Mind Games

by Polly Iyer

“I thought and thought, but that’s all I can remember. Will you find her?”

  “We hope so,” Jenrette said. “We certainly hope so.”

  “What do you think?” Lucier asked when they left.

  “Well, he hasn’t changed cars. But that was last night before we found Ms. Racine. Gut? If that little girl isn’t dead yet, she will be soon. That son of a bitch is long gone. That what you think?”

  “No, I agree with Diana. He’s not leaving until he plays his game. That’s what he’s about. And I think Jenny McClellan’s locket is his trophy.”

  * * * * *

  Diana sat up in bed, a half-eaten plate of food on the breakfast tray in front of her. Her swollen-shut eye matched the deep purple shade of her bruised jaw. She perked up when Lucier came into the room and an extra spark glistened in her good eye.

  “Hi,” she said. “I’ve been wondering where you were.”

  “Hi yourself. Sounds like you missed me.”

  “I have.” She smiled a lopsided grin. “Ouch, smiling hurts. Any news?”

  “Nothing yet. How are you feeling?”

  “Not much better than I look but better than last night.” She spoke like she had a mouth full of marbles. “The sedative wore off and I ate something, which helped.”

  “Not enough, by the looks of the food you left.” Lucier took her hand. “I don’t know what to say, Diana, except I’ve been a jerk and—”

  “Ernie, listen. I was wrong. I pushed myself on you. I had no business doing that, and you had every right to reject my advances. Please understand, I don’t do things like that often. In fact, only one other time. By the way, that guy thought I was a nut.”

  Lucier laughed in spite of himself. “I guess I’m not used to getting hit on by beautiful women. I thought about you leaving in a few days, then thought about my parents and your father―”

  “No need to explain. I understand.”

  “What you don’t know is when I dropped you off at the hotel, I wanted so badly to run after you and take back what I’d said. Then, when Macon kidnapped you, I almost went out of my mind. Everything exploded. Feelings I didn’t know were inside me.”

  “You’ve kept them in for years. They wanted out.” She leaned back against the pillow, closed her eyes for a minute, and sighed.

  “You need rest. There’s plenty of time to talk later.” But not plenty of time for Jenny McClellan. He couldn’t lay Macon’s latest kidnapping on her. She’d feel responsible even though she wasn’t.

  A candy striper knocked on the door. “I’m sorry to bother you, Ms. Racine, but I have a package for you. The receptionist said someone left it when she went to the restroom.”

  “A package? I’m not expecting anything.”

  “Your name’s written on the front, see?”

  Diana strained to reach for the box.

  Lucier jumped up and intercepted the brown-paper-wrapped package. “Wait. Don’t touch it, Diana. Put the package on the table, young lady,” he said to the girl. She did and scurried from the room with a curious expression.

  “Why? Do you think―?”

  “There’s no return address, just your name.” He pulled a pair of surgical gloves from his pocket and flashed a wink in Diana’s direction. “Tools of the trade.” He lifted the package near his ear and shook gently. “Sounds like the crinkle of paper and something else.” Harley Macon’s trophy, he thought, and gingerly unwrapped it, exposing a small box. He lifted the cover, and tucked in the folds of tissue paper lay a gold locket. Diana picked it up before Lucier could stop her. She started to tremble immediately at the touch and threw the heart-shaped necklace across the room as if molten lava burned her hands. Her face flushed red and she stopped shaking, just before her head fell back on the pillow and she fainted.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Sex and a Bologna Sandwich

  “Did you do it, Alice?” Macon asked. “Did you deliver the package to the hospital?”

  “Of course I did. I told you I wouldn’t have no trouble. I watched outside until the girl at the desk left, then I hurried in, dropped the package on her desk, and got the hell outta there.”

  “You mean you waited in your car?”

  “I ain’t stupid, Harley. I parked way on the other side and hid behind a tree. No one seen a thing. That’s what you told me to do, right?”

  “You’re sure no one saw the car?”

  “Dammit, Harley. I told you. Besides, it was my car. They ain’t looking for that. I was like a ghost. Jeez, I’m hungry as a horse. Want something to eat?”

  He came up behind her and put his arms around her waist, pressing himself into her. “Yeah, you. I’m ready for the main course.”

  “I gotta have a sandwich or something first. Then you can eat away.” She turned and put both hands on his ass and pulled him in closer. “Okay?”

  “Hurry up. This package thing’s making me horny.”

  “What doesn’t make you horny, Harley? That’s what I want to know.”

  “I told you, I’m blessed.”

  “Hold the thought. Two sandwiches coming up.”

  “That’s not the only thing coming up, babe. Make this fast food, okay?”

  Alice took a package of bologna out of the refrigerator, along with yellow mustard and American cheese. She slapped a few slices of each between white bread, slathered on mustard, and served them on paper plates. “The locket. Does it belong to the missing girl?”

  “Yup.”

  “What’d ya give it to the psychic for?”

  “We’re playing a game. I send her a clue, she finds the girl.”

  Alice cracked a beer and a Coke and sat across from Macon. “The girl alive?”

  Macon played with the pull-tab of his Coke. “Maybe. I don’t know.” He chomped into his sandwich. “Eat. The sooner you finish, the sooner we get down to business.”

  She devoured half the sandwich and reached for the second half. “How come you don’t know whether the kid’s alive or not? You took her, didn’t you?”

  “That I did.”

  “Well, is she alive or ain’t she?”

  “I told you, I don’t know. She might be. Might not. Now stop asking all these stupid questions. You’re in this now up to your wrinkled little neck.”

  “You’re gonna hurt my feelings talking like that, Harley. Say you’re sorry or I won’t do that kinky little thing you liked last night.”

  Macon swiped his arm across the table, sending two paper plates and two drink cans sailing against the cabinets. Alice watched, her expression unchanged. He lifted her onto the table, ripped her clothes off, and dropped his pants.

  She pulled him down on top of her. “Okay, you talked me into it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Pieces of a Puzzle Paint a Picture

  Lucier panicked and ran to the door for help. Two nurses barreled in and pushed him out of the way. One checked Diana’s pulse; the other pulled down the bottom of her good eye, eliciting an almost inaudible groan from the unconscious woman. The second nurse cracked a small vial and waved it under her nose.

  Diana flicked the woman’s hand away from her face. “Stop. I’m okay. I’m okay.”

  “What happened?” the heavy-set nurse asked Lucier.

  “She fainted, I think.”

  “Maybe you’d better leave. We can’t have our patients upset, especially one in her fragile condition.”

  “I’m all right,” Diana said, her voice dry and raspy. “He didn’t frighten me. It was something else.” She eased into a sitting position. “Please, if you don’t mind, I need to speak to Lieutenant Lucier alone.” The two nurses exchanged glances, shrugged, and left. Lucier poured some water and put the straw to Diana’s lips.

  “This locket is Harley Macon’s game.”

  “I know. A fourteen-year-old girl disappeared last night from a roller rink. Her friend saw her talking to a man she identified as Macon. He was asking about the locket she wore.”

  Diana clasped
her hand across her mouth. “Oh, my God. A fourteen-year old. And when were you going to tell me about this?”

  “I didn’t want to worry you until we found out more.” He searched around, found the locket behind a chair in the corner, and dropped it back in the box.

  “Wait,” she said, holding her hand out and staring at the locket. “Don’t put it away yet.”

  “Uh, uh. Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head. “I won’t let you.”

  “I don’t think you have a choice. This locket is the only chance we have of finding the girl.”

  Lucier looked at her bruised and swollen face, surrounded by a mass of black curls, and thought he had never seen a sight more beautiful. “It’s too dangerous. I saw what happened. You passed out, for chrissakes.”

  Diana fixed almost trance-like on the locket. “I can do this. I can.” She gazed up at Lucier. “If she dies, I’ll feel guilt for the rest of my life. I have to do this, Ernie.”

  He took her hand. “You didn’t cause any of this. It’s not your fault. This man’s a psychopath.”

  “You know I have to. Maybe, just maybe, he kept his word and hasn’t killed her.”

  He picked the locket from the box. He couldn’t let her do this, but if he didn’t, the girl would die, if she wasn’t dead already. Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. And it’d be worse for Diana if they found the girl dead and she could have saved her. “You’re sure?”

  “Never more sure of anything. I’m over the initial shock. This time I’ll have control. No surprises.”

  He coiled the locket in her free hand, poised to retrieve it if she got in too deep. She stared at the heart-shaped necklace for a long moment, then made a fist and closed her eyes.

  When he saw her go into the semi-hypnotic state, he alternated between trepidation and admiration. Hanging on the edge of his seat, he watched her. Shallow breathing, steady, opposite from the time she held Buffy Tyler’s shirt. Did each time holding the victim’s personal belonging foster a different reaction? He took a notebook and pen from his inner jacket pocket in case she said anything.

  A long minute passed before she spoke. “I see a dark place, even during the day.” She shivered. “And cold. Cold like stone or cement.” Her brow wrinkled as if she were visualizing the scene. “The room’s enclosed. Maybe a closet but bigger and empty. A thin shaft of light is streaming in from above. A vent or window of some kind.” She stopped, her head tilted up, the locket still clutched in her hands. “A light bulb is hanging on a wire, but the light is off. That’s why it’s so dark. I don’t see a door.” She jerked her head. “No, wait. There is a door, but it’s the whole wall. There’s a handle on the bottom of the door. A garage maybe, except it’s empty, only walls. I feel her presence.”

  Diana stopped. She said nothing until she opened her eyes and released the locket onto the bed. “That’s all I saw. I couldn’t get any closer. I don’t know where the girl is, but I sensed traffic nearby.” Diana raised her head off the pillow and reached for Lucier’s hand. “She was alive when he took the locket, Ernie. I felt her energy.”

  “And now?”

  She let her head fall back again. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”

  He moved to sit at the edge of the bed. “Are you all right?”

  “Given the sad state of my appearance and the creaky body, I’m doing okay. Tired but okay.”

  “I’m going to leave you to rest. There’s an officer on the door. You’ll be safe.”

  “I’m sure Galen and Blanche will be here soon. You go. Find the girl and then find him. Find him, put him behind bars, and throw away the key.”

  He squeezed her hand and started for the door. Turning, he walked back to her bed and leaned over. “Will you hurt if I kiss you?”

  She smiled. “I’ll hurt if you don’t.”

  * * * * *

  Jenrette, ever-present cigar clamped between his teeth, poured two cups of coffee, set one down in front of Lucier. “What do you think it means?”

  Lucier blew on the steaming brew and sipped. “Sounds like a garage or the inside of a loading dock.”

  “He couldn’t use someone’s house, so it’s not a private garage. Something public.”

  “Maybe…” Lucier stopped mid-sentence and rubbed his forehead.

  “Maybe what?”

  “Maybe she’s describing a storage unit. One of those rental places.”

  Jenrette took the half-chewed cigar out of his mouth. “Could be, Ernie. Yeah, could be.”

  “Can we get a list of every rental storage complex within a twenty-mile radius of the cabin and the roller skating rink? If nothing comes up, expand the area. I think that’s what Diana described.”

  “I’ll get right on it.”

  “Diana wouldn’t play his game unless he promised not to kill his victim. So he had to find someplace to hide her. Someplace no one would look. Where’s the phone book?”

  Jenrette pulled out two books from his bottom drawer. “This book encompasses most of the parish.” He scanned the yellow pages. “There are some storage units that aren’t in here. You know the kind—two or three units attached to another business or in someone’s back yard.” He left his office and returned. “Deacon and Farley each have a book and I told them to split up the calling. Dumar’s gone out to cover the little ones around here that aren’t in the books. He knows this area good as anyone, and nobody holds back information when he comes around. Macon may have paid someone to keep quiet, but I’m sure they didn’t know what he had in mind when he rented the place. All they have to hear is they’d be an accessory to kidnapping and a possible murder, and that’ll open ’em up fast.”

  Lucier liked the way McCoy Jenrette did business.

  In less than half an hour they had a hit when Farley stuck his head into the office. “The clerk at one of the units off the four-lane rented a space two days ago to a guy fitting Macon’s description. Dumar’s halfway there.”

  “Good work.” Jenrette called EMS and told them where to go.

  Lucier and Jenrette were out the door and were at the storage place within half an hour. The ambulance waited when they arrived and Dumar was talking with the owner.

  “Macon requested a back unit,” Dumar said.

  “Didn’t you see his picture on the news?” Jenrette asked the owner.

  “I only watch the sports channels,” he replied. “Why’d he want a back unit anyway? The two break-ins I’ve had have been in back where no one can see.”

  “He didn’t want anyone to see him bring his valuables,” Dumar said.

  “I think you’re right, Carl,” Lucier said, “and I’m sure he took his chances being recognized. But I don’t think he expected Ms. Racine to get us this far.”

  They followed the owner to the last row in the complex. The ambulance crawled behind.

  “This is the place, right here.” The owner singled a key from the ring, slipped it in the lock, and raised the overhead door.

  Jenny McClellan sat on the floor in the far right corner, duct tape across her mouth and around her hands and feet. A chain wrapped twice around her waist and fastened to a hook in the cement wall prevented her from getting to the metal door to make noise. From the terror expressed in her red, swollen eyes, she expected her assailant had returned for her.

  Lucier identified the group as police and inched toward the girl. “We’re not going to hurt you. We’re here to take you home.” He yanked the tape from her mouth—fast was best—which unleashed a flood of sobs.

  “I want to go home,” she said through hiccupping sobs. “I want my daddy.”

  “We’ll take you to your parents. You’re going to be all right, Jenny,” Lucier said, removing the binding tape. He gestured to Jenrette, who went outside to call the McClellans and let them know their daughter had been found safe and that they’d meet up at the hospital.

  Dumar returned from his pickup with a bolt cutter and snapped the chain, releasing the girl from her bondage. Jenny McClellan’s l
egs had fallen asleep from sitting so long in one spot, so the paramedics lifted her and carefully laid her on a stretcher, checked her vitals, and loaded her in the ambulance. When inside, they inserted an IV.

  “The son of a bitch would have let her die without water or food,” Dumar said. “So help me, if I get a crack at him I hope you all look the other way.”

  “You’re gonna have to push me out of the way first,” Jenrette said.

  “Not a problem, Chief,” Dumar said.

  * * * * *

  Lucier returned to the station for his car so he could tell Diana in person about finding the girl. Deacon met Jenrette with a message.

  “A guy by the name of Granger called. Said a man fitting Macon’s description was at The Roadhouse the other night. That’s about twenty miles from the cabin.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  A Lesson Learned

  Lucier and Jenrette had a hell of a time finding the trailer park where Mitch Granger lived. They followed his directions but kept missing the obscure cutoff, which the man failed to mention. Lucier caught a glimpse of a rotted wood sign covered by weeds at the end of a dirt driveway, and a quarter mile down, they found a cluster of dilapidated trailers. Granger stood in front of the most habitable-looking one, hands folded across his chest. A tarp-covered motorcycle sat next to his souped-up Dodge Charger, its back window adorned with confederate flag stickers. A self-satisfied smile lit his face until he saw Lucier get out of the car.

  “Ya have trouble finding the place?” he asked.

  “Hell, no,” Jenrette said. “Drove right up.”

  Lucier detected a flash of disappointment on Granger’s face and figured the man intentionally gave them the most circuitous route.

  Granger, tough looking and grimy, could have passed for a bona fide Hell’s Angel. Maybe he was. His swarthy complexion—made grittier by a three-day growth of beard—greasy black hair, and tight fitting Harley-Davidson T-shirt matched in style to the complicated tattoos decorating both arms, including an ominous-looking swastika. No doubt an ex-member of the prison brotherhood. An unfiltered cigarette hung from his mouth, and when he spoke, Lucier noticed two rows of rotten teeth. The man’s squinty stare and curled lip directed at Lucier persuaded him to let Jenrette do the talking.