Sullivan’s Evidence

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  “That wasn’t a FedEx man,” Carolyn said, her eyes flashing with concern. “Haven’t I warned you to never give out our address? Where’s your brother?”

  “In his room. What’s wrong, Mom?”

  “Everything,” she said, realizing Holden could have taken her gun as well as her cell phone. Now she had no way to defend herself. “Check the windows and lock the doors. Have John help you, I’m calling the police.” When she picked up the phone, it was dead. “Get your cell phone! Hurry!”

  Rebecca ran down the hallway. Carolyn looked out the kitchen window into the backyard. She felt fingers grip her neck and ragged fingernails dig into her skin.

  “Hello, Carolyn,” said Carl Holden.

  CHAPTER 23

  Wednesday, September 20—9:10 P.M.

  The cold barrel of Carolyn’s own weapon pressed against her temple. “You forgot this,” Holden said. “Thanks. It’s a lot harder to get a gun these days.”

  Carolyn struggled not to cry out, terrified Rebecca would come running into the room. She should have told her to dial 911. “What do you want?” she asked.

  “You’ll find out,” he said, strained yet confident. “Get your daughter in here.” He shook her neck, causing her head to rock. “Call her now, I said!”

  “Rebecca,” Carolyn said with her speaking voice.

  “Louder.”

  “No,” she said. “I won’t let you hurt my daughter.”

  “Call her, bitch, or I’ll kill both of you.”

  “Rebecca,” she yelled, tears welling up in her eyes. The girl appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, her cell phone clasped in her right hand. When she spotted the man and her mother, she froze.

  “Give me that phone,” Holden barked. “If you don’t, I’ll splatter your mother’s brains all over this nice white refrigerator. You wouldn’t want that now, would you?”

  “Mom?” Rebecca looked for her mother’s approval.

  Carolyn didn’t respond. She tried shaking her head, but she couldn’t. Rebecca put the phone on the floor and kicked it toward Holden. He released his fingers just long enough to shift his forearm to the front of her neck in a choke hold. Leaning sideways, he scooped up the phone with his free hand.

  As the blood flow to her brain became restricted, Carolyn’s knees began to tremble. She gasped for breath, determined not to pass out.

  “Stop, you’re hurting her!” Rebecca screamed. “She can’t breathe.”

  Holden let up on the pressure. “Your daughter’s a pretty girl, Carolyn,” he said. “You’ve done good by yourself. She’s not like you, though. She’s more the killing type than the fucking type. You want to die, baby doll?”

  “Let my mother go,” Rebecca said, forcing her shoulders back and thrusting her chin forward in defiance. “We didn’t do anything. When the police get you, you’re the one who’s going to die, not me.”

  “You’re spunky, but ignorant,” he said, checking the cell phone to make certain the line wasn’t open, then pulling up the last number dialed. After noting that it displayed a girl’s name, he slipped it into his pocket. “Youth is easily deceived because it’s quick to hope. Your only hope is that your mother cooperates with me. Am I making myself clear?”

  “I’m not scared of you,” Rebecca said, shooting a black gaze at him. “I don’t think you’re gonna kill us. This isn’t about us. You said you wanted my mom to cooperate. She can’t cooperate if she’s dead. Isn’t that right, dickhead?”

  Carolyn couldn’t believe her little girl had become such a courageous young woman. She reflected that Rebecca’s rebelliousness was more than likely because of her strength. Strong people didn’t like others to tell them what to do.

  The girl was trying to buy time, but why? Had she called the police before she came into the room? Doubtful, Carolyn decided. She wouldn’t have had time. What scared her was that Rebecca might be waiting for John to intervene. The single-story home was built in a circular pattern. The formal living room couldn’t be seen from Holden’s present vantage point. Her son could come at him from behind by going through the back entrance to the kitchen off the dining room. Rebecca was standing in what they referred to as the TV room. Carolyn didn’t keep a spare gun in the house because of the children. If John tried to jump Holden from behind, Holden might shoot all of them.

  “You look thirsty,” Rebecca said, moving toward the refrigerator one step at a time. “Would you like a drink of water or maybe some booze?”

  “Don’t test me. I’ll shoot her.”

  “I’m not testing you,” Rebecca said, taking another tentative step. “I’m just trying to be polite. What do you want my mother to do? Why don’t you tell her so we can stop all this?”

  “Do whatever he says,” Carolyn pleaded. “The gun’s loaded. He won’t hesitate to use it. If he doesn’t shoot me, he’ll shoot you. He’s killed before. I was late tonight because he tried to rape me. Please, honey, listen to me.”

  Rebecca swallowed hard but stood fast. “He’s crazy, Mom.”

  “Crazy, my dear, is highly subjective,” Holden told her, keeping a tight hold on her mother. “Many of the most brilliant people in history were considered insane. Did you ever think that maybe their path to higher understanding was a result of the fact that they didn’t conform to society’s exceptions? You could call me crazy. I consider myself highly enlightened.”

  “I’ll pass on your type of enlightenment,” Rebecca responded, her lips curled in contempt.

  “You think this is a game, don’t you?” Holden said, agitated. “I rape and kill girls like you.”

  Rebecca laughed, but it wasn’t her normal laugh, more of a nervous jitter. She was afraid, trying to disguise her fear with false bravado. “You should have told me he was a rapist, Mom,” she said, only a few feet away from them. “I read a book about freaks like you. You can’t get it up without beating and degrading women. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  Holden’s demeanor changed. He dropped his head, appearing almost intimidated, as if Rebecca were scolding him like a mother. However, just because he appeared somewhat subdued now, Carolyn knew, didn’t mean he wouldn’t react violently if Rebecca continued to push him.

  “Get back, bitch,” he said, pointing the gun at her. “All you are is a miniature version of your mother. I’ve seen this act before, eight years ago. The difference is that now I have a gun.”

  Rebecca took several steps backward, although her rigid expression didn’t change. “Go on, shoot me,” she taunted. “I don’t give a shit. Death has always fascinated me.”

  “Stop, Rebecca!” Carolyn shouted. “Please! I’ll do whatever you want, Carl. She’s just a kid. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

  Holden’s face flushed. Carolyn could feel his muscles contracting. “I want the key,” he told her, shifting his attention from Rebecca. “There’s a safety deposit…” He stopped speaking. “It’s just a key, okay? You have to go back and get it before the cops find it.”

  “I’m a probation officer, not a police officer,” Carolyn said. “Your house is a crime scene now. The police won’t let me carry evidence off the premises.”

  “It’s taped on the wall behind the toilet,” he continued. “Do what I say or I’ll put a bullet right between your daughter’s eyes. As soon as you come back with the key, I’ll leave and no one will get hurt.”

  He was going to hold Rebecca hostage. He could rape her before she returned, and Carolyn wasn’t even certain she could find the key he was talking about. What about John? Surely, he’d heard the noise by now and called the police. Everything was her fault. She should have never gone to Holden’s house alone.

  Carolyn saw Rebecca looking at something behind her. She had an overwhelming desire to try to see what it was, but she knew that if it was John, Holden could spin around and open fire before any of them could do anything. “I’ll get the key for you if you promise you won’t touch my daughter.”

  A sense of satisfaction filled H
olden’s face. “Karl Marx said, ‘Nothing can have value without being an object of utility.’ Congratulations, baby doll,” he told Rebecca, waving the gun at her. “You’re my object. Don’t mouth off again and you’ll be fine. Has she always been this difficult, Carolyn?”

  “Yes,” Carolyn answered, thinking she’d heard a footstep. “Release me so I can go.”

  Everything happened at once. Holden let go of Carolyn. Rebecca dropped to the floor in the TV room, then rolled behind the wall. John plunged a pair of gardening shears into Holden’s back, causing the gun to discharge.

  “What the…” Holden growled as he twisted his body around.

  Terrified, John raced back into the dining room where he’d been hiding. Holden ran after him, squeezing off two more rounds. Carolyn tried to kick his feet out from under him. She caught his right heel, but then her hip crashed against the linoleum. Holden stumbled, yet continued after John.

  “Were you hit, Rebecca? If you can, get out of the house now!” Carolyn shouted.

  Another explosion of gunfire rang out.

  Carolyn raced to the formal living room, Rebecca behind her. John was lying on the off-white carpet in a growing pool of blood. Holden stood over him, the garden shears in his bloodied left hand, the nine-millimeter clasped tightly in his right.

  “What have you done?” Carolyn cried, dropping to her knees beside her son. The blood was coming from a gunshot wound in his leg. “Oh my God, what have you done?”

  “Where the hell did he come from?” Holden said, panting. “He stabbed me. Is this your fucking son?”

  John’s eyes were open, his face a mask of pain. “My thigh,” he said weakly. “I think he shot me in the thigh.”

  “I’m going to get you to the hospital, honey,” Carolyn told him, ripping the tablecloth off the table so she could wad it up in a ball and apply pressure to the wound. “You’ll never see that key, Holden,” she said, hate darting from her eyes. “Not until my son receives proper medical attention.”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” he told her. “He lays here and bleeds until the key is in my hand.”

  “You can’t do this to us,” Carolyn said, tears streaming down her face. “I refuse to go. I’m not leaving my children with you.”

  Holden grabbed Rebecca, placing the gun at her temple. “I guess I’ll have to kill one of them to prove my point. Which one, Carolyn? The daughter, the son, or the key. You choose.”

  “Go, Mom,” Rebecca said, her face ashen. “I’ll look after John until you get back. You have to do what he says now. Please!”

  Carolyn kissed John on the forehead. “Hang in there, tough guy. I’ll be back before you know it.” She rushed to the front door and took a moment to glance back, wondering if she’d ever see her children alive again.

  Holden had left Carolyn with no options. She couldn’t call the police for fear he would kill John and Rebecca. Without her weapon, she couldn’t defend herself. The last place the police would be looking for him would be at her house. She cranked the engine on the Infiniti and backed out of the garage, gripping the steering wheel with both hands.

  John’s injuries didn’t appear life-threatening, Carolyn consoled herself. The bullet hadn’t struck any major arteries. That didn’t mean that he couldn’t bleed to death, though, if he didn’t get medical treatment within a reasonable amount of time. How long, she wasn’t sure. At least Rebecca was there with him. She’d shown Carolyn that she wasn’t afraid of fighting through difficult situations. This was reassuring and unsettling at the same time. Her daughter had been far too bold with Holden. If she tried to stand up to him again, he might shoot her. The engine raced as she pressed the gas pedal to the floorboard.

  What did Holden want with the safety deposit key? From the look on his face, he hadn’t intended to tell her what the key was for. Of course, he could have been lying when he said it was for a safety deposit box. The key could be for a car, some type of hideout, even a warehouse. He’d been in prison for eight years, and since he’d been holed up in his mother’s dilapidated house, it was doubtful he possessed anything valuable. Maybe someone he’d met in prison had given him the key. If that was the case, perhaps they could contact the prison to find out who that person was. The key could belong to a former cellmate who had stashed his loot in a safety deposit box before he was arrested, then somehow managed to smuggle the key inside the prison.

  But why would an inmate give Holden access to his money? Carolyn asked herself. Perhaps this other man was serving a life term. Having nothing to lose, lifers tended to brag about their exploits. Or the man could have traded the key for sexual favors from Holden.

  A person couldn’t use a safety deposit key without knowing the address of the bank and having appropriate identification. But Holden was smart. He could probably figure out how to obtain a fake ID.

  She pulled up in front of the residence on Park Avenue. The clock on the dash read eleven-forty. There was only one police car protecting the crime scene, so she assumed CSI and the other units had already cleared. The front door was sealed with yellow police tape.

  Formulating a plan, Carolyn knew she needed a flashlight. She’d taken the one she carried in the trunk of her car into the house when Holden attacked her, so that one was gone. Rummaging through the glove compartment, she finally located a small penlight, the kind you attach to your key ring. It didn’t give off much light, but it would have to do. She got out and walked to the patrol unit, leaning in to speak to the officer. “Hi, Clark,” she said, pleased to see a familiar face. He had been one of the first officers to arrive on the scene after the assault earlier.

  “What are you doing back here, Carolyn?”

  “There’s additional evidence inside the house I need to get. Do you mind if I take a quick look around?”

  “I’m not sure I can let you do that,” he said, turning all business. “You could contaminate the scene. We tried to get the lights turned on so we could finish up tonight, but there’s some kind of problem with the wiring.”

  “Contaminate it?” Carolyn shot out. “Half of the evidence in there is mine. I was already inside this place, remember?” She hit the top of the police unit with her open palm. John lay bleeding while she stood there arguing. She wanted to call Hank, but she knew as soon as the police showed up at her house, Holden might kill her kids. Or something else bad could happen. Not long ago, the LAPD had shot and killed a sixteen-month-old baby during a shoot-out with the child’s father. Things could go terribly wrong in a hostage situation. She was certain the best way to proceed was to try to meet Holden’s demands. She needed a gun, though, and gave thought to trying to grab Clark’s gun when she was ready to take off. Then she realized that would bring the heat down on her for certain.

  “I’ve had a really rotten night, Clark,” she said. “Hank Sawyer gave me permission to go inside. You want to buck him, go right ahead.” She took off in the direction of the house, ripping the yellow tape from the door and stepping inside.

  The officer got on the radio, alerting the dispatcher that he had a problem. He ran toward the house, yelling, “Carolyn, please, I can’t let you rummage around in there.”

  “I’ll just be a minute,” she told him, the seconds ticking off inside her head. The officer didn’t respond. Good, he wasn’t going to bother her anymore.

  Carolyn proceeded down the hallway and stopped. The tiny flashlight barely provided her with enough light to see, and a foreboding came over her. Horrible things had happened inside this house, she sensed, and not just what had occurred this afternoon. She was certain Holden had lied when he’d said there hadn’t been a problem with his mother. The abuse he’d suffered was probably even worse than he’d indicated in that interview. Was that why he’d dropped out of school? Was that the reason he had become a rapist and murderer? Then again, what she sensed might be her own fear.

  The door to the bathroom was open. She went to the toilet and fell to her knees. As she reached around the bowl, her fac
e was inches from the urine-stained buckled flooring. Trying not to breathe, she ran her fingers across the key. She ripped the tape with the key off.

  As she emerged from the hall, the beam of light from the officer’s flashlight struck her. “You got the key?”

  “I’m about through, Clark,” she said, holding a hand up to shield her eyes. How did he know about the key? The only person who knew about the key was Holden. Holden! That was Holden with the flashlight! In an effort to escape its beam, she fell to the ground, but the circle of light found her.

  “Give it to me, Carolyn.”

  Carolyn wasn’t about to let Holden have the key or finish what he’d tried to do earlier. She ducked into the bedroom to her right, slipping the small penlight into the pocket of Mary’s jeans. She could hear his footsteps moving toward her.

  Holden entered the room on the other side of the hallway. Carolyn rushed to open a window. She pushed the screen out. It hit the porch and banged against the wood. She quickly hid in the closet.

  “Shit,” Holden said, looking out the window, believing Carolyn had escaped.

  Carolyn sprinted behind him toward the front door. Like a wrestler, he went to his knees and lunged at her, trying to grab her foot. She stumbled, then picked herself up and blasted out of the front door. She stepped over the unconscious police officer lying in the driveway as she raced to the Infiniti.

  She should have known Holden wouldn’t remain at her house.

  Looking back, Carolyn saw him running past her to a Hummer parked on the street. Holden might have John and Rebecca tied up inside. Or he might have already killed them. Were their dead bodies inside that car? As she got into her own car and cranked the ignition, she looked back at Clark, cursing herself for not stopping to pick up his gun. Fear and rage filled her as the engine engaged and she roared off.

  If her children were dead, Carolyn had no desire to continue living. But right now she wouldn’t think about that.