by David Archer
Beneath the extreme worry for his friend's life, Chance was also overcome with guilt. He kept seeing his own hand tossing the car keys to Jake, pushing him out with his words, sending him out into harm's way.
Then then there was the message he had left on the phone. Chance had retrieved Jake's phone from evidence. It now lay in his pocket, where he kept clutching it, as if it were a lifeline, his one connection to Jake.
Chapter 23
Jake had spent several hours going over the room they were confined in, trying to find anything that could help them escape. Nothing had come of it, but he kept looking anyway. Besides, the simple truth was that they were going nowhere as long as he was chained to the radiator. Both the handcuffs and the radiator had been submitted to very thorough examinations, but without a hacksaw, neither would budge. His hand, however, was another matter. Though his wrists were as skinny as the rest of his body, there was no way to simply slip out of the cuff. Unless he could figure a way to get them open, he was trapped.
Handcuffs are generally not that hard to pick, if you can get your hands on something thin and stiff enough. Unfortunately, there was nothing in plain sight that Jake could do the job with, so he began looking for things that might not be obvious.
It took him nearly half an hour, but finally he spotted one possibility. On the far wall, past where Angela was sitting, there was a small shelf that held a number of pieces of electrical wiring. They were probably remnants from some electrical project, but a couple of them were made of braided wire. If he could manage to get his hands on one, it was possible he could break off a strand that would be stiff enough to pick the lock on the cuffs.
“Angela,” he said. “I have an idea on how we can get out of here.”
She turned her head and looked at him. “What?” she said listlessly.
“Do you see that shelf over there? Do you think there’s any way you can manage to get some of those pieces of wire over to me?”
Angela turned and looked at the shelf he had indicated, staring at it for several seconds. A moment later, she looked around at him and he was surprised to see a mischievous grin on her face.
“I have an idea,” she said. “But you might not like it.”
“Try me,” Jake said. “What have you got in mind?”
“Take off your pants,” she said. “You’re sitting there all dressed, and I'm sitting here naked. If you can give me your pants, I can try to use them to whip that stuff down and sweep it over to you.”
Jake looked down at his pants, then back up to her face. “Just so you know,” he said, “I’ve been ignoring the fact you don’t have clothes on.” He stood up and turned so that he could use both hands to unfasten his pants, then kicked off his shoes and slid the pants down his legs. Angela grinned at the sight of his skinny legs sticking out of his underwear, but Jake ignored her. He picked up his pants and tossed them to her, and she caught them on the first try.
She turned and looked at the shelf again, then used the legs of his pants like a whip, snapping them over and down onto the shelf. She got lucky on the first try, knocking the strands of wire to the floor, but then she had to lean as far as she could to reach them with his pants again. The ends of the legs of his slacks proved to be a bit too light, and so she turned them around and held the cuffs as she snapped the waistband down onto the pieces of wire.
Slowly, she pulled them toward her until they were just about in front of her feet. At that point, she was able to bend down and pick up one of the bigger pieces, which she tossed underhand to him.
Jake caught it and gave her a smile. He put the wire into his mouth and bit through the insulation, peeling off one piece after another until he could get to the heavy copper wire inside. It was a little thick, but he thought that he might be able to use it anyway.
After a few minutes, he had a piece of wire about two inches long, and he twisted and bent it until it broke off. He carefully bent it into the shape he wanted, then inserted it into the lock on his handcuffs and began wiggling it around. He knew that he had to hit the catch just right in order to make it release, so he moved slowly and deliberately.
Ten minutes of concentrated effort finally paid off, when the cuff suddenly opened halfway. It wouldn’t come all the way open, but it was wide enough that he could manage to squeeze his hand through, and that was good enough. When his hand came free, he was so startled that he sat and stared at it for several seconds.
Shaking himself out of the momentary paralysis, he got to his feet and, moving like an old man, he managed to walk over to Angela and climb back into his slacks. His head was spinning and his vision was swimming in and out of focus, but he was overjoyed at what he accomplished.
The same piece of wire he had used on the handcuffs made short work of the cheap padlock, and the moment it came open, Angela threw her arms around his neck, buried her face against his shoulder and started crying. Jake held her tightly for a moment, ignoring the pain his body was complaining about. He rocked her slowly back and forth, stroking her hair, and trying not to think about how much time they might have. She needed him to make time for this, if she was ever going to have a chance to recover from the ordeal.
A short time later, the crying faded away. Angela lifted her head and looked up at Jake, who smiled at her.
"Ready to blow this joint?" he asked.
Angela nodded and turned so that they each had one arm around the other as they headed toward the stairs. They started to walk, but then Jake stopped and twisted himself free. He pulled off his shirt and held it so that she could slip her arms into the sleeves, and she managed to get a few of the buttons put together. The shirt was long enough to cover her modesty, and there were new tears in her eyes when she looked at him again.
They made it slowly up the stairs, and Jake turned to her when they got to the top. He was surprised to find the door unlocked, but he wasn’t about to waste time worrying about it.
"Do you want to go to the bathroom?" Jake asked as they stepped out into the kitchen.
Angela nodded, so he helped her over to the bathroom and let her go. "I'll be out here, okay?"
Angela looked hesitant. “You won’t leave without me?” she asked.
“No way,” he said. “I won’t go without you, I swear.”
Angela nodded, then walked into the bathroom and closed the door.
Jake should probably also have used the bathroom, but he just couldn't face himself in the mirror right then. He cleaned himself up in the kitchen sink the best he could, and the cold water felt good on the feverish flesh of his face. He glanced at his watch to see that it was a quarter to three. He figured that should mean he had at least an hour and a half before Alan would get off work.
He looked in the refrigerator and found several bottles of water, so he took one out and twisted the top off, gulping down the entire bottle. His stomach almost forced it back out from shock, but he managed to keep it down. He looked through the cabinets and found a box of Pop Tarts, ripping a package open and wolfing it down as he waited for Angela to come out of the bathroom.
He glanced around the room and then his eyes lit up. The keys to the Charger were laying right where Alan had left them when they came into the house the night before. He grabbed them up as he heard the toilet flush, and a moment later Angela came out.
She had obviously taken a quick sponge bath in the sink, because she was wet from head to toe. Considering the conditions she had been held in, he didn’t blame her, but then he wrapped his arm around her waist again and they hurried out the door.
Working together, they made it to the garage. Jake opened the door and they went inside, and Jake decided the Charger was more beautiful at that moment than it ever had been.
He opened the front passenger door and helped Angela slide into the seat. She was buckling her seat belt as he went to the switch on the wall that operated the automatic garage door opener. He stood there as it opened, looking around to be sure no one was watching, but everything was
clear and peaceful. He hurried back and got into the car, hit the button to start it with a shaky hand, smiled at Angela and backed out of the garage.
Once they were out, he left the engine idling as he got out of the car and went to close the garage doors. It might only keep Alan thinking they had not escaped for a few moments, but he wanted every possible advantage he could get. Now, he just had to pray that they didn’t run into him on the road back into town.
He didn't have any idea what Alan’s car even looked like.
Chapter 24
The PDI and police investigators were all suffering from lack of sleep, and the dark circles under the eyes of all of them were sure signs of just how little sleep they had gotten. That wasn't surprising during a case like this. In fact, what was really surprising was that they got any sleep at all.
They had all spent the majority of the day going back and forth between the break room to get coffee and the command center to review the case and outline. They had checked the make and color of the car that was seen in the surveillance videos and looked into who owned that type of car in Clark County, cross checking with who would fit their guesses about the killer. Unfortunately, it didn't help much in narrowing down who their suspect might be. There were a lot of people who owned a similar car, and of those people, lots of them had low paying jobs and seemingly normal lives. Even cross checking with the geographic outline didn't give anything away, though it certainly did help. Next, they looked into the people who frequented Caffeine Alley, looking to see who would stay late and who lingered more than usual, but no one stood out. All they came up with were a couple of students who went there to cram for an exam or course work.
It was just past nine in the morning, and they had made little progress. Floyd McCoy leaned back in his chair and let out an exhausted sigh. All he wanted was to find his daughter. He was trying to look at it objectively, but it was clear that the stress was getting to him.
* * *
Tina was quiet for most of the morning. She had a thought in the back of her head that wasn’t clear, that wouldn’t leave her alone. Something had been bothering her about this case for days, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was, not exactly. She had listened in to the discussions around her, but hadn’t been contributing very much. The rest of the team was leaving her to think it through, busy enough with other aspects of the case, including trying to figure out what happened to Jake.
It slowly dawned on her that what she was having trouble with was the type of drug used. The use of opioids had seemed odd to her from the beginning, but now it was actually irritating her. She finally realized the timings of the kidnappings was bothering her as well, and having only taken three surrogates before going to his original obsession seemed kind of odd on top of everything else. While it could be because of their involvement, Tina had a feeling it was more connected to the type of drug the killer was using, though she hadn’t figured out why. Somehow, she knew she was on the edge of a breakthrough, but she just couldn't make that last connection. And apparently, she wasn't the only one who was bothered by the drug.
"Do we have any idea at all how he's getting the drugs?" Floyd asked.
"Originally we thought they were being stolen from a hospital or pharmacy," Pete started. "But we haven't found any signs of missing stocks or fake patients."
"So you're thinking it came from the black market?"
"It's a possibility," Pete said.
"And if that's the case, it makes it extremely difficult to trace," Carol commented.
"Great. This is giving me a headache," Floyd muttered.
Tina suddenly sat up straight and her eyes went wide. That, she knew, was the connection
"Tina?" Chance asked, having noticed her sudden movements. All eyes turned to Tina, who had yanked out her phone and dialed Josie's number.
"I think I figured it out," she managed to get out while putting her phone on speaker.
“Tina? Figured what out?” Josie asked.
"Josie, I need you to look into everyone in Clark County who was diagnosed with any problem that involves chronic pain," Tina said quickly. "And only include people who have been treated with OxyContin, specifically."
“Okay. But I thought you said they monitor people who have been prescribed opioids?” Josie countered.
"They do, they ask for monthly urine sample checks. Just look into it," Tina said.
“Okay, I'm checking. Wow, we're looking at almost four hundred names. I'm taking out anyone that doesn't live in the area the killer has been working, and cross checking DMV for people with a similar car to the one in the video, and that gets us down to about fifty people.”
"Tina, you and Jake both said it wasn't likely the suspect was being prescribed the drug, specifically because of how closely monitored it is," Chance tried, still confused.
"Yes, it is unlikely, but not impossible," Tina defended herself. "Opioids are very addictive and overdose is one of the most common causes of death in the United States, so new laws are requiring it to be closely monitored whenever it’s prescribed. They look for signs of addiction and overuse, as well as making sure you actually are taking the drugs, rather than selling them, by requiring urine samples. The timing of the switch from surrogates to original target was eating at me, and I finally realized why. It's been almost a month since he started kidnapping and killing these women, and those urine tests are done on a monthly basis."
"So…?" Josie asked.
"So look at the people who passed their urine test a month ago and are due for another one in two to four days' time." A look of sudden realization crossed every face. "The names that pop up could be a coincidence, or one of them could be the suspect. Either way—"
"It's worth a shot," Pete finished. “Go for it, Josie.”
They heard typing over the phone. “That got me down to three names,” she reported. “Candace Logan, Felix Moss, and, oh my God, Alan Batts!”
"That's the guy from the coffee shop," Chance finished. "Pete, you said he was complaining about a headache that day."
“I missed it before,” Josie said, “but Alan Batts was diagnosed with neuropathic migraines shortly after he was released from the mental hospital as a teenager, and holy —on top of that, he was in the foster care system for two months after that. Care to guess who his foster parents were?”
“John and Cora Smith,” Chance said. “That’s the connection. Somehow, he got them to help him with his crimes, and then killed them. He went through the house to make sure there was nothing that would connect them back to him.”
Roberts looked at Gabriella. “The holes in the basement floor,” she said. “Gabriella, do you remember anything about where you were held?”
Gabriella’s eyes went wide. “Where I was held? Um, well, it was kinda dark, in a basement. There was a lot of junk around me—I remember I was tied to a chair, and I couldn’t get loose, but then—I saw my purse, and I thought maybe if I could get to it, maybe my phone was still there, so I—there were some old tools hanging up over me, and I managed to knock one down with my hair...”
“That’s it,” Roberts said. “The holes in the floor were from the chair she was tied to. The woman who held her was undoubtedly Cora Smith!” She flipped through a file and withdrew a picture of Cora, then showed it to Gabriella. “Was that her?”
Gabriella looked at the picture for a moment, then nodded slowly. “I—I think so,” she said. “The light wasn’t good, and I don’t think I ever got a clear look at her face, but I think that’s her.”
“But why would Cora have let her go?” Chance asked. “She beat the hell out of her, but then she let her go at the hospital.”
“And that,” Pete cut in, “is very likely what got her killed, and her husband as well. Alan probably figured the van was caught on video or seen, and guessed it would lead back to them. He eliminated them before they could break under questioning and give him up.”
“It fits,” Roberts said. “That gives us the
connection between them and the killer, and clears up the mystery of who the woman who took Gabriella was.”
“That’s what I'm saying,” Josie said. “Pete, Batts has got to be our guy.”
"Why wasn't he brought in before? Why was he not a suspect?" Floyd asked, and the hint of anger in his voice didn't go unnoticed.
"Because he seemed too forthcoming," Pete explained. “He actually seemed to be trying to help, and there were no red flags in his background that we could find at the time.”
"It fits, though," Tina said firmly. "If he was complaining about a headache, that probably means he's not taking his prescription meds anymore. He might have used up more than he intended with the first three girls and is saving the rest for Angela. He'd be showing some symptoms of withdrawal, sweating a lot, acting irritable."
Chance looked at Pete. “He was definitely sweating, and bitching about the girl he was training.”
“He fits, then,” Pete said.
"And nobody thought of this before now?" Floyd asked, still angry.
"We never considered the possibility that the suspect himself was taking the drugs, nor that he had a finite supply of it," Tina answered. “We naturally assumed that he must have access to a ready supply.”
"Okay, but what does this mean?" Jason asked quietly. "For Angela? Does being irritable mean he'd kill her sooner?"
The room went silent. It was true, the suspect was definitely more likely to lash out if Angela did something he didn't approve of. Not only was his fantasy ruined, he was already angry and on edge. The smallest thing could push him over, and they all doubted that Angela would sit still and wait for the cavalry, nor could they blame her if she didn't. They knew they needed to find her quickly.
"We don't know," Pete finally answered. "But we have to assume she's still alive unless we have something that suggests otherwise."