Gone Missing: A gripping crime thriller that will have you hooked

by T. J. Brearton

  “How can I see any mail correspondence?”

  “You’d need judicial review.”

  The walls were stacking up, but Cross had expected them. He had plans to contact Judge King. “Okay. In the meantime, I’d like to set up visits with all three of the inmates still there.”

  She was silent a moment. “Of course, Investigator Cross. That, we can do.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Katie lay in darkness, but the heat was growing in the cabin. She knew it was morning.

  She hadn’t run.

  In the end, she’d ventured as far as the outhouse then collapsed into body-wracking tremors. She was injured, it was dark, she was deep within miles of wilderness.

  After she’d returned to the cabin, Carson had waited until she forced down a bologna sandwich. Then he put the shroud on her and tied her to the bed, using the climbing rope.

  He’d eaten, then drunk half the beer – she’d counted the times he’d popped a can open. He’d had three more shots of the whiskey, too, give or take an ounce, bragging about these (down the hatch!) as he imbibed. The drinks had made him chatty, and he’d babbled for a bit about all the places he’d been in the country. California. Colorado. New Mexico. The desert.

  She didn’t like that he was telling her these things. Knowing about him alarmed her, like he didn’t plan to keep her alive.

  And then she’d seen his face.

  Just a glimpse – the shroud had hitched up as she rubbed her head into the mattress, itching at the needles and probably bugs in her hair. She saw him standing in the center of the cabin, lit by the oil lamp, his back to her. He’d turned and she’d seen half of his face. She’d quickly looked away, but he strode toward her, yanked the shroud down past her chin.

  But he didn’t say anything about it.

  At some point she thought he’d unrolled a foam pad from the duffel, lain down on it, and gone to sleep.

  With Carson snoring, she’d lain awake. What if he did something in the middle of the night? It panicked her that she’d seen him, and that he knew she had. Now maybe those sickening sexual comments he’d made, the way he’d groped her – twice – were going to turn into a full-blown assault. Because now he had nothing to lose.

  All night, lying in darkness, listening to him breathe.

  Just waiting for it to come.

  She’d tried to distract herself, thinking how he had about half his beer left. And probably more than half the liquor, but not by much. And there was plenty of food, still, like he planned to be here for a couple of days. Was that just a precaution? Or did they expect a ransom negotiation to take at least that long?

  What if she was wrong, though, and this wasn’t about money?

  But Leno had taken her picture. It had to be to show people she was alive.

  Would law enforcement deal with the kidnappers on their terms? She’d seen the same kidnapping movies as anybody else, and doubted their accuracy. The only thing she knew was that law enforcement – probably FBI at some point – would want to catch the bad guys.

  Her father was a different story.

  Katie loved her father, but she knew him better than most. There wasn’t a problem he couldn’t solve with money. He’d come from money, had always had it, which might have lessened his appreciation for it. He’d give up his entire fortune if he thought it would get Katie back.

  Sybil understood her husband’s financial impulsivity and had convinced him to grant her power of attorney. Married for just three years, she now signed everything Jean signed and had a grip on the purse strings. Unlike Jean, Sybil hadn’t come from money. Her family had learned to preserve what little they had through protectionism.

  All night long, thoughts swirling, always coming back to her fear that Carson was going to do something any moment. Even the way he’d tied her up made dozing difficult. The ropes wrapping her wrists and ankles were tied to the bed corners so that she was splayed out cruciform.

  Now the heat continued to spread in the cabin, and she could even feel the sun warming her skin.

  She guessed it was around eight when Carson first stirred, mumbling something in his sleep.

  More time passed. Nine in the morning? Later? She felt more terrified than she’d felt all night. That was worry and conjecture – this was certainty. He was going to be awake soon. The time was coming when he’d have to deal with her being able to identify him.

  He was getting up. He sniffed, scratched around at something on the floor. She heard the zipper on the duffel bag, then nothing, just breathing.

  “Good,” he said about something. “Okay, good.”

  Then Carson got to his feet, the floorboards creaking.

  He came closer.

  He was standing beside the bed. She knew he was right there. Looking down at her.

  “I didn’t see you,” she said. Her voice sounded so small, so timid; she hated it. She cleared her throat, mustered some gumption, but it was so tough, she felt so vulnerable. “I didn’t see anything, okay? It was an accident. The thing – the mask on my head, it just lifted up. A little bit. I just – I saw the back of you, Carson. And then I looked away. I just want you to—”

  “Shut up.” His voice was gravel.

  He sniffed again, grunted. He sounded hungover.

  “I gotta piss,” he said. “Then we’re gonna talk, Katie. We’re going to figure this thing out.”

  “I didn’t see anything.”

  “Yeah you did.”

  “Let me go.” Just whispers. The breathy pleas of a desperate woman.

  “I’ll be back.”

  She heard him moving away.

  “You don’t even want to be doing this,” she said. “This isn’t your thing. This… this isn’t—”

  The creaking footfalls stopped. “Oh no?” He was by the door. “This isn’t my thing? You’re right, Katie. Maybe when I come back I can show you my thing. Okay? Jesus – I gotta piss, alright? You’re starting in like a goddamn… Just fucking hang tight.”

  He opened the door and left the cabin.

  Katie didn’t move. She started to cry. She didn’t want to cry and fought against it.

  She pulled at the ropes and strained with her legs.

  His voice floated back: “Don’t go anywhere.” Then laughter, high-pitched, followed by more talking to himself, which faded as he moved further away.

  She bucked and thrashed, the fear throttling her windpipe. She couldn’t even scream.

  Maybe when I come back I can show you my thing.

  She stopped fighting, letting herself go limp, letting the tears come, no longer caring. Like Carson no longer cared – she could hear it in his voice. She was right about him, she’d known it all along – he might be a part of this kidnapping, but he was hired muscle, or something. It didn’t matter to him whether this scheme came off or not. He’d just been waiting for his chance.

  And now it had arrived. She’d seen him, he knew it, it was over.

  Everything became quiet, just the blood singing in her ears.

  Over.

  Katie lay on her back in darkness, realizing that, during her struggle, the rope binding her wrists had loosened.

  Or, rather, her wrists were bleeding; she could feel the wetness.

  The blood was a lubricant.

  She twisted her hands, rotated her wrists back and forth, and the ropes slid over her skin. The excruciating pain took her breath away.

  But it was something. She might be able to just—

  If she could get her hands free, even one, she could undo the other, then extricate her ankles—

  You got it. Keep working. Almost there.

  Several times she stopped.

  She listened for Carson.

  At one point, she thought she heard him laugh again. Or yell something.

  Then, nothing.

  Katie worked at the bindings, back and forth, twisting and pulling, her intensity growing. She stopped again, held an exhalation, then listened again.

&n
bsp; Silence.

  At least two minutes had passed. Maybe three.

  Calm down. Think.

  The tension was what was keeping the rope around her wrists. The blood definitely lubricated the ropes but if she was pulling, the loop tightened. She had to relax at the same time she tried to slip her wrist out and—

  She got it.

  One hand was free.

  Fresh adrenaline poured through her. She could just reach her left wrist. Picked at the rope there – it too was just looped around, no knot – and got that hand out.

  She tore off the shroud and squinted in the glaring light, dust motes dancing in the buttery sunrays streaming through the dirty cabin windows. The air was fresh and wonderful. Amazing.

  She tried to sit up. The tautness of the ligature around her splayed ankles made it impossible. She had to contort her body, reach down and grip one of her legs, pull herself to a seated position.

  What the hell kind of rigging was this? He’d used one single rope to tie her wrists, okay. But he’d used a carabiner at her feet, connecting two separate ropes. Trying to pull back the lever with her fingertips was maddening. More white-hot pain exploded from her sprained finger, radiating up her entire arm. Her hands shook and the carabiner kept slipping. She was able to get the lever back, but the rope tension made it hard to unhook. She kept working, perspiring, the cabin getting hotter as the sun rose.

  It was such a painstaking process she had to stop and rest – her muscles were cramping from the angles and the exertion. Finally, she cried out and snapped the rope loose. Her legs were free. Just needed to slough the ropes around her ankles.

  Five minutes. Had to be. Where is he?

  Hope flooded her. Pure and bright and energizing as the sunlight. Something had happened. Maybe someone was here.

  She kicked off the remaining ropes around her ankles. There was nothing left tying her to the bed and she got to her feet.

  Or, maybe it was a game. Maybe it wasn’t enough for him to have her on the bed, tied up. He wanted her to get free, wanted to chase her…

  The world swam. She bent forward and breathed. Dropped to one knee, grabbing the bed for support, overcome with emotion. Her thoughts came in a torrent of debate:

  Run!

  -Take what you need first. Water. Something.

  Go now, just run, just go!

  -He’ll come after you. He’ll catch you.

  She took several deep breaths, her teeth chattering.

  She had to work quickly. Carson might be back any second. She’d already gone over this – all she needed was water and the GPS. Maybe a flashlight. She’d never let him catch her.

  She stood up and crossed to the kitchen, ignoring the way her legs felt dead, her fingertips tingling, heart beating too fast. The liquor was on the wood block. She dumped it on the floor and set the empty bottle beside the pitcher, then poured the water in.

  The water slopped everywhere, and by the time the pitcher was empty, only half the liquor bottle had been filled. There was more water in the wash tub. It was dirty, but she didn’t care. She submerged the bottle and filled it.

  Time to go.

  She started toward the door when she glanced at the woodpile.

  The hatchet cleaved a piece of upright wood.

  Get it.

  Her arms trembled and the sweat poured down as she struggled to wrench it free. It came loose at last, throwing her off-balance. She fell back and then immediately stilled. Listening.

  Nothing.

  Then, maybe a faint voice.

  Chilled by the sound, she picked up the hatchet, searched for the GPS. There was so much shit on the floor. Carson had made a complete mess: His bedroll, a blanket, the duffel bag on its side, half the contents burped out – socks, a moth-eaten wool hat, a toothbrush, a rain jacket, a wristwatch in the mess. No bright-orange GPS.

  Hurrying, she checked the cabinet. She looked under the bedroll. Nothing.

  Forget it. Just get away.

  She grabbed the flashlight off the range and slipped her hand through the tethered loop. With the bottle in her grip, she ran out the front door.

  The clearing shocked her. It had been twilight when they’d arrived and she’d been under duress. It didn’t look the way she’d pictured it – it was beautiful. The woods were close on one side, but the other side of the clearing was open to stunning views of a mountain range. It looked like the land dropped off dramatically; she could look above the tops of trees.

  Obviously she and Carson hadn’t arrived from that direction. They’d come through the forest right until they’d stepped into the high grass.

  He was nowhere to be seen. Probably he had wandered off into the woods to take a dump; he’d been gone way too long for just a piss. She thought of her vow to kill him. She had the hatchet. She could come upon him squatting in the woods and drive the hatchet into his skull the way it had cleaved the wood.

  Get going!

  She started toward the tree line. Halfway there, she heard the noise again – definitely a human voice.

  It sounded like a cry for help.

  Chapter Eighteen

  By 10 a.m. Cross was at David Brennan’s house in Hazleton. The driveway was snarled with news vans that had somehow gotten past the gate. They were trespassing, loitering reporters already primped and talking into the cameras. “Behind me is the home of Katie Calumet, abducted yesterday while on her morning jog…”

  Inside the house was commotion. The Calumets were drinking coffee and eating breakfast in the living room. David was in the kitchen, leaning against the massive island, wearing an apron and looking like he hadn’t slept all night. It appeared he’d just made the morning meal.

  In addition to the forensic techs scurrying about, state troopers and sheriff’s deputies populated the room.

  Cross spied Sheriff Oesch sitting next to Jean Calumet on a couch, speaking quietly.

  Dana Gates was alone near the stairs to the second floor.

  Cross went to her. “This is nuts.”

  “I know.” She dabbed her eye with a handkerchief, something she had to do because of a job-related incident, the same incident which had scarred her face.

  “What’s the sheriff’s department doing here?”

  “I don’t know, but, from what I heard, Calumet supported Oesch when he ran for sheriff two years ago.”

  “He ran unopposed…”

  She shrugged, stuck the folded handkerchief in the pocket of her suit coat. “Still needed money for the buttons and fliers, I guess.”

  “So Calumet supports the sheriff because his daughter lives in the county?”

  “That would be the guess. But Calumet has money seeded here and there. He’s donated big to the SPCA…”

  “Katie is on the board…”

  “… and to the Waldorf School, Riverside. In case Katie ever has a kid, I guess. We need to get all non-essential persons out of here. Just you and me, the family.”

  Cross watched as Gloria stood with her plate and walked it to the kitchen. It looked like she’d found an appetite at last. She huddled with David by the sink, together washing dishes.

  Cross turned back to Gates, who gave him a look: It was his job to clear everyone out.

  He took a breath, walked to the middle of the large room, and clapped his hands. “Good morning, everyone.”

  The talk ended and heads turned.

  “Everyone here is doing a great job. As you all know, Katie is our concern, finding her and getting her home as safely and efficiently as we can. To that end, I’m asking that only Katie’s family and the CSTs remain in the house this morning. We want to…”

  Jean Calumet was reaching for his phone.

  “… keep things as simple as possible.”

  Calumet’s face turned red as he struggled to get it from his pocket and looked at the incoming call or text.

  “What…” Cross said, starting over. “Wait…”

  The phone trembled in Calumet’s grip. His eyes seemed
to twitch, the tears welling up. Sybil leaned close and got an eyeful of what was there. She put a hand over her mouth. Then she let out a sob and turned away.

  Cross held out his hand. “Please! Let me see.”

  Everyone was crowding in behind Cross. The temperature in the room seemed to rise by a few degrees.

  There was a crash as David dropped dishes in the sink, hurrying over.

  Jean Calumet rotated the phone so Cross could see the image.

  Katie had cuts and scrapes on her face, a swelling, split lip, frazzled hair. She was wearing the peach-colored top, smeared with dirt. Her wrists were tied, hanging at her waist.

  The picture cut off at her upper thighs. Behind her, though fuzzily indistinct, were woods. Cross took it all in, every detail, and reached for the phone.

  Before he could take it from Calumet, the picture disappeared. The phone vibrated. An incoming call appeared on the screen.

  Calumet stood up and put the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

  David lunged, but Cross caught him, held him back.

  Calumet stared out the windows at the bright morning. “Yes. I’m Jean Calumet. Don’t hurt her.”

  Cross’s heart started pounding.

  David made another grab for the phone. “Give it to me,” he said through clenched teeth. “Jean, give me the phone. Let me talk to them.”

  It was all Cross could do to restrain him. Gates appeared and moved in front of David, her hands on his chest.

  Calumet stepped away. “I understand.” His tone was flat, his eyes dully shining. He listened then spoke a final time. “Okay. Yes. It will be done.”

  Then it was over.

  Calumet put the phone back in his pocket.

  Cross let go of David, who’d given up the struggle. “What happened? Did you just agree to pay a ransom?”

  “I did.” Calumet stared into space.

  “How much?”

  They were surrounded by everyone in the room. Sybil was still sitting on the couch, looking shocked. Gloria hovered close, her lower lip trembling.

  “Ten million.”

  The reaction in the room was electric, breaking the spell that gripped them. Ten million was a lot of money. It had all just happened so fast.