by Jon Mills
“Sorry, Ben, she’s not here, but Helen Hayes is still alive, an officer is bringing her out now,” Chief Danvers said, sympathetically placing his hand on his shoulder before following out one of the officers. Ben breathed out hard, dropped down into a crouched position, and felt himself beginning to well up with tears. He ran both hands over his face and blew out hard.
What had they done? They’d shot the only one who could tell them where she was, if she had been here at all.
“Dr. Forrester, you might want to see this,” an officer said, motioning towards the room he’d passed. He got up and followed him through another door that was smaller, off to one side. A light was already turned on, giving him a clear view of the grisly display.
“Oh my god.”
His eyes surveyed all the women who had been murdered and subjected to taxidermy. Like a room full of mannequins, each of them had been posed and even dressed in skirts. Most had makeup applied to their lips and faces. Some were bent and twisted into sexual positions with all manner of lewd instruments attached. At the far back against the wall were others who’d had been mutilated in ways that made him grimace.
Ben diverted his eyes away. He brought a hand up to his mouth, thinking he was about to vomit. It was horrific. The sight made only worse, by having to walk by each one and examine them to see if his daughter was among them.
Though he was relieved at not finding Chloe, it didn’t decrease the anxiety. He could hear blood thumping hard in his ears as the world around him hung heavy on his chest. A migraine starting to come on fast. He reached into his pocket, pills clattered as he pulled out the medication. Twisting the cap, he tapped out two and tossed them back without water.
Perhaps he’d buried her? The thought of her being buried alive brought back the terror of the past.
Chapter 43
Tired, cold, thirsty and hungry. She couldn’t bear it any longer.
Either he was going to kill her or leave her here to starve to death. The hours seemed to pass painfully slowly. No sense of time except the waning of light from the window. In the silence Chloe attempted to cling to what remained of her sanity. Her father’s face and voice the only constant in her mind, as her inner strength began to fade away. She wasn’t foolish. The odds were stacked against her. Exhaustion, low temperatures, and the need for something to drink and eat had become almost unbearable.
She knew it was bad when she saw a cockroach crawl across the floor. The thought of snagging it and eating it crossed her mind. Or when rainwater dripped from the window to the floor — her own personal Chinese water torture.
Or was it all just a hallucination? What had he injected in her? Her mind was beginning to unravel and play tricks on her. Had he left? Was he waiting for her to escape her binds only to toss her back down?
I’m going out of my mind…
Every attempt at getting close to the tools had failed. The only thing that kept her from quitting was the fear that she would die alone.
She had never been one to quit anything. Her father had drilled that into her from an early age. Change course, make another decision, but don’t stop pushing forward, he would say.
Her mother had been the same. The few times she had fallen asleep she’d seen her mother. Had it been a dream or was she bordering on death?
Shivering, and aching with pain, she went back to repeating the same actions. It had to be a numbers game. Surely the odds would soon swing in her favor? The sudden clatter of the chair hitting the table and bouncing back, without any tools dropping, soon answered that.
Again. Do it again. It was no longer her voice she heard; it was her mother’s. This time she bounced that thing sideways against the wall. Every time she held her breath, hoping this would be it.
“Screw you,” she said loudly, shifting her frustration to the image of her captor in her head as she hurled that chair across the room. What was that? The twelve, thirteenth, or fifteenth time she had tried? She had lost count.
Help me, Mom, she whispered under her breath
That was all she could do now. Pray to God and speak to her mother as though she was there with her. For so long she had blocked out the memory of her mother as a means of coping with the loss. Tears now streamed her cheeks. Her eyes welled up. All the frustration and pain of the loss came bubbling to the surface. In that moment her walls broke apart, and she wept hard as she continued to try and escape. Large chunks of drywall lay scattered all over the floor. Dust filled the air. Even a paint can was turned on its side, leaking out green goo.
Every new attempt brought with it a sense of hope then despair.
If it weren’t for her mother and father’s voice, she would have given up long ago.
Then it happened. She saw it. It clattered on the floor. For a second she didn’t believe it.
Scrambling across the ground, she reached out, unable to grasp what could release her from this hell. Grappling the chair again she turned it on its side, held on to the backrest, and used the chair to extend her reach. Slowly, inch by inch, the steely sharpened tool got closer.
Chapter 44
This was going to be a long night in Eden Falls. The discovery of the missing would attract nationwide attention. Unlike the Bruns case where he got away, the police would be praised for acts of bravery and a job well done on this one. All the mistakes they had made prior to the capture would be swept under the carpet. The commissioner from the department of public safety and public relations people would spin this in the right direction. The FBI would move on to the next case with little more than a pat on the back while the local boys in blue would be placed on a pedestal. It was a short-lived game but the media would eat it up and milk it for all it was worth.
In less than an hour the place was cordoned off with police tape and swarming with the Bangor FBI agents, Nate, and EMS. Ben went out to speak with the Hayes girl that had been brought up. She had been placed on a stretcher by EMS and they were about to lug her out of the forest when he approached.
“Just a minute, I want a word.”
They laid her back down. The girl was in shock. Her eyes wide and wild. She was your typical university girl, twenty-two and very attractive. The thought that she might have seen Chloe or heard her was the only hope he could cling to now.
Even though she was safe now, there was a palpable fear in her gaze. It would take years to work through the trauma she’d endured. Every victim was different. Some would appear as if they had bounced back with a new lease on life, giving talks around the country, while others would crawl into a shell of an existence.
“Helen, I’m Special Agent Benjamin Forrester of the FBI, I just had a few questions for you.”
“Is Rachael dead?” she asked.
Ben hesitated for a second then nodded slowly. “I’m afraid so.”
Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Did you get that bastard?” she spat.
“We did.”
“What about the others?” Helen asked.
Her acknowledgement of a second suspect only confirmed his thoughts about Douglas’s involvement. Hopefully they could bring her in and she could verify by sight or through hearing his voice.
“He’s in custody. Helen, I need to know. My daughter was taken.” Ben reached into his pocket and removed his wallet. He pulled out a crinkled photograph of Chloe and held it out so she could see.
“Did you see her or hear her at any point?”
She studied it hard then shook her head from side to side. Ben’s heart sank. Presumably there were only two people who knew where she was. One of them was dead, and the other was in custody. He rose to his feet and watched two EMS guys carry her out. Dakota was being treated a short distance away.
Nate Mueller was talking with an officer before he came over and placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, man. Is there anything I can do?”
Ben’s eyes dropped. “You think you can take a few guys over to Ted Bishop’s home? Dakota will give you the address
.”
“You think he’s keeping her there?”
“No idea. But I do know Douglas said Ted knew the address of the place they used to hunt at in Vassalboro. See if you can find an address at his place.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Pay Douglas Adams another visit.”
Nate squeezed Ben’s shoulder before calling over a couple officers. Ben’s eyes drifted over the scene. It would take them days to compile and photograph everything. Forensic specialists would dust for fingerprints and latent evidence. As the investigation expanded, no doubt the body count would climb. Bodies would be removed and taken to a forensic department for identification. It was going to blow this community apart, never mind those considering camping in national parks in other states.
Chapter 45
In a deserted cabin, nestled two hours away in Vassalboro just across the Kennebec River from Maine’s capital, Chloe twisted the sharp tool furiously in the keyhole of the handcuffs. It was far more difficult than she’d anticipated. It wasn’t that unlocking the cuffs was hard in itself as it was the tool that had fallen to the floor wasn’t the right type. It was too wide. She needed something thinner, something that would bend but remain firm. There were two ways that she knew to unlock handcuffs without the key. One was inserting a thin pin and pushing the ratchet away from the teeth, the other was forcing a flat piece of metal in between the teeth while turning your wrist or ankle. Both relied on using the right tool. Everything she needed was either on the table or scattered out of reach on the floor below it.
Stay calm, she told herself. Figure this out.
It was hard to stay calm when, at any moment, Douglas or the other man could return. By the time they showed up she needed to be as far away as possible.
What can I use?
That’s when her eyes fell on the can of pop that she’d thrown at him. She grabbed a hold of the chair and once again began to use it to extend her reach. If she could just get it, she could empty out the pop, tear open the can, and use a piece of the metal.
She was in the process of trying to get it, frustrated that the can kept rolling, when she heard a sound outside. At first it was subtle then louder, like a large canister had been knocked over. Fearful that he’d returned, she propped the chair back up again and huddled against the wall. As she cowered like a scared animal waiting to be executed, her eyes swept the windows.
Maybe this was all part of his sick game; make her think he was gone and then reappear just as she got out. She listened intently trying to make out what it was.
The noise outside was a shuffle. It didn’t sound like footsteps but she wasn’t going to take any chances. Was it him or an animal? Perhaps a deer or a coyote? The thought of screaming had crossed her mind but if it was him she didn’t want to give him any more reason to hurt her.
Please let it not be him… Oh god not now…
The sound became faint as if whatever or whoever had moved on.
She had no idea where he’d taken her but if she could get out and reach a phone, she could call her father. That was all that was pushing through her mind. Stay calm. Get out. Escape.
Still restrained, she felt a small amount of relief as silence fell over the place again. Her pulse raced as she returned to the task of trying to reach the can of pop. This time she moved faster.
Chapter 46
When Ben stepped into the cellblock at the county police department, he found more than he expected — Douglas Adams was hanging by a belt from the jail door.
“No, no!” he screamed, motioning to an officer. “Open this cell.”
An officer hurried forward, turned over the lock, and slid back the steel door. Ben rushed in and hoisted him up by grabbing him in an NFL tackle right below his groin. The officer undid the leather belt from its place around the bar and Adams flopped down. Immediately he checked vitals. There was no pulse. He was stone cold.
Ben paced back and forth, running his hands around his neck and over his head trying to get a grip. It only took a few breathless seconds to realize that someone hadn’t removed his shoes or belt.
“How the hell did he end up in here with this?”
It was normal procedure for anyone placed in a holding cell to have their belt, shoes, socks, and the contents of their pockets removed. Additionally, all cells were monitored by closed-circuit TV as well as being checked physically. Douglas Adams still had all of his belongings on him.
The young officer shrugged.
He turned. “I’ll ask one of the others.”
“Hold on, where is the video stream?”
“Um, yeah… upstairs,” he replied.
This was beyond a royal screw-up. Something was seriously wrong. Both of the men were now dead. Any chance of finding out where Chloe was or what had happened to her was gone.
Upstairs there were two officers manning the phones and front desk. Everyone else had been pulled out to the crime scene. He asked them the same question and both of them had no idea. A look of shock crossed their faces. Then they looked at each other as if they were about to shift the blame or hope the other would provide an answer, but there wasn’t one. They were so short-staffed and overwhelmed by the influx of phone calls from locals wanting to know what was going on in the town, they hadn’t paid any attention to monitoring the cellblock.
Ben followed the officer down to where they housed the recording equipment. Less than two minutes later they pulled up a streaming feed. What the heck? All it had recorded was from the time Douglas arrived at the station, to thirty minutes after, and then it was blank.
“How can that happen?”
He shrugged. “It’s the storm. The power has been up and down all night.”
“You don’t have a backup generator?”
“Yes, of course we do, but it mustn’t have kicked in.”
He shook his head, trying to process the turn of events. Again they tried forwarding the stream but there was nothing but white noise.
Ben thought fast. He didn’t want to believe it. What would be the point? He pulled his phone from his pocket and contacted Nate.
“Douglas Adams is dead.”
“What?” Nate stammered.
“I don’t have time to explain.”
Nate cleared his throat. “Ben, hold on a minute. He’s dead?”
“Hung himself in the cell. Now, tell me you have found something.”
“Not much. Um. We’re still checking.”
Behind him he could hear officers rooting through belongings.
“Have you checked his truck?”
“Not yet.”
In the background he heard an officer mutter something. “Hold on a sec, Ben.”
Nate must have muffled the receiver with his hand. He could hear mumbles in the background.
“Ben. I’m holding a photograph of a hunting trip. Ted and Douglas are in it but so is Kurt Danvers.”
Chapter 47
A cold shiver shot through Ben. His mind churned over fast, filtering through all the reports, photos, crime scenes, and interactions he’d had since the start of the case. Why wasn’t Douglas at his home when they raided it? The chief said he’d phoned through to find out if he was at work. Who was it that confirmed Douglas’s alibi of being in Bangor? Danvers. Who could have placed him in the cell without removing his belt? Danvers. Then his thoughts went to what the Hayes girl had said. Did you get the others? Others? If there were only two she would have said, the other. Finally, his thoughts flipped to the room below the cabin, he’d seen two masks, but there was one upstairs beside Ted Bishop.
Ben twisted around. “Where’s the chief?”
The officer looked flustered for a few seconds. “Um. He left here a while ago.”
“How long?”
“Oh, Maybe an hour.”
“The officer that called in the abduction attempt. Get him on the radio.” The officer nodded and left the room. Ben got back on the phone with Nate. “I need you to get over to Chief Dan
vers’s residence.”
“Where’s he live?”
Ben held the phone to his chest and called out to an officer but no one answered.
“I’ll get back to you.”
“Stay on the line, Ben,” Nate said before barking orders to the officers who were still turning over objects in the house. Ben was on the move now. There was no time to waste. Back upstairs he asked an officer if she knew where Danvers lived. She said it was a beach house somewhere down by the water in Eden Falls. Beyond that they didn’t know. Ben had them direct him to his office. He began rooting through papers on his desk, looking for anything that might show his local address. He tore out the drawers and had an officer going through a filing cabinet. One of the desk drawers was locked.
“You got a key for this?”
“No.”
“You might want to back up.” The officer did one better and double-timed it out of the room. Ben stepped to the side, pulled his Glock 22, and fired three rounds at the drawer. Pieces of wood shot out as he yanked hard on the handle and it came away. Inside it was full of papers. He began tossing them and frantically scanning each one. He’d made it through about eight pages when he came across several pieces of open mail. One was a utility bill. The address in the top left-hand corner was for a property in Vassalboro.
Nate was still on the line. “You there?”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
It was a two-hour journey by car to Vassalboro.
“We’re gonna need a police helicopter.”
Chapter 48
She was bleeding but free of her restraint.
After countless miserable attempts to get the pop can, she finally managed to hook and roll it in her direction. Upon emptying the contents, tearing it open along with cutting her hand, she was able to use a piece of the metal to create her own makeshift handcuff shim. She’d inserted it into the same entrance as the ridged bar. By interrupting the ridged bar from engaging with the inner handcuff and by twisting her ankle outward, she was able to free herself.
