by Alexa Grace
His eyes flew to the rearview mirror in the front of the vehicle to see if Devan was watching the road or him. Abby was a target for the game. Touching a target was not allowed, and he would suffer serious consequences from Devan if he even suspected Evan's attraction to her. Thankfully, Devan's eyes were on the road. They were almost out of the city limits.
"Did you remember the roofies?" asked Devan, as he glanced back at Evan through the rear view mirror.
"Don't I always? I'm not the village idiot you seem to think I am."
Devan's face flushed as he glared at him through the mirror. Finally he said, "Don't get testy, and just answer the fucking question, Evan."
"Yes, I remembered the Rohypnol. I filled a couple of syringes with it and put them in the duffle bag. I'll give her one in a few minutes to keep her quiet."
Satisfied with that answer, Devan returned his attention to the road, and Evan turned his to Abby. Her delicate features reminded him of one of the sleeping princesses in a fairy tale one of their nannies used to read to them.
Abby groaned as she tried to move her bound legs and wrists. Why did she feel so exhausted? It was such an effort to even try to move her arms and legs. Why couldn't she move?
Her eyes flew open with alarm, and she scanned her surroundings and recognized the interior of a van. Where in the hell was she? Was this real? Was this a nightmare? Wasn't this one of the guys she danced with at the bar, hovering over her, his face inches from her own? Panic like she'd never known welled in her throat.
<><><>
His laptop secured under his arm, Gabe pushed up the Shawnee County Courthouse stairs to the second floor, where Jim Ryder's trial would finally reconvene at one o'clock in courtroom number four. Ryder's defense attorney had successfully pushed back his trial date to October 10 from October 1, and Gabe was impatient for it to get started. It was his first time to testify as an expert witness, and butterflies were dancing in his stomach. At the same time, a fierce determination drove him to make sure the jury understood how each piece of incriminating evidence he'd uncovered pointed to Ryder's guilt.
After meeting with Michael the previous day, he'd spent the night going over his evidence, imagining how he'd present it to the jury, and wondering which piece of evidence would inspire Ryder's defense attorney to voice an objection. As far as Gabe was concerned, he could object all he wanted. The evidence was a solid demonstration of Ryder's involvement with the victims.
Cameron had testified in the morning regarding the bullet casings, restraints and dog collars, as well as anything else they found in the basement, except for the laptops and cell phones, which Gabe would present. After Cameron, Dr. Bryan Pittman testified, explaining in the simplest terms the DNA, as well as the results of the autopsies.
Both men said the jurors listened intently, occasionally stealing glances at Jim Ryder, who sat stoically next to his attorney, drawing on a legal pad.
Someone slammed into Gabe, shoving him against the stair railing and knocking his laptop out of his grip. It tumbled down the stairs with a metallic thud on each step.
"What the hell?" Gabe cursed aloud, as he watched a light-haired teenager wearing a Morel High School athletic jacket race down the rest of the steps. Picking up the laptop, he prayed his hard drive was intact.
"So sorry, Mr. Chase." The kid said without looking back, his voice laced with sarcasm.
Gabe bolted down the stairs to catch him, but couldn't spot him in the crowd entering the courthouse. Cursing to himself, he was convinced the teen bumped into him on purpose. Why? Who was he? How did he know his name?
Reaching the top of the staircase, Gabe waded through the overcrowded hallway outside courtroom four. He'd heard on the news that the entire state of Indiana, as well as the surrounding states, wanted a seat in the courtroom to witness the trial. So many people were vying for seats that a lottery system had to be set up.
He spotted Alison Brown waiting on a bench outside the courtroom, flanked by her mother on one side and Carly Stone on the other. Alison and her mother had finally agreed to move into the safe house, and a deputy assigned to them stood nearby. Gabe quietly settled down next to Carly. So he didn't appear to be eavesdropping on their conversation, he opened his laptop to assess it for damage. Luckily, some scrapes on the case were the only things he found. The content on his hard drive appeared to be intact.
Periodically, he scanned the hallway for signs of the jerk who slammed into him on the staircase. Still angry, Gabe wanted to kick his ass, and then ask some relevant questions, starting with 'how did he know his name?'
<><><>
"Are you okay?" her mother asked, as she smoothed Alison's hair and kissed her cheek.
"Mom, please don't fuss."
To Carly, Mrs. Brown said, "I hate that she has to go through this. Hasn't she been through enough? Why does she have to relive the way that monster caged her in his basement and tortured her?"
"I understand how you feel. But she has to testify. She's the only living witness — the only one who can stop Jim Ryder's reign of terror."
"Stop it, Mom," Alison interjected. "We discussed this. No matter how scary it is to face him in the courtroom, I have to do it for Jasmine and the other girls he killed."
Carly turned to the young girl. "Do you feel prepared, Alison? Did Mr. Brandt and I help at all in easing your fear of testifying?"
"Do I have to look at him?" Alison asked fearfully.
"No, you don't have to look at him. Because he wore the ski mask, you were only able to identify his voice, so neither of the attorneys will ask you to point him out in court."
"Then why am I testifying at all? The jury may not believe anything I say because I can't identify his face."
"Alison, remember we talked about this. Mr. Brandt is going to show the jury a short excerpt from the DVD Ryder made when he beat you. That will eliminate any doubt in their minds of your connection to Jim Ryder."
"He's not going to show the one of him raping me, is he? He promised me that he wouldn't show them that DVD."
"No, he won't. Mr. Brandt keeps his promises. Don't worry about that." Carly squeezed Alison's hand. "Just concentrate on answering Mr. Brandt's questions to the best of your ability."
"Are Jasmine's parents here?"
"Yes, honey, they're seated in the second row behind the prosecutor's table."
"They won't see that DVD he made of him beating Jasmine, will they?"
"No, they won't. Mr. Brandt will ask the Victim Advocate sitting next to them to take Reverend and Mrs. Norris out of the courtroom when he shows that DVD," Carly paused for a moment, then continued. "Mr. Brandt wished he didn't have to show the filming at all. But it's one of the only times when Ryder's ski mask slipped, exposing his face. The jury has to see that."
"Will you be in the courtroom?"
"Yes," Carly responded. "And your mom will be there, too. Just look at one of us if you feel frightened, or need to feel how much we support what you're doing. We can't let Jim Ryder get away with what he did to you, Jasmine, and the rest of the victims."
<><><>
After the first day of testimony, Carly, Brody and Michael met in the bar at the Sugar Creek Inn, a historic hotel on the square across from the courthouse.
"How do you think it went today?" Brody asked Michael.
"Hard to say," Michael began. "The jurors were very attentive to the testimony. That's a good sign. But Ryder's defense attorney, Brett Newson, got several of his objections sustained. But he succeeded in shaking up Alison Brown so much she started crying, and the judge called a recess so we could calm her down. I watched the jurors' expressions. They felt sorry for her and looked at Newson like they were pissed he was bullying her. All in all, Alison did an amazing job in reaching the jurors. Several had tears in their eyes once she finished."
"Poor kid," remarked Carly.
"More like brave kid," Brody returned. "How many teenagers who have gone through what she has would have the guts to get in fr
ont of a packed courtroom to testify about it?"
Carly squeezed Brody's hand under the table. "I agree."
"By the way, Gabe did an excellent job testifying. He even had a couple of PowerPoint slides showing jurors the actual emails Ryder had exchanged with the victims," said Michael. "I plan to use him as a consultant for a couple of cases I have coming up."
"He did a good job," Brody said with pride. "He'll appreciate the work."
To Carly, Michael said, "Tell me about Ryder. What makes him tick? Give me some information I can use in final arguments."
"Ryder is a sexual sadist who only gets turned on when his victims are helpless and vulnerable. Their suffering is the most important thing to him. He rapes them to exert his power over his victims, not for any kind of sexual satisfaction. He gets off by reliving the attacks later. That's why the box of DVDs and photographs were found."
"Do you think he will insist on testifying on his own behalf?"
"It's a safe bet he's pressuring his attorney to let him testify," said Carly. "He's an arrogant man and a prolific liar. Ryder's convinced he's far more intelligent than law enforcement, and certainly smarter than any juror. He'll want to tell his version of events. In his mind, the girls came to him willingly and asked for what they got."
"If Brett Newson is as smart as I think he is, he'll keep Ryder off the stand because he knows I'll tear him apart."
"I'd want to be there for that," said Brody.
<><><>
Two days later, thanks to a surveillance job in Indianapolis, Gabe hadn't gotten home until three in the morning. So when he awoke to loud pounding on his bedroom door two hours later, he was anything but overjoyed.
"What the hell?" Gabe grumbled as he rolled out of bed, flicked his lamp on, and opened the door to find his brother, Cameron, who shoved a mug of hot, dark coffee into his hand.
"Wake up, Gabe. I have to tell you something," Cameron pushed past him and sat in a chair near the desk.
"Can't this wait?" After nearly stumbling over one of his shoes, Gabe made it to his bed and sat down. Sipping the hot coffee, he squinted at Cameron. "What's happened?"
When his brother didn't immediately answer, Gabe took a good look at him and noticed worry pinched between his dark brows. Cameron was a laid-back, Type B, and it took a lot to get him upset. So whatever he had to tell him was not going to be good news.
"Spill it," Gabe demanded.
"A Purdue University student was reported missing this morning in West Lafayette."
"So why do I need to know this?" Gabe asked, rubbing his eyes. "Which Purdue student?"
"Abby Reece."
Gabe felt the blood drain from his face. "No way. Abby can't be missing. She's probably off somewhere with her latest conquest."
"No one's seen her for four days."
A wave of apprehension swept through Gabe. He was momentarily speechless: Abby was missing.
"I'll find her," Gabe declared, determination etched in his facial features.
"Stay out of it," Cameron insisted.
"Cam, if it were you, would you stay out of it?"
Cameron ignored the question. "You have to distance yourself, Gabe. You've been dating her for how many weeks?"
"Four, but we broke up."
"When?"
"The night of Carly's birthday party."
"That wasn't even two months ago."
"So what's your point?"
"If I were investigating a young woman's disappearance, the first person I'd want to talk to is the current or ex-boyfriend, because he's usually the doer."
"Whatever, Cam. I'm talking to the police. If Abby is missing, I want to help if I can," Gabe said. "Which police agency has the case?"
"Since she lives off campus, the West Lafayette police have it."
<><><>
Gabe's visit to the West Lafayette Police Department was interesting but predictable. They already had his name listed as one of Abby's boyfriends. They wanted to know when he'd seen her last, why they broke up, the date of the breakup, and if he knew anyone who would want to hurt her. These were the same questions he'd ask if he were investigating a disappearance, but it was odd to hear them directed at him. He still hadn't completely accepted that Abby was actually missing.
Fingering the key she'd given him, he decided to visit Abby's apartment off-campus, near North Chauncey Avenue. Parking in front, Gabe remembered how he'd urged Abby to install surveillance cameras, or at least an alarm, but she'd just laughed at him.
Abby's apartment was one of two upstairs in an older house that could use a new roof, a fresh coat of paint, and a dozen repairs or more. She rented from a seventy-five-year-old retired anthropology professor, Dr. Ramsey, who lived on the first floor. Noticing the professor's car was not parked in the driveway, Gabe parked at the rear entrance and immediately saw that Abby's 1998 white BMW roadster was parked near the building. Did that mean she was upstairs in her apartment?
Once inside, he returned her key to his pocket and slipped on a pair of latex gloves so he wouldn't add his fingerprints or DNA to the crime scene, if the apartment should become one. The first thing he noticed was how clean and neat the place was, everything in its place. That was typical Abby Reece. Her personal life might be a mess, but her apartment was always pristine.
Gabe did a quick sweep of each room and didn't notice anything unusual, except Abby's ivory Coach purse and new iPhone were not in their place on her desk next to her laptop. Two items she'd wouldn't be without. Where was she?
Gabe opened Abby's laptop and found it to be on. Slipping an external drive from his pocket, he quickly connected it, and then copied each of her Outlook email folders so he could study them later in his office. Checking her Outlook Calendar, he discovered that Abby used it extensively, but found nothing other than class reminders and appointments. Nothing suspicious, but he copied the current and past three months anyway.
Next, he searched her Internet browser files and made a copy of temporary files onto the external drive. These files would enable him to see Abby's browsing history with the websites the browser had visited. Later, he would go to the sites to see if Abby had any recent communications that might help him locate her. Gabe copied the contents of the laptop's hard drive. Without her iPhone, he would have to use his contact at the phone company to get a record of her calls.
Pulling out the external drive, he slipped it into his jeans pocket and went through the apartment again. There were absolutely no signs a struggle had occurred here. If Abby had been abducted, it did not occur inside her apartment.
Hearing a car motor and the crunch of gravel beneath the tires, Gabe rushed to Abby's window to see that Dr. Ramsey had arrived. He raced down the back stairs and then up the driveway, and met the older woman at her car in front of the house.
Gabe didn't hesitate to ask Dr. Ramsey his first question, "When was the last time you saw Abby?"
"That's just what the policeman asked when I reported her missing. I saw Abby last Friday. We had lemonade and a nice chat on the porch when she returned from one of her classes." She paused. "I did hear her go out later that night, must have been around nine o'clock or so."
Recording the information in a small notebook, he asked, "When you talked to her, did Abby seem worried or upset about anything?"
Dr. Ramsey considered the question, and then said, "No. She was in a good mood. She'd just gotten an A on an essay she'd written for her English class."
"What about visitors?"
"Abby has always had her share of male visitors. No one that stands out, but then I don't really notice much of what goes on at the back of the building where Abby's entrance is located. My living space is in front," said Dr. Ramsey, and then added. "But I do remember you. You came around more than the others. I was hoping you were the one for her."
Ignoring her statement, Gabe fished a business card out of his pocket and handed it to her. "If you think of anything that might help me find Abby, give me a call."
/> "You're a private investigator? Did Abby's mother hire you?"
"No, I've never met Abby's mother."
"You might want to give her a call. She could use help from someone like you."
Gabe's cell phone alerted he'd received a text. Excusing himself, he headed for his truck in the back of the building. The text was from Michael Brandt. Ryder's verdict was in and the court would reconvene within the hour.
<><><>
As quietly as she could, Kaitlyn Reece opened the louvered doors to her sister's closet and stepped into the room. Taking a deep breath, she moved to the window and watched the man who had just been in Abby's apartment talking with her sister's landlord downstairs. Who was he and why did he have a key to Abby's apartment? Answering her own questions, she concluded he was probably one of Abby's many boyfriends. The most important question was what did he have to do with her disappearance? Why did he copy the contents of her laptop?
