Beneath the Surface

by Lynn H. Blackburn

  Best guy? The best person for the job was sitting in the room with them. Ryan cut his eyes over at Sabrina and Anissa shook her head.

  “No.” She waved him closer and whispered. “I’m not sure what she’s doing over there. I’m not even completely sure it’s legal. She said she had an idea and she’s running with it. I’m not about to tell her no or try to divert her.”

  Ryan looked at Sabrina. If looks could kill, her computer screen would be going up in flames right now.

  “Agreed.”

  The captain came in and took in the scene. “Parker, whatever you need, it’s yours.”

  The captain had already filmed a spot that had aired in the wee hours of the morning and would re-air on all the local and regional news affiliates’ morning shows. He’d explained about Leigh’s disappearance and requested anyone who’d seen anything suspicious to call.

  “We’re already getting calls on the tip line,” he said. “I’d say they are ninety-nine percent junk, but we’re following up on everything.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “We’ll find her,” he said. He glanced around the room and his gaze lingered on Sabrina for an extra beat. He shook his head and held up his hands in a gesture that said, “I don’t even want to know what you’re doing, just do it.”

  He closed the door and the room went silent as all eyes turned to Ryan.

  “All right, everyone,” Ryan said. “Let’s find her.”

  The longer she sat, the clearer things became. Leigh strained to hear anything beyond the thumping of her own heart or the whooshing of each breath.

  What was that?

  She held her breath as the sound grew from a few taps to a roar.

  Rain.

  Lots of rain.

  Would the rain keep her captor away? Or bring him back sooner?

  While she welcomed the distraction from the heavy silence, the downpour would keep her from hearing anyone approaching.

  Not that she could do anything about it if they came. She needed to figure out the situation she was in. And she wasn’t going to be able to do that tied up like this.

  She tried to modulate her breathing. She knew the drug was fading from her system because as it went, it took the heaviness with it. But even as she could feel her strength returning, the throbbing misery the drugs had dampened now had full rein. With every movement of her wrists, pain ricocheted through her body. Every twitch of her ankles was agony.

  Even when she didn’t move, everything ached.

  She had an idea. It would hurt. But it might work. All those years of gymnastics and yoga might come in handy after all.

  She eased onto her back and whispered a prayer as pain splintered her focus. She would have to rest all her weight on her arms, but if she didn’t pass out, she might be able to pull her legs through her bound arms. With her arms in front of her, she’d have a chance to break free. And even if she couldn’t get loose, at least she could maneuver around. Maybe even find a way out.

  She took a deep breath and let it out. As she did, she lowered her body onto her wrists and curled at the waist. Her shoulders screamed at the strain and there was the unmistakable sensation of skin shredding on her wrists as she forced her backside to the floor and her wrists up.

  She cried out as she pulled her legs through, the tears she’d been fighting against spilling down her face.

  She lay there, gasping.

  Thank you, Lord.

  The light came out of nowhere. She turned away and tried to shield her eyes with her arm.

  “Oh. You’re awake. Sorry about that. You shouldn’t be.”

  Before she could find the source of the light or the voice, a prick of pain in her neck.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “I am sorry. But you know too much. I knew it the moment I saw you on the news, talking to that cop. It’s really a shame they had to find him so close to your house. If I’d had any idea that’s where you lived, I’d have dumped him somewhere else. We had just talked a few weeks earlier about my other job, and I knew you could tie me to that sorry piece of garbage.”

  So she’d talked to this person before now? How could she have been that close and not have realized she was in the presence of such evil?

  “Don’t worry. I won’t make you suffer. Not like the others. You’re innocent in all this, but my work is too important. I can’t let you ruin it.”

  “What work?” Leigh asked. “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. I have nothing to tell.” Was her speech slurred? She fought to open her eyes, but she couldn’t. It was as if she’d fallen into a black hole. The gravitational force that held her to the earth’s surface had multiplied a hundredfold and threatened to flatten her.

  “You had a pretty nice life, didn’t you? Nice parents. Nice home. I can assure you, it was nothing like mine. Dad found a younger woman and split. Mom and I had nothing, and did he care? Nope.”

  Something about the voice was familiar.

  But Leigh was losing the fight with the drugs. She’d be out soon. This voice might be the last thing she heard.

  “I know how these men are. Leaving their families to struggle as they go on and live the high life. They don’t deserve to breathe. And their families are so much better off with them gone. These men don’t even have the decency to be ashamed. They come in to the clinic and brag about their plans to bail on their families. Or about how many mistresses they have. Sometimes I’m able to take them out before they have a chance to hurt their children. Sometimes I’m too late, but I can stop them from making it worse. I do my best. It’s my mission to keep them from doing the same things to their families that were done to mine.

  “I’m not a killer, Leigh. I’m an avenging angel.”

  None of this made sense. Maybe it never would.

  27

  Ryan glanced at his watch—4 a.m.

  Leigh had been gone almost six hours. Was she scared? Was she hurting?

  He refused to allow himself to consider the possibility that she was already . . . no. He wouldn’t even think the word.

  He glanced around the homicide office. Everyone was focused on one goal.

  Getting Leigh back.

  Alive.

  “Sabrina,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” she said, her voice wavering but determined.

  “I’m not sure what you’re up to over there, but I want images of every single employee Oraios has. From the grounds crew to the surgeons. We’re missing something. There has to be someone else there who was behind this. Can you get those files to someone who can—”

  “I can get it.” Adam raised his hand. “Give me five minutes.”

  “Great.”

  “Anissa.” He searched the room until he found her standing at her desk. Everything about her radiated fury. “This one may be trickier and I’m not sure how you could get this, but I’m thinking we should start with patients who have come through the emergency department but were admitted and won’t be released for a few days.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “We know Mr. Staton was dumped while Mr. Cook was in the hospital. We know Mr. Claussen was dumped while Mr. Gordon was in the hospital. In both cases, they went to the emergency department and were then admitted. And in both cases, it would have been obvious to anyone working on them that they were going to be staying at the hospital for more than an overnight visit. Maybe talk to Miss Edna. We can’t violate privacy laws, but we don’t need to know their diagnosis or any details other than that they are in the hospital and won’t be going home for a few days.”

  “On it.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Check tonight’s trauma victims first. We’re looking for homes that will be vacant, so people who live alone will get our top priority.”

  Anissa already had the phone in one hand and her keys in the other. “I’m going to the hospital. I think things will go easier in person.”

  “Fine.”

  She paused as she walked pas
t him. “We’ll find her, Ryan.” She patted his arm and then sprinted out the door.

  “Gabe, get those guys”—he pointed to a group of volunteers standing in the corner, Pete Stanfield among them—“and have them pull death certificates. If someone died at the hospital and their place is empty, our killer may know. Have another group pull—”

  Ryan’s words froze on his tongue as the flat-screen TV at the end of the room filled with images. “Adam, do all these people work at Oraios?”

  “Yep.”

  He walked to the screen. It couldn’t be. “Who is this?” He pointed to a large woman with the name “Vanessa Smith” underneath it.

  When Adam didn’t respond, he turned around. Adam had a confused look on his face. “Vanessa Smith? Let me do some checking.”

  Ryan had seen her before. Where, he couldn’t be sure. But he’d seen her.

  “Send her picture to Anissa’s phone. Have her ask Miss Edna who she is.”

  Gabe joined him by the TV. “What is it?”

  “Do you recognize her?”

  “No. Should I?”

  “I’ve seen her,” Ryan said. “I think at the hospital. This says she’s a surgical tech. Maybe I saw her when Leigh came in after her brake line was cut?”

  “You could have seen her in the emergency department. Or the hospital halls. Pretty much anywhere,” Gabe said.

  “Adam—anything on Vanessa Smith?”

  “Not yet,” he said.

  “Really?” Adam was a whiz at this stuff. What was taking so long?

  “Yes, really.” Adam lifted his head long enough to glare at them before he went back to the computer. “She exists. There’s a driver’s license and a social security number. And a surgical tech license. But I don’t think they’re real . . .”

  His voice trailed off and Ryan bit back the urge to pester him for more. It was clear he was hunting something, and he’d be able to work faster if Ryan could wait.

  But every second put Leigh in greater jeopardy.

  Ten minutes later, Adam hadn’t given him an answer on Vanessa Smith, but he kept typing and clicking and Ryan resisted the urge to stand behind him. That wouldn’t help.

  Ryan’s phone rang. Anissa.

  “Whatcha got?”

  “That picture you sent. Miss Edna says that is Alice Grady.”

  Ryan groaned. There were about a million people with the name Grady in central North Carolina.

  Anissa kept talking. “She’s a surgical tech. Works one weekend a month. But Miss Edna says she has dark brown hair, not red, like in the picture.”

  “Adam,” Ryan called across the room. “Vanessa Smith is Alice Grady. And Alice Grady has brown hair.” Adam gave him a thumbs-up.

  “Hey, Ryan,” Anissa said. “Miss Edna says Alice worked last weekend. I’m going to try to find out who came in last weekend who might still be here.”

  “Great. Call me back.”

  He hit the end button as a new image popped up on the TV.

  He knew where he’d seen her before. Random facts started to fall into place in his mind. He made his way through the crowded room to the desk Sabrina was sitting at. “Sabrina, this woman is at least five foot ten. She’s not fat, but she’s not a string bean either. Could she be the image on our parking garage footage?”

  Gabe had followed him. “You think she’s our killer? A female serial killer?”

  The room went silent.

  Sabrina bit her lip. “Her size works.”

  “What makes you think it’s her?” Gabe said.

  “Because she brought Leigh the tray of food that had the poisoned gelatin.”

  “The gelatin that got Pete?” one of the uniformed officers asked.

  “Yes,” Ryan said.

  All eyes in the room flashed to Pete. Pete stared at the screen, mouth set. “That’s her,” he said.

  Ryan pointed to the screen. “Everybody stop what you’re doing. We need to find out everything we can about Alice Grady or Vanessa Smith. Where was she born? Does she have family in the area? Does she work anywhere else? Where does she live? Nothing is too insignificant.”

  The room exploded in a frenzy of activity.

  Father, help us. Help us see the clues we need to find Leigh. Alive.

  28

  Was she dead?

  Leigh took a breath. So not dead . . . yet.

  She tried to move, but for all the success she had she might as well have been encased in cement.

  Had she been buried alive?

  She forced her eyes open. Still dark. Had she been out an entire day and then into the night?

  No. It wasn’t quite as dark as before and the rain was still falling. The forecast had called for rain all weekend. Was it still Sunday?

  She managed to get her fingers to twitch. They scraped across a wooden surface and she found it strangely comforting.

  Not buried alive.

  She was almost certain she hadn’t been moved. Her arms were still in front of her and she was thankful for the small mercy of that.

  She lay there as the drugs, once again, cleared her system. She was prepared for the pain to increase, even welcomed it in a perverse way. The more she hurt, the more she was regaining control over her extremities and the closer she came to being able to move.

  Because she was going to move.

  She counted to fifty in her head and tried to move her legs. Then to one hundred and tried again.

  She got to seven hundred before she made any significant progress.

  Somewhere around three thousand, she was able to sit up. Her head spun and her stomach twisted with nausea.

  She closed her eyes and took deep breaths. She needed to keep moving. There’d been no warning at all when her captor had returned last time. She couldn’t count on there being any warning this time.

  Why she was still alive was a mystery. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that this crazy person was sorry for what was about to happen. She’d heard a hint of insanity in her captor’s rambling before she passed out. And something about the voice teased a memory. She tried to pull it to the front of her thoughts, but it refused to cooperate.

  She didn’t have time to worry about why she was here. Not now. There’d be time enough for that when she was safe and sound in her own house.

  Right now she needed to figure out how to get out of this place. She lifted her throbbing wrists to her lips and used her mouth to explore her bonds. Zip ties. Awesome.

  She reached down to her ankles. More zip ties. Too snug for her to be able to walk.

  She scooted forward like a caterpillar, stretching her legs out, then tightening her abs and pulling her body toward her feet. Each time shock waves raced through her arms. It took five scoots before her legs reached a vertical surface.

  She reached forward with her hands. A wall of rough wood planks. Had she moved toward the back or the front of her dungeon? She despaired at the idea of going the long way, but she had no way to know until she tried. She twisted around until her right arm and leg were against the wall. This time it took twelve scoots to find a corner.

  She took a moment to catch her breath, then stretched her back and shoulders as much as she could.

  Something brushed against her hair and she choked back a scream. She reached up.

  And touched more wood?

  This didn’t make sense. She rolled over to her knees and slammed her forehead into something very hard.

  What was that? She reached again.

  Shelves! She was probably in a cellar. Her grandparents had had one. By the time she came along, they no longer used it for food storage. Grandpa used it to store fertilizer and garden tools. But there had been shelves along three sides.

  She gritted her teeth and scraped the zip tie that bound her wrists along the edge of the shelf. She didn’t want to think about the damage she was doing to her arms, but then again, she didn’t want to think about the damage her captor intended to do to her arms if she was still here when he retu
rned.

  Was she making any progress at all? She pulled her wrists back to her lips. Yes! She was close.

  The hope of freedom spurred her on and she attacked the ties with renewed fervor.

  They split apart with so much force she slammed her right hand into the shelf—but, oh, the bliss. She’d never take her arms and shoulders for granted again.

  Now for the ankles. She sat on her backside and lifted her bound ankles to the shelf. It was much harder to keep them angled correctly, but she finally cut through the zip tie binding them too.

  Her wrists and ankles oozed blood, but she could move them. She held on to the shelf for support, and stood. Then, still holding the shelf like a lifeline, she made her way around her cell.

  When the shelf ended, she ran her hands along the walls, then traced the flooring with her foot.

  Steps.

  Thank you, Lord.

  She crept up the stairs like a toddler, hands on the stairs ahead of her. Five steps up, her hands found the door.

  Could she open it?

  Was it locked? Was her captor waiting on the other side?

  Did she have a choice? She had to try.

  She reached for the door and pushed.

  29

  10 A.M.

  Twelve hours and counting.

  Everyone was working. Everyone was looking. The security office at the hospital had found footage of Alice Grady/Vanessa Smith entering a room and coming out two minutes later. Or they assumed it was her. The person who exited the room wore gloves and a protective gown and mask. The same garb Leigh’s abductor had been wearing. They weren’t surprised, but it did confirm what they had suspected.

  That was about the only real information they had, unless you considered ruling things out progress. They’d sent patrol officers to five possible locations based on Anissa’s findings at the hospital, but they’d come up empty.

  Ryan’s phone rang again. Anissa.

  “What do you have?” He hated the defeat he heard in his own voice.

  “A possibility. Did you ever meet Mrs. Claire Edwards?”

  “The name is familiar. Can’t place her. Who is she?”