by T. R. Ragan
She shook her head, the fear in her eyes making his heart beat faster.
“I could find the pliers and yank out one of your teeth instead. It all depends on my mood.” He chuckled as he remembered the woman named Jill who’d been forced to eat soup he’d made out of vile things he’d collected. “I could make you consume large quantities of something hideously distasteful.” He lifted an eyebrow. “There has been a time or two where I’ve allowed a prisoner to pick their own poison, so to speak. See? You just never know.”
He stared at her, unblinking.
When she saw him staring, she averted her gaze again.
“No. No. No. Look at me. Never look away when I’m talking to you. I hate that.”
She did as he said.
“Okay,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Erin.”
Good for her. She was off to a good start.
“In what city do you live?”
“Elk Grove.”
“What is the name of your best friend?”
“Amber.”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Yes.”
Every time she answered a question, he tossed a sardine her way, sometimes smacking her in the face or arm. She didn’t bother eating them as he wrote her answers down.
She answered every question until he asked, “What are you most afraid of?”
That was when she broke down and started to cry.
Damn. For some ridiculous reason, he’d thought she would be different from the others. Maybe it was because she’d seemed so comfortable with jumping into the passenger seat of his car and carrying on a conversation with a complete stranger. He riffled through his backpack and pulled out his Taser.
“Snakes,” she said when she saw what he had in his possession. “And you. I’m afraid of you.”
He made a sad face. “Too late.”
He dug into his pants pocket for a key, walked over to Garrett’s cell, and unlocked the door. Garrett hadn’t been eating much lately, and his ribs were beginning to show.
For the most part he took the clothes from his prisoners so they couldn’t hide anything in their pockets or use the fabric to hang themselves. Plus, he liked to demean them and make them feel vulnerable.
Hovering over Garrett, trying to see if he was breathing, he kicked him in the shin. When that failed to get him moving, he wondered if Garrett was dead. That would be a shame. The man had lasted longer than most. He’d been there for months, and his survival instincts were strong. When he leaned over to check his pulse, Garrett’s eyes opened. “Kill me. Please. I’m ready to die.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. Get up. I have someone I want you to meet.” Garrett’s readiness to die upset him. What made so many of his victims want to give up so easily? He’d endured far worse torture than this. And in the end, it had made him stronger.
Garrett pushed himself up from the ground, his arms shaky, his legs wobbling. The Taser kept his captor in line as he nudged him out the door.
Erin didn’t move a muscle when he unlocked her door and shoved Garrett inside. Once the door to the cell was secure, he sat back down on his stool and watched them, hoping they would interact on their own.
Garrett was usually a social being. He was a professor at Davis. His wife had been one of his students. They had adored each other. But then after only four weeks in captivity, Garrett had misbehaved by drowning her in the bucket of water he’d placed in the cell so they could wash up. He’d said he only wanted to put her out of her misery. Couldn’t bear to see her hurt. Garrett had ruined all his fun, and he’d paid dearly for his mistake.
“My name is Garrett Ramsey,” his prisoner told the girl as he crawled toward her. “Do whatever he tells you to do or—”
“Stay away from me!” She jumped to her feet, her palms covering her small breasts as she kicked her legs to keep Garrett from coming any closer.
He watched them both, wondering what would happen next. But patience was a virtue, and a trait he did not possess. “Kiss her!”
Erin’s back was up against the cement wall. “Stay away from me!”
Garrett looked over at him.
“You know what to do.”
Garrett crawled back to the cell door, pulled himself to his feet, and waited for his master to hand him a weapon. He knew the drill.
He slid the Taser into Garrett’s hand. “Her name is Erin. I want you to Taser her, and then I want you to kiss her while she writhes on the ground. Make it a good one, Garrett. Pretend it’s your wife you’re kissing.”
Garrett had been beaten and abused for so long, he no longer questioned his master’s authority.
Garrett held up the Taser, flipped the switch, and jabbed her in the shoulder.
Erin screamed. Arms flailing, she dropped to the ground. One quick jolt was all it took. As she thrashed around on the floor, Garrett crawled on top of her and brought her mouth to his.
A thump and a howl coming from the other cell made him groan. He walked over to Dog’s cell and banged a fist against the door. “Knock it off in there.”
More wailing sounded, forcing him to pull out his keys. Before he had a chance to step inside, his phone buzzed, reminding him it was time to feed the animals. Garrett and Erin forgotten, he relocked Dog’s cell, then walked back to where he’d been sitting on the stool and began gathering his things. A flash of movement caught his eyes. He looked up, surprised to see Erin standing so close.
Her arm shot out through the space between the bars.
Zap.
The metal tongs pricked the side of his neck. The pain was surprisingly shocking, sending him to the floor. On his side, teeth clenched, he saw her reach for his bag and then struggle to pull it into her cell. There was nothing he could do but watch her dump its contents onto the ground, her fingers clawing through his things.
As Garrett cowered in the corner, the palms of his hands clutching both sides of his head, the girl continued her search, determined to find something that wasn’t there.
He’d been right about her. She was feisty and brave. And he couldn’t wait to discipline her.
THREE
As Colin walked to his car, he inwardly scolded himself for volunteering his services.
His reasoning was twofold.
Number one, he was busy working the Heartless Killer case. The serial killer had been leaving a trail of fear throughout the city of Sacramento for six years now. Every morning before school, parents warned their children to be aware of their surroundings and never go anywhere alone. Even the wariest residents were unnerved.
The FBI profiler who had been brought in to help said the Heartless Killer was a smart, single white male, a loner between the age of twenty-nine and thirty-six who came from a troubled family and had most likely suffered significant abuse. The list went on.
Traits of many serial killers.
Nothing new.
Based on his findings, Colin would add that this particular single white male killer was fearless. He went into people’s homes and took victims from public places in broad daylight without being detected. That was not something a lot of serial killers did. When it came to his victims, the killer didn’t seem to care about gender or age. He wasn’t a sexual predator, but like most serial killers, he enjoyed power and control.
Twelve months ago, the last time the killer had struck, every detective in investigations had been pulled in to work the case. Whenever that happened, they worked twelve-hour shifts until the leads dried up, which was where they were right now. Although he’d gotten six hours of sleep last night, the longest in a while, Colin was surviving on fumes.
The second reason he shouldn’t be running after Olivia was because he’d vowed to stay away from Jessie after he’d made the mistake of suggesting they turn things up a notch and start dating. Jessie had not hesitated to tell him she wasn’t ready to be anything more than friends.
&nb
sp; He knew dating a cop wasn’t easy, since cops tended to be inquisitive, worked long hours, and always had a target on their backs, but Jessie came with her own set of difficulties. She was a complicated woman who could be stubborn and much too serious.
And yet, despite it all, he loved her.
She was compassionate to a fault. She was patient and understanding, and his daughter, Piper, adored her. Jessie was everything he wanted in a relationship. And yet the moment she’d told him she wasn’t ready for anything more, he’d walked out of her life. He’d thought it would be easier for both of them, but now he knew better. He missed her.
He used his key fob to hit the “Unlock” button from a few feet away. Then he pulled out his cell phone and called Olivia. No answer.
As he pulled out of the parking lot, his phone rang. It was his sister, Emma. He hit the “Talk” button on the console. “Hey, sis. What’s going on?”
“Where are you?”
“On my way to pick up Olivia from school.”
“Olivia Cole? I thought you and Jessie were finished.”
“It’s a long story.”
“I bet.”
He said nothing. Merely waited for her to state the reason for her call.
“Kimberly is getting married,” she finally blurted.
“Interesting.”
“Why is that?”
“I saw her two days ago when I was picking up Piper, and she didn’t say a word. But good for her. I hope she and Nate are very happy.”
“His name is Niles.”
“And you called me to tell me this, why?”
“Because she asked me to be her maid of honor.”
The news shouldn’t have surprised him or bothered him in any way, but it did. It didn’t matter that he and Kimberly had been divorced longer than they’d been married. His ex-wife had a way of making sure he always knew what she was up to, always finding a way to update him with every detail of her life, making sure he knew she was doing just fine without him. Asking his sister to be in her wedding would only help her cause. It wasn’t enough that his nine-year-old daughter rattled off a long list of Nate’s glowing attributes every time Colin had her for the weekend. “I didn’t know the two of you were that close,” Colin said. “Isn’t Nate the guy she met at Starbucks?”
“His name is Niles, but what’s your point?”
“They’ve known each other for what, a couple of months?”
“Two years this Friday.”
Wow. Time really did fly. The truth was he didn’t like Nate. There was something about the guy that hit every nerve. He didn’t like the idea of Nate being a father figure to Piper.
“Are you still there?”
“Yeah, still here.”
“So, do you mind?”
Before he could figure out what Emma was talking about, his phone buzzed. “I’ve got another call coming in. Sorry. Gotta go.”
“Call me later,” she said.
“Will do.” He picked up the incoming call from Levi Hooper, forensics, and said, “Detective Grayson.”
“More bad news,” Levi said. “Blood and hair samples from the homicide in Citrus Heights came back. We have nothing to tie this murder to the Heartless Killer.”
While Colin let that sink in, Levi asked, “What’s next?”
“Briefing first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Okay, I’ll make sure everyone’s there. See you then.”
Colin drove up to the curb in front of C. K. McClatchy High School, climbed out of the car, and took a look around. Then he called Olivia’s number for the second time. Still no answer.
A few kids lingered here and there, mostly stragglers waiting to be picked up. Inside the front office, there was an elderly woman wrapping things up for the day. The school day had ended twenty-five minutes ago, and she hadn’t seen Olivia. Colin figured Olivia had either gotten a ride home or had decided to walk.
But since he was at the school, he made the rounds and checked the library, the cafeteria, and the football field before he headed back to his car.
By the time he merged onto Freeport Boulevard, he was concerned. Where the hell was Olivia, and why wasn’t she answering her phone? Olivia was fourteen, responsible for a kid her age, but that wasn’t making him feel better.
And what about Jessie? He didn’t like the idea of her being locked up. Although she was proud of her by-the-book methodology of investigative work, she had a tendency to act too quickly, seldom taking enough time to think things through. She’d looked pale sitting in the holding room. She’d looked hollow-cheeked, too, as if she hadn’t been eating enough or getting much sleep. Seeing her worn down like that made his heart ache.
Jessie. He’d fallen in love with her the moment he’d laid eyes on her ten years ago. And then his soon-to-be ex-wife showed up, and that was it. Jessie told him to get out of her life and go back to his wife, where he belonged. So that was what he did. Five months later Piper was born. He loved his daughter, and for that reason he’d done everything he could to make it work, but the next five years had been just that . . . work. No laughter, no playful banter, no long conversations about dreams and goals.
His thoughts were cut off when he spotted a group of people huddled together. As he slowed, he got a glimpse of a very familiar fourteen-year-old girl sitting on the sidewalk with five or six people hovering around her.
Olivia.
His heart raced as he pulled to the side of the road, jumped out of his vehicle, and ran toward her. Why was she on the ground? The thought that she might have been injured made his insides turn. He cut between the people, relieved to see that Olivia was okay. It was the dog in her arms that was injured. “Olivia,” he called.
She looked at him. She’d been crying. Mascara she wasn’t allowed to wear streamed down both sides of her face. “It was a hit-and-run,” she said, her voice shaky. “I think he’s dying.”
Colin looked at the people standing around. “Does anyone know who the dog belongs to?”
“There’s no collar,” a woman said.
Colin kneeled down for a better look. The dog was medium size, part bulldog or maybe boxer. There wasn’t a lot of blood, but it didn’t look good. The animal’s breathing was shallow, its ribs well defined, which told him the dog had been living on the streets for a while.
“We have to save him,” Olivia said.
Colin exhaled, told her not to move, and then jogged back to his car, where he grabbed a blanket from the trunk and spread it across the back seat. He hurried back to Olivia and scooped the dog out of her arms. Once she and the dog were situated, Colin drove to the closest veterinary hospital.
After the dog was taken to a back room to be examined, Colin made a few phone calls. Olivia sat in the lobby, her foot tapping nervously against the floor. More than an hour later, the veterinarian, a tall woman wearing green scrubs, walked toward them. Her expression was somber, making it difficult to read the situation. “Could I talk to you alone for a minute?” she asked Colin.
He looked at Olivia. She’d been through a lot in her young life. He’d spent enough time with her to know she was a straight shooter, and she appreciated that quality in others. No reason to keep anything from her. “Go ahead,” he said. “You can talk to both of us.”
“The good news is he’s been stabilized.”
“And the bad?”
“He has a broken leg that will require surgery.”
Ah. Now he understood why she’d wanted to talk to him in private. Surgery wasn’t cheap, and most teenagers, like Olivia, didn’t make decisions based on money. It was all about emotions in cases like this.
The doctor tipped her chin. “Laura will go over the details with you.” She gestured toward the woman behind the counter.
After she walked away, Colin said, “I’ll be right back. I’m going to go talk to Laura.”
“You’re going to tell them to do the surgery, right?” Olivia asked.
“I need to get some additional infor
mation first, okay?”
“I have nearly two hundred dollars in my savings account,” she told him. “If you drive me to the bank, I can get it out for you.”
“Why don’t you wait outside? I’ll be right there.”
Ten minutes later Colin found Olivia sitting on the curb next to his car. “Get in,” he said. “I’m taking you home.”
She pushed herself to her feet. “Are they going to put him down? If they are, I want to be there with him when they do.”
“He’s being rolled into surgery as we speak.”
“Seriously?”
He nodded.
She smiled as big as he’d ever seen, then ran over to him and wrapped her long, skinny arms around his waist and squeezed as hard as she could.
He’d missed the kid. “Okay, okay,” he told her. “Don’t get too excited. We’ll have to put an ad in the paper and make sure he doesn’t belong to someone, and then there’s the matter of your aunt Jessie.”
“Jessie won’t mind. She’s going to love Higgins.”
“Higgins?”
“That’s his name,” Olivia said. “I always knew if I ever got a dog, I would name him or her Higgins. Have you seen the movie Benji? Adorable dog who always shows up in the nick of time to save the day?”
“I have a vague recollection. But what does any of that have to do with Higgins?”
“The dog who played the part of Benji,” Olivia relayed as they both climbed into the car, “was actually a shelter dog named Higgins.”
“Interesting.” He buckled his seat belt and made sure she did the same.
“Do you think Higgins will make it?”
He paused to think about it. “Yeah, I do. He looked like a fighter. Tough times make for tough people . . . and dogs.”
FOUR
It was a quarter past five when Ben Morrison left his workplace, a ten-thousand-square-foot cement-gray building that housed the Sacramento Tribune. He’d been working as a crime reporter there for twenty years, the first ten of which he had no recollection of, owing to a car accident that had left him with retrograde amnesia.
