What the twelve and ten-year-old-boys hadn’t realized was that Chloe had bounced out of the house through a tear in the protective mesh screening. What they also hadn’t realized was that, since Ashley’s parents hadn’t properly secured the bounce house to the ground, one side of the base of it had lifted when all of the boys had fallen to one side, then had promptly fallen, when they all dove to the other side, wrestling and laughing. While they were having a blast, Chloe was pinned beneath the inflated rubber. For all of thirty seconds, she’d been trapped, immobilized, the air filled rubber jammed against her body, smashing her face. She couldn’t breathe. Her chest had ached from trying, from the weight holding her down.
The stifling heat, heavy as a bounce house filled with eight ten and twelve-year-old-boys, restrained her almost as much as the harness and handcuffs. Weak, sluggish, soaked with her own sweat, she needed fresh air. The one small fan the crazy bitch had planted at the foot of the mattress was useless and only blew air at the soles of her sneakers. The other, at the head of the mattress also did little to keep her cool. She needed air conditioning and a couple of giant industrial fans. More than that, she needed water. Ice cold water. She wanted to dive into a cool pool of it, and remembered the summers she spent at the community pool. Plugging her nose and jumping off the high dive. Playing water tag with her friends. Swim lessons. Her heart ached as her memories turned to running through sprinklers and water balloon fights. What had happened? How had she gone from that fun, carefree little girl to this? Was the crazy-ass Bible-thumper right? Was this her destiny? When God had given her to her parents, had He already decided her fate? That made zero sense to her. How could a loving God breathe life into an infant, when all along He planned to make the child suffer?
Bitterness welled inside as she pictured God sitting down with her parents to discuss her destiny. “Hey there, Mary Ann and Sam, I’m going to give you a daughter you’ll name Chloe,” God would say. “But I just want to warn you, she’s going to run away when she’s fifteen, become a whore and a heroin addict. Oh, and by the by, while she’s whoring, she’s going to become pregnant, gang raped and then held hostage by a woman claiming to be one of my minions. So, Mary Ann and Sam, what do you say? Do you still want this child?”
If her hands weren’t cuffed behind her back, and her limbs didn’t feel weighed down by air as heavy as concrete, she would love to touch her stomach. The baby hadn’t moved much since Heather had left and she wanted to press on her belly and coerce a kick or a wiggle, anything to let her know he was still okay.
She hadn’t wanted this baby and had prayed for a miscarriage, had regretted waiting too long and not being able to abort the pregnancy. She’d abused her body so damned badly. The heroin, the weed, cigarettes… Heather was right, she wouldn’t swear at or around her baby, she also wouldn’t inject heroin into her baby boy’s veins, or blow pot or cigarette smoke into his lungs. Yet, she selfishly did all of that. What she’d put into her body, she’d given to her baby. What would the drugs do to him? Could a doctor help? If she escaped the storage unit and immediately went to the hospital for treatment, would the baby have a chance? She wanted him to. She might not deserve him, but he deserved a shot at life.
And if God whispered into her ear and told her that her son was destined to live a life no better than hers, she wouldn’t believe Him. She’d made the choice to run away from home. She’d chosen to spread her legs for money. She’d been the one who’d decided to experiment with Roman’s heroin. God hadn’t chosen that path for her and she believed in her heart that her son had a fighting chance. He could do anything with his life, and if she found a way out of this fucking mess, she could and would fight for him and herself.
Heather claimed she worked for God, that He had given Chloe to her. Bullshit. She might not be religious and she might question whether God even exists, but one thing she didn’t doubt—no kind and loving god would ever predestine an innocent soul to a life of hell. Heather was whacked and insane. She was using God to justify what she was doing to her.
The bitch wanted her baby.
No. Fucking. Way.
How she would find a way to stop Heather, she wasn’t sure. As it was, even if she wasn’t restrained, with the heat draining her, she couldn’t do much of anything.
Water. Just a little bit. A sip or two.
She tried to gather spit. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, her dry lips caught on her teeth. She needed Heather to return and help her. While she hated having to depend on the crazy bitch, she knew in her gut Heather would return. When she did, she’d be sure to follow her rules. She’d eat and drink whatever the woman gave her. She needed to strengthen her body, to keep hydrated and be able to fight. For her baby and for her life.
At this point, she wasn’t afraid of Heather. Because Chloe carried the baby she wanted, the woman wouldn’t hurt her. But there would come a time when Chloe would know fear. This baby would eventually come either on his own, or with the slice of one of those scalpels Heather had shown her. Until then, she couldn’t let the woman defeat her, not when she’d finally come to terms with who she’d become and how badly she wanted to change her life. She couldn’t die here in this godforsaken storage unit. She couldn’t die without seeing her mom and dad. She owed them an apology and her life. She wanted to prove to her parents that they had raised her right. That the love they’d given her hadn’t gone unnoticed, that they hadn’t done anything wrong.
She wanted to survive so that she could teach her son that his life was a gift not to be taken for granted. Kiss the top of his head, and thank him for saving her and giving her a reason to want to live.
He stirred in her womb, and she let out a soft sob.
She wanted Heather dead. The bitch had killed a woman for her baby, only that baby had already been dead. If the same thing happened to her, if her baby didn’t survive, she’d bet anything that Heather would go after another pregnant woman until she took what didn’t belong to her. Sick and beyond twisted, someone needed to stop her. Who, though? Who was even aware that Heather was murdering women for their babies? Someone had to know. A missing, pregnant woman would not go unnoticed, the media would see to that. But a missing, pregnant prostitute? The police might not give a crap about a prostitute, but her son shouldn’t be punished for her sins.
She didn’t want to think about any of this anymore. She squeezed her eyes tight and searched for her rainbows and sunshine. And as she drifted to sleep, she found what she was looking for, and pictured her beautiful baby boy instead.
*
Jessica slid into the diner’s booth and scooted over to make room for Dante. Lola and Alex followed suit, and after they placed their drink orders with the waitress, she set up her laptop. “So, you said DCI gave you more puzzle pieces. Do they at least connect with who abducted the boys?”
Dante rested his arm along the back of the booth. “I’m not sure. I had the investigator email a copy of his report to Rachel, too. There’s one thing that I think might lead to a connection, but it’s a long shot.”
“What’s that?” she asked, and once she was online, she turned the laptop toward Dante.
He quickly tapped at the keyboard, then leaned back in the booth. “Remember the dissecting pin they found at the crime scene?”
“Wait. Back up.” Alex held up a hand, then thumbed toward Lola. “We weren’t at the crime scene, so there’s nothing to remember.”
Dante gave him a quick grin. “Right. Sorry. After Missy Schneider’s body was moved, Forensics found a dissecting pin. And, at the time, the ME thought that Missy was cut with a small scalpel, as well as a large carving knife.” He nodded toward her laptop. “This report confirms that the pin is from a dissecting kit. DCI was able to verify the exact brand.”
Jessica leaned over to look at the laptop screen. “That’s awesome news.”
“Yes and no,” Dante continued. “Cachet Medical is the company that makes the dissecting kits. They have three types and, of th
e three, two of the kits contain pins.”
“Do we know where they could have bought the kits?” Lola asked.
“That’s the problem. DCI said they could’ve been purchased from various online retailers, like Amazon, medical supply stores and, believe it or not, Walmart and Target.”
“Seriously?” she asked, liking the Walmart angle. “Since we know the male suspect purchased the umbrella stroller from Walmart, I’d think that’s a great place to start.”
“Again, they could have bought the kit online,” Lola reminded her.
“They wouldn’t do that,” she said. “These people would pay with cash and avoid any kind of paper or electronic trail.”
Dante scrolled through the report. “Agreed. Since Rachel forwarded the video surveillance to DCI, they, in turn, have contacted Walmart.” He stopped talking and viewed the screen. Moments later, he said, “They’ve requested a list of both cash and credit purchases of the two dissecting kits that contain pins, bought in-store only, along with video surveillance.”
She puffed her cheeks and let out a breath. “It took Walmart a week to get back to us before. Hopefully they’ll speed the process up this time.”
“Is the request for Missouri Walmarts only?” Alex asked.
Dante looked to the screen. “No. Idaho, too.”
“They could have bought the kits years ago,” Lola said.
Dante moved the laptop to allow the waitress to set their drinks on the table. After they all placed their orders and the waitress walked off, Dante said, “They could’ve. But I don’t think so. If who killed Missy Schneider has anything to do with abducting the boys, they wouldn’t have needed the kit before.” He glanced back to the screen. “Just so we’re clear, the ME confirmed that a small scalpel, fitting the size and shape of the type sold with the two kits in question, was used on Missy. The ME states that the scalpel was used first, then the carving knife. He says, ‘The killer made a horizontal incision along the victim’s lower abdomen, just above the pubic hairline. A second incision was made vertically, from three inches below the breasts to the pubic hairline. A third incision was then made with a carving knife. The victim’s skin was—’”
“You can stop now,” Alex said. “Unless everyone else wants to hear the gory details right before we eat, I think we get the idea.”
Since she’d seen the victim first hand, Jessica couldn’t have agreed more. “I’m with Alex. What about the hair they found?” She glanced between Alex and Lola. “Forensics found a brown hair at the crime scene,” she said to bring them up to speed.
“Synthetic, just as they’d originally thought,” Dante responded. “No other fibers or DNA—inconsistent to Missy Schneider or anyone known to have been in her house—was discovered.” He continued to view the laptop screen. “This is something the investigator didn’t mention over the phone—their computer forensics analyst went through Missy’s emails. They’ve copied and pasted the two they suspect were sent by the killer.”
She leaned over and read the first one out loud, “Hi Missy, I got your name and email address from Penny Goodman. Me and my son fell in love with the Lab puppy she bought from you, and want to surprise my husband with a puppy for his birthday. Do you still have puppies available? Looking forward to hearing back from you. Jenny Smith.” She looked to Dante. “Jenny Smith could be an alias. But Penny Goodman?”
“She used Penny as a reference,” he said, and looked back to the screen. “The second email is in response to Missy telling Jenny that she does have puppies. Missy also gives her address and phone number, along with the time and date they could meet.”
“That should certainly verify time of death,” Alex said. “Are they looking for Penny Goodman?”
Still viewing the report, Dante nodded. “They’re currently working with St. Joseph PD to locate and interview Penny Goodman. They also traced the killers IP address to St. Joseph’s East Hills public library.”
“This is a game changer,” Jessica said, hopeful now that they finally had a good, solid lead. “When they find Penny Goodman, they need her to work with a sketch artist. Not only can we plaster Jenny Smith’s picture across the country, but we can also add the pickup truck to her sketch.”
“Yeah,” Alex began, “I don’t think there’s any doubt now that the abductions and the murder are connected.”
Dante slid from the booth. “I’m going to step outside and call DCI back. I want to know their plans for Penny Goodman.”
“You should also call Phil,” she reminded him.
“Will do,” he said, then headed out the door.
“Phil is the detective from Lamoni, Idaho, right?” Lola asked.
She nodded, then explained how Phil had been trying to find employees from local builders, construction and handyman companies that might have remembered working with a man who’d driven a grey Ford F-150. The angle hadn’t panned out so far. In her experience, unless there was something unique about a vehicle, peoples’ memories faded fast. Same went for suspect IDs. Hopefully they’d locate Penny Goodman and she would be able to give a sketch artist a descriptive rendering of the female.
Remembering the time they’d spent with Quinn Joyce, and the way he’d described his ‘mommy’ to them, she had a feeling the female would have a distinct, unforgettable look.
Blond, curly hair and a big set of dimples.
*
“Can I help you find something in particular?” the Gymboree sales clerk asked.
Heather glanced away from the adorable, newborn one-piece set she’d been contemplating purchasing for her son. “I just love this teddy bear pattern. Do you have a matching blanket that goes with it?”
“We certainly do,” the clerk said, then eyed her stomach.
She hadn’t worn a maternity top in almost thirteen years. Fortunately, with the weight she’d put on recently, she’d been able to fill out the old top nicely. No one would suspect that she wasn’t pregnant. Although she didn’t know her neighbors, and preferred to keep it that way, if she was going to suddenly show up with a new baby, she’d have to play the part of an expectant mother.
She rubbed her belly for effect. “Wonderful. I’ll take the whole set.”
After the clerk gathered the blanket and met her at the cash register, she asked, “When are you due?”
“August eleventh,” she said, giving Chloe’s due date.
“How exciting. It’ll be here before you know it. Do you know what you’re having?”
She grinned. “A boy.”
“Boys are great. I have two of them. Have you picked out a name?”
“We’re going to call him Elton.”
“Elton, how unique,” the clerk said, handing over her change. “Funny, I swear I remember hearing that name recently. But I can’t remember where.” She shrugged and smiled. “Who knows? We get so many expectant moms in the store. Maybe I overheard the name from one of them. Either way, I love it. It’s a good, solid name.”
“Thank you,” she said, while paranoia seized her by the throat. She took her purchases and quickly left the store. Unlike Jack, or Max or Charlie, Elton was not a popular name. Other than her own sons and, of course, Elton John, she’d never heard the name used anywhere else.
Once out in the fresh air and walking toward the hardware store around the corner, she calmed her racing heart. Panicking over the name was ridiculous. Since they’d moved each time Wayne had sent one of their sons into God’s arms, the sales clerk, along with anyone else in the city, couldn’t know about her Eltons. Maybe the name was simply making a comeback. That had to be the only explanation, she decided as she entered the hardware store.
After purchasing a cooler, two fans and extra batteries, she walked past her apartment building and toward the storage unit. Because she’d decided to put on one of her old maternity tops and stop to buy her son a new outfit, her trip to the store had taken her longer than she’d planned. Chloe should be good and hungry for lunch by now. She dabbed the perspiratio
n from her forehead. The girl had to be hot, too. Hopefully the fans had kept the storage unit bearable. If not, she’d have to make another stop at the store and buy even more fans. Which would take longer and require a taxi. She didn’t want to hit the same store twice in one day and raise any suspicions.
She set her purchase on the ground, then unlocked the padlock. When she slid open the garage door, the heat from within the storage unit smacked her in the face. She rushed inside and quickly closed the door.
“Chloe,” she called, and hurried to the mattress. As her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she touched the girl’s limp body. Oh, good Lord, she was soaking wet.
“Chloe,” she repeated, and now, with good reason, panicked. The heat in the unit was stifling and she was already sweating profusely, and she’d only been inside for less than a minute. The poor girl had been locked up for the past hour and fifteen minutes. She just prayed to God the baby was okay. The amount of water the girl had lost could lead to dehydration, which could lead to early labor. This baby couldn’t come yet, not for at least another few weeks.
She quickly opened up several water bottles, which had grown extremely warm. Darn it. She’d meant to buy ice, but had been on such a natural high, and distracted over thoughts about her new baby, it had slipped her mind. But something was better than nothing.
She removed Chloe’s gag, lifted her head, and poured water over her forehead and dirty hair. The girl’s eyelids fluttered. “That’s it. Wake up, Chloe.” She poured more water along her chest and tank top. “Come on, now. Wake up.”
Chloe still wore her light jacket, which she should have removed from the girl right after she’d knocked her out. Goodness, where had her head been? She moved away from the girl and found her dissecting kit. Scalpel in hand, she went back to the mattress, then began slicing the jacket from Chloe.
“Wh-what are you doing?” Chloe asked, her voice thick, sluggish.
“Keep talking to me.”
“Can’t. So tired. So hot.”
Ultimate Fear (Book 2 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series) Page 30
