The Toybox

by Charly Cox

  Liz Waterson, Alyssa’s favorite forensic sketch artist and member of her team was in North Carolina visiting her parents. She wouldn’t be back until after Memorial Day weekend, so not for another week. ‘Her help would be nice, but we’ll have to make do without her until she returns,’ she said.

  ‘Have you heard from her, heard how her mom’s doing?’ Hal asked.

  After Liz’s sister was murdered by an ex-boyfriend, their mother’s health had slowly declined over the years, which had prompted this latest visit. ‘I didn’t talk to her, but she did send a text letting me know it was definitely a heart attack but that her mom was stable and resting comfortably. The prognosis was good, she thought.’

  Joe and Tony walked in just then, and of the two, Tony appeared far more chipper.

  Joe, on the other hand, was scowling at something Tony said.

  ‘Hailee’s still colicky, huh?’ Alyssa asked. Ever since his baby was born in March, Joe often came in looking either ready to drop or snap someone’s head off. Frequently both.

  ‘I’m beginning to think she’ll be colicky until she’s a teenager.’ He rubbed one fist into his tired eyes.

  Tony patted Joe’s back. ‘Hate to tell you, partner, but when Hailee’s a teenager, you’ll be wishing it was only colic giving you sleepless nights.’ He merely grinned at Joe’s frown.

  Hal popped open his laptop and projected the screen onto the wall for everyone to see, effectively moving the topic back to work. He clicked the downloaded images from the crime scene then, splitting the screen, opened a blank document where he typed Rachel Otis and Jersey Andrews in bold and underlined text. In red, he added Jane Doe.

  Alyssa walked over to the crime scene photos, specifically studying the mark on Jane Doe’s hip as she spoke. ‘Okay, we don’t know that these cases are related. So far all we have in common is the young age of at least Jersey and Rachel.’ An image of the battered body of Callie McCormick, Bishop’s last victim, popped into her head, and she shut it down. People, including young girls, went missing every single day for various reasons. It didn’t mean there was another serial killer in their midst. She couldn’t – wouldn’t – allow her last case to cloud her mind or hinder her ability to do her job. Like every case, she’d methodically move the pieces of the puzzle around until they began to connect.

  ‘I’ll check the cameras in the Central/Louisiana area, though I doubt we’ll have much luck since the city got tired of replacing and repairing them every single time they got vandalized,’ Hal offered.

  As frustrating as it was not to have working cameras, it was also frustrating watching public funding funneled into constantly replacing them. ‘While you’re at it, check the Missing Person’s database to see if our Jane Doe matches any of the profiles. Without knowing her age, it might be more difficult, but it’s a place to start. Okay, moving onto Rachel Otis.’ She peeked at her notes. ‘We still need to locate Calvin McDougal. He lives at the frat house where the party was held, and according to several of the individuals we interviewed yesterday, he was seen hitting on her and didn’t take too kindly to being rejected. One of the witnesses claimed to overhear him accuse her of “false advertising” before storming away.’

  Joe’s eyebrows scrunched together, and he held his hand up for Alyssa to stop. ‘False advertising? What the hell does that mean?’

  Cord answered, speaking through clenched teeth. ‘It means she was wearing something that McDougal took as an invitation and an automatic yes to sex and didn’t appreciate being told no. Allegedly.’ His eyes were full of anger as he tacked on the word, sneering as he did.

  Alyssa wondered if anyone else heard the mental ledge Cord teetered on.

  ‘Anyway, no one could tell us when he left the party, and no one admitted to knowing his whereabouts yesterday, so Cord and I will try again today.’

  Hal picked up from there. ‘I contacted Dawson Construction like you asked. Darnell Williams’s alibi checked out. He was at work, and when I contacted the bar where he said they headed afterward, the bartender was able to verify everything he said.’

  The team spent a few more minutes discussing Rachel’s case before moving onto Jersey’s. Pushing her personal feelings aside, Alyssa focused on what they knew while Hal typed it into his computer under Jersey’s name. The most glaring similarity between the two cases, aside from their youthful ages, was the location of each of their disappearances. The duck pond was within a quarter mile of the frat house where Rachel had last been seen less than twenty-four hours before Jersey had gone missing.

  ‘Hal, what did you find on Hugh or Beau Cambridge?’ The only indication of the rage Alyssa knew Cord felt regarding the Cambridge men was the way his fingers clenched on his pen. Again, she wondered if anyone else noticed.

  ‘Hugh Cambridge is the chief financial officer of Harrison Motor Company and has been for the past thirty years. Married for twenty-six. One kid – Beau – football player, piss-poor grades that should’ve had him kicked off the team at least half a dozen times. According to his social media accounts, he and Jersey met at a party about six months ago and “hooked up.” I cross-referenced her accounts, and they said basically the same thing. It didn’t take much scrolling through either of their accounts to recognize they liked to air their fights or disagreements or whatever online, and from their feeds, they’ve had a pretty tumultuous, on-again, off-again relationship. I’ll keep digging.’

  Alyssa exchanged glances with Cord. ‘What do you mean by tumultuous? How so?’

  The corners of Hal’s mouth tipped down, and he snorted as he tapped a few keys on his keyboard. ‘Allow me to show you this example from two months ago.’ He cleared his throat and began reading.

  When you walk in and find your boyfriend’s tongue shoved down some skank’s throat…

  If you don’t want me to shove my tongue down someone else’s throat, don’t be such a prude. BTW, don’t you ever embarrass me like that again.

  Or you’ll do what?

  You don’t want to find out…

  Alyssa cut her eyes toward Cord. The tendons in his neck bulged, his nose flared, and his fingers gripped the edges of the table. ‘Print that out for me, Hal, and any others that seem to implicitly threaten violence. And see if you can find a way to verify Beau’s whereabouts for Sunday night, specifically between the hours of seven-thirty to let’s say, six the next morning. Those posts don’t paint him in the most favorable light.’

  ‘You bet.’

  ‘Now, what about cameras in the university area that could help tell us what happened to either girl. Did they leave alone or with someone? Did they walk, drive, or Uber? See if we can find any witnesses that place Beau Cambridge near either girl before she disappeared. We already know he was with Jersey earlier in the day, so I’m talking about later that evening.’ She tapped Jane Doe’s image. ‘And let’s find these girls before we have two more deaths on our conscience.’ She squashed down the voice that said they already might.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tuesday, May 21

  Throughout the night, Rachel’s nightmares kept jerking her back to wakefulness, only to remember that she was still in one, images of The Toybox flashing behind her eyes seared into memories she’d never be able to rid herself of. And each time her eyes drifted closed again, a fuzzy Anna stood with her arms outstretched, just out of Rachel’s reach, yelling something to her. This time when she woke, panting, bathed in sweat, wincing at pain the likes of which she’d never before experienced, she was mildly surprised to find her face wet from tears.

  Anna. Where was she? Had a fate worse than her own befallen her friend? Was death really worse anyway? Had whoever drugged her – and she was sure now she’d been drugged at the frat party – done the same to her friend? Had she somehow managed to escape? For a second Rachel allowed herself the fantasy of imagining Anna heading up a search party and leading the cavalry to their rescue.

  Carefully, slowly, she rolled to her side, her eyes landing on the n
ew girl with the petite frame. Some part of her brain had processed the new girl’s arrival, but when she’d been brought back downstairs, she’d been in too much pain and was far too traumatized to care about anything except death or escaping this nightmare – whichever came first, she’d take it. The dim light from the bathroom cast a shadow over the fair-skinned girl, and a feeling of guilty relief combined with the suffocating weight of shame flooded her system. Maybe the new girl would be more to the liking of the men who’d purchased her. From the deep purple and blue marks on the girl’s body, she appeared to bruise easily, something the men seemed to enjoy.

  Part of a conversation her subconscious had picked up when the girl had been tossed in the cell played in her mind. Becca had said something about being forced into prostitution.

  ‘Prostitutes get paid in something other than beatings, bites, and bruises. You can’t make this anything other than what it is – slavery – Becca, so stop trying.’

  Faye’s words rang in her head even as Rachel’s mind caught up to the fact that the newcomer was staring back at her, the dull, dead look in her eyes mirroring that of her own. ‘What’s your name?’ Her voice was hoarse, raspy, and her throat burned as if molten liquid had been poured down it.

  Before the girl could respond, a high-pitched scratching sound invaded the cell, and Rachel jerked her hands up to cover her ears as, heart pounding, she tried to locate the source of the noise. Her eyes swung to the window in time to see a broken-off branch scratching across the glass as if it were trying to etch a picture into it.

  With trembling hands, she pressed both fists tight against her chest, twisting her knuckles into her sternum in an effort to calm her thundering heart. Similarly, the new girl’s hands gripped the light sheet each girl was allotted.

  ‘I’m Rachel,’ she whispered. But the new girl wasn’t listening. Her eyes had already strayed, so Rachel trained her gaze in the same direction, a low moan escaping her as she did.

  Faye’s robe was opened, her body on display. Visible in the barely-there light were fresh cuts sliced into her skin, her left eye was swollen shut, and blood seeped around the crust that had formed around her nose. Rachel shoved her hand against her mouth and swallowed back the nausea. When had that – what had happened?

  Faye’s eyes were empty, devoid of even tears, as if her spirit had died and her entire being along with it. Staring at her, Rachel felt her resolve disintegrate. She hadn’t even grasped onto the understanding that she’d been holding onto a tiny beacon of hope in this dark tunnel of her existence until now. Sure, Becca was kinder and gentler, despite what they were all going through, but Faye was a fighter, and that was where the hope had come in.

  The new girl’s sobs finally broke through the barrier of Rachel’s numbness. Without realizing she was doing it, she found herself moving over to Faye’s mattress, offering her what strength she had, though it was little. She sensed movement behind her, and turning her head, she saw Becca drawing up next to the new girl, running her hands down the girl’s hair as her broken cries became muffled by Becca’s shoulder. Faye didn’t so much as turn her head in the girl’s direction or acknowledge Rachel’s presence. A shadow fell across the mattress, and Rachel twisted around to see Cheyenne’s hand hovering in the air, as if she wasn’t sure what she should be doing. It was at that moment that Rachel realized Meghan was missing, and she tried to recall the last time she’d seen her.

  And then she stopped thinking about anything because the door at the top of the steps clanged open, and all their heads – except for Faye’s – snapped in that direction. One of the men was carting yet another girl down the stairs in a fireman carry while another led the way, gun out, key in hand. God, not another one!

  With the cell door opened, the man stepped in and dropped the unconscious girl on the closest mattress before turning around and leaving. Rachel’s stomach churned, and shock slammed into her when she noticed how young this one was. There was no chance this tiny sprite of a thing could ever survive The Toybox and its many instruments of torture.

  Suddenly, Faye was back and moving. She eased between the mattresses where she knelt next to the new arrival, gently tugging the girl’s t-shirt back into place before stretching out next to her and wrapping an arm around the girl’s waist, as if by doing so, she could shield her from what she would encounter when she woke.

  When Faye’s shattered, broken cry rippled through the cell, Rachel’s gaze rose to the small two by three-foot window, wishing for all the world that she could follow her soul through the lightly frosted glass.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Tuesday, May 21

  The light from the window shifted, trailing up the table, and Alyssa glanced up before checking the time on her phone. Six-thirty. Her team had gone non-stop for nearly fifteen hours after receiving the call this morning, so she’d sent everyone home because she needed them to be rested – at least as much as they could be – and focused, so they could find the missing girls, as well as dig into what had happened to the murdered girl found in the abandoned restaurant.

  Cord had offered to stay and wade through the mountains of pages of interviews with her, but she insisted he leave with the others. With all that was on his mind already with the anniversary of Shelley’s suicide and his unexpected, out-of-character reaction to Beau Cambridge, she had to admit she was afraid that adding exhaustion to the mix may be the final straw before he snapped. It had taken some convincing, but he’d finally, reluctantly agreed.

  She tapped the yellow highlighter against her teeth as she read over Calvin McDougal’s statement. They’d caught him just as he’d been about to leave. Alyssa recalled how he’d arrogantly swaggered out onto the front porch of the frat house, fingers tucked into his front pocket, a smirk playing around his lips throughout the entire interview as he clearly showcased his feeling of superiority over authority figures.

  Cord had opened the questioning by showing McDougal a picture of Rachel. ‘Did you see this girl at the party?’

  Calvin shrugged. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Did you talk to her?’

  ‘Sure.’

  College sure wasn’t teaching him a fine repertoire of vocabulary.

  ‘And…?’

  ‘And what? She made it clear she wasn’t interested, so I turned my attention elsewhere. Plenty of chicks there. No need to waste anybody’s time with one who was offering nothing but false advertising.’

  Beside her, Cord stiffened, and for a second, Alyssa was afraid of a repeat of the Cambridge scenario, but to his credit and her relief, he maintained his composure.

  ‘That’s not what we heard,’ Cord said. ‘Lots of people told us you didn’t take it too well when Rachel turned you down, said you got pretty riled up about it.’

  Calvin snorted, but both his posture and eyes shifted. ‘Whatever. Those people are wrong. Like I said, she said no, and I moved on. Last I saw her, she was still sitting on the couch where I left her.’

  Immediately recognizing the similarity in their responses, Alyssa asked, ‘Do you happen to know Chance Williams?’

  ‘Yeah, I know Chance. We don’t hang, but he’s usually here, even though he’s not a member of the house. It’s all good because he usually has a nice posse of chicks who show up with him.’ He actually winked. ‘Brings variety, you know.’

  Had times really changed that much? During her college days, she couldn’t remember anyone being so brazenly disrespectful to the cops. Or maybe that was just the circles she ran in.

  Alyssa couldn’t decide if it was the guy’s attitude – his words and his lack of interest in the fact that a young college girl he’d admitted to hitting on had gone missing – that ate at her, making her distrust everything that came out of his mouth. If she could figure it out, maybe she’d have a large enough piece of the puzzle to make the other pieces fall into place.

  She was still thinking about that when a shadow filled the doorway, reluctantly drawing her away from the interview transcript. A sc
owl on her face, she turned to snap at the person unfortunate enough to interrupt her concentration, but when she saw the lines around Captain Hammond’s eyes, his face drawn tight and looking like he’d aged another five years in the past five days, all that flew out of her mind.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’d ask why you’re still here when the rest of your team’s gone, but it doesn’t matter because you’re needed.’ Even his voice was gruffer than usual.

  Alyssa’s stomach plummeted. ‘What’s happened?’

  Hammond sagged against the doorjamb, one hand reaching up to rub his temple. ‘I have to tell you, Detective, I don’t know how much longer I want to do this job in the world we live in today.’ He straightened, his stare drilling into her. ‘Dispatch just received a call about another missing girl. Katelyn Phillipson never came home from school this afternoon. It’s been just over three hours, but she’s only thirteen years old. I need you and Roberts to head over. We already have two – possibly three – missing girls and one dead one in a remarkably short amount of time, and we can’t afford to risk waiting another second. As of right now, I want you, your team, and the department on high alert.’ He twisted until he was staring out the window. ‘Our city’s still reeling from realizing we had a serial killer walking amongst us for the past two decades.’ The sound of defeat practically vibrated across the room as it poured off her captain in waves.

  For a moment the weight of Evan Bishop’s reign of terror settled onto her shoulders, but then she shook it off, knowing there was no way to undo the past. Right now, she needed to focus on the case in front of her. At least three missing girls in a span of three days? Add a deceased female into the mix, and Alyssa’s instincts shouted that there was no room left to doubt these cases were somehow connected. It was far too much of a coincidence – something she rarely believed in. ‘Address?’