by Alex Gates
I no longer trusted David Wicker.
“Why is she here?” His voice calmed, but the malice dripped from his words. “Hasn’t she done enough to ruin our lives?”
Ben motioned for me to follow. Did he escort me to privacy, or was he separating me from the Wickers?
“What the hell happened?” I asked.
He had no good answer. “I found her in the hotel room. I knocked, but she didn’t say anything. I had a bad feeling, so I got the manager to open her door. She was in the bathroom.”
My heart battered its way from my chest to my throat. “Did she do it herself?”
“Yeah. Pen knife. She was unconscious when I found her. I wrapped a tourniquet over her wrists, but I don’t know…” He took a breath. “Christ, this is so much easier when they’re already dead.”
Goddamn homicide detectives. “Ben, Jesus.”
“I don’t know what the hell is happening on this case. Why did Alyssa Wicker slice her wrists?”
“I was hoping she told you.”
“Oddly enough, she was pretty quiet on the ride over.”
Damn it. None of this made sense. “I called for backup on the mine. Should have a crime scene team in place in a few minutes, but I don’t think they’re gonna find a damn thing. The place was flooded with bleach and completely cleaned out. No fibers. No toys. No nothing.”
“How recently?”
“How long ago did Jason Carter sit in that interview room?” I rubbed my face realizing too late I was coated in mud. “I talked to her, Ben. I told her who I was. I told her about the case and the girls. Why didn’t she just say she was Alyssa?”
“Was she scared?”
I shook my head. “No. She was angry. Bitter. Christ, the things she said. I knew she needed help, but I had no idea…she’s been alive this whole time, and she never tried to get help. Why?”
“Did she sound suicidal?”
“No. Something must have happened. Was anyone else in that hotel?”
“No,” he said. “She was alone.”
“Think she had a pimp?”
Ben frowned. “An underage cam model? Yeah. Someone had to be controlling her.”
So, where the hell was he? Who controlled Alyssa Wicker now that she was a teenager?
Why hadn’t she gone home? Why hadn’t she called for help?
And what was going to happen to her now?
Ben quieted as Amy hesitantly shuffled to my side. She reached for me, then curled her hand back, pressing her fingers to her lips.
“You talked to her?” Her words muffled. “You talked to my baby?”
I lowered my gaze. What the hell was I supposed to say?
Yeah, I talked to her about how she’d been raped and abused her entire life. No mother deserved that.
Especially now.
“I didn’t know it was her,” I said.
“But…but where…”
Another question to dodge. “I found her online. She was working as a…a model.”
David didn’t move him his chair. He folded his hands and stared at the ground, jaw tense. “A whore. She was a whore.”
“David, no.” Amy gasped. “It’s not…it can’t be true.”
Truth wasn’t fair, and it hurt everyone who demanded it. “She’s a hero. She gave me information. Because of her, I found where the kidnapper’s been holding the girls. Because of her…we can find Sophia.”
Amy smiled through her tears. “My baby…she helped?”
“Yes. She was a little afraid to talk, but she wanted to help. Alyssa was very, very brave.”
“Oh, my little girl…”
“Why was she afraid?” David’s rasp wasn’t loud, yet we all tensed. “What scared her so much?”
Too many girls were lost on too many streets, each with their own evils haunting their shadows. Alyssa had her reasons, but she kept them too close. And now?
I was on my own to figure them out.
“I think she’s been abused…beyond her initial captivity. She was reluctant to reveal where she was, who she was, how old she was.”
“But she was alive,” he said. “She was talking to you?”
I nodded. “Yes. She talked to me.”
David looked up. “And then she killed herself.”
Amy choked over her tears. “David, no. She’s not…there’s a chance—”
“There’s no chance.” David stood. “She’s gone, Amy. The girl in there is dead.”
“The doctors—”
“She was unresponsive. She bled out on that hotel floor. The only reason she’s alive is because they’ve got tubes shoved down her throat and a machine pumping adrenaline into her heart. She’s gone.”
Amy clutched the arm of her chair as she collapsed in breathless sobs. David didn’t react. Only watched.
“We’re taking her off life-support,” he said. “We can’t let her suffer anymore.”
“But…” Amy looked to me, like I could make this decision. Like I could stand there and let another child die. “What…what if she could pull through? She’s strong, David. She’s like you. She’s strong.”
“Don’t!” David’s roar echoed through the ER. His face reddened, and he thrust a fat finger at his wife. “Don’t say it. This is done. She’s gone through enough.”
“And if she could help the investigation?” I spoke when I shouldn’t have said a word. “If she pulls through, and she could help us find Sophia?”
“She can’t!” David yelled. “She’s dead! Machines are keeping my daughter alive! Machines! Not her parents. Not her friends. She’s been used, raped, murdered.” His words hollowed. “By you.”
“What?”
“This is your fault…” He went quiet, stunned. “It’s your fault, Detective.”
My stomach pitted. Everyone stared. “This isn’t—”
“She was alive this entire time. For seven years. Alive. And then…you found her.” His steps encroached. Ben stepped between us, but it didn’t matter. I’d have let him hit me. “You talked to her for what…five, ten minutes? What did you say to her? What power did you hold over her?”
“I didn’t say anything that would have made her take her own life,” I whispered.
“Maybe you don’t have to…” Tears streaked over his cheeks. “Just look at what you’ve done. Look at the misery that follows you. You’ve ruined my marriage. You’ve torn the Gibson family apart. Their son, their daughter. Both gone, and their memories sullied. You’ve accused Jason Carter of the absolutely unthinkable. And now…” He rubbed his eyes. “What did you do to my little girl?”
My heart seized. I went still. Terrified and humiliated and…
Wishing he wasn’t right.
“What is it about you that brings out the worst in people? What misery lurks inside you that infects every other innocent person in this world?” His voice broke. “Why is it my little girl who’s breathing her last breath with the aid of a machine…while you’re standing here…alive and rotten.”
Silence.
The ache returned, that pitted, gnawing, poison of emptiness. I hated every breath that scraped from my lungs. A heartbeat passed that I wished I could give to Alyssa. The double doors opened. A doctor emerged from the hospital hall.
The older man knew immediately which family he was meant to console. With a hushed whisper, and pat to David’s shoulder, he said everything we feared.
“If you want to see her, before…”
Amy collapsed. David helped her to her feet, following a nurse in bright yellow scrubs deeper into the ER. The doors automatically closed behind them, but the doctor didn’t follow. He nodded to us.
“Are you the detectives?”
He didn’t offer his hand, but neither did we. Ben spoke for us both, eying the name embroidered on his white coat.
“I’m Detective Bennett Chase, this is my partner, Detective London McKenna. We’re…on Alyssa’s case. Is she…”
“On life-support. Unresponsive. I’m sor
ry.”
Damn.
And that was it.
I rubbed my face, but the exhaustion and sorrow couldn’t be wiped away. “Self-inflicted?”
“Yes.”
Christ. I sucked in a breath, but the doctor wasn’t finished. He pulled a plastic bag from his pocket and handed it to Ben.
“This was found on her person,” he said. “She had tucked it into her pocket. I haven’t told the family, but as you were investigating…”
Ben flipped the plastic bag. I edged close, staring at the scrawled pen smeared with blood. The letters were clear, concise, and utterly destructive.
I finally got away from them.
I can’t let them take me again.
I stared at the words. My mouth dried. Ben’s hand trembled the paper.
The word lodged in my throat. “Them.”
The revelation crushed me. We were wrong. The whole time, we’d been wrong.
And now two girls were dead because of it.
I didn’t recognize my own voice.
“There’s more than one kidnapper.”
27
And to think…no one believed you.
And now no one is there to help.
-Him
Alyssa Wicker passed at seven o’clock in the morning.
My career would die with her.
No amount of coffee could ease a headache comprised mostly of guilt and exhaustion. Still, I chugged the half cup left in the carafe overnight. Bitter and cold. That suited me. Wasn’t like I could feel much else.
I usually spent the early parts of my day in Adamski’s office. It didn’t make the morning any warmer or the sun any brighter, but the office had a communal comfort. Get our marching orders, make sure everyone survived the night and their resultant hangover, and go about our day knowing no one would chase their coffee with a bullet.
Now?
I had nothing. The emptiness was real, but I couldn’t force myself to care. Adamski must have feared the worst too. He plopped a McDonalds breakfast sandwich in front of me.
“Eat it,” he said. “You need it.”
Ben peeked in the bag. “Nothing for me?”
“Ate your hash brown on the way.”
He snorted. “Thanks for your concern.”
I pushed the McMuffin towards him. “Here. You take it.”
“When did you last eat?” Ben asked.
When Alyssa was still alive. Literally a lifetime ago. “I’m not hungry.”
“You should eat.”
I wasn’t in the mood to fight him, but my day was bad enough without throwing up whatever was in my stomach. “I’ll be okay.”
Adamski fiddled with his suspenders. Apparently, he left the house before his wife woke up. She’d never have let him out the door with the left one bunched into a knot. He gave up on the damn things, refit his jacket over his shoulder, and broached the conversation with the tact of a drill sergeant.
“Not your fault she died,” he said.
Tell that to David Wicker. The lie came easy. “I know.”
“It’s goddamned impressive you even found her. And the mine…got the guys working it over now.”
Ben still had a sickening amount of hope. “Did they find anything yet?”
“A lot of bleach.” Adamski shook his head. “He…they cleaned it well. But they’ll find something.”
I didn’t care about a something. I wanted to find a someone.
The door opened. If Chief Esposto expected me to stand, he was one missed-night-sleep too late. Ben nodded, but I said nothing. This was a waste of time. I didn’t belong in the office.
If the mine was cleared, they were on the run—Jason Carter and his accomplice.
Accomplices?
My head ached. Too many mysteries and not enough time to solve it.
Or to save her.
“Chief,” Adamski said. Ben gave his seat to him. “Any updates?”
Esposto patted the crease in his slacks before sitting. “Nothing yet. I ordered another thousand feet to the boundary on the surface, but the mine is dangerous without proper ventilation. I’m calling in a specialist before anyone else goes into the rooms.”
More wasted time.
Seconds passed like heartbeats. I couldn’t just sit there doing nothing.
“Is there a patrol at the Carter house?” I asked.
“The Carters and Gibsons are grieving with the Wickers,” Esposto frowned. “I haven’t ordered a patrol to harass the Carters, and neither will you.”
“Well, how much longer can we wait? We found the mine. We found Alyssa. The kidnapper—and his partner or partners—they’ll assume Alyssa offered more information regarding her kidnapping. If they’ve already scoured the mine and moved Sophia, it’s only a matter of time before they decide she isn’t worth the risk.”
“And what do you suggest, Detective?” Esposto asked.
“We question Jason Carter again.”
“With what evidence?”
Fine. “We interview Jason Carter again. Interview them all if it’ll seem less suspicious. Hell, we have a good reason. Alyssa warned us of multiple assailants. We’ve operated under the assumption that a single man acted and kidnapped these girls. If we talk to the families and ask about a group of suspicious men—partners, coworkers, friends, neighbors—they might have more information. Something they never connected before.”
Ben agreed, somehow managing to stay on his feet even though I knew he was as bone-fucking-tired as me. “And knowing that the kidnappers held them so close to the street…it has to be someone near to them.”
“Or it’s a coincidence,” Adamski said. “London, maybe these guys found the mine and took the girls there because it was a shorter distance to transport them.”
“And kept them there for seven years?” I asked. “No. There’s a reason they picked that place. It was convenient. Jason Carter could lie, say he was walking the family dog, and check on his captives without his family getting suspicious.”
“And you think you’ll ask him a couple questions, and he’ll just…” Esposto shrugged. “Crack? After seven years and three kidnappings, after the production of dozens of pornographic films, after rallying an army of pedophiles to attack you and the other fathers…you think he’ll tell you everything because you’re interviewing him?”
“He nearly broke the last time,” I said.
“But he didn’t, and we almost had a lawsuit. No. You don’t go near Jason Carter. You have a new lead to follow.”
I frowned. “What lead?”
Adamski raised his eyebrows. “The cam modeling.”
“The cam—” I nearly swore. “What?”
“Alyssa Wicker was prostituting herself via the internet,” he said. “If she was also working the streets, someone was managing her. Most likely, being that she’s underage and from this sort of background, her handler was involved with the kidnapper. Maybe bought her once she aged out.”
“An investigation like that will take days,” I said. “You want me to find a pimp who may or may not exist while Sophia Carter’s life hangs in the balance?”
“This is the way to find Sophia Carter,” Adamski sighed. “London, I know you’re worried about her—”
“You’re goddamned right I’m worried!”
“But what do you expect to happen? If you go after Carter and you get nowhere, he’ll still panic and kill her. If you question him and get answers, but the prosecutor throws out a coerced confession, then he’ll get away with kidnapping, rape, and murder.”
“But Sophia would be alive.”
Esposto narrowed his eyes. “You’re willing to jeopardize this case?”
“You aren’t?”
“We’re done here.” Esposto stood, straightening his uniform. “Detective McKenna, you have your orders.”
“Two girls are dead! A third might be next, and you want me to go chase some backassward lead that won’t get me to Sophia before he does?”
“I want
you to do your job,” Esposto frowned. “If you’re not capable—”
I didn’t let him finish. “I’m fully capable, sir. Fully capable of letting another girl get butchered.”
He didn’t dignify me with a response. “Send her home for the day, Sergeant.”
“I’m not leaving,” I said.
Adamski spoke before Esposto, his words low. “London, you either go home or you’re off the case.”
Jesus Christ. Did I have a bullseye on my back, or were they all chucking knives at the soft spots? How many times could I be betrayed?
“Detective Chase,” Esposto said. “Search the hotel and Alyssa Wicker’s belongings and start tracking any person she might’ve contacted within the past few days. If she had a credit card, pull the records. If she had a cell phone, track her calls and texts. We’ll have a computer forensics team search her computer.”
Ben cowered like the dog he was. “Yes, sir.”
“Take your day, Detective McKenna,” Esposto said. “And, before you return…make an appointment with the police counselor. With this much stress, it might be beneficial for you to speak with Doctor Addler. If I recall, it was a mandatory requirement for taking this case.”
More wasted time. More inaction. It was like Esposto wanted the girl to die. Sophia was as good as dead if I didn’t do something.
Even if it meant losing my job.
Even if it meant destroying the case.
I slipped from the office without a word, but Ben was on my ass before I made it to my desk. He followed, voice low.
“Don’t you dare, hotshot.”
I was exhausted, under-caffeinated, and pissed off. He was lucky I didn’t reach for my taser. “Don’t what?”
“I know what you’re gonna do.”
“And if you were any kind of cop, you’d do it too.”
He grinned, but he wasn’t amused. “You would think that, huh? What’s your plan? Rush over to the Carter’s? Pin him in the corner? Demand that he come clean?”
“He’ll crack.”
“Yeah, with a gun in his hand. He’s tried to kill Wicker and Gibson, and he murdered a little girl in cold blood. You think a child rapist and maniac won’t turn on you?”
“I can take care of myself.”
Ben frowned. “Really? Eight months ago, you shattered your leg and nearly had your brains blown out. A year ago, you nearly died in an empty grave.”
