by Alex Gates
I couldn’t trust the police.
I couldn’t trust anyone.
I could only tell him.
I leaned against the door and I panted, nearly falling to my knees as the interior chandelier flicked on. His massive entryway was practically gilded with two story opulence. I doubted he’d hear me through the thick walls and imported windows. I shouted through the exhaustion, pain, and utter despair.
“Chef Graziani! It’s Detective London McKenna. I have to talk to you. It’s an emergency!”
The door opened. It was the first time I saw the chief out of uniform…and in striped, old-school prisoner styled black and white pajamas.
“I know who you are.” He scratched his bulbous stomach and stared at me through a snow-white mustache and bristly eyebrows. “But I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing on my porch in the middle of the night.”
I looked behind me, searching the darkness of the gated community. It’d taken hell to get inside, and I didn’t think I’d been followed.
Still, I sweated, terrified. “Chief, something’s happened. I need your help.”
“It’s after midnight, McKenna.”
“I know. I’m sorry. And I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important. But you might be the only person left in this world who can prevent the rape and murder of four teenage girls.”
“What?”
“The Baby Hope case I’ve been working on. The one with Amber Reynolds and the real mother, Emily Casco?” I didn’t wait for him to nod. “There’s more to the story than just an abandoned baby. Chief, I’ve been following a lead, chasing a couple of missing persons, and it all points back to Grayson House. Both Amber and Emily were residents there, and both girls were molested and raped. I tracked the other missing girls, and their stories match. There’s rampant abuse at that facility.”
“Detective—”
“Judge Reissing killed himself in his office because I confronted him about Grayson House and his ties to it. He’d been taking money from the owner, Charles Geralt, to place more and more teenage girls in the facility. From there, Geralt grooms them into becoming prostitutes. And if they fight, they’re killed. I have fifteen missing girls from the facility who might have been murdered already.”
Chief Graziani heaved a deep sign. “Detective, slow down.”
I couldn’t. Not now. Not when the biggest and most dangerous piece of the puzzle threatened us all.
“Chief, Geralt is whoring the girls for specific parties, specific people. I have a witness in my custody who will testify to the identity of the men who raped her.” My breathing wavered. “And it implicates everyone. Government. The court. Even officers at the station.”
“I think you’re mistaken, McKenna.”
I’d never been so right in my life. “Senator Grant Harding has been ordering underage prostitutes from Charles Geralt. The girls are being raped at the parties organized by CTR Consulting for their clients—Judge Reissing, Charles Geralt, and Senator Harding.”
The chief was silent. He heaved a breath and rubbed his chin, his words soft.
“McKenna, it’s time for you to go home.”
“But—”
“Go home. Get some sleep. Enjoy your paid leave of absence.”
My leave wasn’t voluntary or paid. The nausea returned, coupled with a sudden and desperate chill.
“You don’t understand,” I said. “The Senator, Geralt, and Reissing—they’re all conspiring together. They put the hit on Amber Reynolds in the jail. They killed Emily Casco. They murdered the baby. These girls are in trouble!”
He reached for me, his hand on my shoulder. The gentle squeeze should have been fingers crushing against my throat. His solemn words weren’t an apology, an explanation, or a call to action.
He dismissed me without a second thought.
“McKenna,” he said again. “We know.”
Then he returned inside.
And shut the door.
26
“It’s hard to submit.
But you might be happier for it.”
-Him
Helplessness stole more strength than pain.
I rested at home, coiled into the corner of the couch. I was safe. Warm. Fed.
But the despair ate through me with a haunting familiarity.
I’d felt this way before, long ago. At least now, I sat on clean furniture instead of huddling in a cold basement on a floor of crimson-stained, busted cement. I stared absently at my sixty-inch TV. Ignored the plate of salad and glass of wine on the coffee table. I was breathing. Healthy. Untouched.
And yet…
This was the real prison.
Not the dark and demented fantasies of a psychopath. Not the rat nibbled mattress scented with death and piss. Not the metal door with the red lock, trapping me inside a cement tomb decorated with rusted chain and a butcher’s counter.
My own home trapped me, my own safety tormented me more than the memory of slicked skin or an eager bite against my flesh.
Ten years ago, I’d endured hell, insanity, and the desperation for death, and yet I’d never felt so goddamned helpless in all my life.
What was I supposed to do now?
James sat next to me. Knew better than to encroach on my space. He consoled me, but he stayed distant, just as he had done in the first years following my attack. It helped, but I wasn’t combating flashbacks or nightmares. I stared into the night, thought of nothing, and let the rage consume me piece by piece, thought by thought, and shred by shred of my sanity.
Pinned, but no one held me.
Beaten without a broken bone.
Lost even in the confines of my home, street, city…
“They knew.” No matter how many times I whispered the words, they still tasted foul. “They knew this entire time. And they did nothing. For God knows how long, they let those girls suffer. They destroyed them, ruined their lives and futures, and for what?”
James was a voice of reason, and that meant he could offer no comfort in this depravity.
“You’re lucky you survived, London. What were you thinking, rushing into that fight without backup?”
“If I had waited, he would have killed her.”
“And he almost killed you.”
“You know I can take care of myself.”
“Yes, but I’d rather not get a dozen emergency messages from you the instant I land in Pittsburgh. I had no idea what happened to you. Hell, someone might have been waiting in the house for you to get home so they could finish what they started.”
“I don’t think they could stuff me in our dishwasher, James.”
“They don’t need to. A bullet is more effective.” Now he took my hand. I didn’t have the strength to squeeze it. “I walked through our door, gun drawn, thinking I’d find you bleeding out on our bed. Don’t underestimate these people.”
Did he know how ridiculous that sounded? “I’m not. They’re everywhere and everyone. In the court. In the station. In the fucking government. I’m not naïve. People are corrupt. But not everyone is so…evil.”
James nodded. “You have to be careful. If the police are compromised—”
“It’s not an if. They are. Esposto knows. The chief knows. Hell—I wouldn’t be surprised if the mayor isn’t sneaking into those hotel rooms to show the girls his legislative body.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Jesus, James. I don’t know a goddamned thing.” The wine tempted me, but we didn’t have enough bottles in the house to make sense of this. “I can’t save the girls. If I try to arrest the senator, I’ll be killed. If I go to Grayson House, they’ll be killed. I can’t go to the media because the department is covering everything up. Hell, Judge Reissing was the only son of bitch with a conscience, and he committed suicide because he was so goddamned afraid of these people!”
“London, you’ve done all you can.”
“And look at what’s happened. The baby—dead. Emily—dead. Amber’s gonn
a make it, but who knows what the hell will happen when she’s put back in the jail. Hannah’s at the hospital right now under an assumed name because, sure as shit, they’ll try to kill her. And that’s assuming she won’t have any complications from whatever junk they put in her.”
“She’ll live,” he said. “She’s been fighting this whole time.”
“And then what? She was beaten and abused and forced into sex with countless men, and that’s not even considering her godforsaken past that led her to Grayson House. Damn it. She tried to tell me what was wrong. And I didn’t see it. I didn’t push her hard enough. I didn’t…”
James didn’t let me spiral. “You saved her life.”
“And how am I supposed to save the rest?” I swallowed. “Is it even possible? Is it…”
“What?”
I turned away. I couldn’t have him looking at me, not while I said it. “Is it worth the risk?”
“To who?”
“Us.”
“London, I won’t stop you from doing your job.” James followed me, watching me pace into the kitchen as my radio chimed with a new call. I turned the volume up, but I only heard him. “I’ve got contacts in the bureau. A couple guys I trust. It’s not over yet. We’ll protect ourselves—do it right. A full, trustworthy group of agents in place who will help you in this. But I need to find the right people—the ones who can’t be compromised. Guys without families, no political connections. Ones who will keep it quiet. It’ll take time, but this isn’t the end, London.”
Yes.
It was.
My radio chirped, and the dispatcher called for a patrol to circle back to a Swissvale neighborhood so they could monitor a new emergency.
“A school is reporting a water main break flooding their facilities, requesting support to evacuate the students…”
I recognized the address. It wasn’t a school.
The call came from Grayson House.
James studied my face, his words low. “What is it?”
My hand clutched the radio, fingers turning white. “They’re ending it.”
“Ending what?”
“They’re evacuating the residents from Grayson House…” I met his gaze. “This is how they’re going to kill the girls.”
“What?”
“They’re using the water main break as a cover to move the kids!”
“And then what?”
I’d be sick if I didn’t collapse first. “They’re gonna take the girls—the ones from the party. They can’t keep them at the facility anymore, not if they know Hannah’s alive. They’re going to get rid of the evidence before they’re found out.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” James said. “Who would compromise them? They controlled the judge, the police. There’s no one in the city capable of shutting it down.”
“Then they must know something I don’t.” My words hardened. “Or someone.”
“But who’s that powerful? Who the hell do these people fear?”
My cell phone rang.
James and I stared at each other. I pulled the phone from my pocket and flashed the screen at him.
“Restricted?” I whispered, but the word cracked like a gunshot. “Who do you think it is?”
James frowned. “No one you should talk to.”
“What if it’s an offer?”
“What if it’s a threat?”
“I’ve been threatened enough. Someone has to make good on it.”
“That’s what worries me.”
I swiped the screen and drew the phone to my ear. My voice wasn’t nearly as loud as I wished I’d projected. “McKenna.”
Even over a bad connection, Senator Grant Harding could charm a girl.
“London…” He greeted me with a hum. “I think we need to talk.”
“Senator.” I raised my eyebrows at James. “I don’t recall giving you my number.”
“Forgive the intrusion.”
“It’s the least of your crimes.”
“I would like to meet with you.”
How presumptuous. “What makes you think I’d do something that stupid?”
“We have mutual interests.”
The bastard thought he was sly. “Believe me, senator. We have very little in common.”
“Not entirely true. You came to my benefit last night—without invitation.”
“You’d planned to honor Baby Hope’s memory by raping five, underaged prostitutes.”
Harding wasn’t swayed. “That is precisely the reason I wish to speak with you.”
“Turning yourself in?”
“If I am to confess one thing, it is my desire that you meet me in person tonight. These conversations are best suited for a more intimate arrangement.”
“I can only imagine your definition of intimate.” I didn’t swear though the word teased on my tongue. “Candlelight at gun point? Candy, flowers, and a collapsed vein?”
“I have a proposal for you. A resolution to this unfortunate matter.”
Nice to know he still thought I could bargain my way out of this. He had more faith in me than I did.
“There’s only one end to this, Senator. You’re going to jail.”
“And I suppose you’ll be the one to put me there?”
“Surrender quietly, and I’ll make sure the media takes a photo of your good side.”
“London, they’re both good sides.” He chuckled. “Besides, I’m not the type who wears the handcuffs.”
“You save those for Hannah Beaumont and the other girls?”
His voice whipped, smooth as silk. “I’m not sure if you’ve made more mistakes or enemies tonight.”
“You don’t scare me.”
“Of course, I don’t,” he said. “Nothing scares you, London McKenna…except the welfare of those pretty little girls at Grayson House.”
“Are you going to kill them?”
He didn’t answer, not right away. “There’s a car waiting outside your home. It will bring you to meet with me. As I said, we need to talk.”
I pointed outside. James moved quietly, picking a path through the darkened hall to peer out of the side window. He said nothing, but he pulled his gun.
“Why the hell would I get in any car you sent?”
“My political platform is built with the planks of cooperation and nails of compromise. I’ve prided myself on being a man who will reach across the aisle to find common ground.”
Yeah, right. I’d end up six feet under that common ground. “No thanks, Senator. You can’t offer me a damned thing.”
He wasn’t deterred. A long pause unsettled my stomach. “What an unfortunate water main break beneath Grayson House…” His words faded. “All that water washes away a lot of blood.”
“What do you know?”
“Get in the car.”
“Not until you tell me what I need to know.”
“Get in the car, or the girls die. Make me wait, and your boyfriend joins them.” Senator Harding dropped the suave charm, his voice as rough as a slap across the cheek. “You have five minutes, Detective.”
27
“You’re so much trouble you’ve become useful.
I could keep you forever.”
-Him
I’d been trapped before, but never of my own volition.
The driver frisked me with wandering hands before escorting me into the car. A phone wasn’t allowed. He pitched it into the lawn, visible from the window where James watched from the darkness. He didn’t take my smart watch though. Reason enough to hide the oversight in my sleeve.
The Lincoln Continental was quite the ride, especially for someone who didn’t know which shallow ditch or watery grave would serve as their destination. The doors locked around me, and the driver stayed silent as he pulled away from my home.
I didn’t wonder if I’d see it again. That was a waste of imagination. A better use of my time was figuring out just what the senator intended to do to me before he ultimately took my life.
Maybe he’d be kind—bury me in a mass grave with girls I couldn’t save. At least then I could spend all eternity begging their forgiveness.
We made two rights and two lefts in the blocks following my house—a route that seemed incomprehensible to everyone, including the Escalade that hovered three cars behind. We lost him somewhere in Bloomfield, but did another two circles around Oakland and the Pitt Campus before my driver finally snuck through the darkened paths of Shinley Park. Not much activity passed through the area at three in the morning—at least, nothing legal.
The driver was wise enough to avoid the cameras positioned outside the major sports complexes and golf course. The meeting had been arranged as a pass in the night. A personal limousine crept along the road, slowing as we approached. The lights went out, and the driver, like any hospitable chauffeur, opened the door for the hostage.
Swapping cars?
And I thought I was paranoid.
I hesitated before entering the back of the limo, the interior lights revealing a shadow. Someone waited for me. I tensed as I slid over the black leather seats.
“London.” Senator Harding welcomed me with a nod. “Thank you for agreeing to meet.”
“Like I had a choice.”
“You made the right one.”
“You threatened to kill James.”
“No.” He’d removed his jacket and unbuttoned his cuffs to roll the sleeves up. “I said he’d die if you didn’t join me. I just did you a favor, London.”
“Forgive me if I seem ungrateful.”
“You won’t be, for long.” He gestured to the underlit bar at his side. Three bottles tucked into the case—all whiskeys. “Can I offer you a drink? Please. Relax. You’re in no danger. This is my personal car.”
“Then I wish I’d brought some luminol.”
He poured an ounce of whiskey over four meticulously stacked ice cubes. “No one has died in this car.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Not surprising. You’ve gotten everything wrong so far. Why break the streak?” He sipped his drink. “You’re lucky I’m a forgiving man.”
