The River Girls

by Melinda Woodhall

  "She’s upstairs,” Trisha Moore said. “She’s probably checking to make sure Zane's okay."

  “Who’s Zane?” Jankowski barked, looking at the stairs as he pulled his gun out of the holster. “Who else is in the house?”

  “Zane’s my son. He’s only six,” Trisha said, her eyes narrowing as she saw the gun in his hand. "Are you that dirty cop Stacey warned me about? Are you Sig?"

  Jankowski frowned, moving further into the room. He called up the stairs, "Stacey, come on down here. Everything is okay now. We're here to help you."

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The old-fashioned television set had been bolted onto the wooden table in Room D-407 a decade before Hope had been born. But, with the help of a slightly bent antenna, it still managed to display a grainy image, and provided the only light in the motel room.

  Hope huddled on the edge of the bed, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, and watched the local news. The shock of seeing that another girl’s body had been found that morning had faded somewhat, and she watched the coverage with a growing determination not to be the next body pulled out of the river. She would find a way out of this. She just needed time to figure out how.

  Hope focused all her energy on finding a way to escape the little room, and it took her several seconds to realize she was staring at her own face on the small, fuzzy screen. Although Vinny had turned down the sound, she could see from the headline that an Amber Alert had been issued.

  The alert showed a school picture taken earlier that year, and listed her name, age, and the warning that she had been abducted by two men in an older model silver sedan. Hope’s heart jumped, and she glanced over to where Hollywood sat slumped in the chair. He was motionless. Still out of it.

  She then looked over at Vinny, who was sitting very still on the chair across from Hollywood. He was watching her, and as she caught his eye, he smiled. Hope wasn’t sure she liked the smile. Something was off about it.

  But he didn’t appear to have seen the screen, so that was good. It was much safer for her if he didn’t know an Amber Alert had been issued, and that everyone in the state would be looking for his silver sedan. If she just waited, surely someone would see the car in the parking lot and call the police.

  Vinny kept his eyes on her as if transfixed, and Hope recoiled from the expression on his face. He looked like a feral wolf watching a deer lost in the woods. The skin on her neck felt tight and tingly, and an impulse to run and hide grew as she saw Vinny stand and walk over to Hollywood.

  “Hey, Hollywood? You awake, man?” Vinny asked in a soft voice. “You feeling okay?”

  Hollywood didn’t react. If his chest hadn’t been moving up and down, Hope would have believed he’d taken a fatal overdose. But no such luck. He had just passed out, and she was sure he’d regain consciousness soon.

  Vinny turned toward her and walked the few steps to the edge of the bed. He was close enough now for her to smell the faint odor of sweat and soap that surrounded him. She felt the urge to gag as he reached out a hand and wrapped a finger around a lock of her hair. He caressed the hair before letting it fall back across her shoulder.

  “You’re a pretty girl,” Vinny said, his voice low and husky. “The prettiest I’ve seen in a long time.”

  “Oh, thanks,” Hope replied, turning her head away to hide her distaste, worried that perhaps her plan to get him to help her had backfired.

  Maybe he thinks I like him. Maybe he’s going to try something.

  “I want to help you.” Vinny’s fingers encircled Hope’s arm and began pulling her toward him. “You don’t belong here. And you certainly don’t belong where these guys are going to send you.”

  “Where are they going to send me?”

  “Somewhere worse than hell for a girl like you,” Vinny spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, as if talking to himself. “A nice girl like you would be ruined.”

  Hope tried to resist Vinny’s grip, but his hand tightened, and she felt herself slide off the bed, her feet landing only inches from his. She still wore the light-weight sandals she’d been wearing at home, and she suddenly wished she had on her thick-soled running shoes.

  If she was going to get away from this place, and all the predators that lurked within, she’d need to be fast and tough. Taking a deep breath, Hope turned her face up to Vinny and tried to look him in the eyes. But the glow from the television reflected off his glasses, and she could see only a blur of lights and shadows. She summoned all her strength and produced a small smile.

  “You won’t let them take me there, will you?” Hope asked, her voice steady in spite of the trembling that had begun inside her.

  “No, I won’t let them have you,” Vinny agreed, and his head dropped toward her, his hot, sour breath only inches away. “I’ll save you, I promise.”

  Without thinking of the possible consequences, Hope jerked her knee up hard, connecting with Vinny’s crotch in a sickening thud. She didn’t wait to see what he would do, but instead ran to the door and pulled. She screamed out in frustration. Still locked.

  Shaking now with adrenaline and fear, Hope turned to see Vinny writhing on the floor, his face a mask of pain and rage. She wondered if she could risk getting close enough to see if he had the key to the room on him, but then decided not to take the chance.

  She hurried back to the bathroom and closed the door. Once again, she looked around the windowless room in despair.

  What am I going to do now? Now Vinny will never help me.

  As if Vinny had read her thoughts from the other side of the door, he called out to her in a strained voice. “Why’d you have to do that? I just want to help you.”

  Hope didn’t respond. She tried to listen for sounds from the other room, but for several minutes there was only silence. Then she jumped as Vinny’s fist or foot connected with the door. Hope backed away, wondering if the thin door would withstand a kick, or worse yet, a blast from Hollywood’s little gun.

  “Please, Hope, you don’t know what they’re going to do to you. I just want to help,” Vinny pleaded. “If you don’t want me to kiss you, then I won’t. I thought maybe that’s what you wanted. I’m sorry. Please open up before it’s too late.”

  Hope looked around in frustration. If she waited here any longer, the other men would show up and possibly take her to somewhere even worse than the shabby motel room. And who knows what they’d do to her then. She had acted friendly to Vinny, so maybe it was her fault he’d tried to get close to her. Maybe he was sorry, and really would help her get away. What other choice did she have?

  Hope turned on the faucet in the rusty sink and splashed water into her dry mouth. Her throat tightened, and she could barely swallow. As she faced the door, she knew she had no choice but to open it and face the man waiting outside.

  Her hand shook as she grasped the barrel on the lock and inched it back. She twisted the knob and opened the door, half expecting Vinny to jump at her. But she was still taken off guard when he grabbed her and twisted her around so that her back was against his chest. Before she could utter a scream, he had looped a belt over her head and tightened it around her throat.

  Panic set in as Hope felt her breath leave her body in a sudden whoosh of air. The pressure on her neck was unbearable, and her chest was jerking with the need for air. She reached up to grab Vinny’s arms, desperate to make him release his excruciating grip, when the doorknob rattled, and a deep voice sounded from the corridor.

  “Open up, Hollywood!”

  “Oh, shit, it’s Sig,” Vinny gasped, and the pressure fell away from Hope’s neck as he removed the belt and hurried toward the door. Before he could retrieve the key from his pocket, Hope drew in a deep, ragged breath and issued an ear-piercing scream. She turned back towards the bathroom, but her legs wobbled and then collapsed beneath her.

  Vinny ran to kneel beside her, pulling her hands behind her back and strapping them together with the still-looped belt. He looked around frantically, then grabbed a pi
llow from the bed and striped off the thin pillow case, tying it tightly around Hope’s jaw as a makeshift gag.

  Hope strained to pull her arms free. The room seemed to vibrate with each bang on the thin door, and she watched in dismay as Hollywood sat up in dazed confusion, looking around for the source of the commotion. Her chance to escape was gone. Tears trickled down Hope’s face and onto the cheap pillow case as Vinny unlocked the door and flung it open,

  “What the hell is going on in here?’ Sig demanded, removing his glasses, and giving Hope a view of rage-filled eyes surrounded by deep wrinkles.

  “We’ve got you a new girl, Sig,” Hollywood said in a groggy voice and looked around. His eyes widened at the sight of Hope tied and gagged on the floor, but he didn’t say anything, just looked back at Sig as if waiting to gauge his reaction.

  “Yeah, I know that. I came by here before and saw this new girl you got. But at that time, I didn’t know who she was.” Sig’s voice was rough, perhaps from the yelling, or maybe from the decades of unfiltered cigarettes.

  “She’s Eden Winthrop’s niece,” Hollywood said, sounding proud. “That’ll show that bitch to mess around in my business.”

  “Oh, I know who she is now, you idiot,” Sig growled. “The whole fucking state knows who she is now. Just look at the damn TV and you can see exactly who she is, and who took her.”

  Hope turned her eyes back to the television screen and saw that the news was rerunning the report on the Amber Alert.

  “Oh, shit.” Hollywood murmured, his eyes wide.

  Hope saw Vinny shrink back against the wall, as if hoping the mad old man would forget he was in the room.

  “Oh, shit is right,” Sig agreed, lowering his voice, and stepping further into the room. “You two have made a big mistake, and you’re gonna have to take care of it…now.”

  “What do you mean?” Hollywood asked, looking over at Vinny for the first time. “What do you want us to do?”

  “I want you to get rid of the problem,” Sig said, his eyes hard. He looked over at Hope on the floor, and she recoiled at the look of pure hatred on his face. “She’s seen all of our faces.”

  Hollywood frowned and tilted his head as if trying to understand. “So, you’re telling us to…”

  “I’m telling you to get rid of her,” Sig spat out. “She’s a witness that could take us all down.”

  Sig’s phone began to buzz, and he looked down, then jabbed at the screen to reject the call. Sweat stood on his forehead, and Hope could see the vein in his temple throbbing from all the way across the room.

  “I’ve gotta take care of something. Make sure she’s gone before I get back.”

  “But, Sig, man, you can’t mean you want us to…to…kill her?” Hollywood’s voice was no longer groggy as he stared straight at the old man. Hope felt the room spin around her.

  “That’s exactly what I mean.” Sig nodded toward Vinny standing against the wall. “But if you don’t have the balls, I’m sure your boy over there can help you.”

  Vinny looked down at the floor, his hands clenching into fists at his side, and the old man looked as if he were going to say more, but then he shoved his glasses back on and turned to leave.

  “Just do it,” Sig barked, and slammed the door behind him.

  The words sent a wave of terror through Hope; she renewed the futile struggle to free her hands.

  This is just a dream, she told herself. I’ll wake up any minute and it will all be over.

  But she knew in her heart the situation was unspeakably, horribly real. She had lost her mother on a similarly nightmarish day; she had thought then that the day would be the worst day of her life. Now she was finding out she’d been wrong.

  Her mother’s face flashed through her mind, and she suddenly remembered how young and beautiful her mother had been, and how fragile. But that fatal day, as Hope had watched from her hiding place, her mother’s anguished face had been bruised and bleeding, the face of a stranger. And with the blast of a single gunshot, her mother was gone.

  Hope forced herself back into the present, not allowing herself to think about what had happened next. She’d managed to stay alive then, and that was all that mattered. Now she had to stay strong and alert. She might still get one last chance to escape, and if so, she may be able to cheat death a second time.

  Chapter Forty

  Fatigue clung to Nessa like a sodden blanket, making her arms and legs unbearably heavy as she climbed back into her car. She’d stayed at Eden Winthrop’s house until the crime scene technicians had called it a night.

  The continuous rain had made it difficult to properly search the area outside the house and along the road where the abductors had likely parked, but Alma Garcia had been adamant that they complete the job before the rain and the elements destroyed any evidence left behind.

  Alma’s diligence had paid off when they’d found tire tread imprints in the mud under a towering oak tree across the street. A huge branch hung over the curb, protecting the print enough to allow Alma’s team to make a cast of the tread using dental stone. Nessa knew the cast of the tire tread might prove to be key evidence if they ever located the silver car, but she was becoming more and more discouraged as the hours passed.

  Hope had been gone for more than six hours now. That was more than enough time for motivated and efficient serial killers to satisfy their sick desires and then dispose of the victim’s body in the nearest river.

  Glancing at her watch, Nessa wondered if she could make it home before the kids fell asleep. They’d likely be getting ready for bed. Maybe brushing their teeth and whining to Jerry that they wanted to stay up late since it was Saturday. She could almost smell the baby shampoo they both still used. Even though they were now much too old for baby products, she loved the familiar scent and wasn’t ready to give it up just yet.

  Maybe I can get home in time to tuck them in, and then take a nice, long, hot shower, she mused, knowing it was an impossible dream, but relishing the idea just the same. Maybe Jerry would be willing to give me a little backrub, along with a little something else.

  The sound of her phone ringing interrupted her wishful thinking. She needed to get back to the station and find out what the other detectives had discovered. Looking down at her phone, she saw a number that was rapidly becoming familiar. She swiped to answer and tapped on the speaker icon.

  “Hello, Jankowski,” she said, just as a huge yawn washed over her. “I’m just heading toward the station now. You got an update?”

  “I guess you could say that,” Jankowski replied, sounding wired. “I can update you on the dead body I found and the killer I caught.”

  Nessa blinked and looked at the phone, trying to decide if he was messing with her or being serious.

  “Okay, update me then,” she said, deciding even Jankowski wouldn’t play pranks on a day like this.

  “Well, I did as you asked and called Reinhardt, but he never showed. I ended up taking Dave Eddings along for the ride. When we got to Trisha Moore’s house we immediately heard a gunshot from inside. We circled around and saw that a man had been shot in the head. Another man was holding Stacey at gunpoint.”

  “You’re making this up,” Nessa said, shaking her head. “Tell me this is a sick joke.”

  “Nope, it’s as real as all this rain,” Jankowski shot back, and Nessa felt a ripple of irritation at the jovial tone in his voice.

  What exactly was so funny about a man dying?

  “Anyway, Trisha Moore also pulled out a gun and the big guy that was holding Stacey tried to leave, but I managed to disarm him.” Jankowski gave a satisfied laugh. “He’s in the county jail as we speak.”

  “And the Moore family? Are they all okay?”

  “Yep, they’re fine. A little shaken, of course, but not physically harmed.” Jankowski sobered at the words. “The little boy, Stacey’s brother, he was a real trooper. A real cute kid.”

  “What about the victim?” Nessa asked. “Who got shot? Who’s
the dead guy?”

  “You’re not going to believe this,” Jankowski stalled.

  “Try me.” Nessa’s patience was running low.

  “It was Buddy Jones. He’d been hanging around again. I guess Trisha Moore thought he’d been rehabilitated while in prison. Although the bruises on her arms make me think she was mistaken.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” Nessa exhaled a disgusted breath. “Why are some women so darn gullible when it comes to this kind of lowlife?”

  “Yeah, I kinda wondered what she was smoking that would make her let that scumbag back in the house. And with her kids there, too.”

  “I guess we’ll have to ask her when we take her statement,” Nessa said. “Maybe it’s more complicated than we think.”

  “Yeah, sure. It always is.” Jankowski’s voice had reverted to a cheerful tone. “But look on the bright side. At least we got a killer off the streets of Willow Bay today.”

  “Does this killer have a name?” Nessa asked.

  “According to his ID, his name is Richard Serrano and he lives in Miami.”

  “What’s a killer from Miami doing in Willow Bay?” Nessa didn’t like the idea of hardened criminals coming to their small town. They weren’t equipped to deal with the type of organized crime and gang violence that bigger cities had to face.

  "Stacey recognized the dead man,” Jankowski said. “She says he’s one of the men that held her at the Old Canal Motel.”

  “That old motel? I didn’t even know it was still open.” Nessa tried to make sense of what she was hearing. “She’s saying she was kidnapped and held there against her will?”

  “Well, she went willingly at first, I think, but then they wouldn’t let her leave. It’s the classic con of these kind of traffickers. Make a vulnerable young girl think she’s your girlfriend. Get her hooked on drugs. Then persuade her to support her new habit by selling herself.”

  “Yeah, that sounds about right. Sick bastards.” Nessa heard a beep on the line. She looked down at the display but didn’t recognize the number of the incoming call.