by R. J. Jagger
Then, after putting on latex gloves, he carried Rain St. John inside and laid her in front of the fireplace.
Okay.
So far so good.
A torn mattress lay abandoned on the floor of the largest bedroom. It was a lumpy piece of crap but would still be a lot more comfortable than the wood. A quick inspection found no bugs or mice.
He pulled the mattress to the side of the room and then went outside to look for something to stand on. Five minutes later he muscled an old log into the room.
He stood on it and punched a hole in the ceiling. Then he pulled the plaster away and exposed two solid joists. Around them he wrapped a chain and locked it in place with a Master padlock. The tail of the chain dangled down almost to the floor.
He carried the log outside and moved the mattress back into the middle of the room, directly under the chain.
Rain wore white shorts, a green tank top, white ankle socks and yellow Skechers.
All that came off.
Then he carried her into the bedroom, laid her unconscious body on the mattress, and padlocked her ankle to the chain. No matter how far she pulled she wouldn’t be able to reach the window.
He stuck a syringe in her ass and pushed the plunger.
That would keep her out for a good eight hours.
From the Jeep, he brought in the Porta-Potty, food and water and set everything next to the mattress. Then he took eight Polaroid snapshots of her.
THE RULES WERE CAREFULLY SET OUT on a sheet of paper, which he folded in half and set on top of the groceries.
Do not scream for help.
Do not talk or make noises.
Do not attempt to escape.
When you wake up you may stay awake for one hour. Then take one of the pills.
Do not speak to me until and unless I permit it.
Always look down when in my presence.
Refer to me as Master.
Do everything I tell you without protest.
If and only if you obey all the rules at all times, then at the end we will flip a coin. If it’s heads you will be released. If it’s tails you will die, but it will be quickly. You have a 50-50 chance.
If you do not obey the rules, then you forfeit your right to a coin toss. What happens then will not be pleasant.
WITH EVERYTHING IN PLACE, Tarzan surveyed his handiwork and couldn’t think of anything he’d missed. She looked lovely, so lovely in fact that he actually looked forward to what was coming next.
To prove it he put on a condom and screwed her good and hard.
Then he left.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Day Four—May 8
Thursday Afternoon
______________
PAIGE FELT WEIRD. Maybe it was because the seat she sat on, namely the leather passenger seat in Ta’Veya’s silver Audi, cost more than Paige’s entire car. But more likely it was because they were parked behind a dumpster a quarter-mile from Aaron Trane’s building, watching it through Bushnell auto-focus binoculars, and debating whether it would be smart or stupid to break in.
“We’re getting nowhere fast,” Ta’Veya said.
Paige agreed but still balked.
“Assume worst case scenario,” Ta’Veya said. “Assume he actually does live here and comes home exactly when we’re inside, which is unlikely. The place is huge. There’s going to be a million places to hide.”
True.
But still—
“We need to find out if he lives here or not,” Ta’Veya added. “I’m guessing the place is empty. The sooner we confirm that the sooner we can move on.” She must have felt a toehold because she added, “We go in and stay quiet. If anyone comes we’ll hear him. Haven’t you ever broken into someone’s house before?”
Actually she had, but didn’t feel like getting into it.
“We’re worse off if we sit on our hands and do nothing,” Ta’Veya said.
Paige rolled her eyes.
“I can’t believe you’re actually talking me into this.”
THE GROUND LEVEL PROVED TO BE SECURE. It wasn’t until they got to the third floor, up the fire escape on the north side, that they found an unlocked window.
The guts of the structure were deathly quiet.
After climbing in, they took a stairwell down to the ground level to be sure the door opened from the inside, just in case. Good thing, too, because they found it chained shut.
A wall divided the lower level. A door in that wall took them to an area being used as a garage. Inside were a number of vehicles.
“Look at this,” Ta’Veya said.
The glove box of one of the vehicles—a GM truck—held a registration belonging to Aaron Trane.
“Bingo,” Paige said.
Ta’Veya nodded.
“Our boy.”
THE FIRST THREE FLOORS were basically empty shells, except for the garage area on the ground level and some kind of web contraption on the second. The doors leading to the fire escape from the second and third floors were chained shut from the inside, meaning they couldn’t get out that way if the need arose. There were two elevators, a smaller one for people and a larger one for freight. They didn’t dare use either and had no idea if they functioned.
A stairwell connected all four floors, nestled against the north wall.
They took it to the top level, opened a steel door and found a living area.
They paused.
No sounds emerged.
No movement came.
“Oh yeah,” Ta’Veya said, stepping inside.
Paige chewed her lip.
“There’s nowhere to hide,” she said. “If he comes back we’re screwed.” Ta’Veya ignored her and headed towards a small office area. A flat-panel screen sat on a beat-up pine desk. On the floor was a Dell computer. The only visible external drive was for a CD. Several blank discs were in a plastic case on a bookshelf.
Ta’Veya pushed the power button and then grabbed a blank CD while the computer booted up.
“What are you doing?”
“Copying his files.”
“Why?”
“Because computers tell secrets.”
“We don’t have time.”
Ta’Veya ignored her and said, “Keep looking around.”
She surveyed the space, searching for the most likely spot to hold something incriminating, and discounted the kitchen, bathroom, bed, drums, lighting equipment and wardrobes. She headed over to the one and only enclosed area.
It turned out to be a darkroom.
A couple of dozen large black-and-white photos hung from clotheslines. They all depicted the same woman, an alluring woman even more captivating than Ta’Veya. She was in a large spider’s web, seemingly caught in a spread-eagle position, as a wind blew her flimsy dress, incredibly erotic.
She wore no panties.
ANOTHER DOOR AT THE BACK OF THE ROOM looked like it led to a closet. She opened it and found herself in a second room, at least as big if not bigger than the first.
It was a storage area.
It had hundreds of built-in drawers, running from the floor almost all the way to the ceiling. An eight-foot stepladder leaned against the back wall. White handwritten labels kept things organized. She grabbed one of the drawers at elbow level and pulled it out.
It was stuffed with color photographs.
They depicted a crowded city street.
Not Denver, though.
Someplace trendier.
She sensed L.A.
Men in tuxedos and women in elegant evening dresses waited in a line that spilled down the sidewalk, for a play or opera or some such thing. They all faced the same way, all except one man whose eyes followed a young black woman in a $10.00 sundress walking in the opposite direction.
The message was clear.
We’re animals.
Our lust is always turning its head.
Watching.
She shut the drawer. There had to be thousands of photographs here; tens of thou
sands. Clearly the man lived for the darkroom. If he was also the one putting the women in collars, then he would have snapped the shutter at them.
The moment would be too important to not capture.
And where would he keep them?
Somewhere in this room.
Secretly hidden in one of these drawers.
Suddenly Ta’Veya bolted into the room, shut the door and turned off the light.
“We have company!”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Day Four—May 8
Thursday Morning
______________
TEFFINGER KNEW HE SHOULD TAKE Leigh somewhere nicer than Denny’s, particularly after he let Mr. Happy scare her this morning, but that’s where he took her anyway—the one at 6th and Simms. Every penny saved was another one to throw at the ’67 Corvette loan.
His baby.
All original.
Numbers matching.
They sat in a corner booth with coffee in hand waiting for food. When “This Bird Can Sing” dropped from ceiling speakers, Teffinger waved at the waitress.
She grabbed the coffee pot and headed over, already knowing the drill. As she topped him off he said, “Actually, I was hoping you could turn that song up.”
She put an expression on her face.
“Only the manager’s supposed to mess with the controls,” she said.
Teffinger flashed his badge, smiled his best smile, and said, “This is official police business.”
She walked off and said over her shoulder, “Well that’s different.”
Ten seconds later the song came on stronger, the way it was supposed to.
Leigh cocked her head and looked at him.
“What?” he asked.
“That’s your problem, right there.”
“What? That I like the Beatles?”
“No,” she said. “Women come too easy to you. My brother was the same way.”
“First,” he said, “that’s not true. And second, even if it was, how would it be a problem?”
“Because it’s too easy to move on.”
“What do you mean—if the going gets tough?”
She nodded.
“That’s why you’re still single,” she added.
He pulled up images of some of the women in his life.
Kelly Parks.
Darien Jade.
Tianca Holland.
Ja’Von Deveraux.
London Fontelle.
When held up against them, Leigh’s comment wasn’t fair. He was just about to say so when Katie Baxter called and told him that the DNA reports came in. The woman bound with blue rope by the railroad tracks was not—repeat not—the same person from the boxcar. Teffinger wasn’t surprised since none of the fingerprints matched.
“Thanks,” he said. “You’re the best.”
He was just about to tell Leigh the news when the waitress set plates in front of them—pancakes smothered with strawberries and whipped cream.
“Thanks.”
She smiled. “The manager’s not here, so I could put a Beatles CD on if you want.”
“Awesome,” Teffinger said. “You got any of their early stuff? The first three or four albums?”
“I’ll check.”
“That’s their best stuff.”
“I’ll check. But we’re not a music store.”
He smiled.
“Understood.”
Leigh rolled her eyes. Then Teffinger filled her in on Baxter’s news.
“That means our boxcar woman may still be alive,” Leigh said. “This is the closest I’ve ever been to catching this guy, much less to saving one of his captives.”
FROM DENNY’S THEY TOOK A QUICK DETOUR to the Silver Reef Apartments, where Teffinger knocked on Paige Deverex’s door but got no response, which was strange because her Ford Mustang was parked ten feet away. He knocked again, louder, and still got nothing. Then he pulled a business card out of his wallet and scribbled a note on the back—Ta’Veya, I’ll buy dinner if you’ll be the dessert—and jammed it in the door crack.
Back in the car Leigh asked, “What was that all about?”
“The woman who lives there owns that 1967 Mustang,” he said, pointing. “She’s not the one we’re looking for though.”
She looked at him. “Which brings us back to my question. Why are we here?”
“Oh,” Teffinger said. “Because she has a roommate.”
“And?”
“And the roommate kind of took a shining to me.”
Leigh shook her head and asked, “Does Mr. Happy ever wake up and say, ‘You know what? I think I’ll just take the day off.’”
Teffinger chuckled.
“Not often.”
She grew serious.
“So how many of those Mustangs do we need to still run down?”
“Most of them, unfortunately,” Teffinger said.
Then he remembered something.
Something bad.
He paid for breakfast with a credit card and didn’t write in a tip, intending to leave cash on the table so the waitress wouldn’t have to pay taxes, except he forgot to leave the cash.
“We need to swing by Denny’s.”
“Why?”
“Major brain fart. I stiffed our waitress.”
When they got there he ran in, found only two dollars in his wallet and ran back out.
“Can I borrow ten dollars?” he asked.
She made a face of disbelief and reached into her purse.
“You know, I have to admit something. One of the reasons I came to Denver was to see if I could talk you into joining the bureau. But now, after seeing you in action again, I’m not so sure.”
He grabbed the ten.
“Be right back,” he said. “Then we have work to do.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Day Four—May 8
Thursday Afternoon
______________
AS SOON AS TARZAN GOT HOME from taking Rain St. John to the hideaway, he stripped naked, downed a Bud Light in one long swallow, and stuck his head under the shower until the Dick Zipp wig itch disappeared.
Ah, better.
Much better.
Ten minutes later Del Rae Paris called with bad news, very bad news. “Megan backed out,” she said.
Unbelievable.
“Why?”
“It’s just too much for her.”
“She’s crucial and she knows it.”
“So what do we do?”
Good question.
The timing couldn’t have been worse.
“Go talk to her and get her back in,” he said. “Offer her more money or whatever—tell her we won’t do the hair thing if that’s freaking her out. For her sake she better be smart enough to make the right decision. Between you and me, in is the only place we can afford to have her. This is too important to have a loose cannon running around.”
Del Rae understood and agreed.
“Talk her back into it for her own sake,” Aaron added.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Day Four—May 8
Thursday Afternoon
______________
PAIGE FELT LIKE A FROG in a snake pit. The darkness of the room couldn’t have been more absolute if they were a thousand feet under ground and wore blindfolds. She felt around, found Ta’Veya’s hand and held it.
Ta’Veya gripped back with a sweaty palm.
Neither of them spoke.
There was no need to. They understood the situation. The man would either walk in for whatever reason or he wouldn’t. If he did, then that was that. If he didn’t, they’d either have to wait for him to leave or try to sneak out tonight after he went to bed.
She had to relieve herself like crazy.
They listened to every sound that came from the main room, trying to figure out what he was doing, hoping to hear something to indicate he was on the way out.
Instead, cabinets opened and closed.
The shower ran for a
few minutes and then cut off.
A phone rang and words mumbled, too muted to understand, but loud enough to tell when he was talking and when he wasn’t. Judging by the volume, Paige figured it would probably be safe to whisper if she barely used any breath.
“Can you hear me?” she asked.
“Yes,” Ta’Veya said.
“There’s a ladder against the back wall.”
“I saw it.”
“I’m going to hold it steady,” she said. “See if you can get on top of the drawers.”
They felt their way over to it—a stepladder, folded shut and leaning against the wall. Paige felt the angle and pulled the feet out a little farther.
“Go ahead,” she said.
Ta’Veya climbed, feeling her way up, one careful step at a time. Then she stopped and Paige heard her fingering the wood.
“It’s solid up here,” she said. “I think it’ll hold us.”
“How much room is there?”
“About the same as a coffin.”
Great.
Still better than nothing.
“It’s going to be a little tricky swinging up,” Ta’Veya said.
Paige gripped the ladder and took a firm stance. “Whenever you’re ready,” she said.
Two seconds later the ladder pushed away from the wall, so hard that Paige had to put all her weight into it. Ta’Veya grunted and struggled for what seemed like a long time. Then she said, “Whew,” and exhaled.
“You up?”
“Yeah, but it was harder than I thought.”
A lot harder.
“You’re going to need to open the ladder,” Ta’Veya added. “Otherwise it’s going to buck off the wall.”
Paige chewed her lip.
Once up, she wouldn’t be able to close it.
And if the man came in he’d notice.
“I’ll make it,” she said.
When she got to the top of the ladder she understood what Ta’Veya was talking about. She got as good a grip as she could on the top of the drawers, then pushed off and swung her leg up.
