by Ray Backley
“You mean, we’ll have to go in a bucket in front of each other?”
Vinnie shrugged. “Pretty much what I had to put up with for thirteen filthy years.”
“I’m hungry now,” Phoebe said from the side.
Dan wanted to tell her not to speak, not to annoy Vinnie, but it turned out he’d got it wrong; It was hard to believe that this was Vinnie in a particularly good mood, but it was, and the man nodded agreeably to Phoebe.
“I got some bread, cheese, and water. I think that’s about the level of cuisine we’re talking about here.” He pointed at both Phoebe and Benjie. “Now is probably as good a time as any, just before I tie you up.” He turned to go, then doubled back for a moment. “Oh, one other prison rule I forgot to tell you. Any of you three sets one foot on the bottom step, you get shot dead.”
He turned to go.
Half an hour later, Dan’s hands were free. He was eating bread and cheese – both past their best but edible – and washing it down with a plastic beaker of water.
He also had a loaded pistol touching his temple the entire time.
After the children had also eaten and all three of them had urinated in the bucket, Vinnie produced another zip tie and tied Dan up to the metal eye again, then approached the toolbox. He unlocked it and took out a roll of duct tape, which he used to tie the children back up.
“What about exercise time?” Dan asked. “Didn’t you get that in Quentin?”
“Privileges need to be earned. Good behavior and all that shit. Hope you enjoyed your food and bathroom break. They’re the last privileges you’re allowed for some time after your screws on the step stunt.”
Vinnie left, this time killing the light on his way out, and Dan relaxed. His stomach wasn’t exactly full, but it was full enough to send him to sleep. And it was probably late by now, he figured, so Vinnie would go to bed and leave them alone for eight hours or so.
And that damned light wasn’t flickering anymore.
So he slept, dreaming that none of this was happening, that tomorrow morning he would get up, brave the commuter traffic into LA, and attend work as usual. As dreams go, it wasn’t his most imaginative, but it was comforting in its own way.
When morning came, Cath was also having a dream of sorts.
She was lying on her back, unable to move her limbs, barely capable of twitching her eyelids, certainly not opening them. She could hear voices – solemn and instructional – but the words didn’t make sense and her name wasn’t mentioned, although there was a lot of talk of “she.”
A deep breath caught her unawares – scared her, even. It reminded her of a newborn taking that first gasp of life, an instinct that couldn’t be suppressed and shocked the lungs.
At that moment, she knew this was no dream.
She felt her eyelids twitch and jerk apart. Again, an instinct – this time the urge to know – was pushing her onward. The air smelled clean and artificial with a heavy dose of disinfectant.
The voices became clearer, and she managed to lift her eyelids a fraction more, as though pushing a couple of heavy old doors open shoulder first. Everything was blurred and so bright it was painful, making her blink a few times. But soon her eyes stayed open and she could see that the blurred shapes were moving around.
The words were barely distinct and full of echo, but she heard them.
“She’s coming round.”
“Do we tell the police?”
“Doctor first. She needs to be checked over before we allow them access.”
“I’ll call Doctor Morbin.”
“I’d wait a while. She needs thirty minutes to recover enough to be aware. We need to be sure she’s in a fit state to understand.”
“Okay.”
Then the blurred shapes moved away and there was quiet.
It might well have been thirty minutes – Cath had no way of knowing – but it was long enough for her to become agitated, for her to want to break out of the chemical cage which was her prison. It had taken a lot of effort, but first some focus had come back to her eyes, then she could move her arms a little, and then she could swallow and move her jaw and tongue to produce a little saliva. And then – the best thing – she could lift and turn her head, although her neck had somehow turned to jelly.
She saw a woman enter the room and approach her. Haughty with head tilted up, unbuttoned white coat flapping as she strode forward.
“Hello, Catherine.”
Cath tried to say, “Hello.” It came out as a hoarse groan.
“I’m Doctor Morbin.”
The woman rested a hand on Cath’s arm to reassure her. The feeling of someone holding onto her made her move her hands, which made her aware that her palms hurt, but she didn’t know why. It also enlivened her to speak. She cleared her throat.
“Where’s Dan?” she croaked, adding, “Where’s my husband?” when there was no immediate response.
As soon as the question was out in the ether, it all started to come back to her. She’d been involved in some big argument – a mother of all bust ups. But surely not with Dan? And had that been a dream?
“Catherine, you’ve been through a traumatic time, and it was felt by all that the best thing to do for your own safety was to sedate you.”
“What happened? And when?”
“It happened yesterday. You became violent with a couple of police officers.”
“What?”
“A police officer will be here shortly to explain the background, but I need to be satisfied you’ll stay calm this time. Do you understand?”
Cath shook her head. Which hurt. “Not at all.”
“Well, your system has had a big shock. You have a strong heart but you need to take care of it. You needed rest, hence your stay here. My opinion is that you should make a quick recovery, but you must try to stay calm.”
The doctor left and Cath’s head fell back onto the pillow. She closed her eyes. There was no need for a police officer to explain the background.
Now she had well and truly fallen off the cloud she’d been resting on, and could remember the whole sorry story.
Phoebe. Dan. Benjie. That bastard had eventually taken all three – one at a time, just as he’d promised.
She didn’t remember her exact words, but as soon as she and the two police officers had pulled up at the motel and found Dan’s car, she’d made them fully aware of her opinion of them – and of the whole police force and authorities. Somehow, one of them had leaked her new identity to the person she never ever wanted to meet again: Vinnie. That was their mortal sin. But the incompetence had continued. They hadn’t believed her when she’d told them Vinnie had kidnapped Phoebe. That had annoyed her but at least she’d accepted it. Then Dan had been taken too, and the best those boys and girls in blue were able to offer had been a lookout for her and Benjie at the motel they’d gone to, and a promise to look out for Dan and Phoebe. But somehow their new location had also found its way to Vinnie, and he’d taken Benjie from right under the noses of the two officers who were supposed to be keeping lookout. She’d given chase, cutting her hands and hitting her head in the process, but it had all been in vain; the son of a bitch had completed what he’d set out to do: he’d taken all three people she held dear.
He’d taken away her whole life.
That was why she’d totally blown her fuse at the police. They’d told her to take it easy. She’d told them to take a hike, to learn how to do their jobs instead of sitting on their useless fat asses munching fries and burgers. They’d needed to restrain her and take her back to the station. She’d met the investigating officer, and she’d met Sergeant Susan Jones, the woman who had been her initial contact on the night that now seemed half a world away, when her life was jogging along pretty perfectly, when she’d thought only one thing could possibly shake her cage.
At the police station she’d done a lot more than tell them to take a hike. Every last shred of self-control had drained away – or had been sucked away by poli
ce incompetence. After a few sentences of abuse, she’d physically attacked both of them – fists and feet flying – and had been subdued by four of the largest, youngest, fittest officers on duty that night. She’d wriggled and squirmed like a wild cat forced into a corner, but it had been futile. There were shouts for someone to use the Taser.
That was the last thing she could remember.
Now, even though she’d only had a few minutes to digest those memories, she knew there should have been shame and embarrassment at behaving like that. But there was none. Zero. Even after time for the events to sink in – and after being restrained and sedated for her own safety – she knew the police had utterly and comprehensively screwed up, that they deserved no quarter whatsoever.
There were now three big holes in her life, and the police were to blame.
So yes, she would now stay calm when it was officially explained to her, but there would be no more doing as she was told by the police, no more relying on them for help and advice and even – ha! – for protection. Now she was on her own.
She would sort the mess out by herself.
Chapter 25
“You asked to see me again?” Doctor Morbin said to Cath later that morning.
“Tell the cops to stay away from me. I don’t need an explanation from them. I remember what happened.”
Morbin pursed her lips in thought. “Well, I can ask, but it doesn’t work like that.”
“Meaning?”
“For one thing, technically, you assaulted police officers – plural – and I think there are formalities to deal with. And for another, it’s Sergeant Jones who you’ll be seeing, and you need to know that you owe her a lot. She’s pulled strings and argued your case so you won’t get charged.”
“So, I don’t get a say?”
“Look. Just see her. Talk things over. It won’t hurt you. Could I please ask that you just do that much?”
Cath didn’t answer. There didn’t seem much point; she wasn’t sure she could stand, let alone run away.
An hour later, Sergeant Jones sat down next to the bed.
One side of her lower lip was split and swollen. And despite some heavy-duty foundation, Cath could make out a heavy purple tinge to one cheekbone.
“Sergeant Jones,” Cath said, half expecting some sort of revenge attack.
“Call me Susan. How are you?”
Cath pointed at the damage. “Did I do that?”
Jones shook her head. “Hey, don’t worry about it.”
“Really?”
“Really. Part of the job. I know we haven’t exactly done ourselves proud in your mind – and in mine too, if I can be honest here.”
“Did I hit anyone else?”
Jones nodded. “But nobody important. Catherine, you had a . . . I guess you’d call it a nervous breakdown kind of situation.”
“Strange, I remember having an incompetent cop kind of situation.”
“You had that too, I guess. But we told the police psychologist what you did to your husband and children. That kind of behavior is nervous breakdown territory. You were there even before the first kidnapping. It was probably triggered by you hearing that Vincent Lemont was aware of your new life.”
And yes, Cath could hardly argue what she did was rational, although it seemed so at the time. She tried to smile at Jones, and said, “Well, I’m sorry. I guess I lost control.”
“We’re treating it as a mental health issue. You also had a nasty knock to the head a few minutes prior. So there won’t be any charges against you, and it won’t affect how we deal with your missing husband and children.” Then she held up a hand. “I’m sorry, I meant your kidnapped husband and children.”
“Well, thank you. And, uh, yes, it’s good that you acknowledge that. What’s happening in the case?”
Jones smiled, but it was half-hearted. “Not much to go on, I’m afraid. We can’t find Mr. Lemont. There’s no car registered to him. We got a trace on your husband’s phone on a freeway north of here, but we think he took the battery out somewhere along the way. No signal now.”
There was a long pause.
“And?” Cath said.
“And that’s about it. We looked into his known associates from all those years ago. Most are either dead or behind bars. We have one lead, but it’s a long shot and I wouldn’t like to get your hopes up by telling you about it. I’m so sorry, Catherine. The one important piece of good news I have is that I’ve arranged new safe accommodation for you.”
“So that’s it?”
“For now. But it’s ongoing. We’re trying.”
Cath was about to lay down a little sarcasm, but she remembered what Doctor Morbin had said about Jones being responsible for getting assault charges dropped. Perhaps she should cut the woman some slack.
“I, uh . . . I appreciate what you’ve done for me. I know I overreacted, and I’m sorry. Hope it doesn’t hurt too much.”
Jones smiled, now a more genuine, warmer expression on her face. “It’ll heal. As for overreacting, I’m not sure you did. We let you down. And I let you down. But it’s my job to make sure you’re safe from now on and also that you feel safe. I’ve moved your personal effects from the Toledo Motel to the new place, bought a few other things, and I want you to know I’m here for you if there’s anything else I can help you with. Sound good?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Cath felt just a little humbled. The woman really did want to make amends. Cutting out the sarcasm had been a good move.
Later that day, Jones took Cath to her new accommodation. This time it was an apartment – anonymous in a block of eight hundred identical ones southside of Pasadena. Anonymous suited Cath just fine.
What didn’t suit her at all was being alone. She hadn’t shut a door on the rest of the human race overnight since four months before Phoebe was born, when Dan had been on that course in Texas for a week. On his return, she was careful not to mention what she’d done to the basement during that week, but he clearly sensed something wrong and asked and asked. Eventually she told him she simply didn’t like it when he was away, that she found it upsetting, to which he shrugged and said if that was the way she felt, he wouldn’t go away again.
But now he had gone away, and so had Phoebe and Benjie.
And Cath had plans to right that wrong. While she’d been in the hospital bed she’d planned out what she was going to do and couldn’t wait to start, but now the day was half gone and she realized it wouldn’t be simple and would take time and lots of thought. And before any of that, she wondered whether she would fall apart as soon as Jones was out the door.
She tried to lock away those feelings and wandered around the apartment. And it was a pleasant, although characterless, place: clean, new, and tastefully furnished. Scents of fresh linen and citrus lent it a comforting air. Towels were neatly pressed. Cushions hadn’t merely been placed on the couch; they’d been arranged.
“Chose the pictures myself,” Jones said, pointing to the artsy prints of mountains and glaciers hung up on the walls. They clearly weren’t expensive, but Cath was starting to appreciate the lengths Jones had gone to.
Then Jones showed her the kitchen cupboards, well stocked with food – and not just the basics.
“I should get going soon,” she said, “but I can stay for coffee and cake if you really want me to.”
Cath found herself nodding, and then said, “There’s cake?”
Jones opened a cupboard door to reveal quite a selection: carrot, vanilla cream, triple berry, coffee and walnut, and, of course, chocolate.
“Oh,” Cath said. “Of course. Please stay.”
They settled for chocolate cake, and minutes later sat down. Although the coffee was instant, it was good quality.
“What are your plans?” Jones asked.
As soon as you’re out of that door, I’m going to search and search and search and not give up until I find Dan and the kids, rescue them, and then go track down Vinnie and cut the son of a bit
ch’s balls off.
“Haven’t decided,” she said.
“It’s a big shock to your system – losing the house and, well, everything.”
“Don’t I know it. But I’ll stay safe here and I’m happy to leave the detective work to you guys.”
“Good,” Jones said, taking a sip of coffee.
“I’m grateful for what you’ve done.”
“It’s nothing. Like I said, you’ve been let down. And it must be torture for you, not knowing whether your husband and kids are still . . . I mean, not knowing where they are. Just remember you can call my cell anytime you want.”
“Thanks. And you have good taste in cake.”
Jones laughed.
“And you do good sympathy too.”
That comment made Jones tut. “Oh, I know all about that, believe me.” She bowed her head just a little, lowered her gaze.
Forks on plates punctuated an awkward silence. Jones seemed to be blushing. The ice-cool cop was melting in the heat.
“You okay?” Cath said.
Jones waved her concerns away. “Oh, yeah. Sure. It’s just . . . oh, no. You don’t want to know about my personal problems.”
“Can’t be worse than mine.”
“Hell, no. No, no, no. And, uh . . .” Jones struggled for words for a few seconds. “Well, not exactly my problems. Co-worker of mine. Doesn’t matter, though. Forget I brought it up.”
“Did someone . . . die?”
Jones shook her head dismissively. “Try the next one down the list.”
“Divorce?”
“A very nasty one.”
“And I’m guessing you were the shoulder to cry on?”
“Yeah, kinda.” Jones looked up and focused on a point a mile behind Cath. “Her husband turned out to be a total jerk.”
“Any kids involved?”
A shake of the head was the only answer Cath got. Perhaps Jones was tiring of the interrogation.
“I’m sorry,” Cath said. “None of my business.”
