by Julia Shupe
And he hadn’t yet found a suitable replacement.
Others had been here. Of that she was certain. Evidence of their presence lurked in every dark corner: a ripped fingernail, painted red; a soiled knee sock, in the corner of the hole; a twisted bobby pin, which had been used—she was sure—to attempt to pick the lock.
But none of the others had gotten away, and neither would she. She would die in this cell.
Forcing her eyes open, she attempted to focus on the thin shaft of light, coming from a small square somewhere above her head. Particles of dust and mortar danced in the light like pixies. Her hand found a familiar corner of the plank, where a name had been carved into the deteriorating wood.
Alaina, it said. Such a beautiful name. When had Alaina been here? And how had she fared in this God-forsaken place? How had she passed the immeasurable time? What sins had she lamented then begged forgiveness for? And which of her injuries had ultimately killed her? Had he broken her ribs, too? And had one pierced a lung? Had he shattered her knee with a hammer? He’d threatened that punishment, only several days earlier. Had Alaina suffered too many blows to the head? Too many broken fingers, or a crippling infection? And what about the small cuts he liked to make with his knife? The ones that stung like hell, but drew too little blood to cause anything but pain. The ones that covered her legs and arms.
And what about the mental anguish? The pain he inflicted was more than just physical. There was the anxiety, the terror, the fear of the unknown, the ever-present anticipation of what would come next.
Wrapping her arms around her body and ignoring her pain, she curled into a tight ball, and trembled. He was so damn cold. It was like he wasn’t human. In the beginning, she’d tried so hard to make a connection. She’d told him her name, and her favorite holiday. She’d rambled—of all the crazy things to ramble about—about wanting to ride her bike around her neighborhood. She’d tried to appeal to his sensitivities, before learning that he didn’t have any. He wouldn’t respond to any questions she would ask. He only ever issued sharp commands. “Drink the water,” he would say. “Eat the food.” “Sip the juice.” He was a collector of words, never wasting any needlessly, nor using them to taunt or shame her. His hands and his fists were his tools for doing that.
She stared at the name in the wood.
Alaina.
The word was so incredibly comforting. Another woman had shared this cell, a woman who refused to be forgotten. And she wasn’t. She never would be. She haunted this cell. Her presence was as thick as the air. Her ghost was sitting cross-legged in the corner.
Jody reached out to trace the name in the wood, and the flower Alaina had etched beside it. Alaina was a woman who liked flowers, particularly daisies. In this dark hellhole, she’d tried to share something peaceful. She’d left behind a personal mark.
Reaching for the bobby pin, Jody clutched it with trembling fingers, and blinking through a fresh flood of tears, began to scratch her name beside Alaina’s. She would leave a mark too, she told herself, like Alaina. She would give the next woman what comfort she could. Because another woman would surely be brought here. This creep was an animal. He’d never stop this. His thirst for pain and suffering was limitless. She wondered how many others had come before her, and how many would surely come after.
“You’re not alone,” she whispered to the ghosts in the dark. “My name is Jody, and I was here, too.”
Chapter 25
“Mr. & Mrs. Reed, thank you both for coming down here so quickly. Welcome to—”
“They said you had news on Amanda,” Mr. Reed cut in. He was all business. He was breathless and red. A vein was pulsing in his throat. “Your people were vague on the phone, detective, and I want to know what’s going on. Right now. Amanda’s been missing for two months now. I hope you brought my wife and I down here to tell us you’ve finally got a lead.”
I watched the lines on his forehead draw together, and dreaded the words that came next. Once these parents knew their daughter was in the morgue, all hell was sure to break loose. I let my eyes travel down Mr. Reed’s face, to his neck, to his shoulders, and his stiffly held arms. I took in every detail of his posture and bearing. He was a large man, big boned, with large fists like baseball mitts, and arms like the trunks of small trees. His shoulders were broad, his belly too round. Too much drinking had altered his face. The veins in his nose had cauliflowered, arranging themselves in a snowflake motif. This man was fond of his evening glass of scotch.
He was leaning forward, almost aggressively, and though his concern seemed real, it didn’t mean he wasn’t a suspect. People, I had learned, were good actors, particularly when self-protecting. If Hollywood was looking for the next Oscar-worthy performance, they need only look to a prison full of inmates, where everyone was innocent, ‘fucked over’ by the system.
I focused on Mr. Reed’s red fisted hands, where I checked his knuckles for abrasions or bruising. Were his the hands of a murderer? Were his the hands that had killed his daughter? Though Tubbs was still our prime suspect, there wasn’t a soul on this earth above suspicion. Not to me. Not in a case like this. I finally shifted my focus to the mother.
Where the father was bold, the mother seemed meek. The past two months had clearly taken a toll on her. She was slumped and birdlike, with dark smudges beneath both eyes. What, I found myself wondering, had this woman looked like only two months prior? There was beauty and elegance beneath her beaten exterior, a hint of former glory, like an oil painting that had aged in the sun. Her colors were muted, her face washed out. Rough surf had pounded this delicate shell into pieces. Her eyes were rimmed red, her cheeks hollowed-out, and gray.
I felt suddenly sick as I looked upon this wilted flower. A fine line separated Patty Reed and I, a line that was as razor-sharp as the blade that had cut her daughter. Just as it had done to her, a single phone call could ruin my life. A single phone call could bring me to my knees. Complete annihilation was a psycho-killer away, a predicament most people never faced. I, of course, had faced it for years. A psycho-killer was haunting my life. He’d chained himself to my ankle, so to speak. For me, his shadow always blocked out the sun.
I returned my gaze to Paul Reed.
Jacob was clearing his throat. “Mr. Reed,”
“Paul.”
“Yes. Paul. When was the last time you saw or spoke to your daughter?”
“We’ve been over this ten million times before, back when we first filed the missing persons report.”
“I know that, Paul. I appreciate your patience. This process is nothing if not tedious. But Vanessa and I are new to the case, and if you don’t mind, we’d like to hear it again. From you. Directly from the source.”
“You.” Patty Reed murmured, her voice a mere puff of air. Her rheumy eyes were fixed on me. “I know who you are. I’ve seen you on TV. You caught that serial killer…the Serpent. That was you. Oh, Paul.” Eyes welling with tears, she turned to her husband, grief-stricken. “Oh, God, Paul. She’s dead. These people are homicide detectives. It’s over. Amanda’s gone. She’s been taken from us.”
Paul Reed threw a meaty arm around his wife. “Patty. Take a deep breath. Don’t jump to—”
“NO. Listen to me!” The sound had ripped from her throat. And this time, when she turned to me, she had metamorphosed before my eyes. She was somehow larger, with shoulders thrown back. She was bracing herself for what she knew was coming. Was it mother’s intuition, or just common sense?
I took a deep breath and prepared myself. Patty Reed had asked me a direct question. I wasn’t about to lie to her face. I wouldn’t show her that kind of disrespect. There would be no beating around this particular bush. Sometimes, whether we liked it or not, the telling came before the questions. I braced myself. “Mr. and Mrs. Reed, I’m sorry to tell you this, but a few days ago, your daughter’s body was found at Cowpen Slough. Please know that you have our deepest condolences. We’ll do everything in our power to—”
“No,
” Mr. Reed said stupidly. “It’s not her.”
Oh, how I hated to contradict him. “The medical examiner is fairly certain, sir. We believe the body in the morgue is Amanda. I’m terribly sorry. You have our deepest condolences.”
My words seemed to sucker punch the woman in front of me. Mrs. Reed leaned forward and draped her body across her bony knees. A strangled cry escaped her lips. “I knew it,” she breathed. “I felt it. I knew.”
Jacob reached across the table. “Knew what? Tell me what you knew. Tell me what you felt. Can you think of anyone who had a reason to harm your daughter? Friends? Boyfriends? Girlfriends? Old teachers? Mr. & Mrs. Reed, we’re terribly sorry for your loss. We can step outside and give you a moment, but our main objective is to catch the person who did this.” Mr. Reed glared at the hand Jacob had placed on his wife. “I’m sorry to say,” Jacob added, “but your daughter’s death has been ruled a homicide. I can tell you this: we will find this killer. We will leave no stone unturned.”
Jacob paused and scrutinized them, particularly Mr. Reed, while I, myself, was riveted. Human nature could be so fascinating. How quickly Mr. and Mrs. Reed’s roles had reversed. How quickly the weak had become the strong. I watched Mr. Tough-Guy-Reed drop his head to his hands and rock himself. His eyes were squeezed shut and he was muttering something unintelligible. Patty, on the other hand, had drawn herself up, like she had made an internal decision of sorts. I knew that decision. I’d been there before. She would allow herself a brief moment of grief, but then push it aside for later. It was time to concentrate, time to get things done.
With a hand on her husband’s back, she swallowed and spoke for the two of them. “Details,” she said. “I want every detail. Where was she found? And in what condition? Do you have any suspects?” She shook her head suddenly, shaking loose an errant thought. “And I want to know why you think it’s her. Why are you so damned certain it’s my daughter?”
“That’s what we’re hoping you can tell us,” I said quickly. “We’re fairly certain it’s her, Mrs. Reed, but we need you and your husband to confirm it.”
“To confirm it. What does that mean? To confirm it? You said you were fairly certain it’s her? You called us down here, but you’re not even sure? You put us through this emotional hell, and you’re fairly certain it’s her?”
I shifted uncomfortably. This was always the worst part. Amanda looked nothing like the photo on the table. She was no longer apple-cheeked, doe-eyed, or tanned. She was beaten, misshapen, a dried-out husk. She’d lost a considerable amount of weight. “Our Jane Doe is similar to your daughter’s photo—the one you submitted to the police two months ago. The two girls are of an age and bearing. Hair color is the same, and eyes—”
“So you don’t know it’s her,” she challenged me. “Not really. You aren’t completely certain.”
“No,” Jacob answered, “Not completely. But there’s a strong resemblance, a strong likelihood it’s her. Mrs. Reed, did your daughter ever break her collar bone?”
Patty Reed flinched. Her eyes filled with tears that she wouldn’t let spill. “When she was five,” she breathed. “It happened at the beach. She was trying to imitate the surfers on a boogie board. She tried to stand up, but she crashed.”
My heart broke for Patty Reed. Amanda would never get married. She’d never have a child of her own, or a home. Why did these things always happen to the innocent? How were monsters like Carlton Tubbs created? Where did they learn such aberrant behavior? What was done to them? My throat was tight, but I somehow found my voice. “We need to create a time line, Mrs. Reed. We need people, places, likes and dislikes. We need the names of friends and enemies. We need previous boyfriends, previous employers. We need to know where she bought her weekly groceries, her morning cup of coffee, and anything else you can think of.” Meeting Mrs. Reed’s red-rimmed eyes and holding her gaze, I addressed her mother-to-mother. “Take all the time you need to grieve,” I said fiercely, “but after that, I want you to come back here. And this time, come back kicking and punching. We need you. We must bring Amanda proper justice.” I glanced at her husband. “We need you both, actually. We need your strength and perseverance. You’re the two best people in the world for this. You’re the only two people who can accurately trace her movements. We need every detail you can give us.”
Patty Reed pushed herself to her feet. She turned her back to me, and began to pace the room. I could see the outline of each vertebra through her shirt. And when she stopped and turned, there was steel in her voice. “I can give you all of that,” she hissed. “And I can do it right now. And after that, you will take me to my daughter.”
Chapter 26
“Tell me,” Gil growled.
“Better yet, tell us all.”
When Captain Wahl strode into the room, I instinctively straightened. He didn’t look happy. His cheeks were flushed. He was clearly stressed. The lines in his forehead matched the frown across his face.
Harry fidgeted, the report fluttering in his hand. He was a bit of a nerd, and I pitied him. He didn’t often speak in front of upper management. “Okay,” he began, somewhat shakily. “CPD 16. We know who she is. Her name is Jennifer Hall, and she’s a senior at Flushing high school. She’s a cross-country track and field star, a one-of-a-kind athlete. She placed 2nd in last year’s nationals.”
Captain Wahl pressed his fingers to his temples. “Okay. So CPD 16 and 18 are local Floridians. I didn’t expect that. Good grief. This thing has been happening in our back yard for God knows how long. That doesn’t do much for our reputation, people. Once the story breaks, we’ll have panicked mothers and fathers out there, and a possible rash of hate crimes. We’ll get bogus phone calls and many false leads. Everyone’ll suspect the weirdo at their office, the shy introvert, the loner, or the strange single guy who doesn’t attend company Christmas parties. We have to keep this contained, people, and we have to find what connects these women.” He flexed his fingers. “It’s time for the media. If I don’t talk to them soon, this could get worse for us.”
Gil looked pained at the thought. “You sure you’re ready to bring in the press?”
“At this point,” Wahl answered, “we can’t afford not to. Use your head, Lieutenant. If we hold this back and another girl is taken, and if the press finds out we could have issued a county warning—and didn’t—this department could go down in flames. Our asses could wind up sued.” He turned to me. I straightened. “Stone, please tell me you got something from the Reeds.”
I shuffled through my notes as he moved to the whiteboard. He picked up a black marker, his arm poised to write. “Let’s start with her occupation.”
“Dental hygienist,” I said, “at Pain-Free Dentistry.” I skimmed the page, my heart pounding in my chest. Believe it or not, in our business, this was what it all came down to in the end: nose-to-the-grindstone, old-fashioned detective work. Elbow grease. “The Pain-Free Dentistry on S. Tamiami Trail. Tamiami intersects with Palm Drive,” I added. “She worked there for fifteen months. Prior to that, at Sedate Dentistry on Filsson.”
“Boyfriend? Girlfriend?”
“No on both counts, but she recently broke up with a guy she met through a friend’s boyfriend.”
“How recent?” he asked. “And who was the friend?”
“Eight months ago, which isn’t all that recent.” I frowned. “The friend was a previous roommate.”
“Get the roommate in here. Today. What else? Did you get a time line for the last day she was seen?”
“For the last day she was seen by her parents,” I clarified. “But that doesn’t mean she didn’t see her friends after. Amanda Reed didn’t live with her parents. She was renting an apartment on Big Oaks Lane. Agent Forrest and I obtained a list of friends and acquaintances, but we need to find out which one saw her last. Her parents saw her on Wednesday, January 5th, but she made it to work the rest of that week. She wasn’t reported missing ‘til the following Monday. That was the first day she did
n’t report to work. It was the first day anyone noticed she was gone.” Lifting my head, I nodded at Gil. “Let Gil and I start with the friends. We’ll try to shake something loose if we can.”
Turning toward the board, Captain Wahl gave a tight nod. “Start there, and then move to the neighbors. See if anyone’s been loitering around her apartment building. Talk to the employees at Pain-Free Dentistry. Everyone—and I mean everyone—with a connection to her better have a rock-solid alibi.” He turned back to Harry. “Jennifer Hall, our alleged CPD 16. Parents come by to identify the body yet?”
“Father’s on his way right now. Mother died from cancer two years ago. We’re almost certain it’s her.”
“Almost certain?”
Harry’s voice shook when he answered. “CDP 16’s right and left maxillary incisors are made of porcelain. We asked Robert Hall if his daughter was missing teeth. He confirmed a boating accident, five years ago. We’re almost certain it’s her”
“It’s her,” he muttered gravely. Unfortunately, I agreed. Teeth were usually enough. “So she’s a high school student. She have a part-time job?”
“Negative,” Harry said. “Good student, though. Promising athlete. Above average grades. Seemed like a well-rounded kid.”
“Captain Wahl,” Jacob said. “How much are you planning to give the media?”
“Only the basics. Why, Agent? You disagree? This isn’t my first rodeo. I won’t give them the skinning, if that’s what you’re worried about. We’ll stick to the essentials: a serial killer stalking the streets of Sarasota, taking young girls of no particular race or ethnicity. We recommend a curfew, call it seven o’clock, say everyone under the age of eighteen should be home by seven. No exceptions.”
