Another loud crash sounded before heavy footfalls pounded down the hallway, coming her way. She was still struggling to get air into her lungs when two men rushed into the room. A tall good-looking guy hovered over her. “Zee?”
“Colin?”
He’d come just in time. She was alive. Her legs wobbled as he helped her to her feet. She held on to Colin, glad when he used his arm around her waist to help her keep her balance. He smelled nice. “Creeper Dude went that way,” she said, pointing at the door.
“We got him on his way out.”
“Nice!” She glanced at the man on the bed. His blindfold had been removed.
“Thank you for coming to my rescue,” he said.
She nodded, but a part of her wanted to lecture him for throwing her under the bus before the cops had arrived. But then her gaze fell on the object creeper dude had used on him. It resembled a medieval weapon with its long handle and sharp metal spikes covering the head. She realized she probably would have ratted him out, too, if their situations had been reversed.
“Come on,” Colin said, ushering her out as another man with metal cutters entered the room. “Let’s get out of here. We can talk at the station.”
With an exaggerated limp, she leaned her head close to his chest as they walked.
“Do you think Jessie will fire me?”
“Why would she do that?” Colin asked.
“Because I sort of disobeyed her orders . . . again.”
“I think she’ll be glad she had the insight to hire such a brave young woman.”
“Do you know what month Jessie was born?”
“May. Why?”
Zee winced. “May what?”
“May 26.”
“Dang. She’s a Gemini. That doesn’t bode well for me.”
“No?”
Zee shook her head as they made their way to the entryway. “She’s an air sign. Geminis can be superficial and uncompassionate. I’m screwed.”
He chuckled.
He thought she was funny. She liked that. “Are you and Jessie still dating?”
“Why do you ask?”
She wasn’t that much younger than Jessie. Maybe she stood a chance with him. “No reason.”
THIRTY
He watched Emily through the window. She was lying on the bench and clutching her sides. “Take your medicine,” he told her. “It will make you feel better.”
He knew she didn’t trust him, but the way she’d been moaning all day, he figured she’d probably take it.
She looked to the ground and then reached for the bottle of medicine and the spoon. “When did you put this inside my room?”
“When you were sleeping.” He walked away, then returned with his video camera.
“Hello, viewers,” she said, forcing a smile. “In case you were wondering, yes, I’m feeling like shit.” Her shoulders dropped as she looked away from the camera. “Why am I so sick? You’ve been putting something in the yogurt, haven’t you?” She looked up at him. “This has been your plan all along.” The color drained from her face. Emily jumped up and ran to the toilet to throw up.
“She doesn’t look good, does she, Owen?” He zoomed in on Emily, catching the pain etched in her face as she rocked back and forth, her arms wrapped around her waist.
“This is your fault, Owen. You had all the power when it came to my daughter’s health, but now I’m in control. I’m the insurance company now. Do you have any idea how many of your clients lost their homes and their life savings to try to save their loved ones? And you never gave a shit. But you give a shit now, don’t you?”
Emily was vomiting again. That was more like it. She needed to suffer like his Hannah had suffered, and Owen Shepard needed to watch.
The medicine Emily had just taken was much more powerful than the poison he’d been putting in her yogurt. She’d already lost weight. Her shoulders looked bony; her face looked gaunt. A soft yellow circled her eyes. The cracks in her dry lips had deepened.
He thought of Hannah and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I hope millions of people see what you’ve done. I hope your company is destroyed when they find out how you treat the people who put their trust in DHI. Owen Shepard is not in the business of keeping people alive.” Again he zoomed in on Emily, who was panting now, struggling to catch her breath.
She looked straight at him, which was as good as looking into the lens, and put a hand to her throat, her eyes wide. “Help me,” she squeaked.
I wish I could, Emily. I wish I could.
THIRTY-ONE
On her way home from Auburn, Jessie thought about everything Rene Steele had just told her. It was too soon to call the police regarding the Bale case, she decided, since she didn’t have any proof Nick Bale had stolen his infant daughter. It would be Nick Bale’s word against Rene Steele’s. And it was clear Rene had an ongoing love affair with the bottle.
She thought about paying Ashley Bale a visit, but if Nick was home, that wouldn’t work. He could be dangerous. As soon as she got back to her office, she would e-mail Ashley and let her know she needed to talk to her as soon as possible.
She was still on the highway when she got a call from Colin.
“Hi,” she said.
“Where are you?”
“In the car, about fifteen minutes from home.”
“You might want to stop by the station. Zee Gatley is here.”
Jessie’s first thought was that he got it wrong. Zee was at her house, working on the DHI case. And then she remembered that it was Zee they were talking about. “Why? What happened?” Her stomach dropped. “She’s not hurt, is she?”
“Other than being worried about the possibility of you firing her, she’s doing fine. But I think it’s best if I let Zee tell you what happened.”
“Okay, I should be there shortly.”
After checking in at the Sacramento Police Department, Jessie was brought to a holding room, where she found Zee sitting alone at a table. When Zee looked up at her, Jessie’s insides twisted. Zee’s lip was bloodied. Her left eye was bruised and swollen shut. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. They gave me ice.”
“What’s going on, Zee? Why are you here?”
Behind Jessie, the door opened. It was Colin.
“I did exactly what you told me to,” Zee said. “Once I knew for sure that someone was in danger, I called your boyfriend.”
Jessie took a seat at the table across from Zee. “Tell me everything.”
“Okay. I was sitting in the car, watching Lindsay Norton’s house. ‘Psychic City’ by Yacht was playing, and I was about to turn up the volume. It’s a great song, you should listen to it sometime. Although ‘Water Fountain’ by tUnE-yArDs is another good one.”
“Zee,” Jessie said. “Try to focus.”
“Yeah, yeah. When I heard what sounded like a loud shriek, I turned off the radio and climbed out of the car. That’s when I heard it again, only this time the voice was much more distinct. Someone was calling for help.”
“And so you called Colin?”
“Not yet,” Zee said. “I wanted to be sure.”
Exactly what Jessie was afraid of. “So, what did you do next?”
“I walked across the street and made my way around the side of the house to the backyard.”
“Whose house?”
“Lindsay Norton’s neighbor—Creeper Dude’s house. The guy I told you about.”
Jessie’s eyelid twitched.
“The screams for help kept getting louder and louder, so I ran around to see if there was a way inside.”
“The door was unlocked?” Jessie asked.
“It was the next best thing—an open window.”
“So you climbed through a window, and what did you find?”
“Well, I was quickly distracted by Lindsay Norton doing a vigorous workout routine. I knew that might be my only chance to catch her on video, so I used my cell phone to capture the whole thing.” She slid her phone across the table so Jessie could watch.
Jessie watched the woman exercising, swinging a kettle bell between her legs. The video was sharp, the woman’s face easy to see. “This looks as if it was taken from pretty high up. Where were you?”
“On the roof. The open window was on the second story.”
Jessie glanced over her shoulder at Colin. He shrugged.
“Impressive,” she told Zee.
“I know.”
“So, what did you find inside the neighbor’s house?”
“Empty rooms with boxes stacked against walls and a naked man cuffed to a bed with at least five video cameras circling the bed at various angles.”
Jessie’s heart dropped to her stomach. “So you called Colin?”
“Not yet. The poor guy was desperate to get away, begging and pleading with me to help him get loose. But the cuffs were metal, and I needed a key. And then I saw a car pull into the driveway. And that’s when I called Colin.”
Feeling a headache coming on, Jessie rubbed her temple. “Zee. Listen to me. You have no experience whatsoever, and yet you entered that house alone, knowing something wasn’t quite right.” Jessie folded her arms across her chest as she mentally checked off all the horrible things that could have happened to Zee. The thought of Zee being harmed made her insides twist
in a knot. Instead of revealing how worried she was, though, Jessie hoped to scare her so she would never do anything like this again. “You could be arrested for trespassing.”
“Colin said he’d take care of it.”
Damn. “Fine,” Jessie said, “but that’s not the point.”
Zee looked at Colin and said, “I never should have gone inside. I should have called you or Colin the second I heard the cry for help.”
It sounded to Jessie as if it had been rehearsed. Before she could respond, Arlo Gatley rushed inside, his face lined with worry. “Oh, my baby. What happened to you?”
“I’m fine, Dad.”
“I came as soon as I could.” He looked at Jessie. “Is she okay?”
“She’s one of the toughest people I know. She’ll be fine.” Jessie looked at Colin. “Can Arlo take her home?”
“I got her statement already. She’s free to go. I want both of you to know that because of Zee’s bravery, we were able to arrest a man on, so far, ten counts of pornography, including distribution of child pornography.”
Zee looked at her dad. “See, I did a good thing.”
“You did a good thing,” Arlo said sadly. “Let’s go.”
After Zee walked away with her father, Jessie and Colin were left alone.
“Did your dad finally come home?”
“No. There were complications. He’ll be in the hospital for a while longer.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me, too.” There was a long pause before Colin said, “If I can give you a bit of advice, it would be to stay away from Ben Morrison.”
His warning caught her off guard. “Why? Ben is a crime reporter. He has contacts. He helps me and I help him.”
“I don’t trust him.”
“You don’t know him like I do.”
“I’m telling you he’s up to no good. I found him lurking around a crime scene last week at dusk. Too late for a crime reporter to be snooping around where he doesn’t belong.”
“What crime scene are you talking about?”
“He was in Lincoln, the area where DJ Stumm’s bones were found.”
Jessie crossed her arms. “Since when is there a good time to explore a crime scene? It’s his job. It’s what he’s been doing for twenty years.”