by Karen Rose
‘They’re his,’ Roza whispered from the bed.
Corinne wrenched her body around to stare at the child. ‘What?’
‘He takes them from all the ladies he brings home. Sometimes he lines the jars up on the counter and talks to them.’
Corinne slammed the trunk lid down and backed away from the closet, bile burning her mouth. ‘Oh God,’ she whimpered. ‘Did he do that to Arianna?’
‘Not if she got away,’ Roza said, her voice eminently logical, as if all of this made perfect sense. ‘He always waits until they’re dead.’
‘Oh my God. Oh God.’ How many had he killed? There were at least a dozen jars. A dozen victims. ‘We have to get out of here. Now.’ Corinne lurched to the bed, dragging her shoes off. ‘Put these on. Fast.’
Roza looked at them like they were alive.
‘Do it!’ Corinne cried. She pulled on the boots and grabbed the blanket. She threw flannel shirts, two bottles of water and several cans of soup on top, then tied the corners, hobo-style. ‘Put on the shoes, Roza. We have to run. Now.’
Roza only stared at the shoes, so Corinne took over, lacing them as tightly as she could.
‘Come on. Let’s go.’ She pulled the girl from the bed and wrapped the blanket around her thin little shoulders like a cape. A weapon. I need a weapon.
Corinne grabbed the shovel from where it rested against the wall and gathered the knives she’d taken from the kitchen drawer earlier. Then she picked up the blanket holding the supplies and wrenched open the door, half expecting to see him looming.
But no one loomed. The sun shone quietly. Corinne stepped outside, but Roza hung back. She hadn’t moved from beside the bed, her eyes huge in her small face. She stared at the open door, still as a statue.
Corinne felt desperation clawing at her. She dropped her bundle on the porch, forced herself to re-enter the cabin, then grabbed the girl’s arm and pulled her toward the door.
‘No!’ Roza yanked out of her grasp and dropped to the floor, huddling in a small ball.
Corinne grabbed her shoulders. Tried to pull her to her feet. ‘Roza, please. If he comes back, he will kill us.’
Roza shook her head. Curled back into a ball.
Corinne wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. But she did neither, instead calming her voice. The girl was terrified. More terrified than I am, which says a lot.
‘What’s wrong, Roza?’ she asked gently. ‘Why won’t you come with me?’
‘It’s outside,’ Roza whispered.
Corinne looked over her shoulder. There was nothing there. ‘What’s outside, honey?’
‘Outside,’ Roza repeated in a strangely hollow tone.
‘There’s nothing out there, honey. Just trees and birds. There’s nothing out there that can hurt you, but if we don’t leave soon, he’ll come back. We need to find help. I want to go home.’
Roza seemed to settle. ‘Me too. I can’t leave Mama there all alone. I’m all she has.’
She’d buried her own mother. Oh God.
Roza was a brainwashed, terrified child. Do what you must to get her to safety. ‘All right,’ Corinne said softly. ‘I’ll get you back to your mama.’
‘No, you won’t. He’ll kill you.’
‘I’ll get help. I’ll find someone who can make him go away.’
A moment of indecision. Then a nod. ‘Faith. We have to find Faith.’
And hope and charity and love, Corinne thought, fighting the urge to look over her shoulder. ‘I have faith, Roza.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Here? She’s here? Oh no. He got her too?’
Her? ‘Faith is a person?’
‘Yes. He doesn’t like her. He’s afraid of her. I told your friend to find her.’
‘Okay. That’s good. Does Faith have a last name?’
‘Frye. He made a lot of phone calls, asking for her room. He didn’t know I heard him.’
Calls to whom? What room? It didn’t matter right now. ‘Okay. Then we’ll find Faith Frye. She’ll help us. And we’ll go to your mama. But we need to get away from here.’ Corinne held out her hand, praying that Roza would take it. ‘Please, honey. Before he comes back.’
She sighed with relief when the child took her hand. But the relief was short-lived. At the door, Roza yanked her hand free of Corinne’s and stood there, staring outside.
Shaking like a leaf.
Oh God. What now? Corinne kept her tone calm. ‘Roza? What’s wrong?’
‘It’s outside.’
They were back to that. ‘There isn’t anything out there that can hurt you, sweetie.’ Only if he comes back. ‘It’s not dark outside. It’s daytime. See? The sun is out.’
A hard shake of her head. ‘It was always dark in the basement.’
Then Corinne understood. ‘Are you afraid of going outside?’
Roza shrugged her thin shoulders. Then nodded, ducking her head in shame.
Corinne tipped up her chin, wondering just how long the girl had been held in that basement. ‘Roza, sweetheart. You remember going outside, right? Before he took you?’
A slow shake of her shaggy dark head. ‘No.’
Realization dawned, and with it a deeper horror. ‘You’ve never been outside before?’
Big dark eyes looked up at her. ‘No. I was born at home.’
Cincinnati, Ohio, Tuesday 4 November, 11.10 A.M.
Deacon had to elbow his way through a crowd of college kids, their cell phone cameras clicking like paparazzi, to get to the crime-scene tape wrapped around the abduction site.
CSU was busy taking samples and photographs and Deacon carefully picked his way around them to study the ground near the bench on the path. The signs of a struggle started here, ending about ten feet away, just as Bishop had said. Whoever had been sitting on the bench had stopped struggling after a few seconds of being dragged. Drugged, probably.
Agent Taylor was attaching colored trajectory string from the tree nearest the path to a point at the edge of the forest. He looked up when Deacon approached.
‘What have you found?’ Deacon asked.
Taylor pointed at a pole near the path. ‘The camera was stolen weeks ago.’
‘You think our abductor knew it?’
‘If he read that goth girl’s blog he did.’ Taylor indicated a black-haired, sober-faced young woman standing off to the side of the crowd. ‘She’s on a mission to point out school safety hazards, but it’s a users’ manual for the pervs. She posted about the stolen camera two weeks ago and the blown light above that bench just last Wednesday.’
‘And two days later Corinne and Arianna are taken,’ Deacon said, with a sigh. ‘Bishop mentioned a bullet and a lot of blood.’
‘Detective Bishop found the bullet embedded in that tree.’ Taylor indicated the tree to which he’d attached the string. ‘The blood is the same type as Arianna Escobar’s and the bullet came from a nine mil.’
‘Same as shot Gordon Shue in Florida and the power company tech,’ Deacon said.
‘And the man you found in the hotel room last night. The slug from the tree is on its way to Ballistics.’ Taylor walked into the woods. ‘Trajectory puts him shooting her from around here.’
Deacon stood in the spot Taylor pointed to and studied the path. ‘Corinne and Arianna left the library together on Friday night, right?’
‘At eleven o’clock,’ Taylor confirmed. ‘The path forks at that bench. To the right is Corinne’s dorm. Arianna’s is to the left and up the hill. They would have separated there.’
‘All right. So let’s assume he drove up the access road, parked, got out and hid in these trees, waiting. Corinne’s path is closer to him and Arianna’s already headed up the hill, so he grabs Corinne. How did he get her to the access road without anyone seeing them?’
Taylor stood beside him, surveying the scene from his point of view. ‘Maybe Arianna saw her being taken away and ran down the hill after them, trying to save Corinne, but he shot her.’
Deacon walked back to where
they’d found the blood. ‘From the amount of blood here, Arianna was stationary for a while. Long enough for him to stow Corinne in his van and come back for her. Yet she didn’t call 911. The bullet hadn’t hit her femoral artery so she wasn’t gushing blood. Teenagers have phones permanently fixed to their palms. Why didn’t she call?’ He checked his screen. ‘I have four bars here. How about you?’
‘The same. She had enough signal to call. Maybe her battery had run out of juice. Or maybe she did but didn’t stay on long enough for 911 to triangulate her location. Maybe he took her phone away.’
‘That’s most likely. If so, he knows how to disable the GPS. Tanaka tried tracking her phone, but got nothing. Bishop also mentioned tire prints.’
‘Yes. They match the ones Tanaka took from the dirt road near the O’Bannion place. Good possibility it was the same van.’
‘It connects the dots nicely,’ Deacon agreed, ‘but doesn’t give us anything new. We knew he had a white van. We knew he’d taken them. We know he likes blondes. What we don’t know is why he came here. Did he pick Corinne specifically? Or would any blonde have sufficed?’
‘If he picked Corinne specifically,’ Taylor said, ‘did he watch her beforehand, learn her habits? Maybe one of those college kids saw him hanging around.’
Deacon eyed the curious crowd gathered behind them. ‘I’ve got a few minutes before my next appointment. I’ll ask them.’ He could show them Combs’s mug shot, as well, but not Henson the Third’s picture. Not until they had more evidence. ‘Hopefully we can start ID’ing those bodies soon so we can figure out what else they had in common besides being blonde and being dead. Then we can see where Corinne fits into all of this, see if this guy has a pattern.’
Eastern Kentucky, Tuesday 4 November, 11.20 A.M.
Corinne stared down into Roza’s thin face, horrified. ‘You were born in that basement?’
A small nod. ‘Mama said so.’
Oh God. Could that horrible man have been her father?
Corinne glanced at the jar on the floor and swallowed hard, wondering if any of those eyes had belonged to Roza’s mother. Unwilling and unable to consider that Arianna’s eyes might have been taken too. Or that mine will be if he comes back and we’re still here.
‘Step outside with me. Just one step.’ And then one more step and another until we’re safe.
‘Just go,’ Roza begged. ‘Just go and leave me here.’
‘No. That I will not do. Please, Roza. Just take one step.’
‘I never had shoes,’ Roza whispered, still panicked. ‘They hurt my feet.’
Corinne’s heart cracked wide open. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. I wish I could carry you, but I can’t. I’m not strong enough.’ She used to be. Before she got sick, she could have carried Roza and the bundle of supplies and run for miles without stopping.
Roza’s head tilted. ‘You need my help?’
Was it that simple? Roza had been in that basement her whole life. How many victims had she cared for? Corinne glanced at the jar again. Too many. Way too many. Had her mother been forced to care for the others, too?
‘Yes, I need your help. I can’t make it home by myself. Will you come with me? Help me like you helped Arianna?’
Roza shuddered out a breath. Straightened her spine. Closed her eyes and stepped over the threshold. Then drew a deep breath and burst into tears. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t help you. I can’t. Just leave me here and go. Find Faith. She’ll know what to do.’
‘I can’t do that. I need your help, remember?’
Corinne put her arms around the girl, rocking her as she watched the road outside. If he came back, she’d have to take him on. She had knives. She had a shovel.
And she had a belly full of rage. He touches this child over my dead body.
Cincinnati, Ohio, Tuesday 4 November, 12.30 P.M.
Ms Pohl, Principal. Deacon stared at the nameplate on the door, summoning his courage. He’d faced killers without breaking a sweat. Surely he could handle one very old woman.
‘We could probably take her together,’ Greg whispered dryly from beside him. He’d been waiting when Deacon picked him up at Jim and Tammy’s house, dressed and ready, his hearing aids both in and turned on. Deacon had taken it as a good omen.
Now he looked down to see his brother’s face pinched and a little pale. ‘I don’t know. She used to scare the heck out of me when she was only vice principal.’
Greg’s eyes widened. ‘You knew her then?’
‘Better than I should have,’ Deacon admitted. ‘I sat in those chairs a lot. Are you sure you don’t want an ASL interpreter for this? We can still get one.’
‘No. I’ll manage with my hearing aids. I don’t want anyone else to know about this.’
Not a good omen. ‘Okay,’ Deacon said and opened the door to Ms Pohl’s office.
She looked up and started to smile, but it died on her lips. ‘Well, well, well,’ she said softly. ‘Deacon Novak. I was expecting your sister.’
She looked almost the same, Deacon thought. Older, grayer, more wrinkled than she’d been fifteen years before, but she had the same look of authority that had shamed him into obedience when he’d been no older than Greg.
His brother flopped into one of the chairs in front of her desk and his head immediately went down, arms crossed over his chest. No, not a good omen at all.
‘Dani’s working,’ Deacon said. ‘I guess you’re stuck with me this time.’
‘Not at all. Look at you, all grown up and an FBI agent of all things.’ She smiled wryly when he stood up straighter. ‘I’ve kept up with your career over the years, you know. Through the newspapers, of course, since you haven’t come back to see me,’ she added pointedly.
He winced. ‘I figured you’d seen enough of me in detention to last you a lifetime.’
That made her chuckle. ‘You were a handful, but you turned out all right. I consider you a success story. Your work seems very exciting, I have to say. Where’s that coat of yours?’
Her praise warmed him. I guess I did turn out pretty well. ‘You remember my coat?’
‘Of course. You made quite a stir with it back in the day. And I’ve seen you wear it in the news photos over the years – as recently as in this morning’s paper. So where is it?’
Deacon scowled. ‘Got taken as evidence, I’m afraid. I should get it back. Eventually.’
Her eyes sharpened, her glance falling briefly to Greg before looking back up at Deacon. ‘Will they be able to repair the bullet hole?’
Greg’s head jerked up. He spun in the chair to stare up at his brother. ‘Bullet? What bullet?’
‘I got shot at last night, but I was wearing a vest. I always wear a vest, Greg. You don’t have to worry about me.’ Deacon squeezed his shoulder. ‘I’m careful.’
‘Fine.’ Greg pulled away from his grasp, sprawling nonchalantly in the chair. ‘Can we get this over with? I’ve got Breaking Bad on my Netflix queue. I figure I can get through season two while I’m on suspension.’
‘Better living through chemistry,’ Ms Pohl said sarcastically, and Deacon thought he saw Greg’s lips twitch. But the kid pulled his stony face back on so quickly that he couldn’t be sure.
‘I’ve blocked that show ten times,’ Deacon said. ‘But he always finds a way to get through. He’s got a good brain in there, when he chooses to use it.’
Greg’s lip curled in a sneer. ‘Is there a point to this?’
‘Yes,’ Ms Pohl said crisply. ‘You were caught fighting again, Greg. Your aim is getting better. This time you broke the other student’s nose. Witnesses say that you started it.’
‘So?’
Deacon rapped the wooden arm of the chair. ‘Sit up straight. Show some respect.’
Ms Pohl pursed her lips for a moment and Deacon thought she was fighting a smile. Then she leveled a harsh look at Greg, waiting until he sat up and met her gaze. ‘Thank you, Greg. What do you have to say for yourself besides “So”?’
&
nbsp; ‘Nothing. You can suspend me if you want. I’ll just come back and do it again. It would be better if you expelled me. I can work from home. Do my degree online.’ He shrugged. ‘Or I could just take my GED now and be done with it.’
Deacon opened his mouth to explode in protest, but Ms Pohl silenced him with a look.
‘You could,’ she said. ‘But I hope you won’t. You could have a bright future. If nothing else, hacking into the databases of enemy governments. Hopefully you won’t consider our own government the enemy.’
Greg’s mouth dropped open and Deacon stared. ‘What the hell, Greg?’
Ms Pohl frowned at him. ‘Just because you’re grown up and an FBI guy doesn’t mean I’ll tolerate bad language in my office, Deacon Novak.’
Deacon slumped in his chair. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered.
Greg was still gaping. ‘You know about that?’
‘I know about everything that goes on at my school. I have cameras everywhere and I know how to use them. I know that you started the fight a few weeks ago so that another student who was being bullied could walk away unharmed. I’d hoped you’d confide in me then, but you didn’t, so I had no choice but to suspend you.’
Greg’s chin lifted. ‘Fine. The fight yesterday happened off school grounds.’
She tilted her head like a small bird. ‘Yes, I know.’
Greg didn’t blink. ‘So technically you have no jurisdiction here at all.’
‘None,’ she agreed.
Deacon was gaping at the tiny old woman as well, this time with real respect. ‘Then why are we here? Is it because of the hacking? And . . . what hacking?’
‘I could call the police,’ she said to Greg, ignoring Deacon. ‘Hacking is a crime.’
Greg’s jaw tightened. He leaned back in his chair, wary. ‘What do you want from me?’
‘I want you to stop trying to hack into my network. I don’t care what your reasons are, although I want to know those too. I want you to tell me why you fought with that hairy ape yesterday and I want you to stay out of trouble.’
‘And I want to know what the hell – heck – is going on here,’ Deacon demanded.
‘Greg tests way off the math charts but uses his gift for trouble. Just like you did, Deacon. He also hit a growth spurt about the same time you did. He’s got size and strength this year that he didn’t have last year, and he’s making up for lost time. Just like you did.’