“Hold on, Cristina. That’s different.”
“How?”
I glanced at Anika, then back to my young rebel. “Let’s not get into the details now, please. Just take my word for it.”
She mumbled a few expletives while pulling out her phone and turning her attention to the small screen.
“While I don’t have any money on me, there is a way where I can get my hands on some,” Anika said.
“Thanks…I guess. If it’s a problem, we do take on an occasional pro bono case—”
“Pro bono?” She wore a puzzled look on her face.
“Where we work for free,” Cristina blurted, her eyes still on her phone.
Anika nodded. “I’m not looking for a free handout. I can pay my way. I have ever since I left home fifteen months ago.”
Another runaway.
I took in a breath, knowing that if I let my intuition take over, I’d start asking questions and it would be difficult to turn back.
“Did you go to the cops?”
“I tried. They say there was no evidence of any criminal act, so they said to give it another couple of weeks.”
“How long have your parents been missing?”
She arched her back, sitting a little taller in the seat. “Don’t know exactly. I went home two days ago, and I saw an eviction notice from the bank on the front door that was a week old.”
“It’s been a while since you’d seen them?”
“Like I said earlier, I’ve been on my own for fifteen months,” she said, taking a noticeable swallow. “And four days.”
“Why?”
Anika shifted her eyes to Cristina, who simply shrugged her shoulders. Anika turned her attention back to me.
“Why what?”
“Why were they kidnapped? Why did you all of a sudden decide to go home…a week after they were served with an eviction notice?”
Tilting her head, she said, “Are you thinking I had something to do with this?”
I had purposely gone down this path. Too many times I’d seen desperate, resentful kids seek vengeance against those who had ruined their lives. There were far too many cases where children had been abused, neglected, and even tortured—I knew that firsthand. But I also knew that all kids weren’t victims. The difficult part was deciding which group Anika belonged in.
“Look, Anika, I’m not trying to implicate you, I’m just going through my normal due diligence before accepting a case. And just to let you know, I typically have a skeptical perspective. I have to. Otherwise, we’d be taken advantage of at the cost of people’s lives.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I picked up Cristina’s glare, but she kept her mouth shut. That showed restraint and a little maturity I hadn’t previously seen.
“I guess I understand,” Anika said, pulling her thin lips tight.
She stared at me, and I stared back.
“Oh, you still want me to answer your questions?”
I nodded as I felt Zorro curling around my legs under the chair.
“I really don’t know why they were kidnapped. Remember I haven’t seen them in over a year.”
A teenager attitude had sprouted to life. I kept my demeanor calm.
“No thought or ideas? We need clues, Anika, and anything at all you can give us might be helpful.”
“They had money issues, all right?” She curled a lock of hair around her ear, then squeezed her fingers together.
“How bad?”
“Typical stuff. Some months it was okay; other months not so much.” She paused to take a drink from the glass of water. Wiping her sleeve across her mouth, she said, “The electricity would suddenly go off one day, then a bill collector would show up the next day.”
“Is that why you left home?”
A deep sigh. She looked away for a moment, then pinched the corners of her eyes.
“Sorry, Anika,” Cristina said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Ivy’s not trying to purposely bring back painful memories.”
“I know,” she said, her voice wet with emotion.
“We can’t be the ones driving this,” I said, pointing to me and Cristina. “If you really want to find your parents, then it might take a few tears,” I added, testing her resolve.
“I do. I swear I do.”
“Good.” I paused, letting her gather herself for a moment. “You were going to tell us why you went to your parents’ house after fifteen months.”
“It’s simple. I missed them.”
“It’s really that simple?” I asked.
She blew out a breath. “I’m a bit of a rebel at heart. I wanted my independence, and they were into all of these rules and shit. But looking back, I can see that I was blaming them for everything wrong with my life.”
“And it just hit you on that day?”
“I don’t know. It’s been building up, I guess,” she said. “I got to know a few of the girls at the homeless shelter off Perez, but getting through the holidays was tough.”
“Tough in what way?”
“Besides all the normal stuff—you know, harassment, being treated like a second-class citizen—I actually felt like something was missing from my life.”
I eyed her posture and expression. She seemed authentic. “That’s a pretty mature way to look at it.”
The edge of her lips turned upward for a second, and for the first time I saw the hint of a warm smile. It vanished in a split second. “I read a lot. Think a lot. And play my cello when I can.”
I gestured at her earrings. “That’s what those are. Cellos.”
“It’s probably the only thing that allows me to release my anger and frustration. I just love to make music that evokes emotion.”
It felt as if I were speaking to a twenty-seven-year-old professional cellist from the Boston Symphony Orchestra.
“Have you guys played a gig together?” I asked, pointing back and forth between the two girls. Cristina was a gifted singer, songwriter and guitarist, something that I would have never believed had I not seen her perform myself, even if it was on the side of the street.
Cristina smiled. “We’ve jammed a couple of times. But you know me; I’m more of a solo act.” She looked at Anika with a raised eyebrow. “No offense.”
“We’ve got different styles, let’s just say that,” Anika said, again briefly smiling.
I lifted from my seat and refilled everyone’s water glasses. Sitting back down at the table, I glanced at my phone. No updates from Stan. I knew he and the crime-scene crew needed more time to process evidence, but my sixth sense was on high alert. I didn’t want to lose five minutes without learning the latest on Eileen Tadlock’s brutal murder. I had to find out if the killer was the same person who’d kidnapped me. But something told me the evidence would be gray at best.
Cristina snapped her fingers an inch from my face. “Earth to Spock, you with us?”
I pushed her hand away. “Yes, sassy-ass. Just thinking through everything I’ve heard.” I refocused my thoughts on Anika and her missing parents.
“Do you think they’re alive, maybe simply moved to another city or state, or even country, to escape the bill collectors?”
“That’s a good question, something I’ve thought a lot about in the last forty-eight hours.” She bit into her lip, thinking. “I have to believe they’re still alive. I just can’t think of the other option.”
I didn’t want to push her over the edge. I had to remember she was just seventeen, still a little girl in so many ways. “Don’t you think it’s possible they just bailed, considering their money issues?”
“It’s possible, but I really think they would have called me. They had my number.”
“Really? You think they would have called you, even after not speaking to you for all that time? Don’t you think they would have been worried about giving off a hint, or leaving some type of verbal clue for you or the authorities?”
She rubbed her tired eyes. “Mom sent me a text on Christmas day. It was
one of those cheesy memes, but it made me smile.”
“Did you reply to her?” Cristina asked.
“No. I couldn’t. I’m sure you get where I’m coming from, right?”
Cristina nodded. “It might show weakness, that you need their words of affirmation just to make it through the day.”
“I get it,” I said.
“Besides mortgage companies, electric companies, and credit card companies, who would want to kidnap your parents?”
She rubbed her eyes with her palms. “I’ve been racking my brain for two solid days trying to think of anyone who might have a reason to harm them or want them to suffer in any way. I hardly slept at all, and I couldn’t think of a single person.”
“Not one?”
“I know we weren’t on the same wavelength when I was younger, but I don’t recall hearing about any major disagreements with anyone. But then again I was a kid, so I probably didn’t hear about everything that was going on.”
Zorro climbed onto the sofa and curled up next to the green pillow, but his head remained raised, as if he were waiting for me to join him.
“We’re going to take the case, right?” Cristina said.
I snickered. “You’re supposed to ask me that when the client’s not in the room.”
“Remember, I can pay you. I don’t want charity.”
“I don’t mean to pry into your personal finances, but you are living on the street, right? So, what makes you think you can afford to pay our full rates? We’re probably talking a couple of thousand up front, and then every week after that, another thousand, depending on the hours we put in.”
“It’s no problem. The first thing I need help with is to get inside my old home. I have this key hidden in my bathroom; it’s a key to a lockbox. That will give me access to the money so I can pay you.”
Now she had my attention, and it wasn’t because she was figuring out a way to pay us.
“A hidden key and a lockbox,” I repeated. “Did you ever think about giving this money to your parents to help them out?”
“No way. They would have spent it on something stupid. Or done something to lose it. I might have come around a bit in my thinking, but that doesn’t mean they’ve totally changed.”
Cristina and I locked eyes for a brief second before I shifted my sights to Anika. “You’re asking us to break-and-enter a property that you—your parents essentially—are not allowed to enter.”
“I figured you guys do this all the time. No?”
“No.”
“Well…” Cristina held up her hand, her pearly whites showing. “I’ve acquired a few lifesaving tools, just in case some type of end-of-world apocalypse hits San Antonio.”
“An apocalypse?” I questioned. “And what’s going to cause that?”
“A severe drought?”
A moment later we started laying out a plan to commit the first felony since ECHO had been formed.
6
While Anika used the restroom, I gave my ECHO teammate a twenty-second summary of the scene at the parking garage. I kept Stan’s gory description of the victim to myself. Cristina simply stared at me with her dark-brown eyes, her face as serious as I’d ever seen it.
Finally, just as the door opened from the bathroom, she said, “That’s why you’re paranoid about the man in the white ball cap.”
“Not paranoid. Cautious and aware.”
She bumped her fist against my arm—her way of showing me that she sympathized and had my back—and then the two girls left. I secured all three locks on the door, and turned to see Zorro standing on the kitchen table, purring. I’d recently been forced to feed him three times a day—otherwise, he would turn to chewing on anything with a wire attached. I was on my sixth pair of earbuds in the last four weeks. He was only two, so I figured it was the equivalent of a teenager going through a growth spurt.
I popped a can of tuna, and before I could scoop it out, he was plowing into my hand that held the can.
“All right already.” Yeah, I talked to the cat, but I tried not to think that at age twenty-eight I was becoming a “crazy cat lady.”
I picked up a piece of paper where I’d scribbled a few notes from the conversation with Anika and ran the edge across my fingers. I had one word circled in the right-hand corner: troubled. That was the most pervasive feeling I had from talking to Anika. She had suffered in her young life in some way, but I couldn’t determine the cause. Besides talking about what seemed like a typical communication issue with her parents, she didn’t share those demons with us. It wasn’t necessary, at least not at this stage. She genuinely seemed impacted by her parents’ disappearance, which is why I’d taken the case and agreed to help her get into her old home to retrieve the key that would give her access to the lockbox. Was there just a wad of cash in there? Or were there some type of stock certificates or bonds? I felt certain there was more to it, possibly a connection to her parents, though Anika hadn’t said so.
My phone rattled across the kitchen table. It was a text from Stan.
Prelim exam of body shows odd symbol or letter on vic’s back. Thoughts?
I scrolled down to see a shot of the victim’s back. A burgundy stain covered the edges of the image—it was her blood, I was certain. Running my eyes across the picture, I didn’t see anything other than a ton of blood. Had Stan sent me the correct image?
I used my fingers to zoom in closer, and I slowly shifted the image left to right. I stopped once I hit the spine. Something had been carved into the victim’s skin, which sent an immediate jolt through my body. I tried not to relive my own tortured captivity again and instead focused on the marking. Two vertical lines connected in the middle by a horizontal line. It looked like the letter “H.” That almost seemed too obvious, so I began to pace and think more about what the “H” could represent.
Back and forth across the floor four times, and then I stopped. “A railroad track?” I questioned myself the moment the words left my mouth and went back to pacing. Zorro kept his eyes on me the entire time, meowing occasionally, as if I were annoying him and keeping him from his nap. I probably was.
I studied the picture again. Could just be an “H.” I twisted my lips, thinking. But it really could be a single section of railroad track. I lowered my phone and sat on the arm of the couch, tossing the idea around in my head. Zorro continued to eyeball me under half-open lids.
“What do you think?” I asked him. “A railroad track? Implying maybe some sort of journey?”
Zorro promptly readjusted himself on the couch, effectively turning his back to me.
“Ass.” I went back to my brainstorming. If it symbolized a journey, whose? The killer’s? And to where? Why? What was the end goal?
My breath caught in my throat suddenly, and I coughed for a good twenty seconds. I’d been so deep in thought that I’d accidentally inhaled my own saliva. Instantly my body tensed as I was reminded of the deluge of water that had pummeled and choked me during captivity. I’d thought I was going to die—part of me had wanted to die. My toes had been at the edge of the cliff that would drop me into a deathly abyss. And then it had stopped.
I lifted my shirt and felt the scarred edges of the letters the man had carved into my stomach. Despite using generous amounts of various ointments, the words were still visible. But I didn’t have to look in the mirror to the read them. They were etched in my soul.
I will kill you when I am ready
And then the second part of his demented calling card, carved on my lower back.
This is my space
My heart pumped like I was jogging up hill, and my breath quivered. I had been held captive for almost three days, but his messages were meant to terrorize me for a lifetime. How many years did I have left? He would determine when I would die—that was what he was telling me.
“Fuck him.” I pounded the back of the couch, sending Zorro skyward. He jogged out of the room as I seethed with anger.
And with resolve.
I wasn’t going to let that man decide my fate. I couldn’t live my life day in and day out wondering if he was hiding in my car or lurking behind the tree in the park. I would suffocate from my own anxiety.
Yet, I knew I was being sucked down the path I most wanted to avoid. Every crunch of gravel behind me made my heart skip a beat, forcing me to wonder if the vile excuse for a human was a moment away from plucking me out of my normal life and sending me back into the torture chamber, where he would poke and prod me until I literally crumbled.
“You’re not going to win, dammit. No way,” I said, shaking my head in defiance.
7
I sat at my small desk, phone still in my shaking hand, and fired up my laptop. I finally relaxed my grip and took another glance at the image on my phone, then logged in and pulled up an app I’d been using to track any bit of evidence that even had a possibility of being associated with my kidnapper. The app allowed me to load graphics, homemade or loaded images, and had an area on the side to list out relevant data points. I could move them around on the screen, and even attach them to a header or one of the graphics.
One large section was dedicated to “My Past,” where I vetted every possible person who might have a reason to bring me harm. One night, with a bottle of wine sitting on the table next to my computer, I’d opened that vault of demons. Every one of those demons was related in some way to one of my seventeen foster homes. I was actually proud of myself for stopping after one bottle of wine. The haunting memories could have lasted another two bottles without skipping a beat.
I filled my lungs with air and blew out a long breath. I studied many of the names I’d added to my virtual evidence board, wondering if someone had come back to haunt me once again. I was no saint as a child, stealing from stores when I could get away with it, blaming my foster siblings for things when I was at fault. But I had done it to survive. Some extra food to hold me over. A pair of socks without holes in them so I wouldn’t be made fun of at school. A knife from the butcher block hidden under my mattress in case I was attacked at night by one of my many suitors—what I’d grown to call the PALs. Pathetic Asshole Leeches. A term of endearment it was not, but it had helped me put some type of box around those who’d preyed on me. And it had enabled me to not see every person over the age of eighteen as a potential threat to harm me, destroy me. If they weren’t a PAL, they were okay in my book.
The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 1-3: Redemption Thriller Series 7-9 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set) Page 27
