Then, after his meal, still stinking of fish, he’d started to molest her. She’d resisted, and he’d slapped her several times, trying to get her to submit. “I kept fighting,” Taylor had said. “He couldn’t do much to me while I was tied to that chair—except feel me up and hit me. So he gave up, left me alone for an hour or so, and then came back and tried again. Of course, I resisted, and he slapped me around some more. This went on all night. I guess he finally got fed up, because he untied me and dragged me outside. I thought he was going to kill me. But he threw me in here with you, thank God.”
Russ figured it was worth a temporarily numb arm if he could help Taylor sleep off some of the trauma she’d experienced yesterday. The bruises on her face looked minor. Still, very soon, she’d wake up feeling pretty awful. If this Bud asshole had a humane bone in his body, he’d slip a few tablets of ibuprofen through the food slot in the door.
Russ could almost hear Courtney laughing at him for thinking that way—as if everyone, even the worst people out there, had a decent streak in them. She used to say he was a Pollyanna along those lines. Maybe he was.
He was hoping Bud had some sort of conscience. In fact, Russ was banking on it as he concocted a plan to escape from their dumpy little makeshift prison.
He’d figured out a way to lure Bud into the room. Once that happened, they could overpower the guy. After all, there were two of them now—and only one of him.
Or was that really true? Did he have a partner?
Taylor groaned and started to shift positions, knocking her knee into his leg. Suddenly, she sat up and stared at him. She seemed confused and startled.
“It’s okay,” Russ said—and signed. “I’m Russ Knoll.” He spelled it out. “Do you know where you are?”
Nodding, she started to rub her bruised eye and winced in pain. “I’m sorry,” she said. “How long was I asleep?”
“About five hours,” he said and signed. “How are you feeling?”
“Horrible . . .” she mumbled, “and embarrassed. Excuse me.” She crawled off the bed, ducked into the bathroom, and closed the door.
Russ got to his feet. Massaging his numb arm, he shuffled over to the other side of the bed where he usually did his exercises. When he’d first been locked in the bedroom, he’d noticed a loose piece of baseboard molding. The wooden board was the closest thing to a weapon he could find. He’d been kicking and tugging at it for several days. He was pretty certain he could pry the piece off the wall today—and then use it to knock their captor unconscious, or at least put the bastard out of commission for a short while.
But he still wasn’t sure about a possible accomplice.
Though Taylor hadn’t seen anyone else in the house, Russ figured the guy must have a partner.
Taylor had told him about the security camera footage of his “escape” from the Silver Cloud Inn. He’d been recorded leaving the lobby with a group of people; and minutes later, this Bud guy had been caught on camera in the underground parking lot. The guy was about Russ’s height and build, and he’d been wearing the same hoodie Russ had had on for the walk through the lobby. The security video showed him ducking into Russ’s car and driving away. So the police and everyone else thought the guy in the parking garage had been Russ.
But while all this had been happening, Russ had been unconscious in the backseat of the Jetta. So, Russ wondered, who had been looking after him and the other car? Bud couldn’t have left the hotel in two cars.
Taylor had also told Russ all the details about his apparent suicide. He figured Bud had driven the BMW halfway across the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, and then someone must have picked him up—all within the bridge cameras’ blind spot. After that, an anonymous woman had made the 911 call.
The guy must have had an accomplice. Most likely, it was the woman who had reported the bogus suicide. But odds were she wasn’t in the house next door. Taylor hadn’t seen anyone else there. And besides, what woman would stand by while a guy repeatedly beat and molested a defenseless deaf woman?
Again, Russ could almost hear Courtney laughing at him. There he was, thinking that even horrible people had their limits of evil.
This woman, whoever she was, could be a big obstacle to his escape plan. Russ imagined luring Bud into the bedroom, overpowering him, and then finally emerging from the RV with Taylor—only to be met by some angry bitch with a gun.
But it was a chance they had to take.
Past the water running in the bathroom, Russ thought he heard the TV in the house next door. But then he recognized Anna’s voice: “I never would have pegged myself as the type of woman who would get involved with a married man. For a long time, the last thing I wanted was for anyone to get hurt . . . But I was mad, and I didn’t care anymore. I was going to have it out with Courtney. I got there and pounded on the door—”
At first, Russ had thought it was Anna talking on TV. But then he realized he was listening to the recorded confession Taylor had told him about.
“Did you walk or drive?” someone asked Anna.
“Neither, I took my little boat—right up to the end of her dock.”
Russ recalled securing the rope to the dinghy for Anna that Friday afternoon. She hadn’t been able to explain how it had gotten loose.
Taylor flushed the toilet in the bathroom. It was loud—and the rushing sound in the pipes as the tank refilled was just as noisy. It drowned out the recording for a minute or so.
Russ anxiously listened for Anna’s voice. Finally the toilet finished refilling, and he heard Anna again.
“I guess she was in the mood for a fight, too . . . She started right in on me, and I don’t know what happened, I just snapped. I reached for the first thing I could. She had this writing award on the bookshelf, a big, heavy glass object . . . I grabbed it. I remember hitting her in the head with that thing. It’s so clear to me now. I can almost hear the crack—and the strange, sickly warble that came out of her mouth. I was splattered with blood.”
The bathroom door opened, and Taylor stepped out. “There’s no mirror,” she said and signed. “I must look horrible. I’m really—”
Russ put a finger to his lips to quiet her. “I’m listening to that recording you told me about—Anna’s confession.” Russ signed and silently mouthed the words. He pointed in the general direction of the house. “He’s playing it next door.”
But just then, the recording stopped.
He noticed Taylor, with her bruised face, staring at him. She looked frightened and concerned.
“I’m sorry,” Russ signed and mouthed the words, “but from now on, I think we shouldn’t talk out loud—in case this place is bugged or something. You and me, we need to break out of here today.”
Now Taylor looked even more frightened. She shook her head and backed into the wall.
“We can’t take any chances,” Russ explained in sign language. “He’s not finished with you. He’s going to try again, maybe not tonight, but soon. Meanwhile, he and his partner—I’m convinced he has a partner—they’re trying to set up Anna for Courtney’s murder. That’s the very least they’re planning. I’m certain she’s in danger. I just heard part of that recording. I don’t know how they got her to say those things. I don’t know how they set it up. But it’s just not true.”
“But I saw a transcript of the recording,” Taylor signed impatiently, mouthing only some of the words. “Wasn’t it her voice on there? She told me it was her voice.”
“I know. Yes, it was her voice. But I also know Anna, and she couldn’t intentionally hurt anyone. She couldn’t have murdered Courtney. She’s been set up somehow. And like I said, God knows what else they intend to do to her. We can’t just sit here while that happens.”
Taking a deep breath, Russ moved over to Taylor, gently took her by the shoulders, and sat her down on the bed. “We need to break out of here today, tonight at the very latest,” he silently explained. “I have a plan. It’s kind of a half-assed plan, but maybe, between the two of us,
we can iron out the kinks. We’re going to lure that guy in here and then overpower him—a surprise attack.”
Taylor was shaking her head. “I can’t do it. I’m too scared,” she signed, and then she grabbed hold of his hand.
Russ tactfully pulled his hand away so that he could sign to her. “We’ve got to try. I’m counting on you. This is going to depend on you. The thing is, if there’s any kind of struggle, I’m pretty sure it’s going to be him tangling with me. If that happens, you need to run. You can’t wait around for me. You need to run and keep running until you can find some help. Don’t wait around for me. Do you understand?”
She started to cry. She grabbed hold of his hand again and held it to her face. “I can’t,” she said out loud. “Please don’t ask me. I’m too scared.”
Russ pulled his hand away again so that he could sign. “You’ve got to. It’s the only way. Please, promise me.”
Taylor sprang to her feet. She ran into the bathroom and shut the door.
Russ sat down on the bed.
It sounded like she was getting sick in there.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Saturday, July 25—8:26 P.M.
Anna’s study was a mess. She’d torn the place apart, continuing what seemed by now to be a pointless search for Courtney’s award. She’d pulled things out of the study’s closet she’d forgotten she had: an ugly umbrella stand, an antique lamp that had belonged to her mother, an old boom box, and from her physical-fitness phase last year, a bunch of weights, some latex resistance bands, a jump rope, and other exercise equipment.
Anna sat on the floor amid the rubble. She started to put things back into the closet. There was no point in having every room in the house look like a disaster area.
She still hadn’t heard from Sally Justice about the woman calling herself Dr. Tolman. Anna kept her phone nearby. It was on the edge of her desk.
She started to gather up some papers that had fallen out of a work file box. She’d held on to all her notes and paperwork from her feature stories, in case of legal problems later. Notes from Anna’s most recent broadcast were on top of the loose pile. She glanced at a hard copy of her “farewell speech” on KIXI-TV News from nearly two weeks ago. She ignored her scribbled annotations in the margins. One part of the text caught her eye:
. . . My story hasn’t changed much from what I’d already told the police and what I’ve reported to you. But I omitted one detail—which is that I’ve been in a relationship with Courtney’s husband, Dr. Russell Knoll, for eighteen months. I never would have pegged myself as the type of woman who would get involved with a married man. But at the time, I believed—we both believed—that Dr. Knoll and his wife would soon be separating. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to get hurt.
“My God, that’s on the recording,” Anna murmured to herself. “‘I never would have pegged myself . . . the last thing I wanted . . .’ I knew that sounded familiar. I wrote it. I said it on the air.”
The fake Dr. Tolman had blended bits of audio from that broadcast to help create the “confession.” Anna wondered how many other sentences from other broadcasts had been used.
“So that’s how they did it,” she whispered.
It made sense now. Someone had taken snippets from her news stories and carefully combined them with phrases she’d been coerced into repeating while under hypnosis.
If she could just get her hands on that recording, she could prove it was a sham.
Her phone chimed.
Anna grabbed it off the desk and glanced at the screen. Sally Justice had sent a text. Anna clicked on it:
When U said “hypnotherapist” it rang a bell. Look at the woman on this link, and tell me if this is “Dr. Tolman.” Go 4 minutes into it. Call U soon.
www.thesallyjusticeshow.com/archives/season9/episode37
Anna opened the link to an episode of The Sally Justice Show. She cued it to the four-minute mark. Just from looking at Sally, she could tell this episode was a few years old. Anna turned up the volume on her phone.
“Talk about sleazy!” Sally declared from behind her judge’s desk. “This con artist—this lowlife—she ran ads like this to prey upon people in trouble, people with weight problems, sleep problems, addictions, you name it.”
Up on the screen flashed an advertisement, which Sally read out loud—with dripping sarcasm:
FREE YOURSELF THROUGH HYPNOSIS!
Let Bianca Help Heal You!
Conquer Addictions, Lose Weight, Quit Smoking,
Overcome Phobias & Build Your Self Esteem!
Your Better Tomorrow Starts Today!
DR. BIANCA DUNN, HYPNOTHERAPIST
Serving Seattle & Surrounding Areas.
REASONABLE RATES.
It looked like the ad had included a phone number, which was blocked out.
The advertisement on Anna’s phone screen was replaced with a studio portrait of a smart-looking professional woman with a pleasant smile—the kind of picture a real estate agent might use on a billboard or business card. The hair was darker and there were fewer wrinkles, but it was unmistakably the face of the woman pretending to be Dr. Gloria Tolman.
“This woman—who, by the way, is neither a real doctor nor a therapist—deceived hundreds of unfortunate people who reached out to her for help,” Sally explained as her image filled the screen again. “Bianca Dunn wormed her way into their homes. They thought they’d be cured of their addictions and fears. They’d hoped to free themselves through hypnosis. They counted on Bianca Dunn to help them. Well, she helped, all right! While her trusting clients were under her hypnotic spell, Bianca helped herself to their wallets! But she was no dummy. She didn’t actually steal anything—unless you count the two hundred dollars in cash per session she charged her clients while ripping them off. See, that’s where Bianca was clever: she took down all their credit card information and asked her hypnotized subjects for their passwords, pin numbers, birthdays, and social security numbers. Then she turned around and sold the information to credit card scammers and identity thieves. It was a long while before some of Bianca Dunn’s clients caught on to her scam. By that time, Bianca had amassed a small fortune. This quack hypnotherapist is currently in jail. But on tonight’s show, we have her attorney, Gary McGoldrick, and one of Bianca’s victims, Cecilia Kirk, whose identity was stolen from her. I think you’ll—”
The phone rang in Anna’s hand. She saw the call was from Sally. She tapped the phone icon. “Hello?” she answered, a bit breathless.
“Did you see the clip?” Sally asked. “Is she the hypnotherapist you met?”
“Yes, that’s her,” Anna admitted. Before she could stop herself, she started spilling her guts: “Taylor recommended her to me. That’s why I was going to Taylor’s place every afternoon last week—for hypnosis sessions with this woman. Taylor thought it might help me remember exactly what happened the night Courtney vanished.”
Then Anna hesitated. She still didn’t trust Sally enough to tell her about the recording with the bogus confession. So she told a white lie: “I didn’t want to say anything to you about it last night because Taylor was helping me build up a defense against all your accusations. I didn’t think you’d like it.”
“So, when you said these afternoon meetings had nothing to do with me—or with my daughter getting abducted—that was bullshit.”
“I didn’t know this woman had a connection to you and your show,” Anna argued.
“I helped put Bianca Dunn away for five years. They were going to let her off easy until I went after her on my show. It’s clear she decided to get even by going after my sweet, trusting daughter. I’m sure Bianca took up with some seedy underworld types while she was in the slammer, types who might be into kidnapping and extortion. Listen, why was Taylor seeing this quack? Did she say?”
“No. That’s the thing I—”
“She probably thought this lowlife scum would help her hear,” Sally interrupted. “Healing through hypnosis, my foot. We th
ought Taylor’s last surgery was a miracle. They told us all the previous diagnoses were wrong. She wasn’t completely deaf, and a new cochlear implant chip might help her. The surgery took seven hours, and afterward, my baby could finally hear—for about a day and a half, then nothing. Some stupid doctor who examined Taylor claimed her continuing deafness was psychosomatic or some such nonsense. Taylor must have actually believed that quack. She still has the chip. She still gets it recharged every day, just hoping it might suddenly start working again. I’m not surprised she tried hypnosis. Did she say how she found this woman?”
“No. That’s what I started to say. I had a feeling they didn’t know each other very well. I wonder if this CJ recommended her to Taylor.”
“I wonder, too,” Sally said. “In your sessions with this Bianca woman, were you able to remember anything?”
“Nothing significant,” Anna answered steadily. “I wonder how long she’s been out of jail.”
“She’s been out for eighteen months. My people have already gotten in touch with her probation officer for her current address.”
“You’re kidding. God, that’s fast.”
“Seventeen-twenty East Thomas, Apartment F, on Capitol Hill,” Sally said. “I was just waiting for confirmation from you before I sent someone over to check it out.”
Anna stood up and started searching for her shoes amid the wreckage on the floor. “Maybe I can meet your guy there first, and we can drop in on her together. I might be some help.”
“And you might get yourself hurt. Worse, you might get Taylor hurt. No, you just stay put. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Okay, well, I’ll be here,” Anna lied. She swiped her shoes off the floor and hurried into the kitchen for her purse. “Thanks, Sally.”
She tapped the phone to disconnect and then brought up Google Maps. She typed in: 1720 East Thomas, Seattle.
The Night She Disappeared Page 34
