Ideal Image: Snapshot, #2

by Freya Barker

  “What do you know?” he asks, getting out of his patrol car and walking up the steps, a folder in his hands.

  “Nothing,” Ben growls. “Girl is near catatonic.”

  “Pops will get her to talk,” I suggest, feeling an almost childlike faith in my father’s abilities. Or maybe I’m just that desperate.

  “I was just fucking here yesterday,” Drew says. “The kid did good, picking the guy’s mug shot out of a lineup. Name is Kevin Borland. I contacted his PO earlier today and he confirmed that Borland hasn’t missed an appointment yet. Including one he had on Tuesday. So before we jump to any fucking conclusions, we need more information.”

  “They’ve been fucking gone for hours,” I protest, just as Ben pipes up.

  “That’s my sister out there,” he bites off. “And my goddamn niece.”

  Drew holds up a hand when Ben takes a step toward him.

  “Exactly the reason why we can’t fucking go off half-cocked and miss something important, you jackassess.” Drew slaps the file he’s holding on his leg a few times. “I brought a file on Borland. A bit more background info, a few more pictures. I’m hoping it’ll help. And just so you know, I’m not fucking twiddling my thumbs here, I’ve got one unit finishing up a deadly crash investigation, just south of Cortez, and then they’ll come straight here. Two other patrol units are on standby, awaiting further notice.”

  “I’ve got Gus and Neil on the way,” Ben offers, and Drew nods his head. I’m sure this doesn’t come as a surprise to him. From what I remember, GFI Investigations worked closely together with the Montezuma Sheriff’s Office on more than one occasion. The last time was when Ben, and his then fiancée, were dealing with a stalker who turned violent.

  “Makes sense if we set up shop here, if that’s okay with you?” Drew asks me, and I just glare. “Right,” he continues. “Now, how about we see how your dad is faring with the little one?”

  Pops looks up and winks when he sees me come in, leading the way. Becca is still on his lap, but sitting up straight, the mug of hot chocolate clamped in her hands, and her eyes peeking apprehensively over the rim.

  “Hey, sweetie,” I start, drawing her attention from the men behind me as I sit down on the coffee table in front of her. “You getting warm?” I reach out and brush a red curl from her forehead. At least the kid has some color back in her face.

  I’m rewarded with a barely perceptible nod. Small, but I’ll take it.

  “You remember the sheriff, right?” Another little nod as her eyes drift over my shoulder to the man in question. “And Mak’s Uncle Ben?”

  I realize my mistake when her eyes pool with tears on hearing her friend’s name.

  “Take a deep breath, little one,” Pops mumbles in her ear, while his eyes plead for caution over her head. I nod my understanding.

  “We’re going to try and find them, Becca. All of us. The sheriff has deputies who are ready to help, and Uncle Ben has really good friends who helped him before. They’re going to be here soon, too. A lot of people want to help, but we need your help first.”

  Becca looks at me wide-eyed as she slowly lowers the mug, tilting it precariously in the process.

  “Here, let me hold on to that for you,” Pops intervenes, taking the mug from her hands, but his movements still when she suddenly speaks.

  “We thought it was the church people. The white van. It looked like a church van, but it wasn’t.” I can see the fear return to her eyes as she remembers, and I quickly grab her little hands to anchor her. It seems to work, because she takes in a deep breath before she continues. “He was wearing a ball cap but I know it was him. I saw through the window. I tried to grab Mak’s hand, but she was already crossing the road, so I hid in the ditch.” Her last words end in a sob, and I act on instinct, reaching out and pulling her onto my own lap, where her arms curl their way around my neck once again. “H-he took them. He h-hurt Stacie and then...h-he grabbed Mak and put both of them in the van. I’m sorry,” she mutters, as I stifle a sob of my own.

  “You were smart,” I tell her, stroking her hair as I fight to hold onto my composure. “You did the right thing, sweetheart. We wouldn’t know where to start looking if you hadn’t hid, so you could tell us.”

  “He’s right, you know?” Drew says, sitting down beside me on the coffee table and bending his head so he can look her in the eye. “Thank you. You helped me once before, and now you’re helping again—telling us about the white van. Did you happen to see if there were windows all along the side of the van?” he probes.

  Part of me wants to shield her, but I’m well aware she’s the best shot we’ve got. I hear the door open behind me, and the sound of lowered voices, but I keep my focus on the girl, who’s shaking her head.

  “No windows on the back, just on the front.”

  “Panel van,” Pops mumbles, before he struggles to his feet and adds, “I’m gonna get some coffee going.”

  “That’s really good,” Drew confirms. “Now, did you notice any writing on the side? Any words?” Becca sits up a little straighter and lets go of my neck, nodding her head at the sheriff.

  “Two,” she says, holding up her fingers to illustrate. “Carpet and another C-word, but I couldn’t see the rest that well.”

  “Cleaning?”

  This time I turn my head to see Neil James, the youngest GFI member, saunter into the room. His big disarming smile is directed at Becca, who startles, and I tighten my grip on her. But the pretty boy looks and the bright smile work as well on her, as I’m sure it does on the slightly older female population.

  “I think that’s what it said,” she says.

  “Good,” Neil says, sitting down on the couch across from us, opening a laptop, and perching it on his knees. “Let’s see if we can find it. Wanna help?” he asks. Before I know it, she’s sliding off my lap and taking a seat next to the smugly smiling investigator.

  “Always with the damn charm,” Ben grumbles behind me.

  Leaving Becca in the apparently very capable hands of the younger man, I follow the scent of coffee into the kitchen. Drew close behind me.

  Pops is pulling the first steaming mug out of the Keurig and hands it off to the sheriff, who plops his file on the counter as he doctors his coffee with the sugar and cream Pops has put out. I pull the file toward me, and start flipping through it, while waiting for the next cup, when my breath catches in my throat.

  Between a bunch of sheets of paper are a few photographs, and although the face staring back at me in the first few is somewhat familiar, it’s not until I flip over the last one, obviously dated much further back, that I connect the dots.

  The reality of what is staring back at me is almost too much to stomach.

  STACIE

  “I was going to dump you in the fucking river first,” he says, a smile on his face as he empties a bottle of alcohol around the kitchen island, immediately reaching for another. “But that seemed too fast, too easy. I spent eight fucking years forced to stare at the walls, knowing that my life was over. Only fair I give you a little taste of what that feels like.”

  He’d walked into the kitchen as if he belonged there, all but ignoring the fact I was no longer on the kitchen floor where he left me. The two brown bags he carried were set on the counter before he even scanned the room; easily finding me huddled against Mak under the table. Almost casually, he mentioned how he had to drive to Cortez to hit up a few stores for the supplies he needed. He matter-of-factly explained buying too many bottles in one place, would make people remember, and he didn’t want to be remembered.

  He’d been as cool as a cucumber, until now, with some of his seething anger rising to the surface.

  “Your life isn’t over,” I point out, pressing closer to Mak, who is now shivering uncontrollably and watching him empty the second bottle along the floor to the living room.

  “No?” he sneers, turning furious eyes on me. “You fucking know it is. You ended it just as surely as I’m ending yours.”
>
  “Shhh,” I soothe Mak, who starts whimpering at his words. I manage to scoot up a little against the table base, so she can press her face against my shoulder. I continue to mumble softly in her hair, hoping the nonsense I spout is drowning out the insane vitriol he’s unleashing.

  “But first I’m going to have some fun with you. I’ll have to pull a fucking bag over that ugly mug of yours first. Maybe I’ll do your fucking spawn instead,” he spits, a lecherous grin on his face that has the blood freeze in my veins. “Pretty little thing. I’ll have my way with her just like they did with me, the first time I turned my back in the showers.” He grabs a third bottle from the counter and splashes the alcohol liberally around and on top of the dining room table. “I’m fucking taking back everything you took from me, you evil cunt!”

  Mak stiffens against me at the violently hissed profanity, and powerless to do anything else, I start softly singing old nursery rhymes in an attempt to comfort her, all the while frantically going over my options. I’d die first before I’d let him put his sick hands on my baby.

  Surely they’re looking for us. Henry would’ve come looking and Nick should be home by now. I have to trust they’ll be looking. And Ben...my God, he’s been through so much.

  So much time has passed though; they may not realize we’re still here right under their nose.

  “And don’t bother trying to undo those,” Kevin taunts, dragging me from my thoughts as he apparently catches my continuous attempts to loosen the binds around my wrists and ankles. “Another thing I learned in the slammer. Damp tea towels are much harder to undo than rope and the more you try, the tighter they get.” He cackles wildly before adding, “The added benefit is that they burn up easy.”

  I’m not an idiot. I’d figured he was preparing to set a fire. I fight hard to keep the absolute terror from my face at the thought of, once again, feeling the intense heat eating at my flesh—at my daughter, God forbid. I’m sure he picked a fire for that reason; he wants to feed off my fear.

  I’ll be damned if I give that to him.

  When he comes close, passing with a new, full bottle once again, I pull up my legs and kick out as hard as I can against his legs, setting him stumbling.

  “What the...fuck you, bitch!”

  Before I have a chance to kick out with my legs again, he has hold of my ankles, dragging me out from under the table. I watch his face, contorted with rage, as he hauls back with his fist and knocks my head back. Mak screams once behind me, before she dissolves into an anguished mewling.

  “Making you suffer for that, you revolting piece of shit.” Spittle flies from his mouth, hitting my face as he leans close, his hand fisted in the front of my shirt, pulling me half off the floor before slamming me back down. “Taking the little bitch with me. Gonna use her up good before I ditch her. I’ll make sure you die knowing the suffering I’ll put her through is all on you.”

  I hold on to the piercing pain where his fist slammed into my face, to keep from sinking under, and scream.

  Next thing I know, something is forcefully shoved in my mouth. Through the blur of tears, I see he’s taken off his shirt and used it as a gag. The pungent stink of sweat and alcohol is thick, and I feel the bile rise. I close my eyes and focus on breathing through my nose, without choking on the stench.

  Hearing a rustle behind me, I turn my head and watch through clouded eyes as my daughter is pulled from under the table. She looks in shock, quiet as her hands are bound behind her once again. He props her up against the back door, like a bag of garbage to be taken out.

  I try to make eye contact, but Mak’s eyes stare unseeingly in the distance. So focused on my little girl, I don’t notice him moving around until he sets the brown paper bags with empty bottles beside Mak by the back door.

  “Did you know most accidents happen inside the house?” he asks, as he rifles through the kitchen cupboards, pulling out a frying pan and a bottle of oil. I try to move, but my limbs are not cooperating, I can’t seem to make any headway. “A lot of them in the kitchen. People carelessly leaving pans unattended on the stove, or leaving the gas on. Sometimes both,” he snickers.

  I hear the whoosh of a flame and then his boots appear in my view. I look up, pleading with my eyes and the muffled sounds I can make behind my gag, for him to spare my daughter. I already know when I look in those cold eyes; those pleas will go unheard.

  “Vindictive little cunt, you are,” he hisses, so close a waft of rancid breath hits my face. “Couldn’t believe it was you when I saw you in that courtroom. You’re good, pretending you didn’t know who I was, but you got me good, didn’t you?” I’m not sure if it’s the hit over my head, but I don’t get what he’s talking about. “You got me double, really; first when you got me convicted of rape and stuck me in that cage, and second, when as a result; the woman I was scheduled to marry—the same woman who was carrying my child—gave up on me. On my baby. The bitch offed herself. My baby never had a fucking chance because of you.” He pokes a dirty finger to my forehead. “Just like your baby doesn’t stance a chance...because of you.”

  I force my eyes to stay open, even though I want to close them and shut down. I need to fight for my Makenna, but there is no way my pathetic attempts will get to her before he does. I’m helpless as I watch him pick her up, and toss her over his shoulder. Then, with one arm around her legs and holding the paper bags, he opens the door and steps out.

  Straining for a last glimpse of my daughter, all I can see—just before he pulls the door shut behind him—is a large tattoo of a Celtic cross, spanning his shoulder blades.

  I swear my heart stops as I listen to the steady hiss of gas filling my kitchen.

  CHAPTER 26

  Nick

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Rubbing both hands over my face, I look through my fingers at Ben walking into the kitchen, wearing a look of concern. Noticing the file folder open in front of me, he pulls it toward him and starts flipping through.

  “Understatement of the fucking century,” I mumble, my earlier nausea back with a vengeance.

  “You know him?” Ben asks suspiciously, tapping his index finger on the photograph and eyeing me with intensity. The air in the kitchen crackles as both Drew and my father’s heads swivel around at the sharp tone of Ben’s voice.

  “Years ago. Didn’t know him exactly, but saw him around.”

  God, what a fucked up situation. I don’t even know how much detail I should share. I would in an instant if I thought it would help Stacie and Mak, but all I can see is heartbreak.

  Ben hammers me with questions, most of which I can’t answer, so I confess I saw him only the once.

  “It was at a college party. Let’s just say the guy made an impression. I’ve never seen him since.”

  He knows. The way Ben is looking at me through slitted eyes, he fucking knows the significance of what I just revealed.

  The ringing of a phone cuts through the thick tension, and Drew steps out the back door to take the call.

  “Found it!” Neil calls from the living room, where he and Becca have been bent over his laptop. Ben’s already on the move and I follow him inside.

  “Discount Carpet Cleaning, a company in Albuquerque, filed a report for a white panel van stolen from behind their shop,” he reads from his screen. “The report indicates the company name is displayed on the side, but some of it’s peeled off.”

  Drew, who walked in during Neil’s description, starts barking instructions into the phone before ending the call.

  “Roadblocks are up both sides of Dolores. Cortez PD is on the lookout and so is the state patrol.”

  “Isn’t that closing the gate after the horse is gone?”

  With a pointed look at Becca, Drew nudges his head to the door.

  “I’ve got her,” Pops says, taking Neil’s spot on the couch and grabbing the remote from the table.

  We follow Drew outside, where Neil puts his fingers to his mouth with an ear-pier
cing whistle. A large man jogs up the driveway and comes straight up the steps.

  “What’ve you got, Gus?” Drew asks him, after a round of monosyllabic greetings.

  “Bupkis. Nothing that’ll help us quick. Whatever there is, your guys are collecting,” he directs at the sheriff.

  Neil fills him in on the white van, and I repeat my question when the roadblocks are brought up.

  “This was not a well-planned grab,” Drew explains. “All the signs are that Borland saw an opportunity and went with it. First off, stealing a van with identifying markings is obviously an impulsive move. Next, there was no way for him to anticipate the girls to be out there apple picking, so he saw an opportunity and took it. All indicators—he didn’t go far. He’s familiar with Dolores. My bet is he’s here somewhere.”

  “Agreed,” Gus rumbles. “We need to check out empty lots, storefronts, warehouses.”

  “Trailer park,” I blurt out.

  “That trailer is still a crime scene,” Drew says. “Plus, he wouldn’t go where neighbors might recognize him.”

  “What about that lot on the other side of the rec center?” I counter. “Full of old trailers.”

  In the next five minutes, we come up with a list of possible locations to start with and divide it between us. Neil is going to stay behind and see if he can get an eye in the sky. I have no idea what he’s referring to but Gus quietly explains.

  “Satellite; kid’s good at getting into places with the touch of a button.” When I nod my understanding, he turns to the other two. “Back of my truck, grab a radio. Let’s go.”

  Armed with a radio Ben showed me how to use, and instructions to check out the southwest quadrant, south of the highway between the library and the bridge coming into town on the west side, I hop into my truck and follow the others into town.

  It’s close to eight and almost completely dark by the time I pull into the library parking lot. The girls have been missing for fucking hours, and I struggle not to imagine what he could’ve done to them in that time.