‘No!’ Sam blurted. ‘No, just let them be. Please.’
‘As you wish.’ A pause. ‘Now, as I asked before, have you thought about the money?’
‘Yes. I mean, I’ll get it, I just don’t—’
‘I know you can work it out, Sam. You’ll hear from me soon.’
The caller hung up.
To deliver a million, Sam still needed to come up with two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The thought of it made him want to weep.
He had left a message for Hannah’s parents, but they were travelling without cellphones. If they mortgaged the house, they could maybe raise that much. But how long would that process take? His own parents were useless. They had sold their house and bought that stupid RV. As for friends, that was something he had failed to nurture. The last true friends he could remember had vanished from his life a long time ago.
When he’d suffered moments of despair in the past, usually over something that now seemed meaningless like blowing an audition or being insulted by a director half his age, Hannah was always there to offer comfort. He had depended on her.
Christ, he missed her.
The door opened before Sam could sink any further, and Zack entered the room bearing hot Vietnamese subs and chilled cans of Diet Dr Pepper. Sam accepted the food with a nod of thanks and sat on the edge of the bed to eat. His mouth worked on autopilot, but he didn’t notice the taste.
‘He called again,’ Sam said after a few bites.
Zack stopped chewing. ‘What did he want?’
‘Asked about the money.’
Zack nodded slowly. ‘I’ve been thinking on that, too,’ he said. ‘I need to make a few calls first. See if I can locate someone.’
Sam’s eyes widened. ‘I appreciate that because I’m drawing a blank.’
‘Don’t get excited yet,’ Zack cautioned. ‘It’s just an idea.’ He went quiet. ‘Did he mention your family?’
Sam’s face grew hard. ‘Yeah.’ He exhaled through his nose. ‘Said if I really wanted proof, he could make them scream.’
37
‘You’re going the wrong way,’ protested Detective Preston. ‘I live in the other direction.’
‘I just want to check something,’ Hogan said.
‘And you can’t check it after you drop me at home?’
‘Relax. Jeopardy is over. You’re not missing anything.’
‘The wife tapes it.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘What?’ Preston protested. ‘We like to watch it together. See who can answer the most questions.’
‘How do you know she doesn’t cheat?’
‘Cheat?’ Preston furrowed his brow. ‘What do you mean?’
Hogan grinned. ‘How do you know she doesn’t watch the show while she tapes it? Then when you get home, she already knows the answers.’
Preston thought about that for a moment. ‘No, she wouldn’t do that.’
Hogan laughed. ‘You’re the one who’s always telling me how deceptive women can be.’
‘True, but . . . nah! You really think she’d do that?’
‘Why not?’
‘So the nights when I win,’ Preston pondered.
‘She’s just letting you . . .’
‘So I don’t get suspicious,’ Preston finished.
‘Exactly. If she won every game, you’d be bound to twig.’
‘The sneaky . . .’ Preston shook his head and left the sentence adrift.
Hogan turned the car on to Sam’s street and parked in front of the crater where the two bodies were recovered. He switched off the engine and climbed out. With an irritated sigh, Preston joined him.
Hogan walked to the edge of the crater and looked around. Broken pipes, electrical wires, chunks of concrete, burned timbers, twisted metal, bricks and the occasional bright sparkle of something that could have been a destroyed toaster, stereo or a hundred other everyday items.
He turned his back to the pit and surveyed the street.
‘What?’ Preston asked.
‘I’m not sure, but White deliberately looked into that camera back at the liquor store. It was like he knew someone would be watching. He needed to show what he had done.’
‘That could have been for us,’ Preston argued. ‘A little eff-you from a killer on the run.’
Hogan’s eyes locked on the garage of the house across the street. He walked towards it, the quiet residential road empty of traffic.
Preston joined him on the other side to stand on the sidewalk in front of a two-storey white house with brown trim.
He followed his partner’s gaze to see a three-headed security light attached to the peak of the double garage.
Hogan walked to the driveway, his movement activating the lights. Aimed unusually high, the lights shone across the road to flood the edge of the pit. But what intrigued Hogan the most was that only two of the lights appeared to be working.
‘You notice something odd about that middle light?’ Hogan asked.
‘Apart from it being burned out?’
‘Apart from that, yeah.’
Preston walked closer and looked up.
‘It doesn’t match the other two,’ he said. ‘In fact, I don’t think it’s a light. It looks like a lens. Security camera maybe?’
Hogan walked up the garden path to the front door of the house and rapped on it with his knuckles. A cutesy hand-carved nameplate on the door read: Shepherd’s Flock.
The door was answered by a redheaded man in his early fifties. He was still dressed for the office in striped shirt and tie.
Hogan showed his badge and the man’s face instantly took on a resigned look.
‘Is it the boy?’ he asked with a slight Scottish lilt. ‘What’s he done now?’
‘We’re here about the house across the street,’ Hogan said.
The man winced and his voice took on a concerned tone. ‘What a shame, eh? That poor family.’
‘Were you home when the house exploded?’ Preston asked.
‘Aye, I was still sleeping. Scared the crap out of me, I don’t mind sayin’.’
‘We were wondering if you still have the security footage?’ Hogan asked.
The man wrinkled his brow. ‘I don’t get you.’
‘Security footage from your camera?’ Hogan jabbed his thumb in the direction of the garage. ‘It’s aimed across the street.’
‘I don’t have a camera,’ he said. ‘Just the automatic lights there.’
‘Could you come and have a look?’ Hogan asked.
‘Aye, sure.’
The three men walked to the driveway and looked up at the lights. The owner scratched his head.
‘That’s odd. I don’t know what that middle one is. Can’t say I’ve ever clapped eyes on it before.’
Hogan frowned. ‘Do you mind if we take it with us?’
‘Not at all. Let me get a ladder and a spanner.’
The man disappeared into the house.
Preston looked at Hogan, his eyes pained.
‘What?’ Hogan asked.
‘Clapped eyes? Spanner? You have any idea what the frig he’s talking about?’
Hogan grinned. ‘I get the gist.’
38
After finishing his sandwich, Sam curled the waxed paper into a ball and tossed it towards a small wicker basket in the corner. It fell short and skidded across the carpet to rest under the table.
He picked up the phone. ‘I’d better call work. They’ll be expecting me to show at ten.’
It had just turned nine thirty.
After explaining to his boss that his house had been destroyed in a fire and his family was missing, Sam listened for a minute and hung up.
‘He said I can take a couple days, but I shouldn’t make a habit of it.’
‘Prick,’ Zack muttered.
‘Aren’t they all?’
‘I try not to be,’ Zack said.
‘You’re a manager? Of what?’
‘I’m a plastic surgeon, a
ctually. I run . . .’ He paused. ‘I ran my own private practice in San Diego.’
‘Boob jobs and Botox?’
Zack shrugged. ‘Yeah, mostly cosmetic, but I also spent two days a week in the children’s hospital. They were some of the most heartbreaking and rewarding cases.’ He paused again. ‘I’ll miss that.’
‘Can’t you go back?’ Sam asked. ‘Once this is all over, I mean.’
Zack shook his head. ‘My second assignment took care of that.’
‘What did you do?’ Sam’s voice was filled with both sympathy and dread.
Zack wiped his hands on a paper napkin and dabbed a dribble of sauce from the corner of his mouth.
‘It was a day or so after running the red lights,’ Zack began. ‘I had been neglecting my practice as I was selling everything I owned to raise the money, when he called and said I had a special client that I couldn’t disappoint . . .’
Zack hesitated briefly, his face showing the memory was still painfully fresh.
‘She was a regular patient, someone I had performed several procedures on over the years. Gravitational tune-ups, we called them. She had been in the soaps in New York for a while. A beautiful woman with amazing bone structure. . . Of course, she was vain about her looks, but underneath the paint and varnish, there was a sweetness and vulnerability to her that I liked.’
‘Liked?’ Sam asked, thinking the worse.
Zack flinched.
‘Like,’ he corrected. ‘She’s alive. He didn’t make me kill her.’
‘What did he make you do?’
Zack took a deep breath. ‘I was to disfigure and then rape her.’
‘Oh, Christ!’
‘My wife and daughter are kidnapped,’ Zack continued, his voice pained. ‘I haven’t slept in days, and then I’m to go against everything that makes up the core of who I am.’ He looked at Sam with pleading eyes. ‘Since Kalli was born, I’ve thought sometimes about how much I’d sacrifice for my family. I imagined how I would throw myself in front of a charging elephant, or give up my spot in a lifeboat to make sure they survived a sinking ship. But this man doesn’t want sacrifice. He doesn’t want us to be heroes or martyrs or anything remotely noble. He wants to eat away our souls – to make us monsters.’
Sam found it difficult to speak. ‘What did you do?’
Zack glared at him. ‘What do you think?’
Sam looked away, knowing he couldn’t judge, and fearing what lay ahead on his own path.
Zack reached out and grabbed Sam’s arm. He pulled him in close until their faces almost touched. His voice was barely audible; his breath spicy sweet.
‘I faked it,’ he whispered.
Sam’s eyes grew wide. ‘How?’
‘Cosmetic surgery is all about precision. Tiny, microscopic stitches performed in a delicate manner. With good tissue and muscle, we can perform miracles. In skilled hands, we can also do the reverse.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Small cuts under the skin, muscle separated from subcutaneous fat and folds of flesh, the results are instantaneous and rather hideous. Like an old man whose face collapses when he takes out his false teeth. The bruising alone makes it look like a Mac truck has hit you. But if no permanent damage is done, if the underlying structure remains intact, it can also be repaired. We’re a small community. When she was rushed to the hospital, the surgeon would have recognized my work and known what to do.’
‘And the rape?’
Zack looked off into the distance. ‘There were no cameras in my operating room. I was certain of that. All I needed was to set the scene and everyone would jump to the easiest and most sordid conclusion. After all, I’d just mutilated the poor woman. Why would anyone doubt that I’d raped her as well?’ Zack’s eyes were pained. ‘No one even questioned my guilt.’
‘You cheated,’ Sam said admiringly.
‘But at what cost?’ Zack asked.
‘You think he found out?’
Zack shook the question off. ‘I’ve thought about that, but why would he care? That woman’s life didn’t mean a goddamn thing to him. He wanted to ruin my reputation, my career. He wanted to turn me into a man on the run. She was just a means to break me.’
‘But he didn’t,’ Sam said. ‘You’re still fighting.’
Zack wiped at his eyes as tears leaked from the corners. ‘If you don’t think I’m broken, Sam, you’re not looking hard enough.’
39
Perched on an aluminium ladder, Hogan discovered he didn’t need tools to remove the tiny camera. Unlike the lights, which were hardwired into the house’s electrical system, the camera had no wires. Instead, it was powered by an internal battery and was attached to the circular metal plate anchoring the twin security lights by a small, yet powerful magnet.
Hogan pulled the camera from its perch and turned it over gently in his hands. Barely the size of his fist, it was a sealed, nondescript white plastic box with a small lens on the front and a short metal antenna protruding from its side. The tiny writing around the edge of the lens showed it boasted a powerful zoom lens and sophisticated wireless technology.
‘Does it have tape?’ Preston called up.
‘I’ve never seen this make before, but I’m pretty sure it’s a remote feed. If I’m right, the camera is controlled by a computer that can send and retrieve data via a wireless network.’
‘The operator must live close by,’ Preston said.
‘Not necessarily. With the right relay stations, the operator could be virtually anywhere in the city. Or, more likely, he controls it from a laptop in a car parked near by. It probably has a sleep mode to conserve power when it’s not being used.’
‘So there’s no way to know what it saw?’
Hogan climbed down the ladder. ‘I doubt it. I can’t see a slot for a back-up drive or Flash card, but we’ll get the techies to dust it for prints and take a look inside.’ He dropped the camera into a clear plastic evidence bag that he pulled from his jacket pocket. ‘If they come up with a serial number, maybe we can track down who bought it.’
‘Oh, boy,’ Preston said with mock glee. ‘But do you think we could do that tomorrow? I’m starting to get real tired of your face.’
Hogan laughed aloud. ‘You’re just dying to get home to see if your wife is cheating on Jeopardy.’
Preston frowned. ‘Yeah, you may have ruined that one simple pleasure in my life, too. Jerk.’
40
MaryAnn heard the creak of rusted hinges as the door to the cell began to swing open.
She sat up in panic, her whole body tensing.
‘Easy, child.’ The woman placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder.
MaryAnn stared at the door, the widening rectangle of light blinding her after so many hours in pitch-blackness.
‘I have to know.’ She whispered so quietly that her lips barely moved.
Once the rectangle was completely bathed in light, the giant moved to blot out all but the edges. The halo effect made him look two-dimensional, like a cardboard cut-out.
‘Don’t move.’ His voice was slow and steady. ‘I brought water and food.’
‘Thank you,’ said the woman.
MaryAnn glanced at her and frowned. She didn’t like the woman’s tone – it was too grateful.
‘MaryAnn and I appreciate it,’ she continued. ‘Don’t we, MaryAnn?’
MaryAnn continued to frown.
‘Don’t talk.’ The man entered the cell. In his hands was a small tray containing two bottles of water and two plastic-wrapped sandwiches.
‘I’m sorry, David.’ The woman kept her voice subservient. ‘We just get lonely. It’s nice to—’
‘My name isn’t David.’
‘Oh, sorry, I thought it was. I’m—’
‘I don’t want to know!’
The man halted in the middle of the cell with his back bent, the plastic tray halfway to the floor. He tilted his head to look at the woman, his face plainly showing the laboured computations of
his brain.
That’s when MaryAnn bolted.
‘No, MaryAnn!’ the woman screamed.
The man roared with anger, dropping the tray on the floor as he spun in pursuit.
He had only gone two steps when the woman landed on his back, her sharp nails clawing at his eyes and sharper teeth sinking into his neck.
MaryAnn ran down the corridor, her eyes watering from the brightness of the lights, every shape a blur. This time, however, she wasn’t running to escape. She had a new purpose.
Skidding to a halt outside the cell where she had stood before, MaryAnn pressed her ear to the wood. A tortured sobbing came from within.
MaryAnn pounded on the door with her fists.
‘Mom!’ she cried. ‘Mom, I’m alive. I’m OK. Stop crying, please. I’ll get you out. Dad will be looking for us. You know he will.’
A sharp scream of pain from within the cell stopped MaryAnn cold.
‘M–mom?’ she called.
MaryAnn grabbed the handle to the cell door and was surprised to find it wasn’t locked. She pushed against it and felt the door begin to open, its ancient hinges groaning.
When the door was open partway, light from the hallway revealed the outline of someone lying on a cot in the corner. A blanket covered everything except for an arm that had slipped out of the cocoon and dangled over the edge. The arm was obviously a woman’s, thin and pale, almost elegant in its limp state. The hand, however, had been digging in the dirt, all five nails broken, the knuckles bloody and bruised.
MaryAnn stifled a sob.
‘M–mom, is . . . is that you? Are you OK?’
The arm twitched.
‘She’s just fine,’ said a cold voice from the darkness behind the door.
MaryAnn spun just as a closed fist smashed into the side of her face. The force of the blow knocked her off her feet and sent her crashing into the solid doorframe. Her head cracked against stone and she collapsed to the ground in an unconscious heap.
The woman screamed as she was thrown off the monster’s back.
She landed hard, but ignored the pain to roll into a wrestler’s crouch. She bared her teeth, preparing to do whatever it took to protect the child.
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