Then he opened the file on Ling Hu. Something nagged at him about it. There was no disputing the cause of death, but some detail wasn’t quite right. It would come to him eventually, he knew. But he had three other missing girls to worry about first.
ETHAN AND RACHEL lay in her bed after a giggly shower together, kissing and touching. Finally Ethan asked, “Do you want me to go home?”
“No, that’s silly. It’s nearly one in the morning.”
“If it’ll make you more comfortable—”
“Stop. If I wanted you to leave, I’d tell you.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “This has been a heck of a first date, I’d say.”
“Would you?”
“Will there be a second one?”
“Are you sure you want one?”
He ran his thumb over the end of one nipple. “Pretty sure.”
“Even if it’s not as intense as this one?”
“I was having a good time before we took our clothes off too.”
She nestled against him, his arm around her, her leg draped across his. After a few minutes his steady breathing told her he’d fallen asleep, and, shortly, light snoring confirmed this. In the dim light she watched his features soften, which made him look positively boyish. She wanted to awaken him for another round of kissing and fondling, but that seemed thoughtless given all he’d been through. He’d certainly earned a few hours’ respite from her attentions.
Rachel, though, found she couldn’t rest. Elation, and energy, and a new vivid knowledge of herself coursed through her, and she was wide awake. She lay perfectly still, tried meditation and mental relaxation exercises, but sleep simply would not come. When the clock on her nightstand read 2:00 A.M., she gave up.
She carefully disengaged from him and padded into the kitchen. Tainter glared his puritanical disapproval. By the light of her cell phone, she wrote on a Post-it, Gone for a walk. Nothing’s wrong, just too wired to sleep. Back soon. Then she tiptoed back and put it over the numbers on the clock, so he’d be sure to see it.
She paused and looked down at him, at the unbroken line of skin visible from ankle to shoulder as he rolled onto his side. His muscles had softened with sleep but still stood out beneath his skin. Normally she couldn’t abide bulky gym-rat men, but the memory of how strong he was, how he’d borne her weight and exertions with no apparent strain, made her grateful for his dedication. A weaker man, a man more like her ex-husband and the others she’d dated, would have never been able to stand it. And a lesser man never would have joined her in the lake in the first place.
She realized her hands were absently rubbing her thighs. She smiled, risked waking him with a soft kiss on the shoulder, then dressed and slipped out into the night.
She barely felt the pavement beneath her feet as she ran along the empty sidewalks. The big houses were mostly dark, except for two where she glimpsed shirtless young men playing computer games. She wanted to laugh, she was so happy, but she kept silent due to the hour.
She dashed across Hudson Park and down to the water. She whipped off her shirt, tossed it and her shoes into the bushes, then stepped out of her panties and shorts. She dove into the water, heedless of the loud splash, and swam with limbs that should have ached from her earlier exertion. She’d never felt so strong, though.
She reached the drop-off and stopped. She sank slowly, arms and legs spread, looking down into the great black space where her other lovers dwelled. She’d promised never to leave them, and she wanted them to know she meant it.
For one long, terrifying instant, she feared she’d been abandoned. She heard uncharacteristic silence in her head and was afraid to let out that final breath. Surely, if they disapproved, they would’ve let her know, wouldn’t they? That couldn’t possibly have been their good-bye, could it?
Then, with a surge of relief, she felt the water solidify around her, cradling her and pulling her onto her back. Hands moved over her, caressing her in the darkness in the same firm yet gentle manner. Her weary body somehow found the strength to respond, and she was soon lost in a semiconscious haze of sexual satiation. But the voices spoke with an uncharacteristic urgency completely at odds with their languid manner. The words barely penetrated her fuzzy brain.
You must find strength, they seemed to say. You must reach out to the man who treasures you as we do. You must calm your fear and trust your love.
She writhed and moaned as the spirits managed to wring one more climax from her satiated body. It was a small one, a gentle rush that drew her body taut like a satisfying stretch first thing in the morning. Only as it faded did their uncharacteristic urgency register, and she could not recall exactly what they said.
When she emerged from the lake, her legs literally wobbled. She was thoroughly, utterly spent and knew she would now sleep like a baby when she crawled in beside Ethan. Just the thought of that made her smile, and she put the spirits’ odd words down to her own fuzzy brain. She simply must have heard them wrong.
As she slid her panties up her legs, a bright flashlight sprang on directly in front of her, blinding her. She dropped the rest of her clothes and crossed her arms over her chest. She waited for the official voice and frantically ran down in her mind all the excuses she’d accumulated over the years for just such an emergency. She said demurely, “I’m sorry, Officer, it was just such a warm night I got carried away. It won’t happen again.”
But the light did not move, and no one spoke. Mosquitoes and midges danced in the beam. “Officer?”
She felt a sudden chill of utter terror as she realized the truth. Oh, my God, this is him. It was the man from the burgundy Ford truck, who had kidnapped the others and killed at least one of them. Now he had her at his mercy. She was naked, and alone, and far, far from home.
“No, please,” she whispered, and began to tremble.
“Turn around,” the man holding the light said. His tone was flat and Midwestern—the voice of ninety percent of Madison. “And keep quiet.”
“Hold on a minute, please,” she said, trying to buy time. “I’m not as young as you think, I’m no college girl—”
Something metallic clicked behind the light. She saw no gun but recognized the sound. “Turn around and shut up, or I’ll leave you dead in the mud. I’ve got no patience left tonight.”
She did as instructed. She gazed out across the water, its surface dark and shimmering. There was no wind, so the ripples were small and quiet. Even the waves that lapped at the bank sounded muted, as if the lake was also afraid. Her own shadow, cast by the light, stretched out ahead of her before it, too, blended with the darkness. “Help,” she whispered to the spirits.
Strong hands grabbed her arms and twisted them behind her back. Her assailant wrapped duct tape firmly around her wrists, then spun her around to face him. She squinted into the light, blushing from shame and terror and rising fury. Before she could say anything else, he slapped a piece of duct tape over her mouth. “If you try to fight or make any noise, I’ll kill you. Nod if you understand.”
What could she do? She nodded. Insects drawn to the light pelted her face around the tape.
He turned out the light. Before her eyes could adjust, he bent and threw her over his shoulder. More tape quickly bound her ankles. Her abductor was short and thin and struggled for breath as he carried her up the hill. He did not grope her or seem at all interested in the fact that she was nude except for her panties. Maybe that came later.
She looked around for any movement, any sign she’d been seen and might be rescued. There was nothing. The upside-down houses were dark and the streets empty. She strained with all her strength against the tape at her wrists, but it held fast.
He tossed her into the bed of his pickup. She landed heavily on the metal, and what felt like nails or thumbtacks jabbed her skin. The truck’s suspension creaked with her weight. When she looked up at her captor, he tossed a blanket over her. It smelled of urine, sweat, and indefinable terror. Then something pressed down on
either side of her as he used cinder blocks to hold the blanket in place.
The tailgate slammed shut. When the engine rattled to life, the panic really hit. I’ve been kidnapped, she thought in a panic. I’m going to be raped and killed and dumped in the lake like that Chinese girl! She twisted her wrists, fingers straining to find an end of the tape. She tried to spread her ankles enough to work her feet free. But both efforts were futile. She struggled to wriggle out from beneath the cocoonlike blanket, but it held fast. Claustrophobia kicked in, but her screams were muffled beneath tape, fabric, and engine.
She could not tell the truck’s direction once it made the first couple of turns. She only knew she might never see her diner, or the lake, or Ethan Walker ever again.
The visions came back to her vividly: the girl on the lakeshore, naked just as Rachel was now, and Patty Patilia’s screaming face, eyes wide above the same sort of duct-tape gag that now muzzled Rachel.
Cry now, she told herself. Get it over with. You’ll need to be strong later.
So she did.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ETHAN AWOKE, saw Rachel’s note on the clock, and lifted it to check the time—3:30 A.M. Wouldn’t she have to get up in an hour or so to get the diner ready for breakfast? He would have to get up around then, since he had to go home first before heading to work. He frowned, then went into the bathroom.
As he washed his hands, he scanned the little room for a sign that Rachel was some kind of lunatic. No strange prescriptions in the medicine cabinet, no collections of male body parts lined up in the towel closet. Everything seemed normal.
He went naked into the living room and looked around at her home. The night’s events, now that his larger head was in charge, began to seem especially strange. Sure, he was relieved that he’d been able to keep it up, that the vision of the dead Iraqi girl’s ripped and beaten body hadn’t intruded. But sex in the lake? Sex with the lake? It had all seemed eminently reasonable at the time and even immediately afterward. But now that his mind wasn’t heat-fogged, he began to seriously wonder about Rachel’s sanity. Where was she now? Normal people didn’t go for walks at 3:30 A.M.
He picked up the picture on the coffee table. It showed two girls, one clearly Rachel, the other just as clearly a close relative, likely the sister she’d mentioned before. They looked happy, content, normal. But, really, who displayed family photos where they didn’t look that way? Just because the trauma didn’t show didn’t mean it wasn’t there. He knew that for a fact.
He returned the picture to its spot, then crept through the dark apartment looking for other, more-recent photographs. Softly, he sang his childhood misheard version of “Sister Christian”:
Motorhead
What’s your price tonight?
If I am missing light,
You’ll pee all right tonight… .
He stopped abruptly when he realized what he was doing. He felt a rush of shame and disgust. He was snooping.
Julie used to snoop through his place when they were together. He knew where everything should be and could tell when something had been moved. There was no pattern to her searches, she was simply looking methodically through his life, like a good reporter. Except he wasn’t the subject of an article, he was her boyfriend. And now he was doing the same thing to Rachel.
He retrieved his pants, then sat on the couch. He was no longer sleepy and didn’t want Rachel to find him wandering naked through the apartment when she returned. He turned on the TV and began surfing the channels, finally settling on a basic-cable showing of Caddyshack. Tainter emerged from wherever he’d been and curled up on the cushion beside him.
By the time the movie ended, the sky was light gray outside the windows, and Ethan realized that Rachel had not returned.
ETHAN PACED the short length of Rachel’s living room as he held his cell phone to his ear. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair was a bedhead tangle. Helena watched him, arms folded across her chest. She’d arrived for work, come upstairs to see what was keeping Rachel, and found Ethan. Now, despite her initial amusement, she shared his concern. Rachel was far too responsible to simply fail to show up without a reason.
“Marty,” Ethan said suddenly, making Helena jump. “Listen, can you come by Rachel’s diner? Sooner would be good, soonest would be best. I may be overreacting, but I’ve got that creepy feeling something’s happened to Rachel.” He paused. “Yes, we went out last night.” He paused again, then sighed in embarrassment. “Yes, I spent the night here. Are you coming?… Okay, bye.”
He snapped the phone closed and turned to Helena. “Marty will be here shortly.”
Helena nodded. She trusted Marty and believed he wouldn’t have vouched for his brother if Ethan had been one of those crazy woman-beating ex-soldiers all too common in the world. “Thanks,” she said. “It’s not like Rachel to do this.”
He nodded. “Is there any coffee downstairs? I could use a cup to clear my head and help me wake up.”
“Sure,” she said, and gestured toward the door. As he preceded her down the steps, she glanced back at Rachel’s apartment, looking for anything out of place. Ethan had had plenty of time to clean up any blood or other evidence, but if he’d hurt Rachel, there should be some sign. But she saw nothing. Even Rachel’s cat seemed unconcerned.
Still, as she followed Ethan downstairs, she reflected on his broad, muscular shoulders and how much damage they, and his army training, could do to a lone woman in the middle of the night.
IN THE DINER’S cramped kitchen, Marty listened calmly to Ethan’s story. When his brother finished he said, “Okay, let’s start somewhere logical. Where would she likely go at that time of the morning? A restaurant? A coffee shop?”
“The lake,” Ethan and Helena said almost in unison. Then they looked at each other, but neither laughed.
“Which lake?” Marty asked.
“Monona,” Ethan said. “Hudson Park.”
“Have you checked it?”
“No, I called you first.”
Marty scowled a little, then said, “Excuse me,” and went into the apartment stairwell to use his phone.
Ethan turned to Helena. “You know about the lake?”
“I know she goes skinny-dipping in it a lot.”
“Do you know why?”
She snorted. “Hell, Rachel does a lot of things I can’t explain. I think she just likes the danger element of it, being naked in the middle of town.”
Ethan nodded as if his thoughts were identical.
Marty returned. “I put in a call, and a uniform’s going to check. He’ll call me when he gets to the park.”
“Thanks,” Ethan said, scratching his chin. He needed a shower and a shave.
Helena took Marty’s arm. “Come on, we’ll have some coffee while we wait.”
Helena had not opened the diner. She couldn’t run the place herself, and it seemed somehow disloyal to pretend nothing unusual was afoot. A few people came to the door and peered inside, then gave up. She poured three cups of coffee and placed them on the counter.
They all jumped when Marty’s cell phone rang. He snapped it open and turned his back, barking, “Walker speaking.” He listened for a long moment, then said, “Call it in, then. We’ll be there shortly.”
He faced them, and his expression, previously merely annoyed, was now grim. “They found clothes at the lake. We need to get down there and see if you two can identify them.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE KIDNAPPER KEPT Rachel wrapped in the blanket as he again threw her over his shoulder and carried her from the truck. He seemed to have difficulty managing the weight and paused to shift his grip several times. Rachel fought the choking claustrophobia as the blanket pulled tight against her face. The tape holding her wrists and ankles was still secure. She recalled an old poster her dad kept in the garage, of a bikini-clad girl holding a distinctive gray roll. The caption read, It’s not broken, it just needs duct tape.
The sound told her he
carried her across gravel, then up a short set of steps. His shoulder dug painfully into her ribs. A door opened, and she sensed they were now inside. Floorboards creaked beneath their combined weight. Lights came on, filtering through the fabric.
Then another door opened and they descended more steps. These practically screamed their protest, wood and nails straining to support them. Her abductor labored as well, his breath coming in great openmouthed gasps. Five steps and they were again on the ground, and he bent to drop her on the floor. She landed on her belly, and he pulled on the edge of the blanket. She unrolled like Cleopatra.
She came to a stop on her back, her weight painfully on her wrists. A fresh rush of shame at her near-nudity made her blush. The floor beneath her was rough concrete, and the air was stiflingly hot. A bare lightbulb hung almost directly overhead, momentarily blinding her. She turned her head and saw the one thing she hoped she wouldn’t.
Another woman, undressed and bound with plastic ties instead of tape, lay on her stomach. And beyond her, a second one raised her upper body to see the new arrival. This girl, whose hair was still visibly blond despite days of accumulated grease and grime, seemed to be smeared in some sort of paint. From her navel down past her knees, swirls of color, mostly red, covered her. The skin beneath and around these swaths was pale and clean, not filthy like her arms, feet, and face.
Rachel stared, trying to resolve this into something that made sense. She knew the girl’s name from the news stories and flyers posted everywhere, including in her own restaurant: Faith Lucas, the Golden Girl Gone.
Faith squirmed into a seated position, and suddenly Rachel understood. The girl wasn’t covered with paint, she was covered with tattoos. And they were fresh, some still bleeding, which explained the red smears as blood mixed with the antiseptic lotion covering the most recent additions along the tops of her thighs. Others, less recent, were scabbed over.
The other girl stared at Rachel over her gag. There was something familiar about her too. When Rachel took in her single garment with its pattern of little red hearts partly obscured by sweat and grime, she suddenly realized that this was Carrie Kimmell, the first girl the lake spirits had asked her to help. She, too, bore the marks of recent tattooing, this time on her shoulders and upper back.
Night Tides Page 17