Cut to the Bone

by Ellison Cooper

  “Shh,” a girl with short black hair and startling blue eyes hissed.

  “He said he would kill us all if we talked,” another girl with brown skin and deep brown eyes whispered. Her shoulder-length box braids swung free as she talked.

  “I’m fairly sure he’s going to kill us all anyway,” another said flatly.

  Kate glanced outside the bus one more time to make sure Walter wasn’t there. “I agree…”

  “Just shut up, all of you,” the blue-eyed girl whispered again. “You’re going to get us killed!”

  “Becky, you saw him drag Rowena off this bus. You think he took her to the park for some ice cream?” the girl with box braids spat. “He’s going to kill us all one by one.”

  “Listen. He’s not here. While we have the chance, I think we need to try and escape,” Kate said calmly.

  “How? He locked us on the bus. We’ve got our hands tied. We have no phones,” another girl said.

  “I’ve got a pin and managed to get my hands untied.” Kate held up her hands. “I’ll come around and get you all out of your zip ties. Then we can think of a plan.”

  “Are you fucking deaf?” the blue-eyed girl was speaking too loudly. “He said he would kill. Us. All. He’ll know if we’re out of our ties.”

  “Shh,” a few of the other girls shushed her.

  Box braid girl let out a harsh laugh. “I think he’s got plans for us. He won’t kill us for talking. And if he does kill me … I might prefer a bullet to the head over getting dragged off this bus to wherever he took Rowena.”

  They had all watched him enter the bus and drag her away screaming.

  “Hey, we don’t know what happened to her,” Kate whispered firmly. “But you’ve got a point. He shot all those people and then took Rowena. I think we should assume he plans to kill us eventually.” Kate held up her free hands. “I’ll loosen your ties just enough to slip out, you can shove them back on when he comes back.”

  “Okay.”

  “Yeah, get these things off me.”

  “Yes, please.”

  The chorus of voices agreed.

  Kate released zip ties one by one until she got to Becky who turned away, refusing to even acknowledge her.

  Something about releasing their hands broke the logjam of silence and the rest of the girls began whispering to one another in soft murmurs while Kate loosened the last ties. Their eyes all darted around, vigilant.

  “Okay.” Kate went to the head of the bus. She could just make out the girls’ faces, their eyes smudged with fear and the exhaustion of being on high alert for so long.

  She realized that everyone was looking to her for what to do next. “We’re smart as hell. He could be back any second, so let’s figure out a plan. Can we figure out a way to get off this damn bus?” She pointed at the girl with box braids. “Uh…”

  “Nell Goodyear,” she introduced herself, “like the blimp.”

  “Nell, I’m Kate Brooks. Could you check the front door while I check the emergency exit?”

  Nell nodded and hurried to the front door, pulling on it hard a few times, but it didn’t budge. “Nah, this isn’t going anywhere,” she called back softly. “The bar is jammed against the mirror. We’d have to snap the metal to get it open.”

  Kate tried to shoulder open the emergency exit next to the small bathroom, but it held fast. “Yeah, same here. Okay, does anyone else have ideas?”

  “Could we kick out the windows?” one of the girls asked.

  “Can’t hurt to try … though if we get a window out, are we all ready to run?” Kate said.

  “Does anyone know where we even are?” Nell asked. “I know we’re somewhere in northwest D.C., because we drove right by Howard University, which is where my mom teaches. But I didn’t recognize where we turned off. It looked like some kind of big park, but then we drove into this … what is this?” She gestured to the massive chamber.

  Heads shook as the girls all spoke over one another.

  “I mean, this has to be a huge old warehouse or something. The brick looks really old to me.”

  “Yeah, if we can’t even see the walls, how big is this place?”

  “Why is the floor made of sand?”

  Nell held up her hands and looked at Kate. “So, looks like no one knows where we are, but I think we’re all ready to run. If we get a way out, we stick together.”

  A chorus of agreement filled the bus.

  “All right, let’s try to kick a window out then. Anyone here play soccer?” Kate said lightly, trying to keep morale up.

  A sinewy girl raised her hand. “Lacrosse here.”

  “Great, go for it.”

  The girl laid down on a seat and pistoned her legs forward into the window with a hefty grunt.

  “Ow,” she said as her legs rebounded back. The window didn’t budge. She tried again with the same result.

  After two more tries, she stood up, rubbing her quadriceps. “I don’t think these things are going anywhere.”

  “Damn,” Nell said.

  Kate just nodded, mind already seeking a new plan. “Okay, if we can’t get off the bus, then we need to find a way to communicate with the outside world. I don’t suppose anyone managed to hide away a cell phone?”

  “I have a bunch of stuff we could use, including a computer, but it’s all in my bag under the bus,” one girl said.

  “Me too,” Nell agreed.

  Kate nodded. “Yeah, me too actually,” she said, thinking about all of her computer equipment. “So, I guess that means our best bet is to see if we can find a way to get into the storage space beneath the bus.”

  “I saw that old movie about the bus that couldn’t stop. Shouldn’t there be an access panel somewhere?” Nell got up and started looking.

  “Everyone look around, see if you can find a way to access the storage space from here,” Kate said.

  In the growing morning light, every girl but one crouched down to scan the floor.

  FBI COMMAND CENTER CONFERENCE ROOM, QUANTICO, VA

  Sayer paused to gather herself outside the conference room. Her whole body felt heavy with the grief she’d absorbed from the families. Taking a few deep breaths, she pushed through the door.

  Inside, Ezra sat at the central table staring at the baboon statues that had encircled Rowena’s body. He had all nine of them lined up on the table and Sayer got her first good look at them. Although they were all in the same pose, crouched with their hands on their knees, each carving was slightly different. Some were in a pale blue stone, some gray. One looked like it was carved out of wood.

  “Ancient Egypt.” Ezra’s tongue piercing clacked against his teeth as he smiled a broad, lopsided grin.

  “Egypt…” Sayer leaned in to see the details on the baboons. “How did you figure that out?”

  “Well, I thought to myself, Self, these look like they could be really old. So I decided to ask someone over in the art crimes department.” Ezra turned his computer so she could see the screen. A series of close-up photos depicted the baboon figurines. “Sure enough, they came up on the stolen antiquities list.”

  “Nicely done!” Sayer squeezed his shoulder. “So, what’s the story?”

  “These little fellas were all stolen from the Walters Art Museum in Baltimore last week. Someone broke in and stole five crates of ancient Egyptian artifacts, including our little baboons.”

  “That’s got to be our guy. They have any leads?”

  “No, but a guard was killed during the robbery so the locals are taking it very seriously. They’re emailing me the police report right now. But from the detective I spoke with, it sounds like the unsub broke in around ten thirty at night six days ago. The only people in the building were a guard and a researcher. He made the researcher, Dr. Alphonse Valentine, help him gather a list of things he wanted and then killed the guard.”

  “The unsub had a list?”

  “Yeah, and get this,” Ezra said, “he took the time to carefully box the artifacts up
in crates before he tied up the researcher and carried them all out, cool as a cucumber.”

  “He left the researcher alive? That would make him the first person the unsub has left alive on purpose.”

  “I’ve already sent the address to you and I called the researcher. He and the head curator will meet you at the museum in an hour and a half,” Ezra said.

  Sayer barely heard the end of Ezra’s comment rushing out the door.

  UNKNOWN LOCATION

  Kate and Nell stood at the front of the bus, dejected. They’d found a first aid kit, a toolbox with nothing but a wrench and an old flashlight, and a way to access the engine block through the dashboard, but no way out and no access panel into the storage compartment beneath them.

  No matter what they were doing, all of the girls constantly glanced outside the bus across the sand floor, afraid that their captor would be back at any moment.

  “All right.” Kate turned around to speak to everyone. “We’ve got a first aid kit that includes…” She looked at Nell, who was riffling through the small plastic box.

  “We’ve got a roll of gauze, totally not sharp scissors, a box of Band-Aids, a few alcohol wipes.”

  “And there’s nothing but a rusty wrench and flashlight in the toolbox,” Kate said. “So that’s a bust. What’s next?”

  The lacrosse player raised her hand.

  “You have an idea?” Kate asked.

  “Why are you all listening to her?” Becky interjected. “Who died and put her in charge?”

  Kate regarded the blue-eyed girl. She was about to respond when Nell answered for her.

  “You’re right, Becky.” Nell held up a conciliatory hand. “We should vote. I vote that Kate is our leader while we figure out how to get out of this. All those in favor?”

  Nell raised her hand. Every other girl on the bus did as well. Except for Becky.

  “So there you go. Now Kate is officially our leader,” Nell said with a sharp edge of warning in her voice.

  Becky crossed her arms and turned back toward the wall.

  “Okay then…” Kate said slowly, not exactly sure how to handle this. “Um … as I see it, we have three options for survival here. One, escape. So far that seems impossible. Anyone have other thoughts on how to get the hell out of here?”

  No one said anything.

  “Okay, option two, we figure out some way to communicate with the outside world. Our equipment is inaccessible so what else could we use?”

  “What about the radio? Could we make that send out a signal?” a girl asked, pointing to the old AM/FM transistor.

  “I can hack just about anything, but that might be beyond my skills,” Nell said. “Kate?”

  Kate looked at the ancient radio in the dashboard, mind whirring. “I’ve never worked with radios, but I know enough about transistors to know that it should be possible to turn the receiver into a transmitter.”

  A murmur of excitement spread around the bus.

  “It won’t have any range, but we could strip one of the wires to make an antenna,” Kate suggested. “That should increase the range a bit.”

  “Who are we supposed to talk to?” someone asked.

  “I have no idea.” Kate realized she didn’t even fully understand how such a transmitter would work. “I think we can scan the channels and we’ll just have to hope someone is out there listening.”

  The bus was silent for a moment and one of the girls tentatively said, “You said there are three options for survival. What was the third one?”

  “Fight,” Kate said bluntly, her nose flaring with emotion. “But I think we should try the getaway first. Fighting might just get one or all of us killed.”

  Nell nodded slowly. “I agree, we should try your radio idea. All those in favor?” She raised her hand. Everyone but Becky did as well.

  “All right, let’s get started. Kate, what do you need?” Nell asked, face serious.

  WALTERS ART MUSEUM, BALTIMORE, MD

  A six-car pileup backed up Highway 95. Even riding between cars on her bike, it took Sayer more than two hours to get to the museum.

  After the long, tense ride, she finally parked in front of the Walters Art Museum in the Mount Vernon district of Baltimore. The main collection was housed in a massive brutalist building that took up most of the block, but Sayer was directed to the ornate white building nestled in the shadow of the main museum. She entered the front of what looked like a seventeenth-century Italian palace and nodded to the man hurrying to greet her.

  “You must be Agent Altair. Chad Hastings, lead curator here at the Walters.” All clean lines and crisply pressed clothes, he extended his pale hand, gentle cologne wafting with it.

  “Pleased to meet you.” Sayer shook his hand firmly. “Sorry I’m late. The ice is causing all kinds of problems out there.”

  “Of course, of course.” The curator ushered Sayer forward through the marble entry and into a side door. “Please, let’s talk in my office. I’ve asked Alphonse to join us there. I assume you’ll want to interview him as well.”

  “That’s the researcher who was here when the break-in occurred?”

  “That’s right.” He gestured for her to sit in the deep leather chair opposite his desk. The office was cluttered with hundreds of objects, from antique globes to a silver elephant. “Alphonse is still rather … shaken,” Chad said with the sotto voce of a stage aside.

  The door opened and a lanky, dark-skinned man in a paint-stained denim shirt and baggy jeans strode into the room. He snorted loudly. “I’m not shaken, Chad. I’m pissed,” he said with a thick Baltimore accent. “Name’s Alphonse Valentine, but you can call me Al.” He winked at Sayer and plopped in the other chair. With salt-and-pepper hair and a deeply lined face, Al wore his fiftysomething years comfortably.

  “Pardon Alphonse, he can be … somewhat … brusque,” Chad stumbled over his words.

  “I think you mean that Dr. Valentine can be somewhat brusque.” He shook his head with exaggerated disapproval, then looked at Sayer. “So what do you want to know about the bastard that killed Joey?”

  “Joey was the guard?”

  “Joey Lavonne. Total puppy dog. Listen, hon, I have no clue why that guy ever became a security guard. Softhearted, you know what I mean? Good guy, but too sweet for his own damn good.”

  Sayer realized that the gruff man was fighting tears.

  “I’d like to start at the beginning. What were you doing before the man broke in?”

  “I’ve been working on a new project cataloging and analyzing some funerary artifacts.” Al absentmindedly ran his fingers over a faded tattoo on his forearm as he spoke. “The bastard must’ve broken in one of the side doors. They’re locked, but I’ve been telling Chad and the museum board that their security sucks. They have millions of dollars worth of shit here, thousands of square feet to cover, and they have two guards on duty overnight?”

  The head curator pressed his lips together with disapproval, though Sayer couldn’t tell if it was from the criticism or Al’s use of a curse word.

  “Two guards? Where was the second guard?” Sayer asked.

  “See, that’s the ridiculous part, hon. He was in the other building. He didn’t even know something was wrong over here until I managed to get to a phone and call 911. Fella was over there sitting on his thumbs.”

  “So you were where? Do you have an office?”

  Al snorted. “I have a station in the lab. Mostly a table and a drawer.”

  “So you were at your station?” Sayer prompted.

  “Yeah. I didn’t hear anything until Joey came in all crazy-eyed, guy behind him had a gun to his head.”

  “What did the guy look like?”

  “Average joe. White. Shaggy brown hair. Late thirties maybe, strong as hell but in terrible shape.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, he wasn’t one of those overmuscled buff types, but he was wired tight, you know what I mean? Thick enough arms. Big shoulders. Tight. Bu
t he looked like he’d been ridden hard and hung up wet. Ragged, greasy hair, sickly eyes. Smelled like shit. And I mean literal shit.”

  “Was he alone?” Sayer asked.

  “Definitely. He didn’t seem like the partner type,” Al said.

  “Okay. So, he came in with Joey at gunpoint.”

  “He makes me zip tie Joey’s wrists behind his back…” Al looked away for a minute and cleared his throat. “Bastard tells me he’ll shoot Joey if I don’t tie him up. So I put them on, but real loose, you know? I figured he could get out if need be. Fuckin’ stupid idea.” He wrinkled his nose in an effort not to get emotional. “Then the bastard pulls out this list of artifacts. Like a fuckin’ grocery list.”

  “Did you see the list?” Sayer asked.

  “Yeah. It was hand-written. Nothing unusual about it other than, you know, it was a list of all the shit he wanted to steal. Took it with him when he left.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Then the fucker stood over Joey and told me to bring storage crates and everything on the list to him. Guy’s a real Chatty Cathy while I’m rushing around to get everything together.”

  “What kind of stuff did he say?”

  “All kinds of cuckoo shit, hon. Hearing voices, the works. But the guy was knowledgeable as hell about ancient Egypt. I mean, I was born and raised here in Baltimore, but my mom’s side of the family is Egyptian. I did grad school in Cairo and this guy rambled on about shit that not many people would know about. But it was like he was talking to someone who wasn’t there.”

  “You think he was hearing voices?” Sayer asked, stomach clenching. Psychopathic serial killers were dangerous because they were rational, calculating. Psychotic killers were an entirely different can of worms. If this unsub was suffering from some kind of psychotic delusion, he would be far less predictable and, as a result, far more difficult to catch.

  “For sure,” Al said. “He was a real talker, but he wasn’t talking to me. Pretty sure he was talking to the gods. You know, the sun god Re, that kind of thing.”

  “And he was talking about ancient Egyptian stuff?” Sayer asked.