Echoes of Terror

by Maris Soule

  “What if I have a baby?” Sarah said and hiccupped. “I don’t want a baby. I have a brother and a sister I have to take care of. Katherine says I should go to college, and—”

  “Who’s Katherine?” Misty asked.

  “She’s one of Mama’s friends. She was gonna pay me to fix dinner for her grandfather. All I had to do was spend some time with him. She’s gonna wonder why I never showed up.”

  “Think she’ll report it to the police?” Misty asked, hoping a call from Sarah’s mother’s friend would start a search.

  “She is the police.”

  For the first time since coming out of her stupor, Misty felt hope. “Won’t she come looking for you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Do you know where we are?”

  “In a house.” She’d figured that much out when he took her to the bathroom. “But where the house is, I don’t know.” The bathroom didn’t have a window she could look out. “I think he’s covered the windows with something to block out the light and sound. I can’t hear anything, can you?”

  They both stopped talking and listened. It was then that Misty heard a key slip into the lock on the door.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  10:00 P.M.

  He’s here. In Skagway. Here for me.

  Knuckles white, Katherine forced a surge of bile back down her throat as she sped toward her grandfather’s house.

  Dammit all, I saw him. Looked right at him when I left for work.

  The figure she’d spotted in the red Explorer had to have been Charles. She didn’t know how long he’d been in Skagway, but he knew where she lived. May have been watching her for days. Weeks.

  While watching for her, did Charles see Sarah? Did he have her as well as Misty?

  Mattie Wilson couldn’t afford to pay a ransom, but Sarah was fourteen. The same age Katherine Ann McMann was when Charles took her. God, she hoped she was wrong, that he didn’t have Sarah.

  Please be here, Katherine prayed as she parked her cruiser in front of the closed garage door.

  “Poppa?” she yelled as she entered the house. “Sarah?”

  “What?” she heard from the living room. “That you, Katherine?”

  “It’s me.” She felt some relief as she came up beside her grandfather. He, at least, was all right. But she saw no signs of the teenager. No extra dishes or glasses by the sink, no soda bottle or fast food wrappers in the trash. “Did Sarah ever show up?”

  “Sarah?”

  Katherine could tell he’d once again forgotten Sarah was supposed to be there. “Never mind.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling how thin he’d become in the last few years, the line of his collarbone easy to trace beneath his lightweight flannel shirt. “How’s the game going?”

  Her grandfather nodded toward the TV, a commercial in progress. “I think it’s over.”

  “You ready for bed?”

  “I suppose.” He pushed himself up from the chair, groaning as he did. “I think I fell asleep while I was sitting there.”

  Not an uncommon occurrence lately. His body and mind were shutting down. His loss of memory was the saddest part of the disease. She knew it was foolish to ask; nevertheless, she did. “Poppa, do you remember someone calling about Charles Bell? Someone from a hospital in Michigan?”

  He stood next to his chair, frowning. “Bell? Why does that name sound familiar?”

  “He’s the man who kidnapped me,” she said. “Back when I was a teenager.” She didn’t mention Bell was the man who killed her parents and brother. No need to remind him of that. “He’s supposed to be in a mental hospital, but they let him out.”

  “Bell,” her grandfather repeated and shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “How about a letter?” Katherine knew her grandfather was even less likely to remember a letter, but just in case. “The doctor said they sent a letter.” One informing her of Bell’s pending released. “I don’t remember seeing it.”

  The blank look in her grandfather’s eyes told her he had no idea what she was talking about.

  “Ah, never mind,” she said. “It’s not important.”

  Except, it was. If she’d received the letter Redmond said he sent, she would have opened it right away. Would have hoped it announced Bell’s death. And, once she learned he was going to be released, she would have voiced her objections; would have given dozens of reasons why he should never, ever be released.

  Now it was too late to object. Now Bell was out; was here in Skagway.

  She glanced toward the kitchen. “While you get ready, I want to make a phone call. Okay?”

  “Sure. I’m fine.” He smiled and gave her arm a pat. “I’ve been putting myself to bed for a long time. I can take care of myself.”

  She watched him shuffle toward the bedroom, a lump in her throat. For years her grandparents had been the element of stability in her life, there when she needed them. They understood her during the traumatic years after her rescue, encouraged her when she proclaimed she needed to go back to Michigan, needed to face her demons. And, they welcomed her when she returned. Now her grandmother was gone and her grandfather was slowly slipping away, both in mind and body. She didn’t want to lose him. He was her last link to the past, her family.

  A tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away and headed for the phone.

  Katherine tried the Wilson number three times, getting a busy signal each time. Finally she gave up. A quick good-bye to her grandfather, and she headed back to her cruiser.

  The Wilson house was a mere block away, and, during the short drive, Katherine hoped more than anything that Sarah would be there . . . or that Mattie Wilson would know where her daughter was. Dealing with an irresponsible teenager would be far better than what Katherine feared.

  At least her parents didn’t have to endure the agony of wondering what had happened to their daughter. No dealing with news reporters asking stupid and rude questions. She hated how, at a time when parents needed the support of friends and family, reporters wanted to know everything about their lives, asked stupid questions, and often blamed the parents for the tragedy.

  Blamed the victim.

  Like vultures the media had buzzed around her after she was found, dropping innuendoes about her relationship with Bell, and accusing her outright of encouraging him. Only after she changed her name and left Michigan did the stories stop.

  For years her grandparents had spent a few weeks each summer in the yellow and green cottage on Skagway’s Main Street. When they moved in as year-round residents with their teenage granddaughter, people were told her parents and brother had died in a car crash. If anyone knew the truth, they said nothing. And Katherine said nothing. Over time, the terror subsided. Life went on. Occasionally a nightmare brought back the memories; especially whenever she heard of other teenagers being kidnapped and held captive.

  She’d silently celebrated their rescue and understood their anguish, but she’d never reached out to any of them, never shared her experience. All she wanted was to forget it had ever happened. But, now she couldn’t. Now Bell was here, and a teenager was missing.

  Maybe two.

  Once again terror clutched her heart and made her hands shake.

  In front of the Wilson house, Katherine took in a deep breath, forcing herself to control the fear. Mattie Wilson came out the front door even before Katherine stepped away from her cruiser. From the look on the woman’s face, Katherine knew Sarah wasn’t home.

  Half Tlingit, Mattie had the features of Skagway’s “First People”—the broad nose, high cheekbones, and narrow eyes. “Have you found her?” Mattie asked, her voice begging for comfort.

  “Not yet.” Katherine wasn’t about to mention Bell. Not until they were sure he had Sarah. “We’re going to put out an Amber alert, so I need information from you. Do you know what she was wearing when she left? And do you have a recent picture?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.” Mattie turned and started back into her ho
use. “Come on in,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll get a picture.”

  Katherine followed her into the house. Although she’d known Mattie for years, they weren’t close. Katherine blamed herself. Charles had taught her to trust no one. Also, even though Mattie and she were the same age, the months Katherine spent as Charles’s prisoner and the months after her rescue, when the legal system wasn’t quite sure what to do with her, put her behind in school. Mattie was a high-school senior when Katherine entered Skagway High as a freshman. And, before the year was over, Mattie ran off with a truck driver. Five years later, she returned—no truck driver, no wedding band, and three kids—Sarah, Austin, and Susan.

  Twelve-year-old Austin now sat on the carpet, in front of an older-model TV, playing a video game. Eleven-year-old Susan was curled up on a threadbare, tweed couch, the telephone receiver pressed to her ear. Both had inherited their mother’s looks and weight problem along with her lack of housekeeping skills. Toys, books, papers, and magazines were strewn around the room, while in the kitchen dirty dishes still sat on the table and counter.

  Both of the children looked at her, their eyes widening slightly, probably because the few times she had come over, she hadn’t been in uniform, wearing her belt and gun. “You find her?” Austin asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Oh.” He turned back to his video game, and the girl said something into the telephone.

  “I’ve been trying to call you,” Katherine said, now understanding why she kept getting a busy signal.

  Mattie glared at her daughter. “Susan, I told you not to call anyone. Get off that phone right now.”

  “I didn’t call anyone,” Susan argued. “Brenda called me. And we were talking about Sarah.”

  “Does this Brenda know where Sarah is?” Katherine asked, hoping someone had a clue. “Know anything about her disappearance?”

  Susan asked the person on the other end of the call, shook her head, and then hung up. “Is Sarah gonna be all right?”

  “I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Katherine said, as much for Mattie’s sake as for the girl.

  Nevertheless, Mattie didn’t look convinced. “I’ll find a picture,” she said and headed for one of the bedrooms.

  Katherine focused on Susan. “What was your sister wearing when she left to go to my grandfather’s house?”

  The girl shrugged. “I don’t know. Jeans, I guess. A shirt. Sandals.”

  “What color shirt?” Katherine pulled a small notebook out from her jacket pocket.

  “White . . . Maybe. Mom hasn’t done wash for a while.”

  Over at the TV, a high-pitched whistle was followed by the nerve-grating sound of metal crunching against metal and the boom of an explosion. “Woooo hoooo,” yelled Austin. “I did it!”

  He turned toward his sister. “I made it to level five, smarty pants.”

  It irritated Katherine that the boy wasn’t more concerned about his sister. “You—” she said, pointing at him. “Anything you can tell me?”

  He frowned. “You mean about Sarah?” He shrugged. “She’s a pain in the butt, that’s what she is. Always giving me orders.”

  For a moment Katherine was pulled back into her past. Her younger brother used to say the same thing about her. He was always complaining that she was too bossy, grumbling that he wished he was the older sibling.

  She wished he were still alive.

  With a shake of her head, Katherine pushed the memory back and focused on the two children in front of her. “Look,” she said, trying not to make it sound too much like an order, “Your mother is having a hard time. She needs help. How about you two take care of those dirty dishes?”

  “That’s Sarah’s job,” Austin grumbled.

  “And Sarah’s not here,” Katherine said.

  For a minute he simply looked at her, then he nodded and pushed himself up from the carpet. “Okay, but, Susan, you’ve gotta help, too.”

  “Whatever,” Susan said and slowly rose from the couch.

  The two had just made their way past Katherine and into the kitchen when Mattie came out of the bedroom. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears and her cheeks were moist. In her right hand she held two pictures. “These are last year’s school pictures. Now that her hair’s longer she usually wears it in a ponytail.”

  She handed the pictures to Katherine. “I wasn’t sure which one was the best, so take both.”

  Katherine did. What she noticed right away was how different Sarah looked from her sister and brother. The girl obviously took after her father, whoever that might have been. More important, Katherine noticed how much the pictures in her hand resembled the ones she had given her mother when she was fourteen.

  Same straight, brown hair.

  Same brown eyes.

  Same look of innocence.

  Katherine stared at the pictures and knew exactly why Charles had taken the girl and what would happen to her.

  “Damn you,” she muttered.

  “What?” Mattie asked.

  Katherine hadn’t even realized she’d spoken aloud. Gordon was right; she was too close to this. What he didn’t understand was being close would give her an advantage.

  Ignoring Mattie’s question, Katherine focused on the details that would help. “I need to know what Sarah was wearing when she left here today. Does she have any distinguishing birthmarks? Anything that would help others recognize her?”

  As soon as Katherine had the essential data, she said goodbye and headed for the door. Mattie went with her, and it was only as Katherine was about to step outside that Mattie took her hand. “Find my baby, okay? And, when you do, if some outsider has raped her, don’t just file this away, not like they did with me.”

  “You were raped?” Katherine had never heard this story.

  “Not here. Not in Shgagwéi,” she said, using the Tlingit word for the town. “It happened after I left. Everyone thinks Sarah is the truck driver’s child, but she isn’t. We were just friends. I wanted out of here, and he took me. I don’t even know who Sarah’s father is. I was attacked on my way home from work. I reported it to the police, but they didn’t care. If a Tlingit raped a white woman, it would be front-page news. But a white man rape a Tlingit . . .” She shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “Well, I care,” Katherine said, realizing she and Mattie had more in common than she’d ever realized. “We’ll find Sarah, and we’ll find whoever took her.”

  But, Katherine knew the girl they brought back wouldn’t be the same innocent child who had left the Wilson house only a few hours earlier.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  10:30 P.M., Thursday

  Vince didn’t stay long with Sergeant Landros and the rescue workers, only long enough to question several of the volunteers about possible locations a kidnapper might choose to take a teenager. He also asked questions about Officer Katherine Ward. He learned little about her private life, other than she didn’t date, didn’t attend many social events, and the ones she did attend were either associated with her job or because she’d brought her grandfather.

  After making sure Landros didn’t have anything new to report—and Vince wasn’t sure the guy would tell him if he did—Vince hitched a ride back to Skagway with one of the volunteers heading home.

  When the man dropped Vince off at the Bonanza, the woman who let him in to the bed-and-breakfast wasn’t sure she should bother Mrs. Morgan, not until Vince convinced her that this was an emergency. Five minutes later, Crystal Morgan descended the stairs wearing a robe with a ship’s logo.

  She’d removed her makeup, and her hair was mussed, but Vince saw no signs of tears. “This better be important,” she complained the moment she saw him. “I’d just gotten to sleep.”

  “They found a vehicle over the side of the mountain. The driver’s dead.”

  Crystal frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s the guy Misty was running off with.”

  “Oh, shit.” Crystal sagged into the leather
-upholstered chair in the parlor. “What about Misty? Is she dead?”

  “Missing, and there was a ransom note pinned to the guy’s shirt.”

  “So she has been kidnapped.”

  “Yes. The police think the kidnapper is someone they call The Beekeeper, a man named Charles Bell.”

  Crystal nodded, her eyes focused on the floor, not him.

  “Have you heard of him?” Vince asked.

  She nodded again, and then looked up. “That is, if he’s the same one who kidnapped some girl years ago.”

  “They think it is. And, here’s the irony. It seems that girl he kidnapped years ago is Officer Ward.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No; she admitted it. And, it gets even worse. They think he may have taken another girl.”

  “Another girl?” Crystal leaned back in her chair, her carefully plucked eyebrows furrowing.

  “A local,” Vince said. “She was supposed to be working at Officer Ward’s house tonight, but she never showed up.”

  “So is Officer Ward now out looking for this Beekeeper guy?”

  “No. They took her off the case.”

  “Took her off the case? Why?”

  “That’s procedure. An officer doesn’t work a case where there’s personal involvement.”

  “Yeah, but I’ll bet she is,” Crystal said. “Involved, that is. If I remember right, the papers said it might not have been a kidnapping; that the girl had a crush on Bell and talked him into killing her family so she could have their money. She’s probably doing the same thing here—getting him to take Misty so she can have Tom’s money. How much are they asking for?”

  “One hundred million.”

  He expected her to react to the large amount, but she merely nodded and said, “Even splitting it with Bell, that’s a hell of a lot of money. Have you told Tom?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to tell you first and have you with me when I called him.”

  “Good idea.” She stood and glanced around the room. “We need a phone. Need to call him right away. If that bitch hadn’t kept sending me back to the ship, hadn’t kept denying this was a kidnapping, Tom could already be setting things up so the money could be wired wherever they wanted it to go.”