by Debra Webb
Milledgeville’s coroner had taken the body. Again, Macon PD had been only too happy to pass off the drain on tax dollars. Tony had been ready to go at that point. He hoped the chief would fill him in on anything he missed. Phelps, however, had other ideas on where this conversation was going.
“Walk me through one more time how you ended up at Conway’s door,” the chief said as he leaned back in his chair. “I’m having trouble wrapping my head around your story.”
Tony was well aware of the routine. Phelps wasn’t entirely sure Tony was telling the truth so he asked the same questions repeatedly in hopes of garnering a different answer.
“A club, Wild Things in Macon, was one of the last places my niece, Tiffany, was seen by any of her friends. The manager said that this Conway guy had been talking to her. Riley Fallon saw him in Tiffany’s Jeep with her just days before she disappeared. The first time I visited Mr. Conway’s apartment—yesterday—he wasn’t home. I decided to try again today. I knocked on the door and it swung open. I asked my girlfriend to wait in the car and I went inside to have a look.”
“You know, Mr. LeDoux,” Phelps said, his tone sounding somewhere between annoyed and resigned, “that would all be fine and good if you were an officer of the law. We could have justified your actions by pointing out some vague notion of exigent circumstances. But you are not an officer of the law. You are no longer a special agent for the FBI. You are a civilian. A civilian who trespassed on a murder scene. A civilian—” he pointed at Tony “—who has a potential motive for wanting Mr. Conway dead. This does not bode well, Mr. LeDoux. Not well at all.”
Tony hated the way he repeated Mr. LeDoux. “Agreed. But I’m human, Chief. What would you do if one of your daughters was missing? If you were lucky enough to find a guy who may have been the last person to see her, wouldn’t you do whatever necessary to speak with him?”
Phelps heaved a big breath. “Get out of my office, LeDoux. If I find you at another of my scenes, I will arrest you. Go take care of your sister and her husband and let us do what we need to do here.”
“Any update from the coroner’s office?”
Phelps glared at him, but he answered the question. “Murder weapon was definitely a broad blade knife—an old-fashioned butcher knife. They found the knife, by the way, in the second of the two Dumpsters belonging to the complex. It was in the one behind the apartment building. We think the killer parked there and came around the building. Nobody saw anyone and the building has no video surveillance.” He shook his head. “Anyway, the stab wound to the chest missed the heart. Too bad for the vic, it punctured a lung. But it was the second thrust of the knife that killed him. The blade went in just shy of the center and sliced right through the aorta. It was like our perp knew this and twisted the knife to open things up even more. Doc says he bled out in a minute or two.”
“Did the unsub leave any evidence behind?” No matter that Tony was leaning toward believing Joanna, he didn’t completely trust his instincts right now.
Phelps shook his head. “Not that they’ve found so far. She—and we’re assuming it was a she—was extremely careful. Your friends from the Bureau took the computer hard drives. They’re assuming some sort of internet crime considering the setup in the apartment. We found half a dozen hidden cameras in that bedroom.”
Tony expected that the Bureau would take exactly that action. He stood. “I appreciate the update.”
Phelps bobbed his chin. “Stay out of the way, LeDoux, and we’ll continue to be friends.”
Tony thanked him and headed for the lobby. Joanna still looked just as pissed as she had twenty minutes ago. “We can go now.”
She pushed to her feet. “Anything from the coroner?”
Tony shook his head. “Nothing we didn’t already know.”
She followed him outside and to the car. “Where to now?”
“We’re going to work.” He looked over the top of the BMW at her. “Before this night is done, I’m going to know everything about you, Miss Guthrie.”
“What about Martin?”
“Tomorrow. And after we find her and rattle that cage, we’re going to visit this Professor Blume you mentioned.”
“You found him?”
When they’d settled in the car he said, “I did. He’s retired now but he still lives in Milledgeville. Until recently he was still involved in a project at the old Central State Hospital.”
Joanna didn’t ask anything else. Instead, she stared straight ahead.
Before he did anything else, he had to talk to Angie. She would be walking the floors and cursing him.
“When we’re done for the day,” Joanna announced, “I’m heading back to my place.”
Oh yeah. She was not happy with him. Well, her displeasure was about to get worse.
“I think it’s best if you stay close to me for now.”
She scoffed. “I’ll bet you do. Not happening, LeDoux.”
Oh, it was happening all right. Somehow this woman was connected to whoever had taken Tiffany and he damned sure intended to find out how before he allowed her out of his sight again.
18
“I don’t want to die.”
Tiffany pulled the younger girl into her arms. “We’re not going to die.”
They had been in this hellhole for days, at least four, maybe five. Why wasn’t anyone coming to find them? Surely her mom and dad knew by now that she was missing. Tiffany bit back the tears. She should have been smarter and she wouldn’t be in this mess.
Her mom would be so hurt. Tiffany should have called her back, but she had been so angry with her. Her mom just didn’t get that she was an adult now. She needed to make her own decisions and plan her own life.
And just look where that got you...
Tiffany steadied herself. She had to be strong. Vickie needed her. The girl in her arms shook with her sobs. The other girl—Lexy—sulked in the corner on the opposite side of the room. Lexy had beaten Vickie badly today. Her arm might be broken. There were a lot of bruises and some swelling. Tomorrow if she couldn’t perform...
Not going there.
They would get through this. Whatever that bastard wanted, they would do it until they figured out a way to escape. Then she could make it up to her mom for being such a bitch.
The box-style cage was about the same size as their dorm rooms. The room was white and totally empty. Well except for the three naked, bruised and battered women seated on the floor. Blood was smeared on the walls from where they’d leaned against them and steadied themselves when they felt too tired to keep their balance. There was puke on the floor, some urine, too. They tried to make it to the hole in the floor they’d been instructed to use but it wasn’t always possible.
Tiffany closed her eyes. The light was so bright. It burned her eyes. At first the box had been totally black and so damned cold. She was certain they would freeze to death, but then suddenly everything turned white and the lights came on so bright. And it felt like the temperature was rising.
She was so hungry. He’d cut their food down to next to nothing. At least he still left water. Would he cut that down next?
She was so tired but sleep wouldn’t come. No matter how tightly she closed her eyes she could still see the bright light. It was like looking into the sun. She squinted her eyes open enough to check the other girl. She’d won today’s battle—thank God there had been only one—but Lexy hadn’t gotten off so light. Her face was bloody. Scratches on her body showed Vickie’s desperation. She’d fought hard. Vickie shuddered in Tiffany’s arms as if she’d said the words out loud.
Tiffany ached from the battle she’d fought and won against Lexy yesterday.
How much longer could they keep this up? Weakness was already clawing its way into her bones. Vickie was losing her mental fortitude as well as her physical strength. Tiffany wasn’t so sure about the o
ther girl. Lexy, her name was Lexy. Lexy stared at Tiffany as if she’d read her mind. Was she talking instead of thinking? Maybe she was the one losing her mind.
“They’re going to make us kill each other,” she said.
Lexy could very well be right. Tiffany worried that was the ultimate goal. She couldn’t be sure but the place where they were forced to fight appeared to have cameras. Were they videotaping this insanity and selling it on the internet? What kind of sick fuck did this?
Probably a serial killer.
Uncle Tony and his FBI friends would find them. He was the best.
“I’m not killing anybody.” Tiffany had made that decision yesterday. No matter what happened, she wasn’t killing another human being.
Lexy said, “How did you end up here?”
The girl who’d refused to say more than a word here or there since they were thrown into this place was suddenly all questions. Tiffany was glad. Talking distracted her from the hunger gnawing at her belly.
“I went to this club to meet a friend.” Tiffany frowned. “Someone put something in my drink, I think.”
“I got picked up in an alley.” Lexy straightened her battered legs. “It was the middle of the night. I was taking a nap when I heard a noise. I got up and someone grabbed me from behind. Put something over my mouth and nose and that was it. I went nighty night.”
Now that there were lights Tiffany could see what the other girls looked like. Lexy had the biggest boobs of any of them. And dozens of tattoos. Tiffany tried not to form an opinion based on all that ink but she couldn’t help it. She had Lexy figured for a druggie, maybe a prostitute. Not fair, Tif.
“Your friend needs to toughen up if she wants to survive this.”
Lexy was right about Vickie, too. Tiffany didn’t really know Vickie. They were both freshmen at Georgia College but they had no classes together. Tiffany had seen her around. At the club that last time, too.
Vickie’s steady breathing told Tiffany she was asleep. She asked the other girl, “What makes you think any of us will survive?”
Would they make it out of here?
So far they had food and water. Not much but enough to survive.
Lexy didn’t have an answer for the question.
Tiffany didn’t either.
Please, God, don’t let us die here.
She thought of her mom and dad and determination welled inside her. Hell no, they weren’t going to die. They would get through this. Whatever the bastard who’d taken them wanted, they would do it until they figured out a way to escape.
Come on, Uncle Tony, find us!
Tiffany had no idea who had taken them. She’d gone to the bar but she’d had to leave early. She felt sick. By the time she got to her Jeep she couldn’t keep her eyes open. The last thing she remembered was her vision fading to nothing.
A human trafficker had probably taken them. They were young. Those sick pieces of shit liked to find young women. Her uncle had warned her to be careful for that very reason.
Or maybe it was a serial killer.
Uncle Tony knew all about serial killers, too. He would find them.
19
Antebellum Inn
9:00 p.m.
Jo paced the sidewalk along McIntosh Street. She hadn’t smoked a cigarette in ten years. There was no way to describe how badly she’d needed one or how good it felt to draw the smoke into her lungs right now.
She’d coughed and choked a couple of times on the first one, but the second one was going far more smoothly.
LeDoux sat on the back steps of the inn watching her. He was determined to keep an eye on her. She wanted to leave and he was having no part of it. It wasn’t that she had some luxurious hotel room of her own. She didn’t. Her Celica had been her room on wheels until she’d ended up here with him. This was what she’d wanted—wasn’t it? To hook up with someone involved in the investigation, determine if she could trust that someone, and then spill her guts.
And she’d hit pay dirt. Not only had she latched onto a federal agent—okay, a former one—but also he was the uncle of one of the victims. He had the cop smarts and the emotional involvement. Was that not everything she could have hoped for and more? If she was completely honest with herself, she would admit that at some point over the past twelve or so hours she had decided she could trust him. It was all good, right? Serendipity or whatever?
Yet they were getting nowhere.
And LeDoux grew more suspicious of her by the hour. She might have spent the past eighteen years avoiding other humans but she could still read them pretty damned well.
The only good thing that had happened was Conway getting his. She paused, closed her eyes and drew deeply on the cigarette. She smiled as she released the smoke. Oh yes. The bastard had gotten his. Bled out like a stuck pig. Whoever killed him—still felt like LeDoux thought it was her—she had done it right. In the chest, probably got the heart or close anyway. And the gut. Oh yeah, he’d felt that one before he sucked in his last breath.
The problem was, with him dead she couldn’t exactly interrogate him the way she’d planned. Jo had imagined all sorts of ways to torture him to extract the information she needed. Now that wouldn’t happen.
Maybe Madelyn had killed him. She may have figured out who Jo was, the same as Jo had recognized her. Was she tying up loose ends for the man in charge? Maybe the blonde who’d dyed her hair red eighteen years ago was the man in charge.
Jo stopped her pacing for a minute. Chain-smoking those two cigarettes had given her a buzz. Damn. She stared up at the moon through the massive trees shading the street. When she’d reached college she had never smoked a cigarette in her life. Cancer sticks were for idiots. That had been her opinion. But the minute she was released from the hospital all those years ago, she had made her brother stop at a convenience store and buy her cigarettes. He’d argued, but he’d felt so sorry for her he hadn’t been able to refuse her request.
She’d smoked for almost eight years. Smoked, drank and tried about a dozen other ways to erase the memories from her brain. None of it had worked.
Not one fucking thing she tried. So many times she’d wished she had died in that damned box. She and Ellen would both have been better off. Ellen would never have had kids and a husband to leave so devastated. All the others, too. Half the ones who’d survived had committed suicide within five years of being found.
Jo had only considered checking out two or three hundred times.
Finally, one day she’d decided the whole broken and grieving process was too fucking complicated and time consuming. She’d made up her mind to put the past behind her and never look back. Maybe she could have succeeded if Ellen had killed herself back then. But that didn’t happen. Ellen had continued to intrude into her life whenever she found herself too close to the edge. She would cry and whine and plead and Jo would listen, occasionally make a sympathetic comment and feel a little guiltier about what happened.
Now Ellen was dead and Jo was back in this damned place.
The definition of insanity, of stupidity or maybe both.
Jo threw the cigarette butt into the drain and shoved the lighter and pack into her back pocket. Reclaiming a bad habit wasn’t going to get her through this. Neither was all the alcohol she wanted so desperately to consume right now.
Conway was out of the way but Houser—Martin, she called herself now—was still out there. Obviously their partnership or whatever the hell it was had still been operational. Was Houser the one who ran the show or did she report to whoever orchestrated whatever the hell this was?
Apparently, they had changed their MO or extended their hunting ground out of the Southeast. There had to be a reason why no similar abductions occurred for all those years before Tiffany and Vickie were taken. And by God, Jo had searched for them. Not a single day passed without her scanning news feeds and othe
r sites a good reporter learned to search. She hadn’t found even one set of abductions that matched the MO of the ones like hers in the past thirteen years—until she came back to Milledgeville two days ago.
What had suddenly changed? For one reason or another, he or she or them had gone back into business. If they had merely changed their MO so completely during the past thirteen years that she couldn’t spot it in her searching, why the sudden about-face?
The concept was unreasonable, illogical.
LeDoux was on his phone now. She couldn’t hear enough of what he was saying to gauge who might be on the other end.
She’d answered all his questions. She’d told him everything—well, almost everything. She hadn’t told him the one thing she had promised Ellen she would never tell anyone. And she hadn’t gone into the explicit details on any of it. Only the basics. They had discussed various motives for the abductions. Potential perpetrators—unsubs or unknown subjects, he called them.
They both agreed the motive was likely one of two things: behavioral trials of some sort that involved drugs—though she couldn’t say for sure they had been drugged other than for purposes of sleep—or maybe for sick gladiator-type games involving nudity and violence for the purposes of selling on the deep web.
She’d read plenty of articles about the bizarre things people did for money. The internet was loaded with people who wanted to watch violent sex, violence period. There were even people who would pay another person to do bad things to them. Seriously bad things. There were those who bought body parts to eat. Others who sold body parts on the black market.
The world was a sick, sick place with some seriously demented people hidden behind their masks of normalcy.
Like Miles Conway.
“Bastard.”
She turned to the man still watching her. With only a couple of streetlamps and the ambient lighting around the inn she couldn’t really tell what was on his mind but she felt confident there was about to be a battle. He was a former FBI agent—a big-time profiler. LeDoux would be accustomed to doing things his way.
