by A. R. Braun
Lori raised one eyebrow. “You don’t think that could’ve been faked? Or perhaps Dick Alley coerced it out of her?”
Christina rubbed her eyes, then her temple. “Miss Major, with all due respect, girls that seem nice—especially young girls—due tend to go for bad boy types, or even the cultish religious types.”
Lori banged on Chris’s desk. A vein stood out on her forehead. “But I know there’s something wrong with that story! You weren’t there to see how troubled she looked, from the time she was just eleven years old! There couldn’t have been a cult leader then.”
Christina looked her over, trying to hold her temper in check. “Hmm. What do you think could’ve happened?”
“You really want to know?”
“I suppose.”
“I think her father was beating her where it wouldn’t show. I think he still is, if not raping her. That would explain the ‘cult leader.’.” Lori took a deep breath. “And I think you should check it out.”
Christina scribbled some notes. “This case has been closed for a long time.”
Lori narrowed her eyes, that vein again dominating her forehead as she pounded on the armrest of the chair. “Then reopen it!”
“I’m going to have to ask you once to calm down, Mrs. Major.”
“Miss.”
“Miss Major. I know you feel strongly about this, but please…”
Lori brought out a tissue and wiped her now wet eyes as the sunlight shone through the blinds behind Christina, sending bars of warmth down her back and illuminating Lori’s troubled face. “I know in my heart that girl didn’t run away with a cult.” Her voice choked. “The good Lord knows it, too.” She snuffled and blew her nose. “It’s time the rest of the world did.”
Christina pointed her pencil at her. “You know what? My husband and I live in Dick and Marie Alley’s neighborhood. Years ago, my hubby and the other residents invited them to dinner parties. The Alleys were good neighbors, always saying yes. So why would good people do this?”
Only her eyes moved away. “I don’t know. But I do know things aren’t always as they seem. What’s done behind closed doors, I think if everyone knew it, they’d go insane, or call the police.”
Christina chewed on her eraser, deep in thought. She’d just busted a serial-killing pastor, and what Miss Major had just said struck a chord. She looked Lori over for a long space, and the light bulb that flashes above cartoon characters’ heads finally made sense. Christina made some more notes. “Where do you think he could’ve taken her, if what you say is true, which will have to be proved, of course.”
Lori shook her head. “I don’t know. I just know that girl didn’t run off with some loony. In the attic? The basement?”
Christina’s epiphany came full circle. “Oh. My. God.”
Lori’s eyes grew wide. “What? What?”
Christina rose to a standing position so quickly she almost jumped. “The warehouse. He finished having a building put up around the same time Stacey Alley disappeared. My brother Peter Vonachen lives in an apartment on the second floor!”
Lori rose, also. “I’ll go with you.”
“I can’t allow that—police business.” Christina extended her hand. “But I thank you very much for coming down here with this information. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll pay Mr. Alley a visit.”
Lori smiled, grabbed her hand, and shook it once more. “Oh, thank you, thank you so much. And if you find her, tell her I’m sorry I didn’t come forward before.”
Christina grabbed her bag and smiled, too. “I’ll do that.” She had no intention of doing that; some things a person had to do themselves. Christina walked to the door and opened it for Lori. “You have a great day and don’t worry about this at all. We’ll take care of it.”
Lori walked through the threshold, then turned around. “Have a blessed day.”
“Have a good one.” Christina checked her revolver in her purse. She’d have to wait till after five to go to the house because she knew both Dick and Marie Alley worked.
Well, you no good bastard. I’m going to nail you to the wall.
<^^>
Dick climbed out of the car, feeling all of his seventy years. He dragged his feet to the trunk, opened it, and lugged the two suitcases out, setting them on the driveway. His skin radiated heat from spending the so much time on the beach. The cold made him shiver as he pulled his coat over him.
Goddamn worthless hookers in the Bahamas. I can’t wait to rape Stacey again. Of course, I’ll need to invest in some Viagra. Goddamn, I’ve got one foot in the grave.
He smiled in the winter air, instantly regretting it as his teeth were chilled.
Yes sir, I think I’ll tie the kids up in the shower and have at Mommy.
The sun came out from behind the clouds, making Dick squint.
Butler Jones came out of the front door wearing galoshes over his shoes. “Let me get those for you, sir.”
Dick grinned, holding his hand above his eyes to fend off the sun’s glare. “Thank you kindly.”
The butler trudged through the snow and ice, then grabbed the luggage. He smiled at Dick. “Did you have a nice vacation, sir?”
The laughter of neighborhood children wafted through the neighborhood. Dick looked behind him and saw some brats making a snowman. He turned back to the butler, still waiting for his response. “I’ve had better, old boy. I’ve had better.”
The butler trudged through the sludge again.
Dick, hesitant to do the same, turned toward the sound of heavy machinery. He saw a city truck dropping salt on the roadway. He sighed. “Now or never. Shit, it sucks to be home.”
The butler put down the bags and looked behind him. “What was that, sir?”
“Stop being so nosy. Just get the goddamn bags in the fucking house.”
The butler raised his eyebrows, and a look of fear flashed in his eyes. “Very good, sir.”
“Mr. Alley?” A woman’s voice from behind him.
Dick turned to see a Ford Escalade in his driveway behind his Audi. She’d crept up on him like a thief in the night. He furrowed his brow. What’s this butch dyke want? He sighed. “Can I help you?”
The woman flashed her badge. “Investigator Flowerpot. May I have a word?”
Police cruisers pulled into the driveway behind her car.
A flash of panic ripped through Dick like electricity. Oh, my god, they know. They fucking goddamn know! Dick struggled to get himself under control. Just act innocent. They’ll never find her. He tried his best to harden his quivering face. “What’s this about?”
The investigator frowned. “It’s about your daughter, Mr. Alley, the one that ran away with that… ‘cult’?”
Four police officers with very short hair joined her.
Dick said, “Come on in. We’ll talk about it.”
The investigator furrowed her brow. “I’m not here for coffee and crumb cake, Mr. Alley. I’d like to take a look at your apartment building slash warehouse.”
The policemen frowned and touched the butts of their handguns.
Dick trembled, his eyes wide. OH MY FUCKING GOD, THEY DO KNOW!
From behind him, squeals and laughs erupted from his youngest daughters. “Daddy,” they cried.
Dick turned, and Marie stood in the doorway, her arms making sure the girls didn’t go outside. She looked worried. “Dick? What’s going on?”
“Just stay out of this, Mrs. Alley,” the investigator said.
Fear like stick pins assaulted Dick’s mind, but he fought it off. “Just what do you expect to find in my ‘apartment building slash warehouse’ but machinery and tools?”
“I think you know what,” Flowerpot answered.
Dick spat in the snow, his spittle barely pocking the surface. “You got a search warrant?”
Flowerpot reached in her pocket and pulled it out. “If you want to go there, yes, I do.”
Dick took it, sighing. He handed it back to her. “Let’s go, t
hen.”
He led them next door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I should’ve known god wouldn’t help me.
While smoking, Stacey sat watching her favorite soap opera. Once more, she’d fallen off the wagon and lit one. Reading a picture bible that had never been cracked open until yesterday, the girls sat on one of the beds.
Her hand so shaky she could barely hold the cigarette, Stacey flicked ashes onto the end table as well as into her glass ash tray. She took another drag, inhaling the bitter smoke, then blew it out through her nose, stinging her nostrils. Her nerves began to break apart like crust from a zombie.
I can’t stand being in here anymore. One more day and I’ll completely lose my mind.
She’d been having thoughts about hitting the children.
The vicious cycle, they say. Just another link in the chain. Rape is a crime of violence. Dick raped me, he and Marie were violent in another way when I was a child, and I’m doomed to repeat it.
Stacey fell to her knees after stubbing out the cigarette. The girls looked up from their book.
“Oh, lord,” Stacey sobbed, “please save me from the vicious cycle of abuse. Don’t let me hurt my kids. And please, PLEASE, get us out of this hellhole.”
“Mom?” Therese walked over to her, Devon and Sam hot on her heels. “Are you okay?”
“Amen.” Stacey wiped hot tears away with her hands. “Yes.” Stacey sobbed. “Mommy’s fine. Go read your bible.”
Sam dropped to her knees and hugged her. “God will get us out of here, Momma. Please don’t cry.”
Soon they all wept and held each other, fit to bursting with grief.
<^^>
Christina watched Dick unlock the first-floor steel door with shaky hands.
He’s really upset. She’s in there, all right.
“You know my brother rents from you upstairs?” she asked.
Dick got the door open and looked daggers at her. “Well, you ever hear him complaining of any sound but power tools?”
Christina decided that not worthy of a reply.
Dick flashed her another angry look, then stepped inside. “Well, come the fuck on. I haven’t got all goddamned day.”
Christina followed him hesitantly, the policemen at her side. Their shoes clacked on the concrete floor as she eyeballed the steel walls and the lamps that illuminated them.
Dick said, “Goddamn pigs, you’ve always have to bother decent, hard-working people with your paranoid bullshit. I’ve been a landlord and a realtor in this town since you were in diapers, and now you think I’m hiding something in here?”
Christina furrowed her brow. “Mr. Alley, I say this with all the sincerity in the world: shut the fuck up and just lead the way.”
They followed Dick as he opened door after door of rooms with power tools and old, discarded furniture before they came to a dead end—a last, empty room with a huge shelf similar to a home entertainment center. Only a few power tools sat on it.
Dick smiled. “See, tools and furniture. It’s just a warehouse for amateur construction work and storage.”
Christina said, “Why are there only a few tools on the shelves?”
Dick harrumphed. “Well I don’t have enough tools to fill every shelf in the world.”
Christina was taken aback by his sudden defensiveness. Woman’s intuition kicked in. She motioned toward the shelves. “Move that.”
The police officers huffed as they slid the shelves over.
Dick stomped his foot. “Goddamn it! I told you—”
“Dick, shut up,” Christina reiterated.
When the shelves had been moved, a short steel door lurked ominously, like the gateway to hell.
Dick glared at Christina, his beady eyes burning a hole in her.
Christina pointed at the door. “What’s in there?”
Dick shrugged. “Just tools, extension cords. It’s just a closet.”
The policemen joined her at her side.
“Open it,” Christina said.
Dick shook his fists. “You bitch! I told you, it’s just a bunch of tools!”
The policemen advanced on him.
“Calm down and open the door, Mr. Alley,” an officer said.
Dick stepped forward, his hands shaking so badly he could hardly hold the huge key ring he’d whipped out of his pocket. He started to unlock it and stopped, banging on the door. “Goddamn it! God-fucking mother of whores damn it!” He leaned on the door.
Christina drew her weapon, as did the officers.
“Open the door, NOW,” Christina yelled in her best throaty, mean voice. “I’ll show you a fucking bitch!”
Dick had to use two hands to get the door unlocked, pushing it open. He wept as he stepped away.
Christina walked in front of the threshold and looked in.
Her jaw dropped.
The first thing to hit her was the smell. Mildew on crack, along with a rotten cabbage-like odor, assaulted her nostrils. Christina wanted to tell Mr. Alley he was under arrest, but all she could do was gape. Never in her wildest nightmare had she seen a vision of hell like the nightmare she gazed upon now.
“Freeze,” the officers shouted at Dick. “Down on the ground! Down on the ground!”
Christina couldn’t take her eyes off the grotesquerie.
Kneeling before a dilapidated couch with holes in it and springs sticking out were four females. The palest humans Christina had ever seen in her life, they resembled ghosts. One was clearly Stacey Alley, but she looked older and had cut her hair short. The three children appeared to be in their early teens, two thin, one chubby. Worst of all were the looks in their eyes as they watched her.
As if they’d never seen the outside world.
My god, he scioned children with his fucking foster daughter!
Christina, as tough a cop as they come, felt like a little girl that wanted to do nothing but run away from this horror, this thing that shouldn’t have been. Instead, she forced herself to hold her ground.
Stacey and her daughters—unless they were random children he’d kidnapped, but she doubted it—smiled and cried like babies.
“I told you, Mom,” the tallish blonde said. “God bailed us out.”
Christina cleared her throat. “Stacey Alley?”
The woman rose, along with her children. Their knees wobbled. Stacey nodded, bawling now.
Christina looked over her shoulder. Dick was crying like a baby, too, as he lay on his face while they cuffed him.
“Richard Alley,” Christina said, “you’re under arrest for child abuse, kidnapping, and rape. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney…”
“Fucking BITCH,” Dick said.
As she finished reading him his Miranda rights, the blonde inside the room stepped forward, causing Christina to look her way.
“You shut up!” the kid said. “You’re the fucking bitch! You just shut the fuck up! You… you monster.” The child looked up at the officer, then out in the hallway.
My god, she’s never seen the hallway.
Stacey put her hand over her mouth to stifle a tearful laugh.
“Who’s going to take care of my tenants?” Dick asked from behind her.
Christina turned around. The policemen walked him out.
“I’m the best realtor in Mowquakwa” Dick added. “Who’re they going to find that’s talented enough to replace me?”
Stacey took a couple steps toward him. “You can be replaced, you raping son of a bitch! I hope you die in prison!”
Christina forced herself into the apartment.
The ceiling was only six feet tall.
She wanted to spew forth comforting words to Stacey and her children, but was nonplussed. The most squalid flat she’d ever seen—and she’d grown up in the ghetto, as her mother was a girlfriend of a brother—it took her breath away and caused her heart to skip a beat. The bathroom, kitchen, living
room, and bedroom were in the same room. The shower just had a curtain hiding it. Brown stains dominated the green tile walls, and dark stains held siege over the dull grey carpet.
There were no windows.
Christina struggled for breath, wondering how the family breathed.
This place is air-tight. Soundproof. My own FUCKING BROTHER lived RIGHT UPSTAIRS and NEVER HEARD A THING!
A couple of rats scurried around in the kitchen. As Christina moved toward it, cockroaches crowded the sink. She didn’t stay in there for long. Christina moved back a few steps to the “living room.” Crickets hopped around on the floor by the couch. Blue paint peeled off the walls, and worms writhed in the corner. She had to kick a beetle off her shoe. In the upper corner of the ceiling, a stink bug didn’t dare move. There was only one small vent that a cat couldn’t fit through in the “bedroom” where the beds lurked, and a garden snake poked out of it.
To say Christina was overwhelmed would’ve been an understatement.
Don’t cry, it’s unprofessional!
Yet it was useless. They were so pale they looked like Casper’s mother and sisters. Christina looked at Stacey and burst into tears. “Oh god, Miss Alley, I’m sorry… so sorry.”
Stacey eyeballed the door, then Christina, then the door.
Christina pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “Take them outside, but don’t go far. You’ll have to walk through a few rooms to get out.”
The children trembled as if the boogeyman had jumped into their mouths. Their eyes became bright and they giggled. Stacey took them into her arms. On legs so wobbly they could barely move, they hobbled toward the door.
As Christina looked around the apartment, she didn’t see how they’d made their way around. A big stereo, an old TV, countless toys, CDs, and video games crowded the floor, along with clothes strewn here and there. Many bras hung from the top pole of the shower, under the gossamer cover of spider webs, filled with arachnids.
She’d seen enough. With legs that shook as badly as Stacey’s and the children’s, Christina made her way out.
And threw up in the hallway.
I’m still alive, but I’ve seen hell.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE