"Do you have any idea where he could be keeping her?" asked Berger.
I shook my head, my fingers gripping at the ring box.
"Well, for what it's worth, my two cents is that his behavior won't alter that much from his first offence. I'd say he'd almost want to relive it. If he's holding her somewhere I'd bet on him taking her to an abandoned house just like that one."
I thought hard. I didn't know any abandoned houses. Bowing my head, I thought that for the first time in my life, I'd start praying. This had to be as good a time to start as any.
Then a thought flashed up in my mind.
Their old house. Didn't Etta say it was foreclosed? Didn't she say it was lying empty?
"Fuck!" I jumped up. "I know where she is!"
Berger leaped up and Dana, hearing the commotion opened the door.
"Shit, the superintendent's on his way," she said. "You guys need to leave. Now."
"We're on our way," I said. "But first, Berger, you need to get us a car."
Chapter Seven
BERGER
"Are you sure about this?"
We were running down the back fire escape, our feet barely touching the concrete steps.
"Sure?" he asked as though he'd never heard the word before.
"Yeah, sure. As in do you really think she'll be at her old house?"
He carried on running, landing on the bottom step before flinging himself through the door. As soon as his hands hit the metal bar the alarm sounded.
"Fuck. Just what we need."
"Just hurry up."
Down in the parking lot, there were a series of patrol cars. At the far end, where the electric light dipped out into thedarkness, there was a young rookie parking up, the sound of his radio crackling.
"If there was ever an easy target," I thought out loud.
He looked barely old enough to tie his shoelaces let alone drive, let alone drive a police car nevermind be an actual policeman. I kinda wanted to teach him how to shave then make him some hot cocoa.
"You know how much trouble I'm gonna be in for this," I said.
He shrugged as he walked, his coat fanning out behind him. In the unflattering light with the stress of the situation casting shadows down his face, he looked like a manic Van Helsing out on a mission to defeat evil through one life threatening event after another.
"Are you okay?" I found myself asking and cursed myself at the stupidity of my question.
"Okay?" he asked.
It wasn't a word he'd thought of for a long while.
"Yeah..."
"Not, I'm not okay but I will be. When I find her."
He thrust his hand into his pocket and held onto something, narrowing his eyes as though he was concentrating so hard on it, he was convinced whatever it was would give him the strength he needed. No doubt it did because he was speeding up, his long legs covering vast distances in a second.
"You do know I shouldn't be doing this, right?"
"So you keep saying."
"I mean finding Etta. Remember when she knocked me out and tried to kill me."
He cast his eyes up to the ceiling as though he had a hard time recalling.
"Oh... yeah..." he said. "How is that head of yours?"
I pointed to the crusted up bloodied wound.
"Not bad."
"That wasn't just Etta. That was..."
"The chief too. Who'll no doubt know that I'll have been here. Dana's a sweetheart when she feels like it but she'll talk if she has to. She's weak."
"Weak at the knees around you apparently."
He gave me a sideways glance. There was almost a humorous look in his eye but whatever thought he had soon vanished.
"You ever think about settling down, Berger?"
"All the time."
In front of us, the rookie's radio still crackled. He was fidgeting with the buttons, obviously not able to remember what sequence they moved in.
"First day on the job?" I asked. "Where's your partner?"
"Er..."
He pressed a few buttons, stumbled around for a minute then looked up at us.
He glanced over Bosworth then over to me.
He could tell there was something not right about the way we stood and there was definitely something not right about Bosworth. Struggling to get through each minute, he was surviving off pure adrenaline and the will to find Etta. The fight for her was written all over his body; in the way he'd lost weight, in the way dark circles sunk deep beneath his eyes, in the way those eyes now looked haunted.
Yet despite all that, I had to admit that he was still one handsome son of a bitch. It was like he was thriving off the chaos and danger, his very soul being nourished by the quest to find her.
"I'm detective Berger," I said to the kid and reached into my inside pocket for the badge I knew wasn't there.
"Uhuh..." said the rookie.
Dumb fuck, I thought. Why is he just standing there like some moron?
"You wanna hand me the keys?" I asked and put my hand out.
He just stared at it, the keys still very much in his open hand.
"Hand them over."
"I... er... have to..."
"Just hand them over."
He watched me for a moment. He may have been young but I was starting to realize he wasn't as stupid as I thought he was.
"Who did you say you were?"
"Detective Berger."
"I've heard about you."
Shit... What does that mean?
"You're working on the case of the Broadwood girls, aren't you?"
His eyes lit up and I was starting to see who he really was, a crime junkie with a penchant for serial killer cases. That's why he joined the force, that's why he was looking up at me as though I was Jesus. The fact that I was standing next to one of the world's most influential billionaires seemed to be adding some extra weight.
"That's right."
"It's not been in the news for a while," he said, taking a step forward.
Instead of placing the car keys in my hand, he slapped his palm against it and shook it vigorously.
"No, it hasn't."
"Have the murders stopped? Do you have a key suspect?"
Fuck sake, this kid just wants to chat about the case.
I had the distinct impression that we were going to be there a long time if I didn't think of something fast.
"So you've been following the case?" I asked.
"Yup!" he said, proudly. "Since the beginning."
Beside me, Bosworth bristled but only I knew why.
"Maybe you'll be able to work on the case yourself one day."
"Really?" he beamed as though he'd just heard what he was getting for Christmas.
"Sure! Make friends with the right people and anything is possible."
He got the hint and smiled.
"I'd really like that, detective."
He gave me a knowing look.
"The keys, right?"
"The keys."
He dropped them into my hand.
"My name's Adams," he said.
"First name?"
"Wayne."
"Wayne Adams... I'll remember you. Thanks."
I jangled the keys and patted him on the back.
"I won't tell anyone," he said as he walked away. "Whatever you're doing."
"Good man," I said. "Make sure you don't."
Chapter Eight
ETTA
"You're in real trouble now!"
His shoulder connected with the door once again. I watched as the hinges began to shake. All there was to protect us was this damn chair that blocked his entrance but if he kept this up any longer, even that was going to shatter.
"He's a mad man," said mom, her arm still wound around mine. "When did this..."
"Happen?"
She looked up at me with her green watery eyes. She seemed so old, so frail, so different to when I saw her last and she was making plans for sailing around the world.
"He must
have always been like this," I said, coming to the realization myself. "He must have been, right?"
The noise stopped along with his constant battering of the door.
"What did you say?" he asked.
Shit, he heard us? How could he have heard us?
"You said I'm a mad man... A mad man..."
There was the sound of him sliding down the door, his leather jacket crumpling against the wood as he slumped to the floor.
"Mad man," he said again. "You want to know when I became a mad man?"
He said the word over and over again, muttering it under his breath like an invocation. He spoke it to himself until it meant nothing, until it was just a sound, just an extension of his breath.
He's really lost it now.
He may have stopped trying to break in but I had learned over the last few days that that meant nothing at all. These moments when he seemed to relax were the worst of all. These were the times when he was plotting his next move, when his mind was unravelling. It was the calm before the storm.
"Mad man," he said again, this time with added emphasis, this time with meaning. "That's what you think of me?"
Mom and me clung to each other in the darkness.
"Answer me! Is that what you think of me?"
I prized her fingers off my arm. There were ridges from her fingernails lying deep in my skin.
Slowly, I tiptoed over to the door and placed a hand on the wood knowing that only a couple inches on the other side, he was there. I could smell him, feel his energy through the door.
"Yes," I said and crouched down on the floor.
I imagined my words were reaching him at his level, his face so close to mine beyond the shield of the door. There was no knowing what he'd do next. Maybe this was the moment when he finally snapped and he'd blow the whole house up. Perhaps he’d sprinkle us with bullets before killing himself. Maybe this was the moment when he'd finally decide that his delusions were greater than his mind and he was going to give into his mania. He'd end our misery with a gunshot before ending himself.
I waited for the end, waited for the second when I'd hear the creak of his jacket once more as he reached for thegun but it never came. Instead, he sighed and slammed his head back against the door.
"Did I ever tell you the story about Karen?" he asked.
Karen... It wasn't a name I immediately recognized.
"Karen?"
"My ex-girlfriend."
No. I definitely hadn't heard about her.
"You've never mentioned her," I said.
He sighed again. There was the sound of a lighter sparking, a deep inhalation followed by a satisfied exhale.
"I probably should have," he said.
The smell of smoke began to filter up from beneath the door. Behind me, mom shook, her nails now clawing at her own arms as she hugged herself.
"I probably should have," he said. "Although you would never have loved me if I had. You'd probably never have even spoken to me again."
There was no guessing what he was talking about.
Karen.
I chewed the name over in my mind trying to remember her at all but there was nothing. Just a void in my brain. If she was so special to him then he'd clearly made a concerted effort to keep her in his past.
"Karen."
He said her name like he was praying, almost singing each syllable.
"I loved her, you know. How does that make you feel?"
Was he trying to make me jealous?
"Feel? I feel..."
What does he want to hear? Shit! What do I say?
"I guess it makes me feel peculiar," I said.
"Peculiar!" he spat. "What the fuck does that mean?"
"It means I find it hard to understand why you never told me about her. I thought I was your first love. You always told me I was you first at... everything."
I thought back to the awkward night we'd spent in my bedroom when we were seventeen and my parents were out of town. For so long it had been the most special night of my life when we had both lost our virginity. It had been a turning point when we had moved from children to adults when our relationship had become meaningful. Now I was starting to come to the realization that it was nothing but an act. He'd done it before. He was no virgin. He was lying even back then.
"I supposed in a way you were my first," he said and laughed.
"But I wasn't."
He took a long drag on his cigarette.
"No, I suppose you weren't and there's no harm in telling you this now. You weren't my first. Not really. There were others. Plenty of others."
He laughed again.
"Loads of others."
I was still trying to decide if he was trying to make me jealous. Now, after being kept hostage in this house with my life on the line and everything I had been through with Lincoln, I was a little past caring whether Craig had simply slept with someone else.
"How does that make you feel?" he asked.
What was he expecting me to do? Cry?
"I don't feel anything at all," I said. "Nothing."
He fell silent. Then came the squeak of his jacket and I knew I'd said the wrong thing. I assumed he was reaching for the gun again.
But he wasn’t.
He was reaching for another smoke.
"There's nothing inside you that feels anything at all?" he asked as he lit another cigarette.
I paused for a moment, choosing my words carefully but then I realized this was not the right moment to mince the truth. I wasn't lying to him.
"Nothing at all," I clarified. "I don't care about you anymore, Craig."
There was the sound of him jolting against the door, the noise of him sniffing and rubbing his nose with the cuff of his jacket.
"You always were a cold-hearted bitch," he said. "I knew you never really loved me. That's why you left so easily."
I was exasperated with him already but now any strength my nerves held were now vanishing.
"Why are you talking about this?" I asked. "You know I did love you. There were times when I loved you so much I thought I could burst. There were times when I wanted nothing but you... Look how that turned out."
"Yep, look how that turned out."
"You fucked someone else. So how's that for love?"
Behind me, mom was staring wildly into the back of my head. I could hear her sobbing, almost feel the heat of her gaze through my hair.
"Love," I said. "You've no idea what it really is. Obsession. You're a master in that but love? You... You couldn't comprehend..."
He sniffed again and coughed as he smoked.
"Love," he whispered. "That's what you have for that bastard? For that rich bastard?"
"Of course it is."
"Or is it obsession?"
Something shocked through my stomach. I was obsessed with Lincoln but I knew there was something real underneath the lust and attraction. We were in love. I was sure of it.
"Karen," I said, wanting to pull him back to his story. "Is that who you cheated on me with?"
I didn't care but I was eager to keep him talking.
"No," he laughed. "She was long before you. She was... something else."
He laughed to himself, a great wheezing chortle that came from deep within his tar filled lungs. I don't know why it bothered me but I hated the smell of him smoking. It was an occasional habit of his when we were together, a treat when he had a beer. Now the sound of him puffing was the punctuation to each of his sentences.
"Something else..." he repeated. "I guess you could say I was obsessed with her. I loved her too, in a funny kinda way. You know, now that I think about it, she kinda looked a bit like you. Had the same hair, was short like you too. She even had that haughty look in her eyes like she thought she was a real princess."
He laughed harder and smacked his thigh.
"Yep, just like you. Of course, she had a tight little pussy like yours too. Tighter even."
He could talk like that to me all he
wanted but not in front of my mom. She didn't have to hear his sleazy thoughts.
"So how long were you together?" I asked, desperate to steer the conversation away.
"Six months," he said.
"Before me?"
"Before you."
"So you would have been just a kid," I thought out loud.
"Fifteen," he said.
I tried to think about what he was like as a teenager. He was cute and shy with a button nose and smooth skin. My mom always used to talk about how he was such a pretty boy, how butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Meanwhile, my girlfriends always said I should think about dating someone manlier, someone with a bit more meat on their bones. People called him Babyface, thought he was just the sweetest kid in the whole town.
He used to have a paper round, volunteered with the local elderly, always did his chores for his mother. He was a gentleman and took me out on our first date to an ice cream bar where he insisted on paying. He blushed the whole time and could barely look me in the eye. His voice screeched and broke when he talked and when he first held my hand it was damp with nervous sweat.
Now he was just inches away coughing his lungs out with a gun in his hand.
"So what happened?" I asked.
He slammed the back of his head against the door and groaned.
"I had to kill her," he said at last. "She wanted to leave me so I had to kill her."
My stomach almost bottomed out, my hand trembling as it held me up against the door.
"She didn't die though," he said. "Although fuck knows I tried my hardest."
Inside, my stomach was catching fire.
"You... You're not being serious," I stuttered.
"Fuck yes I'm being serious. That bitch thought she was too good for me. Just like you..."
"Craig. I…"
"And she thought she was just so pretty. Thought she was too gorgeous for little Babyface Craig. You know what she said to me? She said I was too sweet and innocent. Ha! She said she wanted a real man. Whatever the hell that is. A real man! Can you believe it? She wanted a bad boy and dumped me for some douchebag who owned a motorcycle."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He was lying. He had to be!
"Craig! Tell me you didn't hurt her?"
"Oh, I hurt her alright. Tied her up and tried to beat the life out of her. I left her in the cold for days, cut her up until there was more blood than skin. I wanted to keep her alive for as long as possible until she begged for forgiveness and only then, would I give her mercy and let the life finally drain out of her. I was going to make her love me. Just like I'm going to make you love me again."
Jewels and Panties (Book, Ten): Hot Pursuit Page 4