Nothing Sacred (FBI Agent Dan Hammer Series Book 1)

by Douglas Wickard

  “Thank you, Eunice.” Mrs. Stattler politely smiled at the detectives. She wanted them to recognize how considerate and thoughtful she was. An exemplary employer. Dan took notice.

  Dainty, hand painted, pastel colored teacups lined the top of the tray, alongside a matching teapot, creamer and sugar bowl. A selection of extravagant cookies fanned out across the oval plate. Mrs. Stattler leaned over, exposing ample cleavage and poured hot coffee into the first cup. She’d done this service before. The perfect hostess. Charleston style.

  “Can you give us Jennifer’s schedule? Interests? Hobbies? Boyfriends?” Dan asked, wanting to impress Wright with his interrogation skills, at the same time jumping mental hurdles, remembering the thousand things he needed to do at his apartment in preparation for Alexandra this evening. “Well?”

  “She babysits every morning.” She looked up at Dan, her eyelashes fluttering. “Sugar? Milk?”

  “Yes, please.” Dan intended on keeping his good Southern manners functioning as long as possible.

  Wright chimed in. “I’ll take mine black. Thank you, Ma’am.”

  “Oh, please call me Rachel. Jennifer’s part of that work program they started at her High School. To tell you the truth, I’m ecstatic about it. Let her understand the value of money and hard work early in life.” Mrs. Stattler stirred Dan’s coffee, evenly mixing the perfect amount of sugar and milk before passing it over. Wright, impatient for a decent cup, helped himself. He poured as Mrs. Stattler continued. “She works in the morning during the week, including Saturdays. She attends classes in the afternoon.”

  Wright took a sip. His fingers looked big, clumsy and thick holding onto the fragile handle of the teacup. “Coffee’s delicious, Ma’am.” She nodded her head in approval. Crossing her legs, she exposed trim, muscular thighs with just the right amount of tan. “What year of school is Jenn in?” Wright inquired.

  “She’s a Sophomore. We’ve been debating colleges, of course. Already. Time goes by so quickly. It just sneaks right up on you. One day, your baby’s in diapers, the next, well, she’s graduating.”

  “Completely understand.” Wright smiled in agreement. “And, she walks to work? Correct?”

  “Gentlemen, I told you all this before, didn’t I? I’m not sure exactly how she gets there. I know sometimes I’ve watched her leave from the porch and I’ve seen her go in that direction, toward the park, that is, but her boyfriend, Phillip, sometimes he picks her up also. He has a car.”

  Commotion at the front entrance as a good looking, middle aged man entered the foyer. Eunice hurried into the hallway, eager to greet the head of the household, taking his coat before disappearing back into the refuge of the kitchen. He marched confidently into the drawing room. He pushed back a lock of sandy hair from out of his eyes and leaned down to kiss his wife. “I got here as fast as I could.” Dan got the queasy feeling it was Stanley.

  Oh, brother.

  “Honey, these men are detectives, Detective Hammer from the Charleston Police Department and FBI Agent...? I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten your name.”

  “Harry Wright. Pleasure to meet you.”

  They both stood up to shake Stanley’s hand and exchanged the usual banal bullshit. They nodded in unison as they sat back down. Dan didn’t like the guy. His Southern gentleman routine grated on him and his nerves. Carly Simon’s song You’re So Vain came to mind.

  They all returned to their awkward prospective roles.

  The perfect wife interrupted. “Coffee, dear?”

  “No, but I will have some gin.” Stanley went to the dry sink, opened a bottle of Bombay Sapphire and poured a good amount into a crystal glass. Ice cubes tinkled as he plopped them into his drink. He stirred the gin with his finger and took his designated seat next to his wife, gently taking her hand. It was a nice touch. Together, they personified an image. Middle aged poster couple of Barbie and Ken. Baby boomers turned fifty. What a sight, or spectacle! Dan couldn’t make up his mind. Why did it bother him so much in the first place? So this was how the American Dream was supposed to turn out? This was what we all dreamed of?

  “We were just talking about Phillip, Stanley.” Mrs. Stattler made the announcement, bringing everybody’s thoughts back to the present. She maintained her role as the event coordinator. Everybody happy? Everyone gets equal time, equal opportunity. Just ask Eunice.

  “What’s his last name?” Wright asked, finishing his thimble-sized coffee and pouring himself another. He selected a cookie dipped in dark chocolate from the ornate plate and dunked it into his cup several times before depositing the entire thing in his mouth. All at once. Dan looked on in quiet amazement. To be that comfortable in one’s own skin was very impressive.

  “Danton.” Stanly intercepted the conversation with a line shot, a slam dunk for two points. “He’s a good kid. He works at the Hospital.”

  “The Hospital?” Dan glanced over at Wright. Their eyes met. Dan could tell Harry was thinking the same thing. The scenario sounded faintly familiar to a case they studied at Quantico. “Medical University? MUSC?”

  Rachel turned to Stanley for a silent referral. A moment of question. “Why, yes.” Her attention darted back to Dan, then Wright. “He’s as ambulance driver there. Why?” Dan happened to love the way Southern woman held their “y’s,” indefinitely, it seemed.

  “Excuse me for one minute, Mrs. Stattler while I use my phone.” Dan stood and walked into the foyer. He didn’t want to alarm her or her husband that Phillip could be their man.

  “Sure, of course.” Mrs. Stattler stood as Hammer exited.

  Wright took the opportunity to steal another cookie while Mrs. Stattler moved Stanley’s glass to her mouth and took a healthy swallow of his gin.

  44

  Movement.

  Steady motion. Travelling… travelling…

  Her highly trained on-the-job skill of reading the roads was dead. Nil. She had lost it in the maze of left and right hand turns, quick accelerations and rapid declines. Her driver was advancing on a vast stretch of open road. For some time now. Moving at a steady, cruise-controlled speed of… perhaps 55 MPH.

  She tried visualizing herself outside of this coffin. Running. Free. Appreciating her surroundings, the area countryside she grew up in. Lush waterways and sandy beaches. Marshes capped with brown furry pussy willows. Sand dunes hiding the ocean’s white-capped waves, breaking the chilly winds blowing off the Atlantic.

  Did she remember the specific bumps she had traveled? Could she remember if she needed too? If she were asked? The various potholes, the cracks in the pavement? The big ones, the kind that made her body bounce and rattle as the car moved forward. Or was it just her vivid imagination now, playing retarded games with her? She wished she could recall.

  One thing was for sure. Absolutely! She would not cry. She would never allow the piece-of-shit behind this kidnapping, this bad excuse for a human being to ever make her cry. Not even a whimper. Instead, she would laugh. Bend over and hoot with laughter, right in his face when she finally got her revenge.

  In her fist was Jack. Her fingers were white-knuckled around its base. Waiting.

  A left turn in the road. Then, a gradual slowing down.

  Her body tensed. She readied herself for an assault. An attack. While travelling, she’d forgotten what the strain had felt like, that pulse zinging around inside of her like an electric racetrack. A calm mysteriously came over her. Like sleeping in the backseat of Mommy and Daddy’s car, while they talked. Or fought. Or, once she even remembered them having sex. Parked along a deserted road when they were on vacation.

  Gross!

  When the car was in motion, Jenn felt safe. Nothing could happen. Now that the car was slowing down, her instincts informed her of oncoming danger. Warning. Cautian. Ding, ding, ding… Red signals flashing. Gates were lowering. She only had one chance, one moment of opportunity, one fleeting attempt to get out of this thing alive.

  Hold on, Jennifer. Use this break to free yourself. Just deck
the motherfucker.

  Stop.

  The engine turned off. A pause. Preparation was in the works. Intentions were bearing down, pushing her to extremes. The car door opened with an annoying yawn, and then shut. Was it a heavy slam or a soft one? She couldn’t make it out. She was thinking that if the car door closed hard, the man was probably larger. Aggressive. Bigger than what she remembered. But, if it were weak, then the creep was smaller. Which was it?

  Sweet Jesus, tell me! Please!

  Footsteps. Not on concrete. But on the ground. Earth. She could barely make out the sound. Was he dragging something? Weeds? Was the car parked on a road? A lot? A driveway? No. They were on dirt. The ground around the car had grass. High grass. The slap and pull at the side of his shoes. Was it one person? Check the other side of the car. Yes. Definitely only one person. Only one door closed. The odds were even. Thank God.

  Now what?

  Why the silence?

  Why the fucking aggravation?

  Open the fucking trunk, Godammit and let me kill you, you motherfucker!

  Jenn’s knuckles were burning from the force of her grip. She imagined them around his neck. She fantasized scratching his eyeballs out, biting him, hard, with such force, that afterwards she would have some of his flesh left in her mouth. She would taste his nasty blood.

  Steady yourself, Jenn. Steady. Prepare yourself for light. That’s good. How? It was dark in here, except for the reflection from the taillight. She wished she had brought her sunglasses. Her tinted contact lenses even. That would have made the odds a bit better when he finally did open the trunk.

  Damn you, Phillip. You’re the one that made me late. Otherwise, I would have had my contacts in. Bastard. It was all his fucking fault. Phillip got her into this crazy mess!

  Stop it. Don’t lose your train of thought. Focus. Don’t ever stop preparing. Be ready. She would have to muster all her strength. This wasn’t a fucking TV movie, dummy.

  Silence. Where the fuck was he?

  Smash! A deafening crash hit the back of the car. On the left hand side. Plastic from the taillight shattered and sprayed inside the trunk, down by her feet. She jerked back and prepared for another assault.

  What the hell was going on?

  Jesus Fucking Christ. What now?

  Outside, feet sledged though brush. Quickly. What’s happening? Are we leaving? Did somebody drive by and see him? Only the sound of keys turning over the ignition and the engine purring.

  And the fumes. The smell of exhaust. Oh, sweet Jesus, not that. She covered her mouth with the top of her shirt. She tried not to breathe. She held her breath for as long as she could. She looked down at her feet. She could just barely see the plastic tubing. It was more like a hose, like the kind her Father used to clean the pool. She repositioned her foot and inched it toward the hole. She gave it a push with her foot but it wouldn’t budge. The ribbed lining was stuck on a shard of jagged plastic. She tried again. Harder. Her shoe broke off a tiny piece of the plastic in the process. Finally, the tube wiggled free and fell. It made no sound as it hit the ground. No alarm.

  She coughed. Several times. She was sure that was what he was waiting to hear. He wanted to register when her coughing went silent. Mission accomplished. So, that’s what she did. She coughed, and coughed, all the while fanning the exhaust toward the hole. Her opening to the world. Her outlet to fresh air and sunlight. She wished she could somehow position herself at the other end of the trunk, but that was impossible. She had already tried. She wanted a drink of water. She wanted to feel the sunlight push through the tiny hole. She wanted to see daylight.

  Then, finally, she went quiet. She waited.

  They took turns for survival. Batter up!

  The engine went dead. Footsteps sloshed from around the other side of the car. Same as before.

  She prayed he wouldn’t see what she had done. She prayed to God. Please just open the trunk. Her body went into high alert. Energy pumped. Her hands held Jack with enforced strength. She focused every ounce of hate into her fingers, her fist. And prayed. She prayed he would just open the trunk.

  Open the fucking trunk!

  He didn’t.

  Another kick from his shoe. A heavy punt. This man was big. A frantic dash to the driver’s seat. Keys jangled. She could hear him talking to himself. His voice was funny. High-pitched. He cursed at himself, murmured things, saying things she didn’t understand.

  The engine started, but stalled.

  Thank God.

  Again, the engine turned over and this time it hummed to completion. Footsteps sledged to the back of the car. Mumblings. Grumblings. He reinserted the tube through the hole once again. Jenn kicked at it. Hard. It stayed fast. He was holding it in this time, pushing it further into the trunk. He wasn’t taking any chances. He wanted her dead. More rumblings. Incoherent chatter.

  The colorless odor seeped into the trunk, into her skin, and into her lungs. It formed a hazy, orange colored fog.

  She didn’t want to think about it.

  She didn’t want to think about the baby swimming around inside her, floating in the toxic liquid. Instead, she daydreamed about drowning. Again. A waking fantasy. She imagined herself breathing in the green blue coolness of the water, like snorkeling with an icy, menthol cigarette. A Salem or a Kool.

  From deep within a watery, black depth, her soul accepted her fate. She felt distant, separated from any feeling, from any emotion, from herself.

  Was this really happening?

  Raucous laughter tumbled together with saltwater tears in this acid aquarium. Swollen fingers tingled with numbness. Tropical fish, exotic in color, darted past her. Spots erupted like hot lava upon her skin. Cherry red tentacles loosened their fierce grip on Jack. Heavy eyelids slipped off the mauve and purple coral reefs and floated with ease into the cavernous emptiness. She sensed the fire but without the burn.

  The fish tank suddenly didn’t seem as small as she expanded…

  1:16 PM

  45

  “Susan? Honey, can you hear me?”

  “Yes, Harry. I can hear you.”

  A siren whined in the background.

  “Harry, hold on, I need to...” Muffled coughing. Continuous. Strangling. “I have my good moments and bad. Like waves. They come and go. You know…”

  “I guess, honey. I miss you.”

  “Me too, you.”

  Pause.

  Police Officer Evans led Phillip Denton through the door of the precinct. A look of sheer terror registered on the young man’s face as Evans guided him down the hallway and into an interview room. Minutes later a man and a woman frantically entered and stopped at the front desk. An Officer directed them to a seat in the reception area. They sat beside one another, hands intertwined.

  Susan’s voice was light, hardly audible. “Where are you?” She cleared her throat of thick mucus several times during the conversation. “It sounds like there’s certainly a lot going on…”

  “I’m at the Precinct.”

  “You’re not having a party are you? Without me?”

  “Oh, yes, quite a party. I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun!”

  “You sound tired. And cranky, Harry.”

  “I haven’t made it to the hotel yet.”

  “How’s it going? Any leads?”

  “No. And another girl is missing.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Get some rest. I just wanted to check in with you, make sure you know I’m thinking about you…”

  “I love you, Harry, but my eyes are closing. It’s the Morphine…”

  “I’ll call you later. My telephone numbers are with the nurses in case you need me. Or with Nancy. Plus, you have my cell phone…”

  “Just find that damn killer and get back home.”

  “I plan to. Bye, honey. Give the kids my love. I miss them.”

  “I know, I know. Good luck, honey. Bye-bye.”

  Harry visualized Susan slowly putting the receiver back down
in its cradle. Paper thin skin covered skeleton-like fingers. Everything was working on overtime.

  Harry stood in the noisy corridor, staring at his cell phone, wishing, hoping, and praying that it might give him some solace. It didn’t.

  Down the corridor, Detective Hammer, Police Officer Evans and the young ambulance driver waited in a nondescript room. As generic as they come. Phillip sat in a wooden chair next to a side table. Evans and Hammer stood on either side of the boy. Evans was chewing gum as if he were running a marathon, every so often smacking an internal bubble with his teeth. In the doorway, Harry motioned for Hammer to meet him outside.