by Jon Athan
Bruce slumped his head forward as he indistinctly muttered. Frank was at a lost for words, shocked by his own savagery. Bruce bled from his ear, mouth, and eye. His cheek was painted red by the stream of bloody tears. His chin and throat were drenched in blood, like if he had devoured a meal of raw flesh. The portrait of carnage was appalling.
Frank wiped his bloody hands on his shirt as he slowly departed the basement.
Chapter Twelve
The Safe House
The sky was painted with a vibrant combination of orange and red, speckled with thin white clouds. The sunset pierced through the cracks between the apartment buildings, setting on the other side of town. Vehicles with coughing engines lugged down the busy streets, heading home to celebrate the end of the day.
An unmarked sedan rolled to a stop in front of a four-story apartment complex. Although most people were returning home, the day was not over for the prying partners. The investigation was still unfolding, revealing new players and new cards.
As he leaned over the hood of the car and gazed at the building, Wayne said, “It should be the third door to the right.”
Leaning on the passenger door, Nathan asked, “What? You're just going to barge in there? What if he's wrong? Huh? What if it's filled with traps? What if someone else lives there now? It's been over a year, Wayne. This might not be worth it.”
“In a case like this, every lead is worth following. It doesn't matter if it's dangerous, outdated, or ridiculous. If this was some sort of safe house like the shed in the woods, we have an opportunity to find more. Remember, the man isn't guilty of kidnapping Katherine yet, but you know he's guilty of something else. You've heard it first-hand. Don't forget that.”
Nathan sighed and nodded. With a mountain of evidence piling up against Bruce, he knew his partner was correct. Wayne patted Nathan's shoulder, then he walked towards the building. Nathan followed his associate, reluctantly delving deeper into the sinister mystery. Wayne weaved and bobbed his head as he stared through the glass doors at the foyer of the building.
The doors opened to a vacant hallway. The hall had yellow walls with white chair rail molding. The white marble flooring sparkled from a recent cleaning. There were eight doors in the hall, four on each side. The residents were either enjoying their meals or rushing to get home. Regardless, the coast was clear.
Wayne beckoned to Nathan, then he slipped into the building like a professional cat burglar. He scurried with a hunched back, scampering with his shoulder to the wall. Nathan couldn't help but smirk as he casually strolled behind the detective. The investigator stood out like a sore thumb, sly and devious.
Wayne stopped at the third door – Apartment 105. He inhaled deeply, then he knocked. The three loud thuds echoed through the hall. The pair waited for fifteen seconds before knocking again, pounding on the door like a SWAT team preparing to raid a drug house. Once again, there was no response.
Wayne glanced at Nathan and said, “We're going to have to break in. Keep watch while I try to pick the lock.”
Nathan scowled and shook his head. He whispered, “No. We can't do that. We're going too far. Just call the cops, call your real partners. You don't know who–”
Wayne held his index finger to his lips – hush, keep it down. He said, “We're doing this so we don't have to call the cops. We're doing this so we don't have to wait for bullshit warrants. You understand me? As a matter of fact, Frank wanted you to get your hands dirty. You should be picking this lock or kicking this door down for his daughter. Just be grateful I'm here to handle the dirty work.”
“Wayne, what if he moved from this apartment? What if we're breaking into the wrong home? They could be in the shower or just busy. We can't just go busting into their apartment like some damn robbers. We could get hurt.”
“We're running out of time. Just keep watch, okay? I'll be quick.”
Nathan stomped and tugged on his hair as he turned his back on Wayne. He stared down the hallway, grimacing from the mental suffering. Concern swelled in his mind, taunting his every thought. He counted the passing seconds, scanning every inch of the corridor and listening to every creak in the building. Flushing pipes, groaning floorboards, and indistinct arguing danced down the hall from every corner.
On the verge of tears, Nathan muttered, “We're going to get caught. Shit, we're going to get–”
Nathan's eyes widened as a click sound emerged from over his shoulder. The sound of an unlocking door and jingling doorknob had never resonated with such a reassuring sensation before. The lock was compromised, sure, but a sense of security dominated his mind – the irony.
Wayne pulled on Nathan's shoulder and said, “Get in here. We have to work fast.”
Wayne closed the door behind him, then he turned the lock. He stood by his partner, carefully examining the apartment from the foyer. The front door opened to a modest living room. The living area was puny, but the limited furniture allowed for a more spacious and open atmosphere. Across from the front door, the pair could see the kitchen and the dining area. (The living room and kitchen were seamlessly connected, only defined by the change from hardwood floorboards to linoleum flooring.)
Wayne walked forward and said, “Check everything, Nathan. Remember, every little detail matters.” Nathan nodded as he walked towards the kitchen, cautiously watching every step. As he turned his attention to a neighboring desk, Wayne said, “Be careful, too. You don't know what this guy might be hiding. There could be anything in here. Anything...”
***
Nathan tried to shrug off Wayne's warning as he proceeded with his examination, taking the hint with a grain of salt. He wasn't certain of his location, after all. He feared he was treading through the home of the wrong person, invading the privacy of an innocent resident. Yet, he could not challenge Wayne's authority. He followed his commands like a dog on a leash.
Nathan approached the stainless steel refrigerator, cautious. There wasn't a single smudge on the expensive appliance. The doors were spotless. He had hoped to find a note or a photograph clinging onto the fridge, but the oblivious resident did not seem interested in helping their investigation. It was a bit more difficult than he expected.
He pulled the door open, then he peered inside. The fridge was stocked with fresh groceries – milk, orange juice, a head of lettuce, a bundle of carrots, a dozen yogurts, and the gist. Without a doubt, the fridge was recently filled with food. A receipt likely lingered in a trash bin or wallet. At least the child was not stuffed into the fridge like a turkey before Thanksgiving.
Nathan said, “This doesn't seem like a safe house to me. Why would he have so much fresh food if this were a hideout? I wouldn't stock a place like this if it were my home-away-from-home. It just can't be right. I think we're in the wrong place.”
Wayne responded, “No.”
With a furrowed brow, Nathan glanced back at the detective. With his palms firmly planted on a black desk, Wayne absently gazed at the tabletop. He was focused on his discovery, rattled by the horrifying truth. Nathan trudged towards the table, dragging his feet with each step. He was not in a hurry to be proven wrong.
As Nathan approached, Wayne said, “He's been here before. This is his safe house.”
Nathan stopped by Wayne's side. He stared at the table, baffled. There were three framed photographs on the tabletop. The photos depicted Bruce with a raven-haired young woman – Robin Morris. The couple seemed happy. The prying pair could not identify the woman through the image, but they certainly recognized Bruce.
Wayne wagged his finger at the table and said, “He's been here before. This is... This is probably his sister's home or his girlfriend's apartment. It's undeniable, though. He's been here before.” He glanced at Nathan and said, “Check every corner of the apartment. Under the beds, the closets, the bathrooms, everywhere.”
Nathan nodded, agreeing without uttering a word. He walked down the adjacent hallway. There were three doors at the end of the small corridor. He opened the d
oor at the center, then he sighed in relief – a closet. There were a few heavy coats, a vacuum cleaner, and a stack of cardboard boxes inside of the small storage area. Nothing out of the ordinary.
As he turned towards the door to his left, Nathan whispered, “What's behind door number two?”
The hinges grated as the door slowly swung open. The room was swallowed by an impenetrable darkness. The hallway light barely seeped into the unidentified room. Out of habit, Nathan reached for the wall to his left and flicked his finger – a foolproof method in finding the light. The illumination whisked the shadows away and brightened the bathroom.
Like the rest of the home, the bathroom was simple. There was a bathtub-shower combination, a sink with a medicine cabinet on the wall above, and a toilet anchored to the floor – an everyday bathroom. From the doorway, Nathan stood on his tiptoes and stared at the bathtub. Once again, there was nothing out of the ordinary.
Nathan whispered, “What the hell is going on around here? What have you done, Bruce?”
Wayne walked down the hall and said, “Her name is Robin. That's the woman in the pictures, that's who's renting this apartment. That's why we didn't find anything the first time. He's been using his girlfriend's apartment and a shed in the fucking woods to hide all of this crap. Damn it!”
Nathan asked, “How the hell did you find that out? You didn't call the cops, did you? Did you? I can't get caught here if we're breaking the law. I have a wife, I have a daughter. I can't–”
“No, no. I didn't call anyone. I saw her name on a letter. All of the letters on that table are addressed to her. I fucked up...”
Nathan could see his peer was bothered by the unsettling revelation. He was a man of sympathy, but he didn't know how to quell his own pain. He patted Wayne's shoulder, then he turned towards the final door. The door parallel to the bathroom was unusually daunting. The room was mystifying. Anything could be lurking within the chamber.
Nathan twisted the knob, then he shoved the door open. He flicked the neighboring light switch, then he sighed – a contradicting sigh of relief and disappointment. There were no dead bodies inside the room and the mystery did not end.
There was a large queen-sized bed towards the center of the room. Across from the foot of the bed, there was a six-drawer dresser with a large flat-screen television on top. There was a full-length mirror and a closet on the wall to the left. Simplicity was a common theme in the humble apartment.
Dejected, Wayne said, “Check under the bed, then check the closet. I'll check the dresser. There has to be something around here. There has to be some sort of clue.”
Nathan nodded in agreement. He staggered to his knees, then he checked under the bed. Clumps of dust and skittering spiders lingered in the darkness. There was enough room for a grown man to fit under the bed, but there was no sign of Katherine.
Nathan stood, wiping the dust from his knees. He strolled towards the closet doors, then he examined the storage area – coats, sweaters, shirts, jeans, and shoe boxes filled the small space. The clothing belonged to a woman. A child could surely fit inside of the closet, but, once again, Katherine was nowhere in sight.
Disappointment seemed to repeat itself, rubbing salt in open wounds.
Nathan turned towards Wayne and asked, “So, you think this might be his girlfriend's apartment?”
Wayne stopped shuffling through the underwear and socks in the drawer. He planted his palms on the dresser and responded, “Yeah. If I had to guess, I'd say she was his girlfriend. Maybe a very close friend or a friend with benefits. Some bullshit like that. But... why would he bring Angela to his girlfriend's apartment? What? Did he like to cheat on his girlfriend with younger girls in her own apartment? Was she in on all of this the whole time? Huh? Some sort of threesome fetish or something? It's just... It's strange.”
“It's not making much sense, is it?”
Wayne knocked on the dresser and said, “We haven't found a damn clue concerning Katherine. We haven't even found a single sign of life. We found all of this other crap about the man. We know he has a thing for young girls, right? We know he at least messes around with teenagers, right? We just haven't found anything about Katherine.”
Wayne gritted his teeth and shook his head, infuriated with the abject investigation. A failure, he thought, an utter failure. He tugged on the dresser, yanking a drawer from the piece of furniture. He violently slammed the drawer on the floor, then he stomped on the wood and clothing. The underwear was dirtied by his boots and the wood snapped with his brute force. He couldn't control himself. He needed to release his anger before it consumed him.
Nathan pulled Wayne away from the dresser and said, “Calm down, alright? Relax. We can't smash up this apartment. We have to get the hell out of here before she returns. Let's go back to Frank's house. Let's talk to Bruce. With everything we know, with your skill-set, I'm sure we can break him. I'll let Frank know everything on the way. Don't beat yourself up over this. Maybe we can still stop this before it goes too far, maybe we can still solve this. Okay? Sound good?”
Wayne jerked away from Nathan's grip. As he stormed out of the room, he said, “Let's go talk to this bastard before it's too late.”
Chapter Thirteen
Robin and the Truth
Robin spun the steering wheel with one hand, casually cruising through the parking lot. She had a large parking selection since the bank was closed. She opted for the spot closest to the automated teller machine. Julia sat in the passenger seat, fidgeting as she clenched her purse close to her chest – like if the pair were driving through a seedy neighborhood. She was unsettled and frightened, unable to tame her anxiety.
Robin parked a mere fifteen meters away from the ATM. She calmly removed her seat belt, then she turned towards her nervous guest. She stared at her with a conniving glare, disrobing the middle-aged woman with her sharp eyes. She was having fun with Julia, playing the sinister mind games she enjoyed.
Robin said, “So, I want you to head over to the ATM and withdraw the money. I know some cards have limits, so just withdraw the maximum amount for whatever you have. I'll find a way to get everything else from Bruce when you're done... when you're done with whatever you're doing to him. Okay?”
Julia furrowed her brow as she glanced at Robin. She stuttered, “A–Aren't you coming with me?”
“No.”
“We–Well, why not?”
Robin smirked and responded, “You're brighter than that, aren't you? Look, there's obviously a lot of crap going on here. I don't want to look like I'm extorting or blackmailing you. You understand? On top of that, there's something very suspicious about all of you. Frankly, ma'am, I don't want to get involved. When your mess comes out for the world to see, I don't want to get caught on camera withdrawing thousands of dollars with you. It's a precautionary measure. That's all.”
Julia slowly nodded, accepting the logical explanation. She was an intelligent woman with helpful intuition. Under the horrific circumstances, though, her instincts were distorted and her thoughts muddled. She could not spot the inkling, she could not catch the hunch.
As she opened the door to leave, Robin said, “Leave your purse. Take your wallet, but leave your purse and phone. I don't want to take any chances, okay? I just want the money.” Julia gave a slight nod as she riffled through her bag. Robin said, “Unlock your phone, too. I have to make a call.”
Julia stopped her browsing. She gazed at Robin and said, “I... I don't think I can.”
“I just need to make a call. I'm out of minutes on my phone. I'll pay it off when I get the money. Come on.”
“I understand, but–”
“But, what? What's wrong? Hmm? You're acting a bit too suspicious, even for me. So, here's what we'll do. If you don't unlock your phone, I'm going to call the cops. I'll tell them about your house and whatever you're up to. We'll let them deal with it.”
Julia furrowed her brow and tilted her head. She asked, “Why do you need my phone if you ca
n call the cops from your own?”
Robin scoffed and rolled her eyes, offended by Julia's rebuttal. The woman was smarter than she thought, but she wasn't impeccable. Deception could slither through a crack in her armor and poison her figure.
Robin said, “Maybe you don't know this 'cause your old, but phones have emergency services, even if it's not paid off. And, I can always ask someone else for a helping hand.” As she saw the reluctance in Julia's eyes, Robin bit her bottom lip, then she said, “Listen, I'm sorry. I just have to make a call. I need to call my daughter and let her know about the money. I need to let her know everything's going to be okay.”
Teary-eyed, Julia stared at Robin. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she blinked. Robin's simple explanation caught her off guard. 'Daughter' was an unusually powerful word. The distraught mother tapped her phone, quickly entering her passcode. She tossed the phone on the seat, then she strolled away from the car. She did not want doubt to cloud her mind and change her character.
As she walked towards the ATM line, Julia murmured, “It's for her daughter, it's for her daughter...”
Robin smirked as she grabbed the phone. She scrolled through her call log, browsing through her recent contacts. The woman had conversations with several people, but Robin only recognized three names: Frank, Joann, and Sylvia.
Robin whispered, “So, you're all in on this together, right? You're all planning something big, aren't you? I swear, you better not have touched him.”
Robin scowled as she tapped her way into Julia's text messages. There was a cluster of message threads from Frank, Joann, Sylvia, and Nathan. Except for Frank's thread, the messages were no more than three hours old. She was kept up-to-date with the progress of the investigation. She didn't want to be involved, but she was eagerly waiting for good news. Robin opened the most recent message from Nathan.
The message read: How are you holding up? It's almost over, sweetheart. Hang tight, we're coming home. We found something about Bruce and his girlfriend at her apartment. Tell Frank to call me ASAP. He's not answering.
