Painted Beauty

by J. M. LeDuc

  Sanchez shook his head and pounded his fist on the table. “This is not what I signed up for.”

  “You didn’t sign up for shit. No one asked you to come.”

  Sin reached over and dragged her gun belt from her chair. She strapped it on, never moving her gaze from Sanchez. “If you don’t like it, then go the fuck home where you belong,” Sin said.

  Fletcher and Garcia grabbed their weapons and followed Sin out the door, neither of them taking even a scant glance at Sanchez as they did.

  CHAPTER 63

  Just after ten p.m., Sin and Fletcher were in front of an apartment building a couple streets down from Miranda’s suspected location. Garcia chimed into their earpieces stating he saw a light coming from the apartment.

  “We can see the house from our location,” Sin said. “The entire house is lit up from the front side.”

  “The house is supposed to be vacant except for Miranda, why are lights on in the other apartments?” Garcia radioed.

  Sin’s pulse started to speed up. She knows we’re here, she thought. Hearing footsteps, she turned and saw Sanchez approaching.

  “Didn’t expect to see you here,” Sin said.

  “Wasn’t planning on coming. I got a call just before I left for the airport. A call from Trudy. She said that Joanna, I mean Miranda, showed up for dinner. Trudy said she felt nervous, but she didn’t think Miranda noticed.”

  “Check acting off her ‘bucket list.’ ” Sin’s words bled sarcasm.

  “Was she alone?”

  “Yeah, but she ordered two specials to go.”

  “Two meals? That could be our first indication that Sally Braden, the coed, is still alive,” Fletcher said.

  Sin chewed on her lower lip for a moment before saying, “We have to act on the premise that Sally is with Miranda. Our primary objective is to save the girl.” Checking the time, she continued. “We’ve been in fights where innocents were involved before. The plan stays the same. We check out the rooms and make our way to the fourth floor. Garcia, if you see anything that might be construed as a second person, you let me know.”

  “Got it.”

  She looked at Sanchez. “Did you come just to tell us the news, or are you staying?”

  “Staying.”

  Sin smiled. “Good to know.”

  She watched as Sanchez eyed the way they were dressed. “You have tactical gear in the car?” he asked.

  “We’re not using any. Weapons only. Concealed until we’ve reached our target”

  “What! Are you crazy? This maniac has already used knives, a flame thrower, and plastique, and you want to go in without armor?”

  Sin’s outer shell stayed cool, but her inner demeanor started to heat up; she was turning from agent to soldier. “Look and listen, Mayor. What do you see and hear?”

  Sanchez searched the night and appeared to be concentrating. “I can’t see much, not a lot of street lights in this part of town. But I hear voices.”

  “You’ve been out of the field for too long,” Sin said. “What you hear are the voices of children and adults. What you hear are the voices of people who are enjoying a balmy fall evening. What you hear are the voices of innocents. What do you think will happen when we approach the target in full SWAT gear? Do you think they might change the way they’re acting. Do you think they might give us away?”

  Sanchez waved her off. “I get it, but I don’t like it.”

  “So I ask you again. Are you sure you want to stay?”

  Sanchez nodded. “I’m sure.”

  Sin didn’t smile, nod, or say anything to the affirmative. She just looked at him, and then turned to Fletcher. “Sanchez will clear the bottom floor. Fletch, you clear the second, and I’ll do the same on the third. You two will meet up on the second floor landing before you continue. You will meet me on the third floor landing. We do it without announcing ourselves or making a sound. If the doors are locked, pick them. If a door gives you any resistance, don’t open it, just move on.”

  “Why?” Sanchez asked.

  “We can see lights on in all the apartments. That means the doors have been opened recently. They should open without a lot of lag or resistance. Resistance could mean that the place has been rigged. Open the doors with a light touch. If anything feels even remotely wrong, move on.”

  “But—”

  Sin moved directly in front of Sanchez. “But nothing. The bitch is crazy, but she doesn’t have a death wish. She won’t rig a room with explosives if she is in it. If you don’t like the way the door feels, it could be a trap. Keep moving.” She placed her hand on Sanchez’s shoulder and looked into his eyes. “Raul, I know you were a good agent. Charlie wouldn’t have said so if you weren’t. You either have to start thinking like one, or you need to stay here and cover our backs.”

  Sanchez seemed to get a little taller as he listened to Sin’s words. He took his gun from the holster, pulled back the slide chambering a bullet, and placed it back in its cradle. “Let’s move,” he said.

  “My favorite two words,” Sin replied.

  Sin led Sanchez and Fletcher toward their target, remaining discreet in their approach.

  Making their way up from 1st Street, they walked behind a group of teenagers. They were as nonchalant as possible while attempting to blend in. They knew there were no windows facing the front of the building from the apartment where Miranda was suspected to be in, but they knew better than to assume she wasn’t on the lookout.

  Sin took nothing for granted.

  The entire time they walked, Garcia kept a running monologue. “I haven’t seen much movement. One shadow in the kitchen, but that’s it. I hope she’s cooking something good because I’m getting hungry.”

  “I’ll be sure to bring you some leftovers,” Sin whispered.

  When they got to 2nd Street, they waited until they were adjacent to the first home on the corner of Harrison and 2nd. As soon as the group of teenagers had moved on, they broke off and darted for the bushes that fronted the first property. The house was dark and the bushes allowed for good cover.

  “Our target is two houses up,” Sin said. “Luckily, the further we’ve traveled from the river the less light and life there’s been. Hug the foliage but keep it casual until we get there. I’ll open the front door, clear the foyer, and then you two follow me in. Affirmative?”

  Sin didn’t wait for an answer, she just covered her head with her hoodie and walked up the street.

  “Is she always this cool under pressure?” Sanchez whispered to Fletcher.

  “She was born for this,” Fletcher answered. “This is when she comes alive.” He took his eyes off Sin for just a second and glanced at Sanchez. “All the bullshit leading up to this point, that’s what makes her uncomfortable. Right now she’s in her element. And I’ll tell you, there is no one I would rather follow into battle.”

  With his last words, he and Sanchez began moving toward the house. By the time they reached the steps leading to the front door, Sin was already inside.

  CHAPTER 64

  Sanchez watched Fletcher ascend the winding, old staircase. Memories of the first time he entered the building flashed through his mind, but he erased the images of the past in order to concentrate on the present.

  With a safecracker’s touch, Sanchez gently tried the doorknob to the bottom apartment. It was unlocked. This alone made him start to sweat. It would only be unlocked if someone left it that way…if Miranda wanted it that way. He slid his weapon from his waist and using his free hand, edged the door open with the slightest pressure. Being an old home it was hard to distinguish between age and a set-up when it came to the ease of antique wood. Although there was tension in the movement, he didn’t feel any type of hitch that made the choice seem wrong. Opening it just enough to see the light inside, his eyes searched everywhere he could see for any type of trip wire or trap in the vicinity. Feeling as secure as possible, he entered the apartment.

  He stood in a large open room, a room that was
probably once dedicated as the grand ballroom in this once exquisite mansion. From where he stood, Sanchez saw a light coming from the back of the apartment. He methodically made his way toward it.

  Stepping carefully into the kitchen, he found an envelope sitting on a chair situated below a lone light bulb. Opening it, he slid out the linen stationary and read what was written.

  I went to the Garden of Love,

  And saw what I never had seen:

  A chapel was built in the midst,

  Where I used to play on the green.

  Sanchez shook his head in confusion, pocketed the note, and checked out the rest of the apartment before heading up to the second floor.

  CHAPTER 65

  As Fletcher made his way to the second floor, he went through a similar process as Sanchez, checking the apartment door. His was locked, but proved not to be an issue as he picked it quickly. Opening the door, the entire apartment was lit up as if the old-time residents were expecting party guests to arrive. The area looked far more like an art gallery than an apartment. Lined up on easels in the main room were 14x17 photos of Miranda’s wedding to Vincent Ash.

  Each photo had been altered. Red streaks had been painted running down Miranda’s face, and what looked like a bullet hole was painted smack dab in the middle of Vincent’s forehead. If that wasn’t macabre enough, Miranda had glued a picture of one Midwest Mauler victim to each one of the photos. She staged the girls so they were standing on the opposite side of Vincent, giving the impression that the three of them were entering wedded bliss.

  She is crazier than I thought possible.

  Fletcher moved on and checked every room in the apartment. When he reached the bedroom, he found an envelope propped up against the pillow. Opening it, he read its contents.

  And the gates of this chapel were shut,

  And “Thou shalt not” writ over the door;

  So I turned to the Garden of Love,

  That so many sweet flowers bore.

  “Every time I think this case can’t get any stranger, it does,” he mouthed.

  He opened his mic and spoke to Sin, “She definitely knows we’re coming. She left some sort of clue, a poem it looks like, in this apartment. But I have no idea what the fuck she’s saying.”

  “She did the same thing on the first floor,” Sanchez added.

  Sin had cased the third floor apartment and had already discovered an envelope by the time she received Fletcher’s message. She re-read the note and pocketed it, knowing exactly what the other two had found.

  “Nothing has changed,” she said. “We follow our plan. Our primary goal is to save the girl. As far as Miranda goes, we play the hand we’re dealt.”

  She exited the apartment and soon teamed up with Sanchez and Fletcher. Using hand signals, she gave the final orders.

  She would enter first, Sanchez would flank her, and Fletcher would have her back.

  With a simple nod, she pulled back the hammer on her pearl-handled .45, and began the short walk to the fourth floor. On the top floor, she found two doors. One on the left, which would have faced the front of the house; and one on the right, the one where they assumed Miranda would be.

  She motioned Fletcher to the left. He would clear the room before she entered the apartment. He quickly disposed of the locked door, entered, and was back in minutes. A simple shaking of his head told Sin the room was clear.

  Sin thought about knocking and announcing their presence, as official protocol required, but she remembered what happened when Charlie had done the same thing forty-three years earlier. Instead, she tried the door.

  Unlocked.

  She eased it open, hugging the doorframe as she ducked low behind the adjacent wall. Sanchez hugged the other side of the doorframe and Fletcher hung back, a couple steps down.

  “The place just went dark,” Garcia radioed.

  Sin motioned for cover.

  “Don’t just stand there,” came a shrill shout. “Come in and join the party.”

  Sin pulled her twin revolver and stepped into the apartment double fisted. Thanks to Charlie’s photos of the house, Sin knew the entire layout of the apartment. She would step through a three-foot entryway. A wall would separate the two rooms of the efficiency. On her left would be the small kitchen; on her right would be the living area. She stepped into the foyer and ran her hand along the inside of the open doorframe until she found the light switch. With a flick of her finger, the entire den lit up.

  Laughter came from the now bright interior.

  Sin entered, moving toward the voice, Sanchez went left to clear the kitchen.

  Sitting in a Victorian-styled chair was an elegant woman, yet the dilated, flickering eyes and tightened smile definitely labeled her as maniacal.

  Miranda had been found.

  At her feet was a terrified young girl; tied up, she was painted in gaudy makeup with a noose wrapped tightly around her neck. The other end of the rope was clenched in Miranda’s hand after being wrapped around her wrist.

  “It’s about time we met face to face, Agent O’Malley.”

  Sin entered, guns pointed at Miranda’s head, and took a seat on a chair across from her target.

  “I agree. It’s nice to make your acquaintance, Miranda. Sorry…do you prefer Joanna?”

  The woman shrugged, smiling the entire time. “Makes no difference to me.”

  “Well then, how about I call you Abigail? That was the name your parents gave you, wasn’t it?”

  Miranda’s smile suddenly disappeared. She pulled the rope with her left hand, causing the noose to tighten even more, and her right hand came into view. She was brandishing a blade. “Don’t try my patience,” she shrieked.

  “Why not,” Sin said calmly, “you’ve certainly tried mine. What’s wrong with Abigail? It’s a beautiful name. The name your parents lovingly called you before you killed them.”

  Miranda went to stand up, but Sin cocked the hammer on her second gun and waved her back down. Miranda simply grinned, re-taking her seat. She let go of the rope and grabbed a fist-full of Sally Braden’s hair, yanking her head back and exposing her neck. Her other hand moved fast, and her knife was inches from Sally’s skin.

  “Ooh, a power play,” Sin said mockingly. “Let’s not do anything rash. I just want to talk.”

  Miranda cackled. “Talk!” she said, moving the blade so that it touched the skin of her captive. “Okay, let’s talk. But without the guns.” About to voice her disagreement, Sin saw Miranda’s eyes narrow as her expression turned to stone. “No matter how good you are with those,” Miranda said, “I assure you I can slice her open faster than you can pull the trigger.”

  Sally tried to jerk away from the steel blade pinching her flesh but it was no use. Sobbing could be heard through her gag.

  “Sally, please don’t move.” Sin said, her focus never left Miranda’s eyes. Methodically, she placed her guns back in her holster.

  “That’s right,” Miranda said, pulling harder on Sally’s hair. “Be a nice girl and do as the agent says.”

  Sin leaned forward, elbows on her knees, staring into Miranda’s eyes. “What was it like killing your parents at the ripe old age of fifteen?”

  “You think you know me?” Miranda seethed. “You know nothing about me.”

  “What do you say I take a whack at it anyway,” Sin replied. “You like taking whacks at people, so how about I try?”

  “This should be fun,” Miranda howled. “By all means, take a whack at my life.”

  Sin stood. “You don’t mind if I stand, do you? I think better when I’m on my feet.”

  Miranda waved the blade in the air. “Please do. I’m all for doing anything that gets the creative juices flowing.” Her eyes narrowed and the smile lines around her eyes deepened with her words.

  “You thought yourself to be quite the artist when you were young, but no matter how much you tried, you never did have much talent. At least, that’s what your parents told you. No matter what you did,
they just couldn’t appreciate your talent, could they?”

  “They weren’t artists. They never did have an eye,” Miranda scowled.

  “No, they weren’t artists,” Sin repeated. “Your father was a mechanic, a damn good one. One who probably loved you dearly. I’ll even bet he took you to his shop and taught you about cars. Maybe even taught you enough so you were able to rig the gas line on his car.” Sin turned and stepped closer to Miranda. “You rigged the car to blow up as your parents drove to work that day. Isn’t that right?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “We are past lying at this point, aren’t we…Abby?”

  Miranda white-knuckled her blade, jerking Sally’s hair back harder, further exposing her neck. “I said not to call me that.”

  Sin could tell she had hit a cord. She needed to keep Miranda on edge, without tipping her over.

  “Fine, then I will stick with calling you Miranda. I assume that’s the name you prefer, even over Joanna. Isn’t that right? Miranda Stokler: the famous artist. The ‘name’ with all the talent.” Sin turned her back to Miranda, knowing that Fletcher was lurking somewhere, covering her. “Let’s get back to your parents, shall we? Your mother, now she was the one with the talent. She wasn’t an artist, but she sure could paint a picture with words. She was an up-and-coming poet. An award-winning, published poet. A lover of Blake. A lover of his Songs of Innocence.”

  “Those poems were shit. Her poems were shit,” Miranda squawked. “Poems about beauty and love. Words talking about God’s plan for humanity. All a bunch of shit!”

  Sin circled the small room staring at the walls, walls painted much like the walls of the room at Water’s Edge where they’d found Joel, but with much less panache and far less talent.

  “She was too naive to realize that Blake’s brilliance came alive in his Songs of Experience,” Miranda continued. “I tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t listen.”