Across from him, Dianason waved a hand, pushing aside the correction.
“What you’re saying almost sounds like this girl was being held prisoner?”
Framed as a question, he left the ending vague, wanting the man to speak freely about the possibility.
The look of unease Dianason had been wearing grew more pronounced as his chin dipped slightly. Looking at each of them in turn, he said, “You all work in law enforcement. Judging by your stature and demeanors, I’d venture maybe even some military service before that, so you have seen some things.
“So have we. Maybe not in the manner you have, but working in this building, most every case with a fatality ends up in front of us eventually. And I can tell you, in the twenty years I’ve been here, we’ve never had someone arrive in her condition.”
Looking away, Dianason’s eyes grew moist, his blinking increasing rapidly. His cheeks grew red as he kept his attention to the side before looking back, the whites of his eyes laced with crimson tendrils.
“There’s an old expression that says the body keeps score. Means exactly what it says. The things we put in our mouth, the exercise we do or don’t do, the traumas we endure, we can lie to ourselves all we want about it, but in the end, the evidence is all right there.
“I don’t know the right word to describe what this girl went through, but you’re right. The term ‘prisoner’ is probably as good as any. She was shackled, she was beaten, she was branded. Food and water were withheld.” Twice more he blinked, the surface of his eyes growing glassy. “Nobody should have to endure what she did. It was truly heartbreaking.”
Sitting and staring at the man, feeling the raw emotion he was conveying, seeing the reason for it spread on the sofa beside him, Reed let all previous thoughts fade from his mind. In their place was a single question, one thing he truly didn’t want to ask, but knew he must if ever he was going to be of any help to this girl or Serena Gipson.
“Can we see her?”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Serena Gipson was already awake the moment the lights came on inside the room. Without sound or forewarning of any kind, her world went from a state of near sensory deprivation – completely dark and soundless – to being plunged into a bright glow.
The instant it penetrated her half-open eyelids, she twisted onto her side, clamping her eyes shut. Drawing in a deep breath, she raised a hand to her face, covering herself from the visual intrusion.
Even after the initial surprise passed, she remained in that position, her legs curled up toward her chest. Waiting and listening, she hoped that the lights were merely the arrival of morning and not an announcement that the man was returning.
If the lights were any indicator, thus far she had been trapped inside the room for just over a day now, though already she had seen and heard enough from him to last her a lifetime.
Her pulse racing, Serena counted seconds, making it to one hundred and fifty, a full two and a half minutes, before allowing her breathing to slow. She could feel her heart rate decrease as well, aware of the sweat lining her brow.
Remaining in position, she continued waiting until four minutes had passed before finally propping herself up on an elbow. Moving only her gaze, she exhaled slowly, beginning anew the process that had started untold hours before.
As far as she could tell, the room was still much the same as the first time she’d assessed it, just a few changes standing out to her. The most obvious was the acrid scent still hanging in the air, so thick she almost expected it to have materialized as a cloud hanging over the space.
Knowing the source of it, still acutely aware of the pain underlying it, Serena pushed the thought from her mind. Instead, she moved her focus to the second change in the room, a small collection of items gathered on the nightstand beside the bed, no doubt placed there as she lay unconscious the night before.
Turning her head at the neck, she stared at them for a full moment, unable to escape the feeling that her every movement was being watched. Considering them in silence, she made a point to glance away, to seem as disinterested as possible, before sliding over to the edge of the bed.
Resting her feet on the floor, she aimed her gaze downward, barely able to see the assorted items resting on the nightstand. Sitting on the edge of her periphery, they were impossible to ignore, no matter how much she might want to.
Positioned in the exact center of the small wooden surface was a liter of water. Warmed to room temperature, any droplets of condensation were long since evaporated, the plastic bottle completely clear, the top still sealed.
Lying beside it was a banana, both tips tinged green, full ripeness a day or more away.
Completing the trio was a tube of some sort of ointment, a small indentation already pressed into the center.
Propped upright between the banana and the bottle of water was the final addition to the spread: a plain white index card. Folded in half, the crease was tented upward, the card forming an elongated triangle.
Turning her head toward the nightstand, knowing there was nothing to gain from pretending to ignore it, Serena focused her gaze on the index card. As she did, she could feel a weight press against her chest, almost fearing what might be scrawled across it, the untold horror waiting to be forced upon her, all for the pleasure of some sadistic bastard watching her every move.
In her mind, she thought through every possible permutation of what she might find, of the penmanship that might be staring at her, just one more reminder of his presence.
Reaching slowly for it, her hand made it halfway there before pausing. Shifting course, she went right past it, grabbing the water instead, watching as the paper fell to the side, one flap sticking up at an angle from the top of the nightstand as she drew the water to her.
The note, and whatever admonishments it entailed, wasn’t going anywhere. Serena knew that, but she also knew that her leg hurt. And her face ached. And her throat was parched.
If she was going to be in any position to face whatever the note said, to continue making it through the days, she needed to take care of herself. She needed to hydrate, to eat when and what she could.
No matter how much she might not want to, knowing that it would be mistaken for compliance, feeding the man’s sick fantasy.
So many times in her fledgling nurse training, she’d been schooled to know that the simplest solutions were often the best. Nothing combatted a cold like fluids and rest. Weight loss really was often as simple as exercising and consuming fewer calories.
And staying alive, allowing the body to heal, meant giving it everything it needed to do so.
Beginning in the same slow method as a day before, Serena allowed bits of the water to slide down her throat. As the warm fluid passed over the parched skin, she felt her esophagus slowly begin to take form. With each droplet, the dry tract became more pliable, allowing the next swallow to be larger than the one before.
A handful of times in order she took down the fluids, finishing two-thirds of the bottle. Much like the day before, it left her panting, her pulse rising as her body assimilated the needed hydration.
Keeping the bottle perched in her lap, a hand wrapped around the top of it, Serena shifted her attention back to the nightstand, focusing on the banana. For only an instant she considered it, her depleted state longing for the calories and vitamins it possessed, before her mind won out.
Right now, her body was not yet in any shape to take on solid food. Even trying to would be ugly, leaving her in a state worse than what she already was.
Pushing the notion away with a twist of her head, Serena moved on again, her gaze this time landing on the tube of ointment. Too far away to make out the name of the product or what it was used for, she stared at it a moment before switching the water into her opposite hand. Bending at the waist, she extended her left arm, the oblique and serratus muscles along her side pulling taut as she wrapped her fingers around it, drawing it near.
Rising back to full height, s
he held it in both hands, bits of dread settling through her core as she stared down.
“Burn cream,” she whispered, the sound of her own voice magnified in the virtual silence of the room. The moment the words left her lips, the imagery of the day before rushed back to her, a flipbook of small snippets, all strung together, reminding her what had happened.
The man and the brand. The glow of the metal as he heated it. The threats he made as she squirmed away, prattling on about mistakes and consequences.
The feel of his punch as he swatted her into submission.
Waking to find her leg encased in a wrap, the icy tendrils of severed nerve endings extending from her knee down.
With each new piece that came to mind, each recollection she had, the fear she felt seemed to ebb away. Replaced by ire, by confusion, by wanton wrath, she felt her grip on the tube grow tighter. She watched as its shape distorted, the thin casing no match as she squeezed, knuckles flashing white beneath the skin.
Whipping her arm back at the shoulder, she flung the tube hard against the wall. Smashing into the generic yellow paper, it fell to the ground, skittering across the floor.
Paying it no mind, Serena’s hand again shot out, her body extending well beyond its usual length. Using her index and middle finger, she grabbed for the note, pulling it over and flipping it open before her.
Two short lines, ten words in total, all scrawled in the man’s own hand.
USE THE CREAM. EAT.
HELL TO PAY IF YOU DON’T.
Written in all capital letters, the note was a perfect encapsulation of every encounter Serena had had with the man thus far. Brusque, aggressive, expectant.
Who this man was or why he had her, she didn’t have a clue. Just as she didn’t have the slightest idea who Molly was or what connection this guy thought she had to her.
What she did know was the man was oozing entitlement. He was someone who was used to getting his way, and for whatever reason, he had now leveled that expectancy on her.
Drawing the note back into her palm, Serena wrapped her fist around it. She squeezed it tight, feeling it mash into a tiny ball, holding the tension as long as her weakened state would allow before casting it aside.
Much like the tube of ointment, it hit the wall before bouncing away, Serena’s gaze following it as it ricocheted to the right, disappearing beneath the bed.
Replaced in her line of sight by her right leg and the thick wrap encasing it.
Still feeling the full wrath of a moment before, Serena’s lips parted. A puff of air passed from her, the unexpected visual giving her pause, before the resentment she felt started to rise again.
Little by little it climbed until she could no longer control the hatred she already felt for every aspect of this new world, the bandage just the latest symbol of the hell wrapped around her.
Until she couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to peel back the strip of elastic tape holding it into place.
Chapter Forty
The name of the guy was Thad Martin, a swollen red-faced man with a protruding stomach pushing tight against his dress shirt beneath a tie with diagonal stripes of blue and gray. Short gray hair was fashioned into a 50s-style flattop, plenty of scalp peeking up through the center of it.
Reed could remember his father referring to the guy once or twice over the years, though he didn’t recall ever meeting him.
Something he was reasonably sure he wouldn’t forget, the man’s appearance one that tended to linger.
Already having commandeered a table in the back corner of a small diner on the outskirts of Muskogee, a clear plastic bottle rested before Martin, the better part of a soda gone by the time Reed and Billie and Wyatt arrived. As they walked in, he stood, rising to no higher than five-six, a hand thrust out before him.
“Hope you guys don’t mind I went ahead and got us a table,” he said by way of introduction. “This place fills up fast around lunchtime.”
“Not at all,” Reed said, accepting the grip. “Appreciate you making the time. Reed Mattox, Officer Todd Wyatt, Warner PD. This here is my partner, Billie.”
Releasing Reed’s shake, Martin did the same with Wyatt before looking down to Billie. Appearing for a moment as if he might flutter his fingers at her in a wave, he instead twisted his head slightly to the side, glancing to Reed.
“Your pop mentioned you were K-9. Shepherd?”
“Malinois,” Reed replied.
“No shit?” Martin replied, his eyes bulging slightly. “All black like that?”
“Yeah,” Reed replied. “Extremely rare. Less than two percent of the breed.”
Shuffling a few steps to the side, Martin held his tie flat to his stomach, dropping back down onto his seat. “We’ve got a small unit here with a few dogs, but that’s the first solid one I’ve ever seen. Good looking girl there.”
“Thank you,” Reed replied, allowing Wyatt to take the inside seat before dropping down on the aisle. His hand found the top of Billie’s head as he did so, his voice lowered to just enough for her to hear. “Down.”
“Must scare the hell out of perps,” Martin said, a smile on his features.
“That, she does,” Reed agreed, leaning forward and resting his elbows against the front edge of the booth. “Listen, thank you so much for making the time this morning. I know it was an odd request, coming from my dad like that.”
“Ah,” Martin said, flashing a hand across his body to dismiss the comment. “Anything to help out old Ramblin’ Rhett.”
A smile on his face, he looked away a moment, clearly lost in a different time, before turning back to the conversation. “Truth be known, it was actually a lot easier to say I needed to step out to speak with an old friend than to have you guys come by the station.”
Glancing to Wyatt, he dropped his chin, peering out from beneath a heavy brow. “No offense, but your chief isn’t exactly the most well-thought-of around here.”
“None taken,” Wyatt said, his tone matching Martin’s. “He’s the reason we’re both here in street clothes, asking to meet in a diner instead of in an official capacity.”
“Not that that would have gotten you far,” Martin countered. Glancing to Reed, he said, “Your dad mentioned you guys were going to Tulsa to visit the coroner this morning, which I’m guessing means you’re looking into the DT case.”
As he mentioned it, even using Darcy Thornton’s initials to avoid saying her name out loud, he glanced around, making sure he hadn’t garnered any unwanted attention.
“Since that girl’s body turned up a couple of days ago, everything has cranked up into hyperdrive. Most of the team is down in Checotah now, tearing the place apart, trying to see if anything new can come of it.”
On his features and in his tone was a mix of frustration and the feeling of futility, as if he knew how things were going to go, even if they did have to walk through the paces all the same.
A sentiment Reed – and he guessed Wyatt, and most everybody to ever carry a badge – knew all too well.
“You weren’t on the original team?” Reed asked.
Before Martin could answer, a young girl with an enormous plume of platinum blonde ringlets and a healthy coating of stage makeup arrived at the head of the table. Dressed in a yellow-and-tan uniform dress that zipped up the front, she wore flat white shoes and held a pad and pencil before her.
Overall, a look that blended seamlessly with the place they were in, the décor a mix of old Hollywood and college football, everything outlined in neon or chrome.
“Well, hey there, Thad,” she said, her voice almost saccharine, the look on her face practically beaming. “Didn’t see you slip past me. How you doing today, sugar?”
“Wonderful, Shirley,” Martin replied. “How are you?”
“The same,” she answered. “Can I get you the usual?”
“Sure thing,” Thad replied. “And a Coke to drink.”
“Dr. Pepper?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Thad answered, the ex
change causing one corner of Reed’s mouth to curl up, as quintessential a depiction of Oklahoma as ever existed.
“And you boys?” she asked, turning her attention to the opposite side of the table.
“I’ll have the same as him,” Wyatt said, jabbing a finger toward Martin.
Normally not one for eating lunch, Reed knew that not ordering anything in front of Martin would be bad form. He also had no idea where the case might take them in the hours ahead, reasoning that he needed to ensure he was nourished for whatever happened.
As did Billie, neither one of them worth much otherwise.
“Chicken tenders,” Reed followed, “with sweet tea, please.”
Not yet had he even seen a menu, the place the sort that seemed to operate on the assumption that anybody who entered already knew what they wanted, though he knew it a veritable certainty that any diner in the state was bound to have tenders and tea.
They simply wouldn’t be open for long otherwise.
Waiting until Shirley was gone, headed off to put in their order, Martin said, “No, to answer your question. I was working on an insurance scam at the time, so it got kicked to our other senior team. Good guys named Dunne and Martinelli, been around almost as long as I have.”
“But you’re familiar with it?” Wyatt asked.
“Familiar?” Martin said. “Hell, me, them, the whole damn city is familiar with it. After she first disappeared, it was all anybody talked about for a month. This ought to really get folks worked up again.”
Bits of prickly heat rose along the back of Reed’s neck. He thought on that for a moment, considering the amount of gossip that Martin was describing and how that would affect a kidnapper. The decisions he made, the way he chose to perform moving forward.
As Reed himself had learned far too many times already, attention had a way of distorting things in unexpected ways.
“Can you walk us through it?” Reed asked. “As much as you can share, anyway?”
Moving only his eyes, Martin glanced between them. He drew the corners of his mouth back, creating deep dimples in his fleshy cheeks. “Can I ask you boys something first?”
The Bear Page 16
