by Gerri Hill
The Killing Room
GERRI HILL
Dedicated to Stephanie Solomon-Lopez.
Many, many thanks for all you’ve done, including your help with The Killing Room.
About the Author
Gerri lives in the Piney Woods of East Texas with her partner, Diane, and their two labs, Zach and Max, and a bucketful of cats. Hobbies include any outdoor activity, from tending the orchard and vegetable garden to hiking in the woods with camera and binoculars. For more, visit Gerri’s Web site at www.gerrihill.com.
CHAPTER ONE
Jake McCoy drove along the Taylor River, her Land Cruiser packed to the brim for a few weeks of unexpected solitude. She glanced in her side mirror, smiling as Cheyenne’s face came into view. The dog hung out the open window, anticipation on her face as she realized where they were headed.
Jake had owned the tiny cabin near Tin Cup for eleven years, fixing it up little by little. At first, when she lived in Gunnison, she could come out every weekend. But living in Denver for the past five years had put a damper on her visits—and her renovations. Not that she regretted the move. Her salary had nearly doubled. Four or five more years of padding her saving’s account and she’d be ready to move back permanently.
As the thick stands of pine, spruce, and fir flew by, she felt the familiar peace settle over her. With her own window open, she hung her arm out, loving the feel of the cool mountain air as it rus-tled across her body, bringing a smile to her normally impassive face. She watched the water glisten in the afternoon sun as the river almost roared down the canyon, bouncing off boulders on its way to Gunnison and the Black Canyon. She climbed the winding canyon road, finally reaching the dam where Taylor Reservoir spread out beneath the shadows of the Collegiate Peaks mountain range, the blue, blue water splashing against the shoreline on its haste to tumble over the dam and down the canyon.
Watching the handful of anglers that lined the shore, she real-ized that in late August, most of the tourists were gone. She turned right on the forest service road, bouncing along the dirt road as it made its way deeper into the forest, crossing several streams and wooden bridges. They climbed slightly when they reached the tiny community of Tin Cup, and she slowed as she passed the old gen-eral store, waving at the locals. She’d like to think that most knew her by now, but she realized it was really Cheyenne they recog-nized. She usually brought her supplies with her and seldom ven-tured into the store. Just a mile outside of Tin Cup, the forest road turned into a four-wheel drive road, and she downshifted, bounc-ing over the rocks that now lined the road. She drove past the cutoff that would take her over Cumberland Pass and continued on until she came to Mirror Lake, one of the most picturesque lakes she’d ever seen, the reflection of the mountain peak behind it shimmering clearly on the still water. Crossing over the dirt-packed dam, she headed around the canyon with Cumberland Pass hovering over to her right. She would top nine thousand feet before she reached her cabin. Even though the days remained warm and comfortable, the nights would drop into the thirties. She hoped there was enough firewood. She doubted she’d be able to cut any on this trip. Rubbing her injured leg gently she thought she might just give it a try. She’d been laid up so long already, she was starved for physical exercise.
She met her eyes in the mirror, frowning slightly. She’d prom-ised her lieutenant she’d take it easy. That was why he’d agreed to let her spend the beginning of her “desk duty only” assignment up here. He knew she’d go completely insane being tied to a desk for a month, perhaps longer if her physical therapist had his way. Well, she was stronger than she looked and much too stubborn to let a bullet to the leg keep her out of commission for months. Two weeks in the hospital had nearly done her in, another full week in bed with that psycho therapist insisting on flexing her leg once an hour. Grudgingly, she knew it had helped. It just hurt like a son of a bitch. Last week, he’d finally had her walking, first using a walker that embarrassed her to no end, then finally a cane. At least with the cane, she could use it to threaten him when he pushed too hard. She let a small smile escape as she recalled how she’d whacked him across his shoulder two days ago with the cane. He had been adamant that she was not ready for this trip, that she could not possibly get around in the mountains by herself.
“Like hell I can’t,” she said out loud. Cheyenne moved from the window to the space between the seats, standing on the console and nudging Jake with her wet nose. “I know, girl. About there.”
Most of the land along Cumberland Pass was public, but there were pockets here and there that were privately owned. Her own cabin sat on just two acres, but it was surrounded by the national forest, and when she stood on the huge boulders and surveyed the mountains around her, she felt like she owned it all.
She downshifted into low as she made the last climb, finally stopping at the small wooden gate that marked her property. Cheyenne danced excitedly, urging her to hurry. Opening the door, she gritted her teeth, knowing that the last three hours of driving without a break would have taken their toll on her leg. Using the cane to support herself, she gingerly straightened up, putting more weight on her injured leg. She gasped as the pain shot through her, and she gripped the cane tightly. The pain passed as it always did. For probably the thousandth time, she wondered if she’d ever fully recover. If not, well, she could either accept desk duty for the rest of her career or take the disability package and retire. She looked around her, breathing deeply the fresh smell of the mountains. If she didn’t love her job so damn much, she’d take the disability in a minute. But once she did it, that was it. Wasn’t like she could go back into law enforcement after that. No one would hire her. And at thirty-eight, she was a little young to retire up here and hide out in her cabin. She’d turn into a bona fide hermit before she knew it. She liked being alone too much to turn out otherwise.
After taking a few steps, being careful not to trip on a rock, the feeling in her leg returned to somewhat normal. She grabbed the padlock, inserting her key and turning, listening for the click that was about to open up her world. She swung the gate open, then hobbled over to secure it so she could drive through, knowing she’d just have to do it all over again when she stopped to close it. She’d close it and lock it and… finally, after nearly a month of being waited on by nurses, she’d have complete solitude. She and Cheyenne. They’d only been together two years, but they’d bonded like no other dog she’d ever had. She often wondered if Cheyenne could hear her thoughts. She had no doubt the dog understood her spoken words. A high-pitched bark urged her to hurry and she laughed.
“I know, I know.” She crawled back inside and drove through the gate, stopping once again to close the gate and lock it. Cheyenne was nearly dancing by the time she got back inside. She ruffled the dog’s fur, then sat still as a wet tongue swiped at her cheek. She drove on, curving to the right as the tiny road was nearly swallowed by the forest. Just a short distance later, her cabin appeared. “Here we are, Cheyenne.”
The small cabin looked like it could have easily been built in the 1800s. It was as rustic as it could get and still have plumbing and electricity. And that was why Jake loved it. Of course, when she bought it, there wasn’t plumbing and electricity. She’d made do with the old outhouse and hauling in water, but that soon got old. So, she spent a small fortune on a well and having electricity brought up the pass. But the other renovations, like the new porch and the added bedroom, she’d done herself. Mostly. It was just a one-room cabin when she bought it. Now, eleven years later, it had a separate bedroom and bathroom, and a real kitchen. The original part of the cabin was now entirely a living room, with one whole wall composed of a rock fireplace and nothing else.
She opened the back door of the Land Cruiser, and Cheyenne bolted o
ut, nose to the ground as she sniffed around the cabin. Jake walked slowly to the porch, taking the first step with difficulty. Using the cane and the handrail, she pulled herself up. She felt nearly disgusted with her inadequacy and had to push it aside, knowing it would pass. But she was impatient. She paused on the porch and looked back at the Land Cruiser, wondering how in the world she was going to unpack it.
“Very slowly.”
Well, she had nothing but time. A slow smiled formed as she stood on the porch. She let the familiar smells of the forest relax her and embraced the peace she felt as she stared out at the moun-tains. Yes, nothing but time.
CHAPTER TWO
Nicole rushed down the sidewalk, dodging others who obviously were not running late. Her gym bag bounced on her hip, and she tossed an “excuse me” over her shoulder as she bumped an older gentleman. Standing impatiently at the elevators, she punched the button six times, then glanced around, just daring anyone to say something smartass.
A tone sounded, the doors opened, and she pushed her way on, knowing there was no way all twelve of them could fit. But she was late. She glanced at her watch. Jesus, was she late. Catherine would kill her.
And as expected, her secretary was pacing in the lobby when she walked in.
“Do you know what time it is?” she demanded.
“How long have they been here?”
“Twenty minutes. There is no telling what they’ve talked about in twenty minutes.”
“We’re in… what? Week nine? They’re fine.” Nicole shoved her gym bag at Catherine and walked confidently to her door. Only quiet murmurs were heard from inside, and she nodded. Yes, they were fine. Swinging the door open, she smiled at the eight women who were waiting for her. “Did you start without me?”
“Dr. Westbrook, no, of course not,” said Patty, the group’s normal spokesperson.
Nicole walked slowly to her desk, pausing before sitting down. “Sorry I’m late. I know we only have a couple of sessions left. Let’s make the most of them, shall we?”
“Beth would like to go first today,” Patty announced.
Nicole nodded, her mind already beginning to wander even before Beth started speaking. She’d heard their stories a hundred times, and she wasn’t sure how much more she could endure. Each group was the same. Eight to ten women, all various ages and from different backgrounds, thrown together because of a common cause. Violence. And every ten weeks or so, a new group would come, all telling their stories. And this group was not unlike the one before them or the one before that. They all came because they were victims—rape, assault, domestic violence. She’d heard it all. And she realized she was no longer shocked by what she heard. It had become nearly commonplace. And that’s why she knew it was time to stop. Mentally, she couldn’t take it anymore. For the last five years, she’d been conducting group sessions, eight to ten weeks long, meeting three times a week. She found the women were more apt to open up in a group.
Normally, they felt no one could possibly have it as bad as they did or no one could relate to what they’ve gone through. But in a group setting, they listen to other women whose stories mirror their own and most times eclipse theirs. They find support where they thought there’d be none. The group sessions had been a huge success, but they had taken their toll on her. She felt like she’d lived every rape, every beating, every tear that was ever shed.
“Dr. Westbrook?”
Nicole blinked several times, focusing on Beth. “Good, Beth. Who would like to comment?”
And so it went. One by one, they told their stories, over and over again. The anxiety that Nicole had been feeling for the last week seemed to manifest itself tenfold. She felt nearly suffocated, and she reached for her glass of water with trembling hands.
———
“What’s wrong, Nicole? Catherine’s afraid you’re having a breakdown of some sort.”
Nicole wanted to laugh it off, but Dr. Peterson would see through it in a heartbeat. The older woman had been her friend and mentor for more than ten years. If there was anyone she could confide in, it was Dorothy. She settled down on the couch beside her and took a deep breath. “I don’t know how much longer I can continue to hear about their abuses. It makes me want to find one of their husbands and beat the shit out of him.”
Dorothy laughed and reached over, squeezing Nicole’s hand. “I tried to warn you. One-on-one sessions are hard enough. But groups?”
“The group sessions are the most helpful,” Nicole reminded her.
“Yes, I agree. You’ve done wonderful things for these women. I’ve no doubt they’re able to ease back into society with a confidence they never could have imagined before. I’m talking about you, Nicole. You relive everything that happened to them, over and over. Ten of them at once? I can’t imagine the burden you’re carrying around.”
Nicole rolled her head along the sofa, meeting the other woman’s eyes. “Dorothy, I’m not sure I’m in the right profession.”
The other woman only smiled. “We all go through that, Nicole.”
“We’re trained to be objective and to separate ourselves from our patients. But all I hear is their pain and their fears, and I realize there is so very little I can do for them.”
“That’s not true and you know it. By the time they finish with you, they are ready to head out that door and take life by the horns. You’ve instilled confidence in them, Nicole. Every one of them leaves here knowing that what happened to them was not their fault. And you do it in a mere ten weeks time. I have a patient that I’ve been seeing for over a year. She was raped by her neighbor, and I’m no closer to having her accept it than I was on the first day. You have a way with them, Nicole. Don’t throw that away just because you have… burnout.”
“Burnout? I think that’s too mild a word for what I’m feeling. Do you know I was twenty minutes late for our session today? I was at the gym, and I knew I was late, but I just couldn’t make myself… go.”
“Because you were exercising and you weren’t thinking about them or their problems, and it made you feel good.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, good for you. Most of us just turn to alcohol.”
Nicole laughed. “I’ve tried that, too.” She turned sideways on the couch, facing Dorothy. “I feel like I have this tremendous weight on me, and I can’t shake it. I have two more sessions next week with this group, and Dorothy, I don’t think I can do it.”
“Of course you can do it. You know why? Because when you’re done, you’re going to take a vacation.”
“Vacations are hardly stress-free. And at the end of them… it’s back to work.”
“I happen to know that your most favorite thing in the world is to backpack into the mountains. When’s the last time you’ve done that?”
“I’ve only been able to get away once since I started the group sessions.”
“Exactly. You used to tell me that the only way you could reconnect with yourself was to go out alone into the mountains.”
“There’s never time.”
“Well make the time, Nicole. Next week, when this group is done, take the time. Go out alone, forget about all this and focus on you.”
“And just like that, it’ll all be better?”
“No, it won’t. I’m going to recommend that you limit your group sessions to two per year. Get back to doing one-on-one. I know that family violence is your specialty, but perhaps you could broaden that. There is always marriage counseling.”
“The divorce rate would soar, I’m afraid.” Nicole sat up. “But Dorothy, I’m doing five group sessions a year now. Cutting back to two… that eliminates about thirty women that I could possibly be helping.”
“If you don’t cut back to two, you’ll be eliminating fifty women, not thirty. You said so yourself, you can’t keep this up.”
Nicole nodded and squeezed the older woman’s hand. “Thanks for coming by. I think I’ll take your advice and get away. After that, I’ll see how I feel.” She
stood. “Regardless, Catherine has already scheduled the next session.”
“As a colleague and a friend, I would recommend you cancel it, Nicole. Take on a few of them for individual sessions if you must, but don’t take on another ten-week group session.”
“Thank you, Dorothy. I’ll take that under advisement.”
Dorothy let out a laugh as she stood. “I’ll take that to mean I should mind my own business.”
“Not at all. I appreciate your concern. And Catherine’s.”
“Don’t be hard on her. She’s just worried about you.”
After Dorothy left, Catherine stuck her head in, albeit a bit hesitantly. “Are you mad at me?”
Nicole motioned for her to come in. “Of course not.” Nicole pushed away from her desk and leaned back, relaxing as she stared at Catherine. “Sit down. Let’s talk.”
“I’ve just been really worried about you. I’ve never seen you this stressed,” Catherine said, taking a seat in one of Nicole’s visitors’ chairs.
“You’re right. I have been stressed, and it is hardly professional to be late to an appointment. You were right to call Dorothy.”
“What’s going on?”
Nicole gave a forced laugh and shrugged. “Too much pain and suffering, not enough love, I guess.”
“This group’s been hard, I know. Two of them lost children, one…”
“I know,” Nicole said, interrupting her. “God, I know.”
“Sorry. Is that what’s bothering you? That you have to… absorb all that?”
“That’s a good way of putting it.” Nicole leaned forward, rest-ing her elbows on her desk and closing her eyes. “Every day, every session, hearing about the horrors they faced,” she said quietly, “has taken its toll, yes. I would never admit this to Dr. Peterson, but I’ve been having dreams about it. And that scares me. I’m too close, and I have no outlet.”
“What do you mean?”
