by Maris Soule
“Grandfather,” she corrected, but she wasn’t going to go into why he hadn’t told her about the call or why she hadn’t received the letter. What was, was.
“So . . .” Katherine carefully phrased her next question. “Where do you think Charles Bell is right now?”
“Living with his daughter, I suppose. She’s the one who picked him up the day he was released.”
“And, where does his daughter live?”
“Oh, I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”
Katherine rolled her eyes. “I’m a sworn police officer. The police are supposed to be notified when a pedophile moves into a neighborhood. You can tell me.”
“I’m sure the local police have been notified,” the woman said.
“And, which local police would that be?”
Katherine knew she wasn’t going to get an answer, not without an official signed and delivered request for that information, but she’d felt it was worth a try. And, after chuckling at Katherine’s request, the hospital administrator said, “I do have a picture. Would you like me to mail a copy to you?”
“No, that would take too long. Just scan it and send it to the Skagway police department as an attachment—”
Her request was cut short as the woman began to explain about Michigan’s poor economy, the budget cuts that had hurt the mental health facilities, and the outdated equipment they had to work with. Finally, Katherine had had enough. “Fine,” she said. “Forget the email. Do you have a fax machine?”
They did.
Katherine gave the woman the fax number for the station, repeated that they needed the picture as soon as possible, and forced herself to say thank-you. After hanging up the phone, Katherine sagged back in her chair and squeezed her eyes closed. Damn Charles. She didn’t want to be taken back to the past. Her months of captivity had been bad enough, but the trial had made everything worse. Only after her grandparents moved her to Skagway did she begin to feel safe.
It wasn’t until she decided to go into law enforcement that she returned to Michigan. There she faced her lingering fears. Her training at the police academy, followed by her years with the Kalamazoo department of public safety, gave her the confidence she’d needed. She had truly thought she’d put Charles and what he did to her and her family behind her.
Except now she knew she hadn’t.
Now Charles was here. In Skagway.
But where?
Had Sisi moved here? During the trial, Charles’s daughter had told Katherine she would get back at her for what she was doing to her father. Skagway was a small community, but Katherine didn’t know everyone. Could Sisi have bought one of the houses on the outskirts of town? Was that where Charles had the girls?
Katherine turned toward her computer. Nowadays people posted their pictures and information about themselves on-line for a variety of reasons, some personal and some for business. Katherine Googled the words “Sisi Bell” and waited as her computer began listing matching sites.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
10:30 A.M., Friday
Katherine’s Internet search for information about Sisi Bell produced no results. Not even some variations on the name. The hospital, however, did fax the promised picture of Charles Bell. Two, in fact. One, a portrait; the other a full-figure snapshot of him petting a dog. To Katherine, it looked like he’d lost weight since she’d last seen him, and she thought he had more gray in his hair. With the pictures coming through in black and white, not color, she couldn’t be sure.
She stared at the man who had murdered her family and made her his prisoner and sex partner. Her therapist had said there would come a time when Katherine would understand she wasn’t to blame for what happened. If that was true, the time hadn’t arrived. Almost two decades had passed since the night he took her, and, looking at his pictures, she still felt the burden of guilt.
If she just hadn’t stopped and talked to him. If she hadn’t told him all about her family. If she hadn’t walked him through their house. If . . . If . . . If . . .
For years those ifs had plagued her, and, now he was here, in Skagway, once again killing and kidnapping. She hated to think what he might be doing to Misty and Sarah. No, she knew what he was doing to them, and a chill of fear snaked through her body as she remembered his hands on her. His mouth. His . . .
Katherine shook off that memory and leaned back in her chair. Charles Bell was in Skagway for revenge. Which meant nothing had changed. She was still the reason terrible things were happening to innocent people.
She stared at the two images lying on her desk. How could a man who looked that kind and innocent—that handsome—be so evil?
Katherine knew good looks had nothing to do with a person’s moral character. Ted Bundy was a perfect example of that. He’d used his charm and good looks to meet the young women who became his victims. Thank goodness Bundy was dead. No budget cuts and hospital overcrowding would let him loose.
“Is that him?” Gordon asked from behind her, giving Katherine a start.
She turned to face him. “The hospital faxed them over just a while ago. Copies are being made and handed out to everyone. I thought I’d—”
Gordon stopped her with a raised hand. “You’re off the case, remember? Take the day off. Spend some time with your grandfather.”
“Take the day off?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You can’t take me off the case. You need me. I know what he looks like, what his voice sounds like. These pictures—” She pointed at the two on her desk. “—they show what he looked like when they were taken, but he could have changed his looks since then. Dyed his hair. Grown a beard.”
“I’ll make sure people are aware of that.” Gordon gestured for her to stand up. “I’m sorry, but you know as well as I do if a defense lawyer finds out you were personally involved with Bell prior to this incident, he could have anything you discover thrown out of court.”
She smiled. “You’re assuming he makes it to court.”
Gordon waved a finger at her. “That’s exactly what I mean. You’re too involved.”
“You’re shorthanded.”
“I’m calling in the FBI.”
She scoffed. “And you think they’re going to find him? They couldn’t find me, and I was only four frickin’ houses away from where my parents and brother were murdered. Four houses and the—”
Gordon stopped her. “Katherine, go home. You have the day off. Do you understand? Get your things and check out. You are not to go anywhere, talk to anyone, or phone anyone. At least not in connection with this case.”
Gordon didn’t wait to make sure Katherine left. He knew she wasn’t going to follow his orders. He just hoped she didn’t do anything foolish, anything that would get her in trouble . . . or killed. On the other hand, she might find Bell. She certainly had the motivation.
“I’m sending Katherine home,” Gordon told Alice, who’d come in at ten to relieve Betsy.
Alice nodded. “She’s wound as tight as a spring.”
The cliché fit. He glanced around. “Where’s that Assistant DA from Juneau?”
“In the chief’s office.”
“They still bickering?”
“Discussing the best way to come up with the ransom money.” She scoffed. “So, Gordon, how would you come up with a hundred million?”
“No problem,” he said. “I couldn’t.”
“Me neither.” Alice turned back to her computer. “Sure wish the chief were back.”
Gordon felt slighted by her remark, but also agreed. He’d give anything to turn this mess over to someone else. “FBI’s coming.” ASAP he hoped. Bell’s five o’clock deadline was getting closer by the minute.
“So where’s baldy headed?”
“Baldy?” It took Gordon a moment to figure out what Alice was asking. “You mean Mr. Nanini?”
“Yeah, while you were back with Katherine, he took off like he was on an important mission.”
Gordon nodded toward the ch
ief’s door. “Must be his boss told him to do something.”
The outside door opened and a teenaged boy stepped inside, swiping rain from the mop of hair that hung over his eyes. “Someone took my bike,” he said.
“Motorcycle or bicycle?” Alice asked, going to the counter.
“Bike . . . bicycle,” the teenager said. “Trek 520. It’s a touring bike. Cost a fortune.”
He looked close to tears.
“I was visiting with a friend, and when I went out . . .”
Gordon didn’t stay to listen to the rest of the boy’s tale. Bracing himself for another round of accusations, he opened the door to the chief’s office.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
“Please,” Misty begged as The Beekeeper cinched the sheeting strip tighter around the bed post. “Don’t . . . don’t hurt her.”
She blinked back tears and snuffed. Her feet felt raw and dirty. Her legs itched and burned where the thorns had torn her skin. He’d pulled her along by her hair as he forced her back to the house, and she’d tripped and stumbled and wet herself. Her scalp hurt, her body ached, and the smell of her own urine mingled with sweat and fear.
“Don’t punish her because of what I did.”
She’d thought she could escape. She’d thought she could save them both.
“Do it . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut, her heart beating a staccato. “Do it to me, not her.”
“Maybe.” She heard him take a step back. “Maybe I will. But not now.” He made a snorting noise. “You’ve put me behind schedule. Almost messed up everything.”
She felt something heavy and scratchy cover her body, and she opened her eyes. He’d turned on the light in the room, and she could see him clearly. Eyes narrowed, he glared down at her. “That’s a new sheet I used to tie you up with this time,” he said. “You’re not going to get this one to tear, so don’t waste your time trying.”
“Why can’t you just let us go?” She’d been so close. Another minute or two and she would have been climbing down those rocks, would have reached the road below. Someone would have seen her, would have rescued her.
“And then what? Wait for the police to come get me?” He scoffed. “I had that happen once. I didn’t like it.”
He took a step toward the door, then stopped and looked back. “Besides, if I let you go, your father won’t pay the money, and that’s the whole reason you’re here, little lady.”
He snapped off the light, once again turning the room into a dark prison cell, but, before he pulled the door closed, he spoke to Sarah. “Because you didn’t try to run away, I’m not going to punish you. But, while I’m gone, if she tries anything, I will punish both of you. Do you understand?”
Sarah’s yes was barely audible.
“Good. Now, I’m going to go pick up someone you know. Wish me luck.”
“I hope you run into a bear,” Misty said as the door closed. “A big, white bear. And I hope he eats you up. And . . . And . . .”
Her rant trailed off, and she took several deep breaths, remembering her fear when she saw the white bear. What was worse? Being attacked and eaten by a bear or being held prisoner by a crazy man who would be coming back in a while to rape her?
“He’s going after my sister,” Sarah moaned from the next bed. “He’s going to bring her here and . . . and . . . Oh, God . . .”
Her voice trailed off into sobs.
“Maybe it’s not your sister he’s after,” Misty said, forgetting her encounter with the bear. “He said, ‘Someone you know.’ Not ‘I’m going to go pick up your sister.’ ”
“So . . .” Sarah hesitated. “What? He’s going to pick up one of my friends?”
“I don’t know. But at least he’s gone . . . for a while.”
“You shouldn’t have run off.”
“I was trying to get help . . . For both of us. And I almost did,” Misty said. “There were just these rocks. And the road was too far below. I couldn’t jump.”
“He told me he’d kill me if I tried to leave this room,” Sarah said. “He didn’t tie me up, but he locked me in here, and I didn’t know what to do.” She paused and sniffed. “Should I have tried to escape?”
Misty remembered seeing two sheets tacked on one of the walls in the room. Both were folded and nailed in the shape of a window. Could Sarah have torn one of those sheets off and gotten out through a window?
“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe.” She wasn’t sure about anything at the moment except the newer strips of sheeting were tighter around her wrists and hurt, and her skin felt itchy and sore, and, even with a wool blanket over her, she was shivering.
“We’ve seen what he looks like,” she said, and suddenly wished she hadn’t. “He can’t let us live.”
“But if your father pays the money . . .”
Misty knew it wouldn’t matter.
“I wonder who he’s gone after,” Sarah said, but Misty wasn’t listening. Barely making a sound, she cried.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Gordon quietly entered the chief’s office and closed the door behind him. The assistant DA from Juneau sat behind the chief’s desk. He raised a finger up to his lips, indicating the need for silence, and motioned over to where Tom Morgan stood in front of the one window in the office, talking on his cell phone. Crystal remained in the chair she’d occupied earlier. She had her eyes closed, but Gordon didn’t think she was sleeping. An occasional quirk of her eyebrows indicated she was listening to her husband’s conversation.
“You’re sure we can get the money back,” Morgan said, then nodded as the person on the phone answered.
“And, you can handle all of this from your end?”
Another nod, and Gordon noticed Crystal seemed to relax. Opening her eyes, she looked Gordon’s way and smiled.
“He’s supposedly out looking for Misty,” Morgan said into the phone, his posture anything but relaxed. “I’m not happy with the two of you. If one or the other of you had been there when I called, this never would have happened.”
The tension radiating from Morgan increased as he listened to the other man’s response. Gordon could see the outline of a vein on Morgan’s temple, and, when the man again spoke, his tone alone indicated his anger. “Dammit, we’re talking about my daughter. I don’t care if Vince and I have been friends for years or what we went through in the past. If anything happens to Misty, that’s over; you guys can cross my name off your client list.”
Gordon was glad he wasn’t in Nanini’s shoes . . . or Nanini’s partner’s shoes. Not that he expected any words of praise from Morgan if the Skagway police department didn’t rescue Misty Morgan. Even though neither of Gordon’s marriages had produced any children, he could understand Morgan’s anger . . . and probably fear. A missing child was bad enough. To have a child kidnapped, and by a known pedophile, was terrifying.
“Don’t make him angry, honey,” Crystal said, leaning toward her husband. “We need him to transfer the money.”
Morgan looked at her, closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded. The next time he spoke into the phone, his voice was calmer. “Okay, Bob, I’ll call my banker and broker. Once they’ve freed up the money, I’ll have them contact you. You’ll be in the office?”
The answer must have been positive. Morgan went on. “Don’t make the transfer until I give you the word. The police seem to feel they’ll find her before the deadline.”
When he said that, he looked at Gordon, and Gordon nodded, hoping that was true.
“Thing is,” Morgan continued, his gaze never wavering from Gordon’s face, “it looks like one of the officers here is involved with this kidnapper.”
Gordon shook his head, but he knew Morgan didn’t believe him. The assistant DA raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. Gordon knew he would, later.
“I’m not sure how they did it,” Morgan went on, still looking at Gordon. “They must have planned it in advance.” He scoffed. “Of course, nobody here is going to admit that.”
Gordon didn’t bother arguing. He’d met people like Morgan before. The only way to convince this guy that Katherine was innocent was to find and capture Bell. Then they’d all know who was or wasn’t involved.
Morgan’s attention transferred to his wife. “She’s holding up pretty well,” he said in response to the person on the other end of the phone connection. “Yes, I guess I am lucky the kidnapper didn’t get her, too.”
Crystal smiled, but Gordon wondered what the woman really thought about her husband’s comment. Gordon didn’t trust her, not after the way she’d accused Katherine of being in on the kidnapping.
He felt guilty that he’d originally assigned Katherine to this case. If he’d had an inkling it would turn into a real kidnapping, or that the same man who’d kidnapped her almost two decades ago would be involved, he would have sent her to Anchorage, or Nome, or somewhere far, far away, whether they were shorthanded or not.
The moment Morgan ended the call he focused his attention on Gordon. “How much does that officer of yours know about computers?”
“Katherine?” Gordon shook his head. “I don’t know. Enough to get on the Internet and use the programs we have here at the station. Why?”
“The kidnapper—this Beekeeper guy—wants the money transferred electronically to an off-shore account. According to the fax Bob Lilly received, our kidnapper will know when the transfer has occurred.” Morgan’s gaze switched to the assistant DA, who so far hadn’t said a word. “Aren’t you curious how someone who’s allegedly been locked up in a crazy farm for fifteen years set up an off-shore account? And how did he end up here, exactly where his former girlfriend is a police officer?”
Gordon couldn’t let the accusation stand without a response. “From what Katherine . . . Officer Ward has said, Charles Bell is extremely intelligent.”
“Intelligent enough to pull this off by himself?” the assistant DA asked, his eyebrows rising.
“I don’t know.” That was something Gordon had wondered himself. “But, I’m sure Officer Ward isn’t involved.”