by Karen Rose
His words were punctuated by a satisfied “Ah,” from the closet and Sugar and Micki emerged with a stack of thick file folders.
“Give me the folders,” Noah said and crowding around Pierce’s desk, they searched the contents. “Bank statements. This one looks like his family account.”
“His wife has her own,” Micki said, looking at another stack of statements. “Regular transfers from the main account, barely enough for groceries and gas. He had her on an allowance. Based on the order of the kitchen, he likes control.”
“Order,” Noah murmured. “He said the killer liked order. He was right.”
“Control often masks fear,” Micki said. “Remember that Olivia said he was afraid of his female victims? She was right.”
Beside him, Abbott let out a low whistle. “Look at these. He’s got three-quarter mil stashed away. Let’s freeze all his accounts. Make it hard for him to run.”
After he finishes what he set out to do. Noah pushed Carleton’s own words away as ruthlessly as the images of his victims and opened another folder. “PI reports. PI’s name is Hugh Robard. Subject of surveillance is John Black of Fargo, North Dakota.”
“We need to find John and Irene Black,” Abbott said, darkly.
“And the PI,” Noah said.
“I don’t know, Web,” Micki said doubtfully. “The last report’s dated ten years ago. But it’s worth a try,” she added, more upbeat, and he knew his devastation was showing.
“Let’s go back to the office and make our calls there,” Abbott said. “I’ve got a press conference at three. I’ll tell them we’ve issued an arrest warrant for Carleton Pierce.”
Thursday, February 25, 2:20 p.m.
The pain… the pain was unbearable. She lifted her hands to her face and touched bone. Her hands were covered in blood. He cut me. My face. My face is gone.
No. She threw her head back and gasped in a breath. And bucked. She couldn’t breathe. Something covered her mouth. She twisted, trying to get away.
“Stop. Don’t scream.”
It was a snarled whisper and Eve dropped back, shuddering. What covered her mouth was skin. An arm. Eve breathed through her nose, nodding hard. The arm moved and a body collapsed across her legs, sending fire through the hole in her thigh.
“If you scream, he’ll come back.”
Eve struggled to lift her head, then sucked in a stunned breath. “Liza.”
Liza was tied, hands and feet behind her back. Her lips were pursed and she took short, staccato breaths through her nose. “Who is he?”
“Police psychologist. Why did he take you?”
“I’ve been looking for my sister.” Liza lifted her head and her eyes were haunted, horrified. “She’s dead. Her shoes are up there. He showed them to me.”
It took a moment to trickle through the fog in her mind, but when it did, she was sick. For Eve, the shoes were vile, horrific reminders of past victims of Carleton Pierce. For Liza… it was the sister she loved. Dear God. “We have to get out of here.”
Liza gave her a hard look. “How? He took the knife.”
“I don’t know yet.”
“He put me in his trunk.” Her eyes were haunted again. “There was a body in there. He said it was his wife. He put her in the pit.”
Eve’s blood chilled as this newest horror registered. “What pit?”
“It’s a door in the floor. He pulled a handle and it slid back. He dumped her in. He said that’s where my sister was. He said there was room for two more.”
Don’t panic, don’t panic. “We’re not going to die. How did you get over here?”
“I rolled. I didn’t want you to scream.”
“That was smart.” Eve craned her head up, but from where she lay she couldn’t see much. “Can you see anything we can use for a weapon? Anything sharp?”
“There are some drawers behind you, but they’re above my head unless I can stand up. Which I can’t.” There was a sound above their heads and they both looked up.
“He’s coming. Go back to where you were,” Eve hissed. “Play dead if you have to.”
“I’ve been playing dead. He thinks I’m catatonic, he said. What will you do?”
“I don’t know yet, but whatever happens, don’t let him know you’re awake. Do not let him see your fear. He feeds on our worst fears. Now go.” Liza obeyed, rolling back to her corner awkwardly while Eve tried to think of what to do. How to escape.
Understand him. She’d scored a direct hit on the MSP link to his manhood, but she couldn’t count on that working again. She lifted her head to look at the shoes. Most were women’s shoes, but three pairs from hers were a pair of men’s Nikes. Sticking up out of the Nikes, she could see a pair of wire-framed glasses.
Like Jeremy Lyons had worn. Kane was right, she thought. Jeremy’s dead.
She closed her eyes, fighting despair. Noah, where are you? He was looking, she knew. Look harder. She lifted her head again, made herself truly see what was before her eyes. With the exception of Jeremy’s Nikes and a pair of men’s work boots on the bottom shelf, most of the shoes were… fuck-me heels, for lack of a better term.
Dregs of society, he’d called them. Prostitutes. He’d killed prostitutes. She ran her gaze over every pair, until she came to the very first pair on the far left of the first shelf.
They were old, worn. Matronly, even. The shoes of his first victim?
Irene Black. The name rushed into her mind and she wondered if the woman had been more than a fake name for a Shadowland account.
The door opened and Pierce sauntered down the stairs, naked again. She put her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes. She had to be mentally ready.
“Too late, Dr. Pierce,” she taunted. “I’m awake and you missed the show.”
“No.” He took the rest of the stairs in a giant step, throwing his trousers on the post and grabbing her hair. “You didn’t scream. They always scream.”
Thank you, Liza. “Maybe I’ve developed a tolerance. Maybe you mixed it wrong.”
“Maybe I should just carve you up anyway,” he sneered. “That scares you. I can tell. Your eyes flicker when you’re afraid.”
He had recharged. He was once again aroused. He straddled her again, hands on her throat. She bucked to try to throw him and he only laughed.
“More, Eve. The more you fight, the more I enjoy it.”
“Do you enjoy it?” she flung back. “You never had sex with any of your victims. Can you even do it?” MSP. He’d fizzled before her eyes. Make him do it again. “Or does that tiny dick of yours disappear before the main event?”
“Are you begging me to rape you, Miss Wilson?” he asked, but she’d seen the flicker in his eyes. She’d rattled him.
“I’m saying you couldn’t if you wanted to.”
His face darkened. “Soon, all you’ll be saying is ‘stop.’ ” He tightened his hands around her neck, cutting off her air. She fought to get him off, but he pressed his knees into her ribs, like a rider controlling a horse. His hands got tighter and his face got closer and his hips began to thrust. She could feel him, hard against her breastbone.
She fought harder, twisting, and heard the faraway sound of his laugh. She could smell him, the musk, the smell of sex. This is what he does. He’s almost there. In a surge of strength she forced a single hoarse syllable from her mouth. “Who?” But all that emerged was a mangled Huh.
He paused, his breath hard and hot and fast against her face. Revulsion roiled through her. The blackness was claiming the edges of her vision once again.
His lips curved in a triumphant smile, even as his muscles quivered, straining toward release. “Help?” he asked, smug now. “Was that a plea I heard?”
He loosened his grip a fraction and began thrusting again, harder, faster. “Beg, Eve, yell for help and I’ll let you breathe.”
She pulled in as much air as she could. “Who… is Irene Black?”
He stopped like a rock, shock flattening his face. “
What?” he asked ominously, but against her his erection had abruptly shriveled and his hands had gone slack.
Yes. “Irene Black.” She took a deep breath. “I said Irene Black. Who is she?”
His face retreated a few inches. She watched him battle for a blank face. “Nobody.”
Eve’s laugh was hoarse and brief. “You’re a lousy liar. Who is she?”
“How did you find that name?”
“Don’t you want to know?”
He struck her, hard. “Tell me.”
“Untie me and I’ll tell you.”
He hit her again, harder. “Tell me or I’ll kill you.”
Eve’s head was spinning. “You’re going to kill me anyway, so go to hell.”
He grabbed her throat and shook her. “Tell me. Who else knows? Did Webster tell you that name?”
The white lights were back, dancing before her eyes. He let go, clutching her hair in one hand and hitting her with the other. She dragged the air in, the room now spinning. There was a greasy roiling in her stomach and she threw up.
All over him.
“Dammit,” he hissed. He leapt off her and delivered one more blow to her head. And the spinning room went dark.
Thursday, February 25, 2:45 p.m.
“Captain, two things,” Faye said when Noah and Abbott were back in his office. “We got a hit on Mrs. Ann Pierce’s plane reservation. She was supposed to leave for Los Angeles this morning and never showed up for her flight.”
“Find out how and when she paid for the ticket,” Abbott said.
“Cash and yesterday evening,” Faye replied. “She bought it at the airport counter. I already asked. Second, Lieutenant Tyndale from Fargo PD is on line one.”
Abbott contacted the Fargo PD to locate John Black as soon as they’d left Pierce’s house. Kane had traced Irene Black’s Wisconsin PO box to a mailbox store in New Germany, a rural town nearly an hour from the Cities. Because Pierce had forwarded Girard’s mail a third time and he was obsessive about order, Kane was trying to determine where the mail was being forwarded from there.
Noah had discovered that PI Hugh Robard disappeared without a trace ten years ago, about the same time the reports ended. And somewhere, Pierce still has Eve.
Every muscle clenched, Noah sat on the edge of Abbott’s desk. Abbott’s eyes were sharp. “You will not engage this witness,” Abbott said. “You aren’t here, understood?”
Abbott had sent him home, but Noah had thrown any pride he had left to the wind and begged to stay. There would be nothing at home to do but pace, and worry. And drink. “I understand,” Noah said. “Please, just hurry.”
Abbott hit the speaker button. “This is Captain Abbott. Who is this?”
“Lieutenant John Tyndale, Fargo PD. I have John Black here with me. I need to tell you up front, John’s a good man. I’ve known him for more than twenty years.”
“We appreciate his help. What can you tell us about the man in the photo we sent?”
“His name is not Carleton Pierce.” It was John Black who spoke. “It’s Edward Black. He’s my younger brother. We haven’t spoken in twenty-seven years, since our mother died.”
“Your mother was Irene Black?” Abbott asked.
“Yes. Ed made it look like she killed herself, but I always knew he did it. He hated her.” Black sighed. “He had good cause. We both did.”
“What was his good cause? And why did you think it was no accident?”
“My mother was a drunk,” Black said baldly, “and a gambler. The only time she was ever sober was when she had cards in her hand. Sometimes she’d take him to games with her. He was small and cute and nobody knew she was using him to cheat.”
“Was there abuse?”
“She never sold us, if that’s what you’re asking, but we were dirt poor. Lived in a filthy, rusted-out trailer. Rats ate at our toes in the night. She traded food stamps for booze, so yeah, I guess you could say she abused us.”
“Did your brother hate all women, or just your mom?”
“I’d say all women. Eddie had a hard time getting dates. He always blamed it on being short, but most of the girls in town were afraid of him. Eddie took a knife to school, threatened a kid with it. Kid was a bully, but Eddie ended up in juvie for a year.”
“You said he made it look like your mother committed suicide? How?”
“I found her hanging from a tree outside, but she never could have managed it.”
“Let me guess,” Abbott said quietly, “whatever she stood on was too short to reach.”
“How did you know?” Black asked suspiciously.
“He’s done the same thing here. Six times. So was there no investigation?”
Black said nothing for a long moment. “I cut her down. Nobody knew it was fishy.”
Abbott waited as Noah’s impatience grew. None of this was helping.
“Why?” Abbott finally asked.
“Because she deserved it,” he said harshly. “She never sold us, but she brought home any man who’d buy her next bottle. Sometimes they’d sneak from her bed in the night. I was big and could fight them, but Eddie was little. As I got older, I’d stay with friends to get away, but Eddie didn’t have many friends. He was stuck. I know some of those guys hurt him. One boyfriend in particular.
“I’d come home sometimes and see Eddie, cowering in the corner like an animal. Once I saw his eyes, and I knew. I should have told. I should have told,” he said again. “But that boyfriend was big and mean and I was barely fourteen myself. So I cleared out, moved in with a friend whose mom didn’t drink. There was food on the table and clean sheets on the bed. In other words, I saved my own hide. When I found her hanging, I cut her down and told the cops what they wanted to hear to make it all go away. I thought I was doing the right thing. I had no idea what he’d become.”
“Why that day?” Abbott asked. “Why do you think he picked that day to hang her?”
There was another silence. “Eddie was almost eighteen, he’d just gotten out of juvie. That day he’d taken a girl from town on a date, played up the bad-boy image. I guess she wanted a thrill. But I guess Eddie couldn’t… perform. I heard she was laughing at him, that she was telling everyone she’d laughed at him while he tried and couldn’t.
“When I heard that, I knew he’d killed our mother. He blamed her. I would have, too. If I’d told the truth, he would have gone to jail as an adult and I knew what would happen to him there. I figured he’d already done his time and maybe I felt guilty for never helping him. I wish I’d told the truth. I wish I’d known.”
Me, too, Noah thought woodenly. I wish you’d told the truth, too.
“What happened to your brother after that?” Abbott asked.
“I picked up, landed here in Fargo, made a life. I never heard from Eddie again.”
“He made a life here, as a psychologist,” Abbott said.
Again, Black went quiet. “So he pulled it off after all. He was supposed to be in juvie till he was eighteen, but he got out early. The school and the local cops fought hard to keep him in, but there was a shrink working with him, said he’d rehabilitated. I guess Eddie had him pretty fooled. I remember going to family court for the hearing. The shrink wore fancy clothes, used big words, and dazzled the judge. He made the cops look like rubes. Eddie told me that’s where the power was. That if you took a cop’s gun, that he was just a bully. I think Eddie’d had his share of bullies in juvie. He said he’d go to college, be one of those smart guys. I told him it would never happen.”
“Why?”
“Because colleges didn’t let in people like him. Poor, with a record. I guess he listened to me more than I thought. I guess he became somebody else.”
None of this was finding Eve. “Hurry up,” Noah mouthed and Abbott glared at him.
“We need to find him,” Abbott said. “He’s abducted at least two more women.”
“I know. Lieutenant Tyndale told me. I want to help you, but I can’t. I don’t know where he�
��d hide. Like I said, I haven’t spoken to him in nearly thirty years.”
“Well, thanks for talking to me,” Abbott said wearily. “And you should watch your back, Mr. Black. He’s got reports on you and your wife and kids. I guess he worried you were the one person who could identify him.”
Noah stared blindly at Abbott’s phone after he’d hung up. “That was useless.”
“Faye’s doing a property search on Irene and we’ve got roadblocks set up on every artery in and out of the Cities.” Abbott’s eyes were kind. “Go get us some coffee, Noah.”
What he really needed was a drink. Just one. Just to even my nerves. He knew it was a lie. Knew one would never be enough. And if they didn’t find her in time…
Noah gave Abbott a shaky nod and walked to the coffee pot in the bullpen, stood there for long minutes as he stared, fighting the urge to smash the glass pot. Smash everything in the damn place, then go hunt for something stronger to wet his lips. To give him courage. Or maybe just to forget how damn scared he was.
In his mind he saw the victims hanging… Pierce had been hanging his mother, each time. And now he has Eve. My Eve. He couldn’t think like a cop anymore. I can’t.
“Noah.” Noah looked up. Brock was coming down the hall, still in uniform. “I came as soon as I heard. Any news?”
“No,” Noah said. “Nothing.”
Brock put his arm around Noah’s shoulders. “I’ll buy you a coffee in the cafeteria.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you.”
“Noah.” Brock’s voice was gently chiding. “Eve’s smart and brave. She’ll hold on.”
He looked straight ahead, seeing nothing. “If I don’t find her? How will I hold on?”
Brock sighed. “Sometimes you have to take one minute at a time.”
As the elevator doors slid open, Noah’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket. His pulse shot up when he saw the caller ID. “Olivia, what is it?”
“I just got off the phone with Abbott.” She hesitated. “He ordered me not to tell you. I hope I’m doing the right thing.”
Noah pursed his lips in desperation. “Goddammit, Olivia, tell me.”
