As The Twig Is Bent: A Matt Davis Mystery

by Perrone Jr. , Joe

  He turned to the elderly housekeeper. “Mrs. Flynn, could you excuse us for a moment?”

  The housekeeper started to leave, shaking her head and mumbling under her breath.

  “What did you say?” asked Matt.

  “Oh, nothing,” she said. “It’s just that I knew this was going to happen some day.”

  “What do you mean by that?” asked Matt.

  “Well, it’s all about that Internet stuff, isn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Freitag.

  Mrs. Flynn looked furtively left and right, then, apparently satisfied that there were no hidden cameras, leaned close to Matt and whispered in his ear. “He goes in those—you know—chat rooms. He doesn’t know that I know, but one time he fell asleep and I saw—”

  “Where does he have his computer?” asked Davis.

  “Why it’s in his study,” replied Father Anthony, “but—”

  “Don’t worry,” said Matt. “We have a search warrant permitting us to search the premises. I give you my word that he won’t know a thing.”

  “Well, I hope not. I wouldn’t want him to think—”

  “We just want to look around a bit. Chris, go to Richter’s study and get his computer. Look for any floppy disks or CD’s, or anything that might have to do with the Internet.” He turned back to Father Anthony. “Do you have any idea with whom – or where?”

  Father Anthony shook his head. “I’m sorry. I would never have known, but I happened to be looking for something in his study, and saw—”

  “Matt, you better get in here!” It was Freitag, calling out from Richter’s study.

  Davis started for the study, then turned to Father Anthony. “You do understand, Father. It’s very important.”

  Father Anthony nodded his permission.

  “Thank you.”

  When Matt entered the study, Freitag was holding the business card, with Rita’s Internet information on the back, in his hand. “I’m afraid it’s my fault,” he said, handing the card to Matt. “I’d have never given it to him if I realized it was this one,” he said. “Take a look at this.” He pointed to a slip of paper resting on Richter’s desk. On it were scrawled the words: “Rita—Friday night—Manny’s—Don’t forget to wear Yankee hat!”

  “Son of a bitch!” said Matt. “Do you think she has any idea who she’s dealing with?” He was already starting out of the study, on his way out of St. Jude. Freitag followed behind.

  “You know,” said Freitag. “She’s a lot smarter than any of us gives her credit for. Maybe she already had a hunch, and smoked him out on the ‘net.’”

  “Let’s get over to Manny’s,” said Matt. “You know where it is, right?”

  “Yeah,” said Chris. “It’s over on Seventh Avenue, by 20th.”

  “I just hope we’re not too late,” said Matt.

  Foster, Martini, and Wolinski were standing in the foyer, when Matt and Chris exited the study. “He’s meeting Rita at Manny’s—over on Seventh Avenue,” said Matt to Foster. “You, me, and Chris’ll ride together.” Foster nodded. “Martini, you and Wolinski gather up the computer and anything that looks important: discs, papers, notes—whatever. Take ‘em back to headquarters, then meet us at Manny’s.”

  CHAPTER 67

  Driving over to the Eastside bar, Freitag pictured Rita with Richter, and cursed himself for not keeping her more in ‘the loop.’ “If that son-of-a-bitch touches a hair on her head,” he said, “I swear I’ll—”

  “Just calm down,” said Foster. “I doubt he’d do anything stupid. Remember, he doesn’t even know we’re on to him yet.”

  “Yeah,” said Matt, “we’ll just walk in nice and quiet like. Pretend we’re just there for drinks.”

  Freitag glided the car up to the curb, and immediately jumped out, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun.

  “You wait here,” said Foster. “Matt and I’ll go inside. If he makes a break, grab him.”

  “Remember, nice and easy does it,” said Matt. “We don’t want anybody getting hurt—least of all, Rita.”

  Foster nodded his approval. “Let’s get inside,” he said.

  The first thing Matt noticed upon entering the front door was the absence of patrons. For a Friday night, things were unusually quiet. He scanned the interior quickly, then approached the bartender, who was busy polishing glasses. He flashed his badge, and spoke quietly to the man across the bar. “I was just wondering – have you seen a guy and a gal wearing a Yankees hat tonight? He’d be on the tall side – sixty-ish?”

  “Oh, you mean Rita.” he replied. “Yeah, sure. They were both wearing them – in fact, she left hers here,” replied the Bartender. “She said it was a blind date – some guy she met on the Internet. The hats were probably some kind of a sign so they’d know each other. Rita’s a regular here. Him I don’t know.”

  “Did they leave already?” asked Foster.

  “Yeah, about twenty minutes ago,” replied the bartender. “Anything wrong?”

  “Don’t know,” said Matt. “Do you know where they were headed?”

  “No, not really,” said the bartender. “Sorry, but I wasn’t paying much attention. One minute they were here, dancing; next thing I know they’re gone.”

  Matt had already started for the door.

  “My guess, they went to his place—or hers!” shouted the bartender, with a laugh.

  Matt broke into a trot. Foster had to run to keep up. “Where are we going?” he shouted at Matt’s back.

  “Rita’s apartment!” shouted Matt. “Richter might be nuts, but he’s not crazy. Guaranteed he’s headed for her place.”

  Freitag stood by the car, a worried look on his face. When he saw Foster and Davis come running out the front door of Manny’s, he immediately jumped behind the wheel and waited for his partner’s instructions.

  “Head over to Rita’s apartment—and call for back-up,” said Matt. He flipped open his cell phone, and dialed Valdez’s phone number. After five or six rings, he heard Rita’s familiar voice on the answering machine. He waited for the beep and then left a message. “Rita,” he said. “It’s Matt. I’ve got something really important to tell you. Be very careful tonight. I’ll be in touch ASAP.” He didn’t want to be too specific, just in case Richter was there with her; he prayed he wasn’t.

  CHAPTER 68

  9:15 p.m.

  Richter stiffened as the shrill ring of the phone located next to the bed, jolted him back to reality. He stared wild-eyed at the instrument as it rang five times, then stopped. “Nobody’s home!” he shouted. He turned his attention back to Rita, who was moaning softly beneath him. Suddenly, he heard the recorded voice of his prisoner coming from the answering machine in the other room, as it instructed the caller to leave a message. Richter waited to hear whether or not there would be one, and then, to his horror heard Davis’s familiar voice begin to speak. He listened intently until Matt had finished, and then screamed a reply of his own: “Fuck you, you son of a bitch! I’ll show you what I can really do!”

  In a fit of rage, Richter reached over and yanked the phone wire from the wall. Rita tried to speak, but the weight of his body kneeling on her chest limited her ability to breathe, or to cry out; any movement was entirely out of the question. The sound of the phone had brought with it a faint measure of hope, but it was fading quickly. If anything, the call had only served to push Richter further beyond the brink of self-control, and he lashed out angrily in response to the intrusion by striking her hard in the face with his open hand. “Son of a bitch!” he screamed again at his captive. He withdrew a small penknife from his pocket, and used his teeth to extract the blade from the body of the weapon.

  Oh my God thought Rita, as she finally realized the horrible truth: it’s him! She tried to struggle, but in response, Richter brought the shiny blade to her face. “If you make one move I’ll kill you,” he said. He was looking around the room for something to tie Rita to the bed with.

  Valdez knew she had
very little time if she was to have any hope of surviving. Her mind raced wildly; she had to act fast. She knew she was taking a chance, but it was the only one she had. She had to try to convince Richter it was over. If he had any connection left to reality, maybe he’d stop. If not, she thought, it wouldn’t matter. I’ll never see Chris again. Tears began to stream down her face; her mascara formed dark streaks on her cheeks.

  “Father Pete,” she pleaded. “It’s not too late. You need help. You’re sick. The church will help. You don’t have to do this.”

  A crazed look flashed across Richter’s face. “No, you’re the one who needs the help. You made a big mistake!” he screamed. “You thought you could just play your little game—and watch Jack suffer. Did you think Jack would just put up with it? I tried to convince him you were different, but he knew—you’re just like all the rest of them. You’re no fucking good!” He dropped the knife, and began punching the helpless woman with both fists, using her head like a punching bag. Then, just as suddenly as he had started, he stopped and looked down. Valdez was unconscious.

  “You cunt,” he whispered in her unhearing ear, “now Jack’s gonna give you just what you deserve.” He jumped off the bed, and began flinging open the drawers of her dresser, throwing garments in every direction. He needed something to tie her up with. At last, he located what he was looking for: some loose stockings. He grabbed a pair, and quickly bound each of Rita’s arms to the bedposts. He pulled off her Reeboks, and then yanked her jeans roughly down across her hips, and past her feet.

  He needed something to tie her feet with. Retrieving the knife from her chest, he cut the elastic waistband of her panties, and yanked the garment from her body, scraping the flesh above her navel in the process. Angry red welts sprang up on the soft flesh. “Fuck you!” he shouted, and he flung the knife against the wall, from where it clattered to the floor. Then, he used the panties to tie her left leg securely to the post at the foot of the bed. With both hands, he grabbed the front of Rita’s blouse, and pulled with all his might—buttons flew in every direction—as he ripped open the material.

  Without hesitating, he grabbed the collar of the blouse, and yanked it over her shoulders, pulling the garment free. In a moment, he had secured her other leg to the right post at the foot of the bed. He removed one of her abbreviated socks and jammed it roughly into her mouth, breaking the soft skin of her lower lip, which began to bleed almost immediately.

  “Okay, bitch,” he said. “Now we’ll just see who’s in control.”

  He had very little doubt that it was he.

  CHAPTER 69

  9:22 p.m.

  “Still no answer,” said Matt. “I’ll try again in a few minutes.”

  Freitag’s fingers beat a nervous tattoo on the steering wheel, as he raced toward Rita’s apartment. Foster was on the police radio, calling for back-up.

  Matt opened his cell phone again, quickly dialing his home number. Val answered on the second ring. “Matt, what’s happening?” she asked. “I tried reaching you at headquarters, but Hard-on – well, it seemed like he knew something, but didn’t want to tell me. Is everything okay?”

  “I wish I could say ‘yes,’” said Matt, “but it’s not. Richter’s got Rita.”

  “Rita?” said Val. “What do you mean?” Negative thoughts of Matt’s evening out with the female detective filled her head. “I don’t get it. What’s she doing with him?’

  “I can’t explain now,” said Matt. “But, don’t wait up. It could be a long night.”

  “But, Matt, what if—”

  “I’ll call you when I can. I gotta go.” Matt closed his cell phone just as the big Impala pulled up in front of Rita’s apartment building on East 23rd Street.

  “Jesus,” said Foster. “You’d think she could find a better place to live than this dump. I guess she’s still waiting for that knight in shining armor on a white horse.” He immediately regretted his remarks as neither Matt nor Freitag said a word, underscoring the gravity of the situation.

  “Why don’t you two wait here,” said Matt. “I’ll go up and see what’s—”

  “No way!” said Chris. “I’m coming with you.”

  Foster nodded. “I’ll stay here until back-up arrives. Don’t take any unnecessary chances. We’ll have plenty of manpower in a couple of minutes. I don’t need any dead heroes.”

  The two partners started up the stairs, Matt in front, Chris not far behind. It appeared few residents were at home, due the beginning of the weekend. Davis and Freitag arrived at the second floor, and Matt reached out and rang the bell to Rita’s apartment. No answer. They waited a few seconds longer, then heard a loud crash within the apartment. Chris knocked frantically on the door, calling, “Rita, are you okay?”

  CHAPTER 70

  Richter pressed his erect penis hard against Rita’s vulva, trying to force the engorged organ between the dry outer lips of her vagina. The female detective had regained consciousness, and squeezed her thighs together as tightly as she could, denying him access to her genitals. She squirmed with all her might, but it was no use. Seconds later she felt Richter enter her. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to feel anything. Richter began thrusting deeper and deeper, grunting and straining toward his inevitable climax.

  What if he has AIDS? What difference does it make? When she heard the doorbell ring, she thought, Fuck you, you son of a bitch. I’m not making it easy for you. With every ounce of strength she possessed, Rita bucked her hips hard against her intruder. He momentarily lost his balance, and as he swung his arms out to the side to right himself, he knocked the lamp to the floor. It made a loud crash, and the room was plunged into darkness. Now, she heard the unmistakable sound of her partner’s voice calling her name. In here, Chris—I’m in here.

  Through the haze surrounding her senses, Rita heard Chris’s voice call out again. He must have heard the lamp, she thought. Oh God, Chris, please—please help me! She had always said she didn’t believe in mental telepathy, yet here she was desperately trying to communicate by the very method she had previously decried. I’m in here, Chris, her mind screamed – but to no avail. Help me! Help me!

  Matt drew his revolver from beneath his jacket. He stepped back from the entryway, and with one efficient kick of his right leg, separated the cheap wooden door from its hinges. The apartment was pitch black. He called out into the darkness, “Rita? Are you alright?”

  Valdez heard his voice. In here, Matt—I’m in the bedroom, she screamed inside her head. Richter rolled off Rita’s body, his erection shrinking immediately. He pulled his pants up from around his knees, and buckled his belt. He needed to find the knife, he thought. But it was dark. Desperately, he groped for the lamp on the table. He lost his balance, and stumbled forward making contact with the piece of furniture. “Shit!” he yelled, pain radiating throughout his lower leg. Using his left hand to steady himself, he leaned his chest on the top of the nightstand, and carefully reached down to the floor below. Feeling around with his right hand, he finally located the little knife.

  “Stay here,” whispered Matt to Freitag, “in case he gets past me.” He crouched low, feeling his way along the perimeter of the apartment’s living room, one hand tracing the cool surface of the wall, as he made his way toward the noise coming from the bedroom. He didn’t want to risk turning on a light in case Richter had a gun. Holding his breath, Matt sensed, rather than felt the opening to the bedroom. He could hear Rita moaning, and decided he had to make a move. Slipping his hand inside the doorway, he found the wall switch for the ceiling light, and flipped it on, dropping immediately to his knees as the room erupted in light.

  Richter turned around, saw the detective crouched on the floor, and swung his right foot hard, separating the revolver from Matt’s hand. As Davis tried to get back to his feet, the priest slashed wildly with his left hand, and caught Matt firmly on the neck with the blade of the knife. The pain was incredible, and as Matt reached up to his neck in response, Richter tried to get
past him the bedroom door.

  “Watch it, Chris!” shouted Matt. “He’s got a knife!” At the same time, he felt warm blood begin to spurt from the cut on his neck. “Shit!” he yelled. He was losing blood fast, and could already feel himself growing lightheaded. He reached out and grabbed one of Richter’s legs, pulling him to the floor. The two men struggled briefly, but Matt was losing blood rapidly, and with one final effort, Richter managed to free himself. With his head swimming wildly, Matt reached down to his ankle holster for his gun. As he did, Richter rose from the floor and rushed out of the bedroom, towards the living room. Sitting in a pool of his own blood, Davis raised his weapon and fired blindly at the retreating figure. He continued to fire, until he was out of bullets. Then, everything went black, and he collapsed into unconsciousness.

  When Freitag heard the shots, he crouched low, and leveled his service revolver toward the bedroom. Richter came charging out, catching him by surprise, and knocked him to the floor. In the blink of an eye Richter was out the door. Knowing Foster was covering the downstairs entrance, Chris got up and rushed into the bedroom, nearly tripping over Matt’s unconscious form. He saw Rita on the bed, and thought, Oh my god, she’s dead. He turned back to his partner on the floor. Blood spurted freely from a huge gash along the side of Matt’s neck. Freitag kneeled down, yanked a handkerchief from his pocket, and pressed it against his partner’s neck. With his free hand, he felt for a pulse. A faint, rapid beating told him that his partner was still alive, but barely. He reached for his radio. “Officers down. Need medical assistance immediately. 225 East Twenty-Third. Make it fast!”

  Valdez lay on the bed, just clinging to life. All Chris could do was pray.