Touching Evil

by Kylie Brant

  It was his reference to the memory that she found most surprising. Cam had been solicitous, protective, and yes, bossy since she’d escaped from Vance. But barring that kiss outside Screwball’s, he had kept things between them strictly professional.

  If it could be considered professional to curl up beside her in bed and hold her until her demons faded.

  Drawing a shaky breath, Sophia joined him on the walk before the tiny house. They’d never mentioned last night. And more telling, he hadn’t used it today as a lever to convince Gonzalez that his fears about Sophia consulting on this new case were justified.

  “This place…” he started. She stopped his words when she went up on tiptoe to brush her lips softly over his.

  When she moved away he blinked at her.

  “It occurred to me that I owed you a thank you for last night.” Drawing the strap of her purse more securely over her shoulder, she walked by him toward the small wooden front stoop. Heard his surprised, “You’re welcome,” and smiled.

  He’d joined her on the porch before the door was finally cracked open. A pair of wary hazel eyes peered around its edge. “Oh. It’s you.” The words were delivered with a decided lack of enthusiasm.

  “Miss Klaussen. I have a few more questions.”

  The door opened more fully, framing the woman in it. “We already talked twice. I don’t know what else I can tell you.” But curiosity lit her expression as she surveyed Sophia. “Who’s this?”

  “Dr. Mona Kilby.” Sophia smiled. “I’ve recently started consulting for the DCI on this case. I hope it’s not a bother, but I’d like to speak to you about your ordeal.”

  “Doctor.” The corners of her mouth went down, but she reached out to unlock the rickety front door. “Saw one of them, too. He said I was fine.” She shot a meaningful look at Cam. “At least fine enough to sit in jail for two days.”

  “I’m sorry you were inconvenienced.” They stepped into a postage stamp-sized living area. It boasted threadbare carpet and a sagging couch next to an end table and lamp that could have time traveled out of the sixties.

  Klaussen stared at Cam for a moment. “What the hell,” she said finally. “Got three meals a day and that wasn’t always the case when I was with Mase.” She waved them to the decidedly uninviting brown sofa. “May as well sit down.”

  The woman was lean but large-boned, heavily made up with bleached blonde hair showing brown roots. Despite the lack of air conditioning inside the house she wore jeans, paired with a skimpy black cami and men’s flip flops. And her interest in Sophia was evident.

  “What kind of work do you do for the DCI?”

  “I’m a forensic psychologist, which means I ask a lot of questions.” Cam remained standing while Sophia sat down on the sofa, hoping that the other woman would join her here.

  With a sidelong glance at Cam, Klaussen sank to the edge of the opposite side of the sofa. “A head doctor, you mean.”

  “A thought doctor,” Sophia corrected with a smile. “I’m primarily concerned with the way people think. Why they do the things they do. How they feel.” When Klaussen didn’t answer Sophia scanned the room. A miniscule kitchen could be seen through the next doorway with only ancient appliances and a counter and sink in it. The entire home was sparsely furnished and it occurred to her that the woman wouldn’t have been allowed to take many of her things—if she’d had any—from the home Vance had been living in.

  “How’d you happen to end up in Sheldahl?”

  The woman jerked a bare shoulder. “Victims’ Services arranged it. The lady that visited me gave me a choice of places to go. Never been here, but she said it was a small town…” She rubbed her arms with her hands, as if suddenly chilled. “It sounded safer. Like if people knew I was here…they’d notice if I was gone, you know? Maybe help if I needed it.”

  “The way you needed help in Alleman?” Sophia asked quietly.

  The woman looked down. Gave a quick jerk of her head. “They didn’t know I was there, I figure. When Mase…did stuff…I was usually gagged. He didn’t like that as much, though. He liked to hear me in pain.”

  The memory of Courtney Van Wheton’s screams careened across Sophia’s mind then, on a sharp jagged wind that left trails of blood in its wake. It was hard—oh, so hard—to slam the door shut on the memory. To steel herself against the echoes that pulsed in her ears.

  “Sometimes it’s easier to feel visible in a small town.”

  Klaussen looked around. “It’s not much and it’s only mine for a month. But they let me use that old Chrysler LeBaron out front for thirty days, too. It’s enough to get me on my feet again. Next week I’m going to start applying for jobs. Had a pretty good job bartending once when I lived in Omaha. With tips and stuff I did okay.”

  “Omaha.” Sophia sent a surprised glance to Cam. “Is that where you first met Mason Vance?”

  Rhonda hauled in a shuddering breath. Released it. She reached up and captured a strand of her hair. Wound it nervously around an index finger. “Yeah. About eleven or twelve years ago. We were hot and heavy for that first year until I got tired of his temper. Got out and took a different job across town. Took him six months to find me. Another six to make me pay for leaving.”

  A stab of sympathy speared through Sophia. The other woman’s rough edges were apparent. According to her record, her past choices had been questionable. But no one deserved what she’d suffered at the hands of Mason Vance. None of his victims had.

  “He’d taken to tying me up when he left the apartment.” The strand of hair was unwound, then twined tightly again. Wind. Unwind. Nerves were apparent in the gesture. In the way her words started tumbling out. “He swore that he’d never let me leave him again. I got to where I prayed for him to take another of his trips and leave me alone. I’d half starve but at least the torture would stop.”

  Cam had straightened his stance against the wall. Sophia circled around the new information. “He left you without food?” The sympathy in her voice was unfeigned. It wasn’t hard to believe of Mason Vance. He was guilty of far worse.

  Klaussen nodded. Dropped the strand of hair to set both large hands on her denim-clad knees. “At first it was just for a night or two. Then a weekend here and there. At the end he was leaving me for a week at a time. I don’t know where he went.” Her gaze lifted to Cam’s. Became earnest. “I swear I don’t. But I was always real glad. Just glad to be left alone.”

  “How’d you live when he left you for that long?”

  The woman froze. Then lunged from her seat with a suddenness that startled Sophia. “You don’t understand. You can’t possibly understand.” She took a quick turn around the room, checking her pockets, coming up empty. “I need a cigarette.” She tossed a look at Cam. “You got a cigarette?”

  “You weren’t tied during that time, were you? He didn’t have to tie you anymore.”

  Something in Sophia’s quiet voice got through to the woman. She came to a halt, one fist clenching and unclenching against her leg. “It’s like that underground fencing for dogs, you know? And they wear this special collar to go outside and it zaps them when they get too close to it. So after a while, the dogs stay far away from the fence, even when they aren’t wearing the collar, because they just don’t want to get zapped no more.”

  “Because by then he was in your head.”

  Klaussen whirled to face her. “Exactly. And no one understands. No one who hasn’t been there. He’d say, ‘You stay put, girl. Don’t make me come after you.’ And you know what? I did. He’d stick me in the bathroom before leaving for days and tell me to stay there. And I’d stay. Even though there was food in the kitchen…help maybe outside the apartment… When he was arrested in Nebraska it took me ten days to get the courage to leave the apartment. And then I ran. Got as far as Des Moines before I went to a library and looked for some newspapers online. Seen he got himself arrested.” A small hard smile crossed the woman’s lips. “I hoped he’d get exactly what he had coming in pri
son. Never expected to find him waiting in my van one night five years later when I got off work.”

  “How did he find you?” It was the first time Cam had spoken, and the sound of his voice had Klaussen shrinking a little.

  “I don’t know.” She crossed her arms and dropped heavily on the sofa. “Maybe through my old boss. I’d used him as a reference when I got a new job at a convenience store. But once he showed up again…it all started over. Except now he wasn’t just mean. Prison had made Mase vicious.”

  Slowly, painstakingly, Sophia drew out the rest of the story. After a few days spent ‘getting re-acquainted’ at her apartment, Vance had driven her to the house in Alleman where she’d spent most of the time chained in the basement. She denied that she’d been left alone for long period of times, although she admitted there’d be weeks at a time when he’d be at the gym all afternoon, then leave again at night. The only time she’d been freed was to drive him somewhere. Occasionally to fetch food and bring it back to him.

  This was offered in a hushed voice that told Sophia better than words that Vance had quickly regained dominance over the woman. By that time, no psychological fencing had been needed.

  After a half an hour Sophia still had questions, but sensed the other woman was close to her limit. She opened the purse on her lap and searched inside it. “Have you been getting any help with all this, Rhonda?” She lifted her gaze to see the puzzlement on the other woman’s face. “Emotionally, I mean. Recovering from a long-term ordeal can take awhile. It’s easier with help.” It took effort not to look in Cam’s direction. Sometimes help came in the shape of therapy. And other times comfort. It was going to take far more than a strong pair of arms, however, to help Rhonda Klaussen work through the shame, guilt and emotional imprisonment that had resulted from her trauma.

  “There’s a church down the street.” Klaussen pushed her long hair over her shoulders and looked a little embarrassed. “Not that I’m a churchy type, but the pastor’s wife has been by a couple times. Brought me lunch.” A note of wonder entered her voice. “Even said she was trying to get a benefit together for me, pairing with a bigger church in Boone. She said I could use the money to get on my feet again.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know why she’d bother doing something like that for a person like me, but even if she don’t follow through with it, it’s a pretty nice thought. Guess I forgot there were people like that left in the world. People who help just because.”

  Empathy softening her voice, Sophia said, “That is kind of her. And you’re more deserving of kindness than you believe.” Having found what she was searching for in her purse, she handed it to the woman. Saw her frown as she looked down at the business card. “The names on that card are therapists in the area who deal with overcoming trauma. All of them work on a sliding fee scale, so you can pick one you feel comfortable with. You won’t have to pay anything until you can afford it.”

  “A head doctor?” But the words were less caustic than when she’d uttered them earlier. “Yeah. Well…maybe.” She stood and tucked the card in her tight jeans. Then looked at Cam. “Do I get to ask a question now?”

  He nodded, a bit guardedly Sophia thought.

  Klaussen frowned. “You showed me a sketch that day in the jail. Asked me if I’d seen that man before. If he’d ever been in Vance’s house. I hadn’t. But the pastor’s wife I was telling you about—her name is Tami—she gave me a coupon for a free meal at a restaurant here in town. Had breakfast there this morning. And I saw that same sketch on TV on the news. They said police were looking for him.” Her gaze was direct. “Why are you looking for him? Is he a friend of Mase’s?”

  Obviously choosing his words carefully, Cam answered, “We don’t know. That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

  The woman swayed a little. “Would he…” She moistened her lips before going on. “Do you think Mase would send him after me?” She included Sophia in the question, a note of panic sounding in her voice. “Can he find out where I am?”

  Sophia let Cam field the questions, mentally damning herself for not thinking of it before. Courtney Van Wheton’s hospital room had a uniformed policeman at the door at all times. Sophia herself was in DCI protective custody. But the woman who Vance had allegedly abused for years—and lived to tell about it—was a sitting duck. Vulnerable. The guilt fueled by the realization was brutal.

  “As you said, you’re visible in a small town.” Cam’s voice was matter-of-fact, but oddly reassuring. “The sheriff’s department is keeping a close eye on your place. Before this guy ever got near you or your house he’d be picked up.”

  Klaussen seemed only partially mollified, but she gave a jerky nod before walking to the front door again.

  “Do you have a cell phone?”

  In answer to Sophia’s query she pointed to an item next to the lamp on the table. “Victims’ Services gave me one. It only calls 911, but that’s all I need, right?”

  “That and the deputies who will be keeping an eye on you.” She squeezed the taller woman’s hand comfortingly. “You have nothing to worry about. Except for planning the rest of your life now that you’re free.”

  A measure of tension eased from the woman’s face. “Yeah, I’m free. Still sort of hard to grasp. Sometimes I just sit on the couch for hours before I realize I can get up if I want. Go outside. Go for a walk.” Her gaze went past them to the tiny front yard. Beyond. “Maybe I’ll do that. Later.”

  “It sounds like a start.”

  Sophia allowed Cam to usher her from the house to the vehicle. But once he pulled away from the house she refused to let him leave town before she found the church Rhonda had mentioned. And then elicited a promise from Tami to go check on the other woman once they left.

  Once he was finally allowed to leave the town he slanted her a glance. “I would have liked to have heard more about the times Vance left her alone for days at a time before he went to prison.”

  “Me, too,” she admitted, leaning forward to set her purse on the floor by her feet. “But I pushed as far as I dared this first time. She’s been through hell—twice. She deserves some kid glove handling.”

  He was silent for a moment, and she watched the corn and bean fields flash by the window. The plants seemed a bit taller than they had a few days ago when she and Van Wheton had escaped from the barn Vance had imprisoned them in. But the crops were still far too short to offer shelter for someone on the run from a madman. And again she was reminded of Klaussen’s exposure.

  “So you believe her then.”

  It took a moment for Sophia to follow his meaning. “Believe Klaussen’s story? Certainly the psychological damage she described rang true. If she’s not a woman who’s experienced terrible abuse, her talents are wasted outside of Hollywood. More importantly, I have no reason to disbelieve her.”

  She shifted as far as she comfortably could in her seat to face him. “While we were hunting for Vance I suspected there could be a team of killers. We know our UNSUB is an accomplice. More, Klaussen bears the burns and from what she described, she could well have been Vance’s first victim. The one he practiced his fantasies on. So yes, I believe her. Don’t you?”

  “She’s clearly been victimized.” There was little traffic on the county road. He flew by a pickup parked in a field where a few kids were picking up rock. “I’m just saying that she wouldn’t be the first victim who helped in the enactment of a crime because of psychological or physical force from her captor.”

  He was edging into territory that provided ample room for argument. “In the cases you describe, the women were still victims.” Sophia had lent expert testimony at trials similar to the ones he was suggesting. In her estimation, a jury should never underestimate the extent of long-term emotional trauma and its effect on behavior.

  “Were you honest with her back there? Is she being offered protection, or is the law enforcement attention simply to make sure she doesn’t take off before Vance can be brought to trial?”r />
  He slowed for a stop sign to let a lone SUV pass. Accelerated again. “Does it matter? The result is the same. Call it hedging our bets. Beckett—that’s Boone County Sheriff Beckett Maxwell—was instrumental in our investigation into Vance. I trust him to keep an eye on Klaussen and to keep her safe from harm. It’s a…”

  “…win-win.” She was familiar with his customary phrase. Broodingly, Sophia watched the rolling fields of green crops until they started to give way to strip malls and convenience stores. Maybe he was right. Perhaps it didn’t matter at this point whether he found Klaussen entirely credible as long as the woman was kept safe. Sophia’s concern might be better spent on the women in the morgue who were past protection. The others who still may be waiting, cold and silenced in a watery grave.

  Klaussen’s experience was beyond horrifying and the emotional damage it had inflicted would take years to recover from. But she, like Courtney Van Wheton and Sophia, had a huge advantage over Vance’s other victims.

  All of them had survived.

  * * * *

  His house was filled with static. Sonny could no longer quiet the noise by ignoring it or journaling about it. The jumble of sound had leaked into his head. Filled his brain. Until the noise was so strong he couldn’t hear himself think.

  Dropping the marker, he backed away from his journal and snatched up pillows to clap over his ears. But that only trapped the noise, it didn’t muffle it.

  Mommy’s voice was an insistent buzz threading through the rest of the racket. He had pills in the medicine cupboard that could silence her voice for long periods of time. But the pills made him sleepy. Left him feeling drugged up and dopey. He only took one when he had to keep his mind clear and razor sharp. Even so, they slowed his reflexes. And they didn’t stop him from seeing her. Standing in the doorway, or sitting at the table. Sometimes he saw all of her. Other times it was just her face floating by, the eyes bugged and the blue lips open.

  With or without the pills her voice always came back, inserting itself into his skull with needle-like precision. The medicine was little defense against her. It was his own fault, he knew, because he hadn’t buried her body when he’d killed her. But what had he known? He’d just been a kid.