Echoes of Terror

by Maris Soule

  “We can use my phone,” he said, “but I’m not sure Office Ward is involved. She seemed truly surprised when she heard about the mark on the note, and really tense and angry when she learned Charles Bell was no longer under lock and key.”

  “Oh, come on.” Crystal shook her head at him. “She could have been faking, putting on an act. You men are so easily fooled.”

  Vince supposed she was right. Although he prided himself on being able to read people, he had been fooled before.

  “Give me the phone,” Crystal said, motioning toward the holder on his belt. “The sooner Tom knows what’s up, the sooner he can get the money together. Then Misty will be released, and all of this will be over.”

  Vince wished he felt as confident as Crystal sounded.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  “If you want to help, find Phil,” Gordon had said.

  “Damn you, Phil, where are you?” Katherine grumbled as she drove the short distance between Mattie Wilson’s house and Phil’s.

  His was a two-story clapboard, its pink shutters a garish contrast to its peeling, blue exterior. Whereas most of the houses in Skagway were surrounded by lawns and flower gardens, Phil’s hosted weeds and bare dirt.

  Unlike her grandfather, who loved tending his roses almost as much as he loved fishing, Phil’s obsession with fishing was all consuming. However, he’d never missed a day of work because of a fishing trip. Something had to have happened to him.

  Many of the lakes he fished involved long hikes up steep mountainsides. He could have fallen. But wouldn’t his fishing buddy have reported an accident? Gone for help?

  Or did both of them fall?

  Did they run into a bear?

  Bear attacks were not common, but they did occur. Especially if the bear had cubs.

  Katherine tried to shake off a feeling of dread as she parked in front of Phil’s house. Weeds poked through the gravel of his empty driveway. She could see the note Gordon had said he’d left taped to the front door; nevertheless, she went up to the door and rang the bell.

  No answer.

  She tried the doorknob.

  Locked.

  She stepped back and stared at the house. Drapes and shades blocked her view inside, the house silent. She considered simply driving off, then decided to go around to the back. Years before, when she first returned to Skagway, she’d heard Phil tell her grandfather where he hid an extra key. Maybe, if he hadn’t moved it, it would still be there.

  And it was.

  “Phil,” she called out as she entered through his back door.

  The only response was the hum of the refrigerator.

  She’d been in the house twice to retrieve her grandfather when he forgot the time. Phil had offered to give her a tour of the place, but she had refused. Nevertheless, she had a general idea of its layout: kitchen, dining area, living room, Phil’s bedroom, and a bathroom on the first floor. Additional bedrooms upstairs.

  She started with the kitchen.

  On the counter, a loaf of bread had been left open, several slices missing. Next to it was an empty lunch-meat container. Crusted egg stuck to a dish and a fry pan that had been piled in the sink. Beside the pan were a dirty knife and fork . . . and two empty coffee cups.

  An array of delicately tied fishing flies lay on the table, along with the materials needed and the equipment to tie them. Katherine did see an unassembled graphite rod on the floor, but she knew that meant nothing. Phil owned dozens of rods. What she didn’t see were his waders, fishing vest, or the box that held his favorite flies, extra line, and tools for repairs.

  “So you did go fishing,” she murmured, not surprised by the evidence. “But, where?”

  In the living room, Katherine stepped over the TV remote on the floor and checked the date on the Anchorage Daily News spread out on the couch—two days old.

  An empty beer can lay on its side, and she found a T-shirt tossed in a corner near the bathroom, but nothing was broken. No signs of a struggle. No indication that anything dire had happened to Phil, yet Katherine couldn’t shake off an uneasy feeling.

  Again she called out his name.

  Still no answer.

  In the bathroom, clothing littered the floor, the toilet seat was up, and a soap-ring lined the tub. Again, no signs of a struggle.

  She only meant to give a quick peek into his bedroom. At the already open doorway, she let her gaze slide over the unmade bed and the open issue of Playboy that lay on the floor. She chuckled. So you do think of something other than fishing.

  Her amusement ended the moment she saw the framed picture on the night stand.

  Within the confines of a plain wooden frame was a picture of her, standing by a picnic table, wearing shorts and a halter top. The backyard was hers. It had to be. She never went out in public wearing shorts and a halter top. She even remembered when her grandfather took the picture last summer. He’d teased her and said he was going to submit it to Playboy.

  Evidently he’d given a copy to Phil.

  That he had the photo framed and kept it by his bed bothered her. She knew Phil liked her. Even though she’d done everything in her power to discourage him, he’d come on to her once when he’d had too many beers. She’d told him to forget it, that she didn’t date coworkers. When he kept asking, she threatened to slap him with a sexual harassment suit.

  That, she thought, had ended his infatuation. Evidently she’d been wrong. Maybe she did need to file a complaint.

  Katherine checked the upstairs bedrooms. As far as she could tell, they were only used for storage. Finally, as she started down the stairs, she keyed up her radio and called Gordon. “Still no sign of Phil,” she said when he responded. “I’m inside his house. Looks like he hasn’t been here for two days.”

  “And your boyfriend’s not coming back.”

  It took Katherine a moment to realize the seductive voice wasn’t Gordon’s. “Who is this?” she demanded, nearly dropping the radio.

  “Oh, come on now, Kat,” the voice purred. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember me?”

  Her stomach twisted into a knot, and Katherine sucked in a breath. She did remember. She remembered the sound of that silky smooth voice, the touch of his hands, and what he did to her. Those memories had haunted her dreams for years. “Charles?”

  “What?” Gordon demanded from his radio. “Who’s on here, Katherine?”

  “A good friend,” Charles responded. “Isn’t that right, honey. Have you missed me?”

  “No,” Katherine gasped, as much a denial of his presence as a response. Legs shaking, she sank down on the bottom step. “Go away,” she moaned.

  “Oh, no, not yet.”

  “Katherine,” Gordon shouted into the radio. “You’re at Phil’s?”

  “Yes,” she said feebly.

  “Is Bell there?”

  “No.” She looked around. “I don’t think so.”

  “Get out of there,” Gordon ordered.

  “Run,” said Charles, his tone mocking. “Run for your life, little girl.”

  Katherine drew her semi-automatic. Every nerve ending on alert, she rose to her feet and stepped away from the stairs, expecting at any moment to see the man who’d destroyed her family and her innocence.

  “Did you get my note?” Charles asked, barely above a whisper. “Did you get it at five o’clock?”

  She didn’t answer. Every step she took, she checked ahead and behind her, half expecting Charles to appear.

  “Did you appreciate the significance of the time?” he asked. “Five o’clock. The exact time you betrayed me.”

  “I didn’t betray you,” she argued.

  “Did they give you thirty pieces of silver, Kit Kat? Was it worth it?”

  She remembered the moment the police had come to the front door, her fear and relief. The media said she tried to protect him. Her therapist said she probably stepped in front of Charles out of surprise. All Katherine knew was one thing: “I didn’t turn you in, Charles.” />
  “Say what you like; you betrayed me,” he repeated.

  At the back door, she expected him to be outside, waiting for her. Cautiously, gun held at the ready, she stepped out of the house.

  No one.

  “You sat in that courtroom,” Charles continued, “pointing a finger at me. At least Judas gave a kiss.”

  Katherine edged her way around the corner of the house. “I am not a Judas.”

  “Says you. But it doesn’t matter. I’ve found me a couple of new blossoms.”

  Katherine stopped. She felt as if she’d been socked in the stomach. “Where, Charles? Where do you have them?”

  “That’s for me to know, and you to find out. Right, girls?”

  She heard two voices in the background. Pleading voices. High pitched. Scared.

  “Let them go, Charles,” Katherine begged. “Don’t . . . Don’t do anything to them.”

  “Too late,” he said with a snicker. “At least for one. Money might save the other one. Lots of money.”

  “If I come to you, will you let Sarah and Misty go?”

  “Oh, you’ll come to me. But first I want you to tell the father what will happen to his beautiful blossom if he doesn’t pay. Tell him he’s got until five o’clock tomorrow night. After that . . .”

  Gordon’s voice came through the radio. “You touch those girls, and I’ll see you hang.”

  “Ah, the big, brave sergeant is making threats.” Charles chuckled. “Careful, Mr. Policeman; I’m crazy, you know. I might just go after you, too.”

  “You’re not going to get away with this,” Katherine said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Not this time.”

  “Right,” Charles said, his tone mocking. “Meanwhile, you tell Misty Morgan’s father if he doesn’t have the money in my account by five p.m. tomorrow night, I’m going to pollinate his beautiful blossom. And, after that, if I don’t have the money, both of these blossoms are going to die.”

  “Charles, don’t.” Katherine squeezed her eyes shut. “Please.”

  The crackle of the radio was her only response.

  “Charles,” she cried. “Are you there? Speak to me.”

  He didn’t respond, and finally she said, “Gordon?”

  Her cell phone rang, startling her. For a moment she stood where she was, her semi-automatic aimed straight ahead, her gaze darting from one spot to another. Finally she took in a shaky breath and reached for the phone.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s me.”

  As soon as she heard Gordon’s voice, Katherine’s entire body began to tremble. “He was on a police radio, Gordon,” she said, a tremor to her voice. “He said Phil’s not coming back.”

  “You think he’s using Phil’s radio, that Phil’s dead?”

  Katherine nodded, even though she knew Gordon couldn’t see her. “He’s a sociopath, Gordon. He uses people and then he kills them.”

  “He didn’t kill you,” Gordon reminded her.

  “Sometimes I wish he had.”

  “We need to find those girls.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Five o’clock tomorrow. Misty had heard him give the time line. She understood what he’d meant about pollinating the beautiful blossom. That was her. And if her father didn’t pay the ransom, not only would she be raped, this man was going to kill her. Kill both of them.

  She shivered at the thought.

  “Cold?” he asked, and touched her arm. “Oh, my, yes. Now, what kind of a beekeeper am I? I haven’t kept a consistent temperature in my hive. Let me get you another blanket, then I’ll turn up the heat.”

  “You’re no beekeeper,” Misty said, wishing she could smash him like a bee. “You’re a monster.”

  “Tish tish, now,” he said calmly and walked away. “It’s not nice to call people names.”

  “Mother fucker. Sicko. Bastard.” Misty threw out one insult after another.

  In the dim lighting afforded by the open bedroom door, she saw him pause and thought she saw him smile. “Feisty little thing, aren’t you,” he said. “Afraid Daddy won’t pay?”

  “He’ll pay,” Misty said, unwilling to admit her doubts. “And, then he’ll see to it that you rot in jail for the rest of your life.”

  “That’s if they ever find me.”

  “They’ll find you. My father is friends with the president. He’ll get the FBI after you.”

  “Oh, I’m so scared.” The Beekeeper chuckled, and then slid open a closet door. For a moment, he flicked on a light, the brightness making Misty blink. Then the light went off, and he slid the door closed and turned back toward the beds, carrying something in his arms. “You cold, too?” he asked Sarah.

  The girl’s “Uh-huh” was tentative, her shallow breathing a clear indication of her fear.

  “This will help.”

  Misty could tell he was covering the girl with another blanket, but with his back to her, she couldn’t tell what else he was doing. Sarah’s whimper, however, indicated she didn’t like it.

  “Can’t you leave her alone for a minute?” Misty said, knowing the girl was petrified.

  “Jealous?” he asked, and turned toward her.

  She could see the smirk on his face. When he’d taken her to the bathroom, she’d made a mental list of his features. During one of Vince’s “Be Prepared” lectures, he’d told her, “If you’re ever attacked or think you might be in danger, pay attention to what the person looks like. Later, your description will help the police find this person.”

  For the last hour or more, Misty had mentally gone over what she would tell the police when she was rescued. His eyes were brown, and so was his hair. He had some gray hairs, especially near his ears, and it was cut short so it looked sort of spiky. There were wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He was sort of tall, but not real tall. Lean. He didn’t have one of those big stomachs, like most older men had, but he was old—probably as old as her father—and he smelled like beer . . . and sweat and sex.

  “We don’t want you feeling neglected,” he said and dropped the blanket he was holding to the floor.

  “Just go away,” Misty said, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut.

  “Oh, but you said you were cold. Maybe what I need to do is warm you up first.” He lifted the wool blanket that already covered her, and Misty sucked in a breath.

  She could tell her nipples were hard. The rough texture of the wool had been enough to stimulate them. Now exposed to the air, she could feel them pointing up at the ceiling like proud sentinels. “I’m fine,” she lied.

  “How about down here?” He brushed his fingertips along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, moving his hand closer and closer to the mound of blonde hair between her legs.

  Tingling sensations raced through her body, and Misty knew she had to do something, say something quickly. “I’ve got to pee,” she blurted out. “Bad.”

  His fingers stopped moving, and he looked at her face, a frown replacing his lecherous smile. “You want to go to the bathroom? Again?”

  “Yes. Bad. Really, really bad.”

  For a moment she thought he would ignore her plea, but then he lifted his hand. “Smart and feisty. But I did promise I wouldn’t touch you.”

  She swallowed hard. “Yeah, you did.”

  “And a promise is a promise.” He untied the strips of sheet binding her ankles first. Once her feet were free, he released her arms by untying the ends of the strips from the bed’s metal posts. He left the cloth around her wrists, using the material like a leash. A quick jerk got her to move.

  “Don’t try anything,” he warned, and she carefully slid off the bed, her bare feet touching the plush carpeting that covered the floor.

  Her first few steps were hesitant and unsteady, but stronger than the last time he’d taken her to the bathroom. “Don’t go away, now,” he said to Sarah with a chuckle. He then pushed the bedroom door open wider. A shove between her shoulder blades moved Misty forward, and she stumbled into the hallway.
/>   The entire house was encased in a shroud of semi-darkness, drapes drawn and no lights on; nevertheless, she could see well enough to figure out the layout. Across the hall from the bedroom where he was keeping her was another doorway. It was closed, but she’d bet it opened to another bedroom. Just a short distance farther down the hallway, and on her left, was the bathroom he’d taken her to earlier. Across the hall from that room was another closed door, probably to another bedroom. And just past those rooms, at the end of the hallway, she could see what looked like a front door and living room furniture—a couch and an easy chair.

  As she regained her balance, Misty focused on the front door and remembered what Vince had told her while showing her self-defense moves. You’re a woman; you’re small and you don’t have the strength of a man, so you have to be smarter than your attacker. Use the element of surprise. Get him off balance.

  Making a lunge toward the bathroom at the end of the hallway, as if she were in a hurry to get there, Misty jerked her arms forward, tightening the strips of sheet connecting her to her captor. Then, before he had a chance to react, she took a step back and spun around so she was facing him.

  She saw the look of surprise on his face when she drove her right knee up into his groin, heard him suck in his breath as her knee made contact with the soft area of his crotch. The moment he started to double over, she changed directions. Stepping back, she swung her arms behind her, once again tightening the tension on the sheets. Caught off guard, he opened his hands, releasing the cloth bindings. Free, Misty spun back around and raced for the front door.

  She had her hand on the doorknob when he caught her. “Bitch,” he swore and shoved her to the floor.

  The heavy boot of his foot pushed into her back, pinning her to the carpet. She could hear him sucking air through his teeth and knew he was still in pain. The pressure of his foot smashed her breasts into the carpeting, pinching her nipples between the fibers, and she clenched her teeth so she wouldn’t cry out.