The Billionaire's Trap

by Brooke Kinsley

  “We need to follow it up, though.”

  She didn’t respond. She was watching the sergeant bluster through the office like a tornado. People were scurrying out of his way, trying to make themselves look busy.

  “Detective Harper!” he outstretched his hand to Matt and shook it hard. “And Detective Gibson, a pleasure to see you both. Step into my office.”

  Cassie hated being in his room. It was masculine to the point of being sterile and aggressive with hardwood and leather confining you. It felt like being in a coffin that smelled like whiskey. As she sat across from his desk, she felt oppressed and small. Hunched in her seat, she stared at the floor.

  “So I understand last night didn’t go to plan.”

  The detectives shook their heads.

  “If I’m correct, somebody crashed into the crack house, that was empty by the way, and then told you some tale of people being murdered in a big house in the woods.”

  “That’s correct,” Cassie confirmed.

  “But that’s all the information you have?”

  She nodded.

  “He didn’t say anything else? Like who he was, why he was driving like a lunatic or where these woods were? Not even who the people were?”

  “He was traumatized, sergeant,” Cassie explained.

  “Yeah, he was out of his mind, terrified,” Matt chimed in.

  The sergeant flicked through a file on his desk.

  “I want you to follow this up,” he said.

  “But what about the surveillance on the crack den?” she pressed.

  Munro glowered at her.

  “I think this might be part of a bigger picture. Maybe… We’ll see. For today anyway, I want you at his bedside. Try and get some more information out of him. Hopefully, he’ll be more lucid. Matt,” he pointed a pen at him. “I want you to stay here. You’re meeting Officer Price from the homicide unit.”

  “The homicide unit?”

  “Like I said, I think we’re on to something.”

  The detectives glanced at each other.

  “Ok,” Cassie said as she stood up. “I’ll head back to the hospital now. Matt, keep me in the loop.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Once outside, she let out a yawn she’d been stifling. It hung in the air, cold and cloudy. She climbed into her car and started the engine. The homicide unit? She thought. What exactly is going on here? Driving to the hospital, she thought about the terror on the man’s face. Was what he was saying true? It couldn’t be, Cassie reasoned. It was too dramatic, way too far-fetched. She toyed with the idea that he was covering his tracks, making up some ludicrous story to hide the fact he was high and drunk while driving. Over the years she’d seen people say the most outrageous things to get away with their crimes. Still, it was her job to question him and see where it went.

  She braked at a stoplight. The hospital loomed in the distance and she shivered. She hated hospitals. Beside her, a truck pulled up. A young man was in the driver’s seat, a baseball cap pulled low over his forehead. He gave her a smile and winked at her. She turned away disgusted and laughed at him.

  “Urgh.”

  The stoplight turned green and she sped away, leaving the truck behind. Arriving at the hospital, she jumped out and grumbled to herself:

  “God damn Matt. Always gets the easy jobs. Gets to stay in a warm office all day drinking coffee…”

  Fast tracking her way through to the intensive care unit with her badge in her hand, she found the doctor from the night before. He looked more exhausted than she did.

  “Detective?” he smiled, pleased to see her. “I didn’t realize you’d be back so soon.”

  “Me neither,” she groaned. “So how is he? Is he ok to talk?”

  “I think so,” he said as he scribbled on a chart pinned to the wall. “But he’s not here.”

  “What do you mean he’s not here?”

  “He’s in the chapel. He went crazy until a nurse agreed to take him.

  Chapter Five

  The chapel was located in the basement. Cassie had heard of it but had never seen it for herself. Now, as she rode down in the elevator, she realized she hated churches too. They were always dark and empty, silent and cavernous. The church, she thought, was supposed to guide you through life with an uplifting sense of paternal care, but she’d never experienced anything like that. All the times she’d been to church as a child had resulted in her sitting in a front row pew, her hands gripping the seat in fear while the priest shouted about hellfire as her knuckles turned white.

  Her fears were not dissipated when she stepped out the elevator onto the basement level. It resembled more of an underground parking lot than a place of worship with dark, concrete walls and overhead lights spaced twenty feet apart.

  Faint organ music played somewhere within the bowels of the building. She followed it around the corner until she was faced with the looming entrance of the chapel. Her hand trembled as she reached for the handle but she wasn’t sure why. The atmosphere around her was ominous, thick and heavy. As she pushed open the door and smelled the incense and candle wax, she thought she’d choke.

  Then she saw him, on his knees. His hospital gown was draped open at the back, his bare buttocks facing her, alongside a dragon tattoo across his shoulder blades. The nurse beside him, a young brunette with a terse expression on her face, heard Cassie’s footsteps. Looking up, she saw the flash of the police badge in her hand and hurried over to wrap his gown tighter, hiding his battered body. Not that he noticed. He was staring up at a life-sized Jesus suspended above the altar. Cassie looked up at the bloody crown of thornsand winced. Then she turned to the man beside her. She noticed he had tears in his eyes, they ran down his cheeks and dropped from his chin, landing on the tattoos that covered his forearms.

  Cassie looked into his blue eyes and saw they were filled with just as much terror as the day before. His mouth was quivering as if he was trying to talk but fear forbade him. At last, when she thought he hadn't noticed her presence, he swiveled his eyes toward her. They were wide and desperate. She didn't know what to do and at a loss, knelt down beside him. They both stared up at Jesus.

  "Would it be ok to get a moment alone with him?" she asked the nurse.

  "Of course," and the young girl relished the chance to scarper from the chapel.

  "So," Cassie turned to him. "I'd really like to help you. I can see you've been through something terrible."

  She looked at his injuries. There were small cuts covering his body from when he traveled through the windshield, but for the first time, she saw something else. On his wrist, beneath his name tag, there was something black. She blinked as though she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. A bruise that wound its way around his wrist like a blood filled bangle. She knew what it was in an instant, a sign that he had been bound, tied at the wrists for an extended period of time. Dried blood crusted the hairs on his arms, mingling with the darkness of his skull tattoo.

  "Are you ok to talk?" she asked. "You spoke of the others..."

  "Yes," he whispered, "The others."

  He looked back up to Jesus, his wet face shining in the candle light.

  "Can you tell me who they are?"

  He didn't say a word. Cassie was growing weary. She was eager to get the story out of him but something had softened inside of her. The bruise around his wrist was real, that much was obvious. She's seen similar injuries in young girls who had been victims of sexual abuse, but this guy? He seemed too brawny and strong to be taken as anyone's victim. He had the physique of a boxer with a diamond jawed face and tattoos covering more than half of his body, and although she hadn't seen him stand up, she could guess he was over six feet tall. Whoever had put so much fear into a man like this was obviously not your average criminal.

  "Please," she said. "I want to help. Can you tell me anything at all?"

  There was silence for a few seconds. In front of them, the flames from the candles crackled. Just when Cassie thought he w
ould never say a word, he let out a howl. It was so pained it sounded inhuman, like a fox shrieking into the night. Then he collapsed forward, clutching his head in his hands.

  "No, no, no, no, no," he whimpered into the ground.

  Cassie felt her heart hammer in her chest. Something was wrong here, something she was unfamiliar with. He was scaring her and she stood up to see where the nurse was.

  "Hello?" her voice echoed down the aisle.

  There were footsteps then the nurse appeared in the doorway. She heard the man's voice, saw him huddled on the floor.

  "We need to get him back up to the ward," Cassie said as she linked her arm in his.

  "Come on now," the nurse spoke as if she was talking to a child. "Let's give you something to calm you down."

  Chapter Six

  Back at the station, Matt was leaning over his desk with wide, exhausted eyes. He was shuffling stacks of photographs, looking at all the names below each face.

  "What's all this?" Cassie asked as she sat down across from him.

  "Hmmm..." was all he said. "Real crazy."

  "Hey!" she waved a hand in his face.

  He looked up, surprised to see her.

  "Oh, hey. How did it go at the hospital? Any luck getting anything out of him?"

  She shook her head and sighed.

  "He talked of the others... then collapsed on the floor repeating the word no, over and over again. He's sedated now. I'll try again tomorrow."

  "Jesus, that sounds pretty dramatic."

  "It was..."

  She thought back to the towering statue of Jesus above him and the way the candlelight flickered across the basement walls. She shuddered and pulled her scarf tight around her.

  "So what's all this then? The homicide unit's treating you well I hope."

  "You're not gonna believe this," Matt pushed the files and photographs across the table.

  She flicked through them. There were school photographs of wholesome teenage girls mixed with mug shots of meth addicts and everything in between.

  "Who are these people?" she frowned as she scanned her eyes over the names.

  "The others..."

  Matt sat back in his seat with a mystified look on his face.

  "You have got to be kidding me," Cassie flung the photos back on the desk. "Please elaborate."

  "Ok. So..." he leaned his elbows on the desk.

  Cassie could see blood was pooled around his thumbnail.

  "So, these people. They're all either missing or murdered."

  "And?"

  "And we didn't know about them because they all disappeared across state lines... in Washington."

  "Oh..."

  "What's that got to do with our man?" she rubbed at her tired eyes.

  "See this girl?" he pushed a picture in her face. "She was a prostitute, a heroin user. When she was found running down the highway, coming out of Mount Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest naked, everyone thought she was high. Even when she told the cops she'd escaped from a mansion hidden deep within the woods no one believed her. She made her statement and that was that. It was never followed up.”

  "For Christ's sake!" Cassie was enraged and smacked the arms of her chair.

  "So it's starting to look as though our guy might not be that crazy."

  "But..." she chewed a thought over in her mind, "He's a guy... It's not often that people murder both men and women. They usually have a definitive type."

  "Yeah," Matt nodded. "I've been thinking about that too."

  "So this girl, the hooker, is she still alive?"

  "The last address we have for her is in Eagle Creek but who knows…"

  "Well then, I think we know what we're doing this afternoon.

  ~

  "You've gone quiet again," Matt glanced over at Cassie.

  "Just thinking," she watched as the beautiful countryside glided past.

  "About what?"

  "Jesus, what are you, the thought police? If you must know, I was thinking about our man. The poor guy, he must have been through something awful."

  "You've sure changed your tune! You didn't even believe him."

  "Well, the evidence seems pretty damn compelling right now."

  If she was being truthful she would have told her partner that she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the man who she witnessed having a breakdown. Although she thought of herself as a hardened individual, there was something about him that really got to her. On one hand, he seemed so tough but on the other, he was so vulnerable.

  She'd never forget the tears that fell from his face or the sound of his voice as he wailed into his hands. She had the strongest urge to beg Matt to turn the car around so she could go back to the hospital and make sure he was ok. As she sat with her head leaning against the window, she imagined dabbing at his wounds, cleaning away the blood. She thought of holding his hand and seeing the bruise around his wrist fading.

  "But he seemed like a bit of a weirdo," she said to mask her feelings. "I mean he was in the chapel."

  "The chapel?"

  "Yeah... on his knees staring up at Jesus."

  Matt flashed her a look.

  "Being the victim of violence can do terrible things to a person."

  "I know," she bowed her head.

  "And don't forget he was in a car accident too."

  "Yeah," she nodded. "Have they run the plates on the vehicle yet?"

  "Yup," Matt said as he took a left up a dirt track. "The car was stolen almost ten years ago from a Seattle suburb. But they're running prints."

  As the tires kicked up dried mud and gravel along the track, Cassie could see a trailer come into view. At one time it would have been glossy and new, now it looked disheveled and sad, stained yellow from the earth and the rain.

  They parked a few yards away, not wanting to seem threatening as they arrived. A young girl was playing outside, kicking a ball against the side of the trailer. As the detectives climbed out the car, they could hear a voice shrieking from indoors.

  "Sarah! What have I told you about kicking that ball? It sounds like there's fuckin' bombs goin' off in here!"

  Cassie looked over at Matt, he was frowning into the sun. The girl stopped in her tracks when she saw the two detectives approach.

  "Mom!" she yelled. "We have visitors!"

  The face of an older woman appeared in the doorway. Her eyes were wide and angry with heavy blue eye shadow and thick, fake eyelashes like spiders’ legs.

  "Who are you?" she spat.

  "Latrece Adams?"

  "I said who are you?"

  "We're detectives from Portland PD."

  "And?" she stood with her shoulders squared off and her arms crossed.

  Something about the tone of her voice and the way she behaved had Cassie thinking there was a shotgun out of sight just inside the doorway. She'd met dozens of people like this, live wires who were always looking for an excuse to lose their temper.

  "You're not in any trouble," Cassie held her hands up. "We're here to ask you a few questions."

  Latrece narrowed her eyes.

  "About..." Cassie tried to choose the perfect words. "About Washington."

  The woman dropped her arms. Her mouth fell open.

  "That was so long ago," she waved a hand as though trying to dismiss it from her mind. "I'm over that now."

  Cassie wasn't convinced.

  "We're still looking for him," she said.

  "Cut the crap detective," Latrece became defensive once again. "You were never looking for him!"

  “Look,” Cassie took a step forward. “We know how shit the cops were back then, how they didn’t believe you but we do. Another survivor has come forward, a man. He spoke of people being killed up in some big house in the woods. His story is just like yours.”

  Latrece’s lower lip began to tremble as she looked to the ground. Silent tears fell from her face and dropped into the earth.

  “Ok,” she whispered. “You better come inside.”

&nbs
p; Chapter Seven

  The smell of antiseptic stung his nostrils and made his eyes water. He looked up at the ceiling with a foggy mind. The light was blinding him, making his headache so he turned away and looked at his meager possessions that had been folded and placed on the chair beside him; a pair of jeans, a ripped leather jacket and a pair of boots. He noticed his t-shirt was missing and he realized they must have had to cut it off him when they were working on his battered body.