“But,” DJ said, “a stripper and a guy with money—that’s a no-brainer.”
“Let’s go have a Q and A. One of the other girls might be able to give us some info on where she went last night.”
DJ agreed, but couldn’t escape the feeling that they were getting further and further away from Sara’s children, regardless of whether or not they were heading in the right direction by chasing down Teddy Rutherford and his mystery-woman partner.
It keeps getting deeper and deeper, he thought.
Twenty minutes later, they walked into the Ladyfingers Gentleman’s Club, Portland’s latest addition to the growing cadre of strip joints that gave the city a higher per capita rate of naked dancer locations than Sin City itself. Some were prominent and popular; others were tucked away on side streets with little more than pink neon signs promising LIVE NUDE GIRLS. The market had yet to saturate, and doubtfully never would. If the world ran out of men (and women) willing to pay for the chance to see a woman in her birthday suit, it would be the end of times.
DJ had only been a paying customer once, a couple years back, for a friend’s bachelor party. The experience was awkward. He’d found it difficult to look them in the eye, difficult to stare at the parts he was supposed to be looking at, difficult to figure out what to do with his hands during a private dance that had set him back fifty bucks.
He and Barker had been a couple of times for on-the-job visits and it was easier to feel in control and not under the spell the strippers seemed to cast over every person desperately waving a single, hoping to get a closer glimpse.
And Ladyfingers was even more acceptable when the doors had just been unlocked and the stages were empty.
They stopped a couple of feet inside the doorway. No patrons yet, no bartender, no girls.
The same smell that came with every strip club hung in the air. Evaporated alcohol, girl sweat, and cheap perfume. It was thick and cloying. DJ knew it would get stuck in his clothes and made him think about having to do laundry. He glanced around at the dark walls, the mirrors, the strobe lights hanging overhead. Rows of liquor bottles stood at attention behind the bar. Across from it, the main stage perched three feet above the floor with a signature, shiny pole in the middle. Tables and chairs stretched all the way to the back of the room where two smaller stages occupied each side.
He said, “I still haven’t figured out why these damn places make me so uncomfortable.”
“It’s because you’re not human,” Barker said.
“True, but at least I don’t put dinner on the table for half the strippers in town.”
“The ex ain’t coming back, and I’m not getting any better looking, JonJon.”
“I know it used to take months to paint a naked woman back in your day, but you’ve heard of the internet, right?”
Barker examined him, head to toe, squinting at DJ’s face, at his ear.
“What’re you doing?” DJ asked.
“Looking for your mute button.”
A bartender emerged from the swinging doors to their left, her tattooed arms straining to hold onto the three cases of beer. She noticed them, said, “No tits for another hour, guys. Can I get you a drink?” She lifted the beer cases up, sat them down heavily on the bar. The bottles clinked around inside.
DJ and Barker walked over, showed their badges. Barker said, “No thank you, ma’am. On duty. Detectives Barker and Johnson.”
She said, “And the cherry is popped.”
“The cherry?” DJ said.
“Been open a month. You’re not the first cops we’ve had in here, but you’re the first that were on duty.” She opened one of the cases and began restocking the cooler.
Barker said, “I’m sure we won’t be the last, either. Mind if I ask your name?”
“Mildred,” she said, tearing open another box.
“Is that right? That purple mohawk don’t exactly scream such an old fashioned name.”
“Blame my grandmother.”
Barker chuckled. “Don’t be ashamed of it. My dear ol’ gran was a Mildred, too.”
DJ shot a quick look at him, wondered if he was lying. Remembered Barker saying, ‘Butter can go on both sides of the toast, cowboy.’
Mildred finished up the third box, leaned over the bar toward them. “Not trying to be a douche, but I got shit to do, man. What’s up?”
DJ said, “You have a dancer here who goes by Stardust?”
“Anna. She’s a good one.”
“And were you working last night?”
“I own the place, Detective. I’m here every night. Something happen to her?”
Barker said, “Something happened, but we’d like to find out what.”
“Oh, shit. She’s not dead, is she?” Mildred stood up straight, looking from Barker to DJ, Barker to DJ.
“She’s alive, but she won’t be back to work for some time,” Barker said.
DJ asked, “Did you know she was going home with customers after hours? Doing private shows?”
“It’s against my rules, but some of the girls do it. I can’t stop whatever happens once their shifts are over.”
“Was Mrs. Townsend paying extra attention to anyone in here last night? Short guy, about this tall. Probably flashing bills with a couple extra zeros.”
“She was,” Mildred said. “But not a dude. Some girl. They were down at the end of the bar, flirting with each other for half the night.”
DJ waffled his curious glance between Barker and Mildred. “Can you describe her?”
“Straight brown hair, shoulder length. Great smile. Nice body. At least what I saw of it. I remember thinking that if she threw on a bunch of makeup and some glitter, she could go onstage.”
“Any chance she paid with a credit card?”
“Nah. She had two Cosmos, paid cash for both.”
“Good memory,” Barker said.
Mildred picked up a rag, swiped at some crumbs. “It’s what we do. You work behind a bar long enough, you learn to pay attention to the big tippers.”
“Can you think of anything out of the ordinary about her?” DJ asked. “Anything we could identify her with? Tattoos, unusual birthmarks?”
“Um...no, just naturally pretty. Around the same age as Anna. Low-cut blouse. Good rack, like she’d had them done, you know?” She focused on the countertop like she was staring into her memory. “Other than that...oh yeah, a necklace with these diamonds that looked like two letters sort of intertwined together. Might’ve been initials.”
DJ said, “You remember that?”
“With cleavage like hers, who wouldn’t be looking right there?”
Barker said, “Can you remember what they were?”
“My memory’s not that good.”
“Take a guess,” DJ said. “Anything helps.”
“Shit...okay...D. I’d say one of them was a D.”
Barker said, “One last question, Miss Mildred. Did Anna leave with her?”
“She was here until around two-thirty. Anna left a few minutes past three. After that, who knows?”
“Thanks for your time,” Barker said. “Might see you again one of these days.”
“First drink is on the house.”
Back on the sidewalk, heading for Barker’s car, DJ said, “How many boxes of Cracker Jacks do we have to open before there’s a good prize inside?”
“Preaching to the choir, DJ. Preaching to the choir. Now hit that mute button I was looking for. The Bloodhound here needs to think a minute.”
They walked the last two blocks in silence.
Downtown Portland could get hot and crowded in the middle of summer with so many people walking and shopping, sitting outside to eat. These days, it seemed like any shop with a front door and a couple of chairs handy would set up a table and offer something al fresco. A cup of coffee, a scone, a glass of wine and some cheese. It was fun when he and Jessica actually had a chance to get downtown and pass a lazy Saturday together, but when he was in a hurry and on a mis
sion to get somewhere with no destination, navigating the window-shopping horde was a nightmare.
Jesus, it’s three o’clock on a Tuesday. Why are you people not at work?
He needed to talk, needed to get his mind off the crowds and the people in his way before he started shoving somebody. He said, “We can peg both of them back there between 2:30 and 3:00. Confirms the she that Anna was talking about. I don’t think we got much else out of that, do you?”
“Not a whole lot, but don’t forget, today’s suspect was brought to you by the letter D.”
DJ was already tense and the possibility of Barker chasing another set of empty leads ratcheted his agitation higher. He threw his hands into the air. “Barker, that could’ve been anything,” he said. “Bigger net, bigger waste.”
“I wouldn’t say it was entirely a waste. I might get a free drink out of it.”
“Would you stop for a minute? Seriously. We’re blowing this whole freaking thing. We got more questions being thrown at us than Alex Trebek, and you’re happy about a free drink? Where’s Teddy Rutherford? Who’s the mystery woman? Where’s Sara Winthrop?”
Barker said, “They’re all having drinks together, laughing at a couple of dumbass cops.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m just saying—”
“Rein it in, man. You’re chasing. Forget the necklace, forget the husband, forget your damn pride for one single minute and focus.”
Barker stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “I’m chasing because I’m lost, Jon. For the past twenty years, I’ve found people using breadcrumbs no bigger than a speck of dust. But this one, this case...until we find Rutherford or figure out who the girl is...I’m running on empty.”
The regret in his voice was genuine, and for the first time ever, DJ felt sorry for the man. It was like watching his favorite quarterback make it to the Super Bowl and throw one bad pass after another.
After five years of looking up to Barker, it seemed weird to be the one on the consoling end of things, but DJ tried anyway. He said, “Then that’s what we’ll focus on. We haven’t lost yet, Barker. We can’t win them all, but our game, and Sara’s game, they’re not over yet.”
Barker’s cell phone rang. “Barker...uh-huh...she is? Right...okay, we’ll be there in couple.”
“Hospital?”
“Stardust is awake. She’s ready to talk.”
Chapter 14
Sara
Sara walked with her hands held out in front, trying to block the limbs from smacking her in the face.
On the slim chance that she could possibly identify him, she’d tried a more conversational approach, hoping to coax out more information. She asked questions about her husband and where the ring had come from. If he knew Brian and had he ever met him before. If he had any details about his disappearance. She asked what he liked to read, what the last movie was that he’d seen. What his favorite cereal was, what his son’s favorite cereal was. Anything to spark a reaction, but she was ignored and had been given more yanks or tugs or shoves each time she’d asked a question. When he’d pushed too hard and she’d fallen, losing a layer of skin from both knees, she gave up and let him guide her.
They’d been hiking uphill and down, twisting left and right, and the sounds of exertion were evident in her captor’s labored breathing.
The bastard’s out of shape. If I knew where to go, I could run.
Just play the game. You can’t win that way.
She’d been without sight for so long that she could almost get a picture of their surroundings using her hearing. Somewhere deep in the woods. She could smell damp earth and pine trees. The stream’s gurgling had faded a while back, so they were steadily moving away from it, farther into the forest, higher into whatever hill they might be climbing. The ground leveled out, and the surface changed underneath her feet, became softer and more malleable.
Is that grass? Pine needles? That’s a new smell...what is that? Smells like a wet campfire.
The last time she’d been camping was on their fifth anniversary, the weekend the twins were conceived. Too much red wine had resulted in risqué sex out in the open, under the stars, and the next morning, she wasn’t sure the fun had been worth the raging hangover. It’d rained in the middle of the night and the smell of the smoldering, soaked campfire had made her roiling stomach worse.
To test the echoes nearby, she raised her voice and asked, “Where are we?” The sound bounced off something big and solid in front of her.
Her guide said, “Cabin.”
“Whose?”
“Nobody’s.”
“Does Nobody mind that you’re using his cabin to hold a woman hostage?”
“Abandoned.”
“Perfect. Abandoned cabin, middle of the woods. Mother of three with a desperate loser being controlled by a psychopath. I think I’ve seen this on Lifetime.”
“Step.”
“What?”
“Step.”
Her foot caught on something and she tripped forward, realizing he meant steps. She lifted her leg, tested the area ahead, and placed her foot down. Pushed herself up, and felt for the next one. The wood sagged in the middle and creaked under her weight. “How many?”
“Three.”
Up she went. With both feet safely on the porch, she said, “This might be easier if you said more than one word at a time.”
“Unlikely.”
She felt a hand on her back, pushing her forward. Heard the metallic screech of rusted hinges as a door swung open. She walked through and felt the cooler temperature inside on her skin. Smelled the musty scent of age and interior dampness of something that had been shuttered and neglected for far too long.
The door slammed shut.
He said, “Blindfold.”
She took it off, relieved to have the use of her eyes again, but they hurt from the sudden rush of light pouring in through the cracked and broken windows. They cast their glow on an old wood stove squatting in the corner. She looked around the open room, saw a table with a single chair, an empty shelf. A decrepit bed with metal railings, a sagging mattress, and a sleeping bag. A red cooler, the kind used for picnics and long trips.
Is this my cage? I can do this. Twenty-four hours.
“I’m staying here?” she asked, looking around and up at him. He towered over her, dressed all in black, the familiar ski mask taking place of the baseball cap and sunglasses. Ice blue eyes stared back at her.
“There,” he said, pointing to a door in the back of the room.
“What’s in there?”
“Cage.”
“And what’s all this stuff? Sleeping bag, cooler. You’re staying here with me?”
“Observation.”
“So this is it, huh?”
She angled her head upward, stepped closer to him. Aggressive, but contained.
Be strong, Sara.
She said, “If you are who I think you are, understand one thing, you big bastard. I’ve seen your face, and if things don’t go well for me, this place will look like a five star resort compared to where you’re going. I hope your son doesn’t mind talking to his daddy behind a glass wall. Got me?”
His eyes narrowed. “Understood.”
Control. For the first time in hours, control. At least a little bit. Enough to give her a renewed feeling of hope.
But what if he’s lying? Trying to throw you off? This level is supposed to be about confusion, isn’t it? He probably doesn’t have a son. For God’s sake, use your head. This isn’t supposed to be easy.
Shut up. It’s all you’ve got. Ask him something about Teddy. Scare him some more.
“Can I ask you one more question?” Sara thought she heard a muffled huff of exasperation through the ski mask.
“Another?”
“How much is he paying you?”
“He?”
“Teddy. Your boss, my shit-for-brains coworker. The guy who has my kids. How much is he paying you?”
His first response that contained more than a single word might as well have been a fist in the center of her chest.
“Not a he.”
He pulled a black, cloth sack from his pocket and, as she tried to comprehend, shoved it over her head before she could stop him. He grabbed her by the neck, his large hand wrapping halfway around it as he forced her toward the back of the room.
Sara could hear the door opening, then he shoved her inside. The door slammed. He struck a match and a whoosh of flames followed. He removed the hood and she shielded her eyes from the light of a hissing gas lantern as they readjusted. A large dog cage sat in front of her, partially covered with a black blanket.
And sitting behind it, along one of the windowless walls, was an unconscious, bound and gagged man.
In the soft burn of the lantern, it wasn’t difficult to make out the shirtless, miniature form of Teddy Rutherford.
Everything that Sara had anticipated, everything that she thought she knew, imploded like an old building brought to the ground with a bevy of well-placed explosives.
“Teddy!” she said. “What’s he doing here?”
“Waiting,” said the tall man.
“Waiting for what?”
“Pain,” he said, motioning toward the table.
Beside the lantern were four objects she hadn’t noticed before. A blowtorch, a knife, a set of clipping shears, and a cleaver.
If Teddy’s here, then who has the kids? Who’ve I been talking to this whole time?
What if Teddy wants you to think he’s being tortured?
Teddy slowly lifted his head. Sara watched him blink and then his eyes went wide as he focused on her. He mumbled a surprised, “Sara! Sara!” through the gag, then added something that sounded like, “Help me!”
Her notion that this was part of Teddy’s plan disappeared as the tall man walked over, pivoted, and swung a bowling ball fist into his jaw. The crunch was sickening as Teddy’s head whipped to the side and then flopped down to his chest, the blow knocking him unconscious.
“Why?” she said. She didn’t know what to think, how to feel. Her emotions were bundled up with the promised confusion and tossed into the well of her consciousness. Switching to pity after so many hours of focusing her rage on Teddy was...difficult.
Sara's Game Page 10
