Talk (The Alexandra Chronicles Book 4)

by Laura Van Wormer

  "Norm!" came from over Kunsa's walkie-talkie. He unhooked it from his belt and held it to his mouth.

  "Yeah?"

  "The garage," Dirk's voice said. "You better get out here."

  Kunsa took the stairs two at a time.

  Jessica put the candle down on the floor and tossed a spoon against the handles of the double doors. There was a blue flash, sparks and a horrible searing sound that made her jump back.

  Geez.

  Now what? The handles of the doors were electrified. The question was, how did she short them out? Or had the spoons shorted them out?

  She threw a fork at the door handles and missed. She threw another and she gave out a little yelp as the same blue light and sparks shot off again.

  Think, Jessica, think.

  Okay, electricity could only maintain itself in a closed circuit. She had to break the circuit. Were the brass handles of the door touching? Yes. Okay, so they must be part of the circuit. All she had to do was get one door open and the circuit would be broken.

  She had on cross trainers. So she was grounded, right? She had on rubber gloves, very thin ones, but rubber all the same. So she was a circuit breaker herself, wasn't she?

  Oh, hell, she wasn't about to experiment.

  She ran back to the apartment and looked around. Her eyes traveled to the exercise room. The jump rope. Ah. She took it into the kitchen and cut the handles off and then ran back out into the hall. She carefully snaked the rope through one of the handles, took hold of the other end and transferred it to her other hand so she was holding both ends of the rope with it. Then she reached down to get the candle. After a deep breath, she gave the rope a big yank. The door opened, she slipped through and pulled the rope into the next room with her, jumping back to get out of the way as the door closed again.

  Phew.

  What the—?

  She held the candle high.

  She was in some sort of large central foyer. There was furniture, covered in sheets, pushed back along one wall. Otherwise the space was empty and the wooden floorboards bare. Along the far wall, over the furniture, about five feet off the ground were huge recessed windows covered in red velvet drapes like the ones in her bedroom.

  As she drew closer to the windows, her heart skipped because she knew what she was seeing was not her imagination. These windows were not blocked over. She could see a faint light coming in from the outside.

  "Look at this," Dirk said, pointing to the clothing sitting in the middle of a crumpled blue tarp on the floor of the single-car garage. "They were stuffed up in the rafters."

  Kunsa and Hepplewhite squatted to look.

  "The neighbors say he renovated the garage himself about a year ago, sir," a policeman said.

  "They say he used a cement mixer by himself to pour the floor. We found it out back. It's manual."

  Kunsa picked tip a piece of the clothing. A red silk cocktail dress. He looked at the label. Size 6. "Not the mother's," he muttered, dropping it and picking up another piece of clothing. A shredded pair of black panty hose, petite. One pair of black panties. A bra (32-D). One black high heel, size 6.

  "Norm." It was Agent Cole.

  Kunsa took one look at her expression, stood up and stepped away to hear what she had to say. Then Kunsa came back to the group. "I want you to tear this place apart," he directed the cops. He pointed to Dirk. "Stay. You know what we're looking for. Alexandra, stay with him. You—" he pointed to Hepplewhite "—with me. Rafferty, you, too." He hesitated and then pointed to Wendy. "You, too. Come on."

  Jessica found a library table beneath one of the sheets and dragged it under the first window. She climbed on top of it and, holding the candle in her left hand, reached up to yank on one drape with her right. Besides a billow of dust that fell in a cloud around her, she could see that the window had a wire-mesh door over it.

  Damn.

  She threw one of the spoons against the wire door, bracing herself for the spark, but it didn't come. She threw another one. No charge. She crawled up on the sill, scraping her knees over the ancient stucco paint in the process. She put the candle down, maneuvered the tips of her gloved fingers into the grille and pulled. The wire door rattled. Behind it, the glass panes in the steel casement window were so hazed and dirty, Jessica could only see a glow of light from the outside. She picked up the candle to take a closer look at the grille.

  There was a little latch. She turned it and the wire door swung open. There was a sound from the other end of the room and Jessica saw a lantern.

  "Jessica!" Leopold cried.

  She gripped the brass window handle and yanked up. Yanked again. It started to give and the window was opening, but Leopold had reached the table below and was trying to climb up. She struggled to open the window, but it was stuck—

  She felt his hand clamp onto her ankle. "Jessica!" he gasped.

  She kicked his hand off and shoved the window with her shoulder and it gave, and she was just about to jump—

  The night air hit, and faraway lights swung dizzily below her. Jessica screamed, grabbing the top of the steel window as her legs kicked at open air. She was at least four floors up; there was a blur of city lights in the distance and a wall of brownstone that sheered down next to her. The window hinges were holding, but the thin edge of the cold steel was cutting into her fingers.

  She felt Leopold's hands grab her thigh and yank her toward the windowsill. She managed to swing a foot up onto the sill and Leopold took hold of it. "Give me your hand," he commanded.

  She had no choice and flung her right hand toward him, and he gripped it, and started pulling her in. A moment later she was sitting on the windowsill, her back against the frame, panting, Leopold still holding on to her. She closed her eyes against his shoulder, catching her breath.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw the steak knife sitting on the sill by her foot. All she had to do was reach down and get it. This madman was not going to let her go; he had electrocuted her secretary and had nearly beaten Hurt Guy to death. The only way out of here would be to stab him and run.

  No, wounded, Leopold would be more dangerous. If she were to get out of this, she would have to cut his throat, stab him in the soft part of the neck.

  "You could have died," Leopold was whimpering into her shoulder. "You can't leave me."

  Jessica reached forward with her right hand to get the knife. "It's all right," she murmured. "You saved me."

  "You said you would be good," he cried.

  "I got scared," she told him, changing her grip on the knife, holding the blade below her fist so she could just curl her arm around the back of his neck and, in a Frisbee-throwing motion, cut his throat.

  "But I'll take care of you," he said. "Aren't I taking care of you?"

  "You wouldn't take me outside," Jessica said. "I have to get some air or I'll go crazy."

  Do it, Jessica commanded herself. The guy's a psycho. He watched you on TV with his mother for fourteen years and decided to lock you up in a castle.

  "Love of my life," he said as he sobbed, holding her tighter. "You can't leave me."

  Do it.

  Jessica sighed. "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, and the courage to change the things I can," she said aloud. Then she tossed the knife away; it hit the windowsill and clattered to the floor.

  Leopold's head snapped up and he looked down and saw it lying on the floor next to his Coleman lantern. Then he looked back to her.

  "I have to get out of here, Leopold," Jessica said, letting her head fall back against the window frame and starting to cry, "I can't stand being locked up."

  "Oh, Jesus God Almighty," Kunsa said, reeling away from the plastic storage bin and dropping the top to it. Agent Cole quickly offered him a handkerchief doused with Noxema, which he quickly took to cover his nose and mouth. He pressed his forehead against the storage-room wall, trying not to gag. "For God's sake, don't let Rafferty see."

  Holding a red bandanna over her
nose and mouth, Agent Cole looked over the shoulder of the police technician who had kneeled next to the bin with a flashlight and probe. "What do you think?"

  "Six months," he said, gently probing the bin with a long rod. "Eight months maybe. The coroner will know."

  Agent Cole's eyes traveled back to the rear wall of the storage unit where there were seventeen other large plastic storage bins stacked neatly against the wall, looking obscenely festive in their electric blues and greens.

  "The body was badly burnt," the technician observed.

  "Could they be electrical burns?" Debbie asked.

  "Jesus Christ," Kunsa said through his teeth, banging his forehead against the wall.

  The technician looked up at Agent Cole. "Electrical burns would be consistent." His eyes then moved past the agent to a figure standing behind her. Agent Cole turned.

  Will Rafferty was standing there, tears silently streaming down his face as Wendy was trying to keep him back.

  "It's not Jessica," Agent Cole told him. "Go back outside."

  "I've got to see," he insisted. "I've got to know for sure."

  Leopold helped her down from the windowsill. "I knew you loved me," he told her, holding her hand.

  She knew she had seen him before. He wasn't an employee of West End, she had never worked with him anywhere else, he had never been a guest, but she had seen him. More than once. And the last time hadn't been too long ago, either.

  "No more exploring, my darling," he murmured. "Not until we've had a little more time together." He picked up the lantern, leading her along with the other.

  He smiled, eyes shining with love. "My precious darling," he murmured, and Jessica was scared he was going to kiss her, but all she could do was close her eyes against the horror.

  He pressed his damp mouth against hers and she felt herself getting woozy.

  Cooperate, make him feel at ease, comfortable with you, make him think you like him. As long as his fantasy is intact, he won't hurt you.

  "Leopold," she said, gently but firmly pushing him back. She gave what she hoped was a womanly-sounding sigh. "You and I have had no time together. And I, well... " She tried to give a maidenly blush. "Well, you know how women are... " About to puke.

  He was studying her in the lantern light.

  "I don't think it's proper to be kissing before... well... " She looked at him shyly.

  "You need to be courted," he said.

  "Exactly," she said, smiling her best smile. "I need to sit and talk a while, get to know you better. Not that I don't like you already—and care for you," she added quickly.

  "I apologize, Jessica," he said in a courtly, gentlemanly voice. "I did not mean to be improper. But I have waited so long. I have loved you for so long."

  Jessica wasn't sure where to go from here. "Leopold—" she hesitated "—dear."

  His eyes were shining. "Yes?"

  "We have met before, haven't we? I mean, not just in our hearts."

  He brightened even more. "I went to your show. Mother went to your show, too, several times before she died. When it was a little show."

  "You mean in Arizona?"

  He nodded.

  "Mother loved your show. We never missed any. Not even one. You see," he said confidentially, "Mother loved you, too."

  "Oh," Jessica said. "I feel honored."

  His expression went very soft. "She is very pleased about us."

  She tried to smile.

  "You came and visited me at West End, too, recently, didn't you?"

  "Yes," he said.

  "You work for the state, don't you?"

  "Yes."

  "I remember you, Leopold."

  He beamed. "I knew you would."

  ''You had glasses on," she said.

  "You had makeup on," he said fondly.

  She forced herself to smile. "I like you better this way."

  He sighed, happy. "Perhaps you could make us some tea now. We can visit more and then we can be together."

  "Why, that's an excellent idea," she said. "Some tea and a few cookies." Be together? What did that mean? She shuddered.

  Holding her hand tightly, Leopold led her back to her rooms.

  21

  "Will!" Alexandra cried, running across the outer-room of the FBI's field office in Buffalo.

  "No, she's definitely not there," he said quickly, his voice hoarse. "I looked myself. There's just the one body, and it's from a while ago. We were scared there were more, but there's not."

  "Thank God," she said, burying her face in his shoulder. Will put his arms around her. Then Alexandra stepped back, looking up at him, eyes bloodshot and full of tears, chin slightly trembling. "I don't know how much longer I can hold up."

  "I know, I know," he murmured, putting his arm around her and guiding her past the front desk toward the back room. "But we're close, Alexandra, I know we are. And if anyone can keep this guy under control, you know it's going to be Jessica." He paused, waiting for her to look at him. "You know that, don't you? That Jessica can take better care of herself than anyone of us? That she can talk her way out of anything?"

  "I think so," Alexandra said in a small voice. Now she took the lead, opening the door to the conference room. There was a mess of files, papers and computer printouts all over the table. "I've been poring over Plattener's records as they come in."

  "Where's Dirk'?"

  "Hell if I know," she said, sitting down at the table. She gestured to the piles of paper. "Every work review Plattener's ever had says essentially the same thing. He is gifted and works hard, but does not communicate well with his co-workers. In fact, no one has ever felt comfortable working with him, for him, or supervising him. And yet everybody hired this guy and continued to employ him until he quit."

  "What jobs do we have?" Will asked, dropping into a chair.

  "New York State Energy Commission," she said, passing that file to him. "Niagara Power Project, Arizona Power Authority board, and a series of jobs in graduate school and college—NY Valley Power and Electric, Transelectric Equipment Corp, Erie County Transformer and Condenser Company—"

  Dirk appeared in the doorway. "Hi. I heard the news about the storage locker. It's bad news, I know, but it's good news, too, Will. I'm convinced Jessica's still alive.”

  "Thanks," Will mumbled, looking through the file.

  To Alexandra, Dirk said, "The locals are checking out the work addresses."

  "Will," she said, "I'm thinking that if all the places he worked around here are as large as they sound, we need to check to see if they have any abandoned or infrequently used facilities. You know, a warehouse, storage facilities, a plant—anywhere he might be hiding Jessica."

  There was a quick knock and Agent Cole came in.

  "Guess what? Plattener attended an energy conference at Hoover Dam in May."

  Will looked to Alexandra, not getting it. The anchorwoman's eyes had narrowed. "That's near Las Vegas."

  "Exactly," Agent Cole said.

  Alexandra turned to Will. "That's where that ten thousand-dollar cashier's check was drawn for Bea."

  "Okay, you sit right there and make yourself comfortable," Jessica told Leopold, practically pushing her captor down on the sofa. "Let me go and put the kettle on and freshen up a little and then I'll be right back. Here, listen to some music," she suggested, turning the cassette player on. "And here's a nice book," she added, handing him a large picture book, America The Beautiful.

  She went into the kitchen, took off the rubber gloves, filled the kettle and turned the hot plate on medium. Then she went to the bedroom, calling a merry "I'll be out soon!" over her shoulder.

  She closed the bedroom door and raced around the bed. In his delirium, Hurt Guy had crawled halfway under the bed, where he now lay, twisted and unconscious, his breathing irregular. If her hunch was correct about how Leopold was going to want the night to go, she had better move Hurt Guy back next door. As for herself—well, there was still the steak knife under her pillow and mayb
e this time she'd use it.

  But how to move Hurt Guy? She tried to turn him onto his back, but he groaned so loudly she had to clamp a hand over his mouth.

  Now what? "You've got to get under the bed, Guy," she whispered to him. He moaned, totally out of it, spittle oozing from the side of his mouth. She gave up and let him sleep, pulling the blanket up around him.

  She went into the bathroom and took off her clothes. She vigorously brushed out her hair, gave herself a fast wash at the sink and dressed quickly in slacks, blouse and the new cowgirl boots. She put on a little eyeliner, blush and mascara, just enough to make her eyes dazzling. As she emerged from the bedroom, she called to Leopold, "Our tea must be ready." He didn't tum around. "Okay, Leopold? Tea and cookies?"

  "Ye-ye-ye-yes," he stammered without turning around.

  She prepared a pot of tea and placed milk, sugar, spoons, cups and saucers and a plate of shortbread cookies on a tray and came back out to the parlor. "Okay, here we go, a nice pot of tea and cookies," she said, rounding the side of the couch.

  And there she found Leopold, eyes closed in concentration, his mouth stretched into a hideous grin while he frantically masturbated.

  "It's got to be here somewhere," Alexandra insisted, riffling through the papers on the table yet again. "Somewhere he knows that's still around where he could be hiding Jessica."

  "The battery factory's gone," Wendy said. "The electrical-equipment corporation has been checked. Where else?"

  "Exactly," Alexandra sighed. "Where else? We checked the schools, the neighborhood, everywhere we knew he worked."

  "Let's try the mother's friends," Kunsa said, jumping up and going to the door. "Debbie!"

  In Sun City, Arizona, Agent Yargen, the FBI agent from the local bureau, hung up Mrs. Marcino's telephone and went back to sit with the widow in the living room of her condo. "Can I ask you another question?"