It rang three times before being answered.
“Mattox. Is this Della?”
Her eyes sliding shut, Della felt twin trails of moisture slide down either side of her face.
It was a small victory, but at the moment, it was all she had.
“Yeah, I’m here. Please tell me you were able to find something.”
In the background, she could hear heavy footsteps.
“Listen, Della, I’m working on it, but I’m here at the address you gave me and the place is deserted. There’s furniture in the house, but it doesn’t look like anybody’s been home in months.”
“What?” Della said, her eyes snapping open. “You’re in my apartment? Right now?”
“I’m inside 215 Hudson,” Reed replied. “Big two-story place with red shutters.”
The sound of something like toenails skittering across hardwood floor could also be heard, as if an animal were walking fast somewhere.
“That’s the main house,” Della replied. “They’re in Florida until June. I live in the apartment out back.”
Chapter Fourteen
Reed had no choice but to ask Della for twenty more minutes. He hated putting her off again, leaving her alone in the dark, with whatever thoughts were running through her head her only form of companionship.
If he were forced to be in such a position, he hated to even think what he might be experiencing. Just being on the other end of the line, already he could feel the effect it was having on his nervous system.
That very reason was why he had to get off the phone, though. There was no way he could leave her on the line to hear as he breached her apartment, destroying the one place that she found some form of solace. If ever she did make it home, she had to be able to walk in and be at peace.
Which was why, despite her objections, he cut the call short. Just like the last time, he asked her to turn the phone off, giving him the time and freedom of movement he needed.
As soon as the discussion was over – Della begrudgingly accepting his reasoning and agreeing to get back to him shortly – Reed had gone through the back of the home. Not worried about locking doors or wiping any trace of their passing, he exited down a trio of concrete steps.
Passing through a pair of apple trees just starting to bear fruit for the season, he moved onto an open expanse of concrete more than fifteen feet in either direction. No more than a foot or two from his side, Billie fell in with him, their steps in synch as they strode toward the structure on the back part of the property.
Originally constructed as a garage, most of the bottom level was covered parking, the front left open. Two of the three vehicle stalls were empty, the third filled by a small fishing boat sitting with a cover on it.
Ignoring the space entirely, Reed instead aimed his attention on the far-right side of the spread and the single door along the inner wall.
“You ready?” he asked aloud, Billie’s ears piquing slightly beside him.
With his department-issued Glock in hand, Reed strode straight for the door. Not once breaking stride, he increased his pace slightly, propelling himself at the door and driving his foot into the square of white wood just to the right of the handle.
Offering only the slightest bit of resistance, the gate swung inward, the thin wood of the door casing caving beneath the power of his kick. Shearing away with a mighty crack, splinters of wood spread across the polished Spanish tile that covered the foyer and rose onto the staircase before them.
“Clear!”
Issued in the bass tone reserved for commands, the word was barely out of his mouth when Billie bolted across the foyer and up the stairs. After just two bounds, she made the turn in the middle of the stairs and was off again, covering the last segment before making her way to the second floor above.
The smells of cleaning product and sawdust found Reed’s nose as he extended his weapon before him, following in the path Billie had used just a moment before. Keeping his back toward the wall, he took the stairs one at a time, moving as quickly as prudence allowed.
By the time he reached the middle landing, Billie was already back before him, waiting on the main level of the apartment, letting him know that they were alone.
Keeping the weapon extended before him, Reed covered the last half-dozen steps before emerging on the second floor. Releasing the grip of his left hand on the weapon, he extended his hand along the wall beside him, sliding it over the smooth drywall until his fingers found a bank of light switches and flipped them on.
On cue, a trio of track lights was set to blaze around them, illuminating the apartment.
The area looked to have been a workspace at one point, the floor plan open, the design basic, the furnishings Spartan. Stretched before them was an open area with a small sofa and coffee table on the far end, a desk and exercise bike filling the remaining gaps. On the floor was a pair of yoga mats, a flat-screen television mounted on the wall overlooking everything.
Knowing there was nobody home, that Della had already informed him she lived alone, Reed didn’t bother announcing himself. Instead, he returned his weapon to his hip and stepped through, his gaze taking in everything around him.
Eight feet from the top of the stairs, the apartment widened out to the right, a kitchen and bathroom both standing silent and empty. Glancing over at each, Reed found more of the same simple furnishings as the living room, a bunch of bananas and a case of LaCroix sparkling water the only signs of anybody’s recent passage.
Continuing his pace, Reed pushed on further, hooking a sharp left into the bedroom. Along the back wall was a queen-sized bed with an enormous headboard, drawers built into either side of it. On the far wall was a series of shelves, a handful of textbooks and picture frames lining them.
Reed’s running shoes squeaked lightly on the polished tile floor as he strode across the room, giving a quick glance to each of the photos in order.
The first was of a trio of girls, all three standing arm-in-arm. Looking to be in their early twenties, they were dressed in Ohio State gear, the girl on the far right matching the image of Della Snow Reed had pulled from the DMV database.
Further proof that she was, in fact, a real person, everything about her so far checking out completely.
Whether that meant she was the person on the other end of the line still remained to be seen.
Flicking his gaze to the other two pictures, the middle was of an older woman sitting before a birthday cake. Presumably her mother, she was beaming at the camera, all teeth and gums.
The third photo was of a pair of cats - one solid black, the other orange striped – curled up in a pet bed together.
All of that Reed inventoried and filed away, very much aware of the short timeframe he had before Della returned his call. Turning back on the heel of his foot, he made it no more than a step before stopping cold, his mouth dropping open.
Chapter Fifteen
The interior of the bedroom felt like it had gotten exponentially warmer in just the few moments Reed had been standing there. Without moving any further, he stood just back from the foot of the bed, his focus on the opposite wall.
“Down.”
Beside him, Billie did as instructed, her haunches lowering to the floor. Keeping her body coiled and poised, she flicked her glance between Reed and the direction he was staring, seemingly trying to decipher what had captured his attention.
Again, Reed felt the temperature in the room rise as he reached to his hip, sliding his phone free and entering the first number in order.
A single ring later, it was answered.
“Grimes.”
“Captain, this is legit.”
On the other end, a set of keys jangling could be heard, followed by a door opening. A moment later, it smashed into a wall, Reed knowing without seeing a thing that the captain was stepping into his office.
“What have you got?” Grimes asked, the keys rattling again as he jerked them free.
The interior wall of the bedroom was entirely comp
rised of sliding glass closet doors. All closed, they made for one unending mirror, the full visual of Reed and Billie both staring at it.
That part, Reed didn’t give much concern to, his gaze tracing and retracing the message scrawled across it. Done in thick marker, the lettering was in what he would guess was a man’s handwriting, red blocks spread across the width of it.
“We’ve been given a message,” Reed said. Reading from the mirror he said, “The sins of another.”
All sounds of movement on the opposite end fell short. Nothing but silence was heard for a full moment before Grimes said, “Come again?”
“That’s the message,” Reed replied. “It’s scribbled on the mirror here in Della Snow’s bedroom.” Pausing, he added, “The sins of another.”
As quick as the sound had fallen away before, it returned. Footsteps followed in order by the rolling feet of a desk chair, and finally a clattering of computer keys.
“I’m at my desk now,” Grimes said. In an understated tone, he repeated the message Reed had just read from the mirror, presumably entering it into a search engine.
“Nothing immediately comes back on a Google search,” Grimes said. “As soon as we’re done here, I’ll put it into CPD and see if we find anything.”
“Do that,” Reed said. “And if you can, try ViCAP and NCIC as well. We might get lucky.”
“I will. In the meantime, what else you need?”
Lowering the phone a few inches, Reed cast his gaze around the space. He did his best to focus on what needed to come next, on the proper progression to move in.
“I asked Della for twenty more minutes,” Reed said. “Of that, I’ve got maybe fifteen left. Right now, we need to process this place, scour it for anything.”
Clearly, somebody had been inside. They had passed through the entire interior of the apartment and had spent at least a couple of minutes standing in front of the mirror.
They might have even made multiple trips inside.
“I’ll call Earl, have him and his guys meet you there.”
Reed nodded, knowing Grimes couldn’t see it but not caring anyway. “Were you able to get Greene and Gilchrist up on standby?”
“Spoke to them on the drive over. They’re on their way here right now, circling back from their patrol along the river.”
Superimposing the map of the area in his mind onto what Grimes was telling him, he knew the men were no more than a couple of minutes out.
“Great. First thing, have them pull the owners of 215 Hudson Lane.”
“You suspect anything?” Grimes inserted.
“Not at all,” Reed said. “Della said it’s a good relationship, and they’re snowbirds. They’ve supposedly been in Florida since the first of the year.”
“But we need to confirm that.”
“We do,” Reed agreed. “See if they might have ever seen anything or know of anybody that might have a beef with Snow.”
“Got it.”
“Also, you might want to tell them that I did enter both their home and Snow’s out back. There was some damage...”
Grimes cut the explanation off without another word. “Don’t even worry about that. Like I said, we had probable cause before you found that message.”
Once more, Reed paused. He drew in a single breath, trying to force his mind to slow down, to take in information in manageable bites and process it. Right now, there was a deluge of things coming at him, all of which needed to be dealt with in their own way.
Which meant in the meantime, he needed to triage the most important.
“What about McMichaels and Jacobs? Any luck there?”
“I got Jacobs,” Grimes said. “He’s going to roust his partner and they’ll be here as soon as possible. Told them not to worry about uniforms or anything, just to get here immediately.”
Reed nodded. He’d heard about such directives before, the sort of thing saved for only the direst of situations.
“Let me know as soon as they arrive.”
“Will do,” Grimes replied. “Anything else?”
Giving the message on the glass one last look, Reed slapped at the leg of his jeans. Instantly snapping Billie from her spot on the floor, he took off for the door, moving fast.
“When you talk to Earl, tell him the apartment is behind the house. If I’m not back yet, they should go on in, I’ll be over as soon as I can.”
Circling out of the living room, he made his way back down the stairwell, taking the steps two and three at a time.
“Where the hell are you going?”
Chapter Sixteen
The last thing in the world Reed wanted to do was leave the apartment. Right now, it was the sole point of reference anybody seemed to have, Snow herself not remembering a single thing that happened after she left for the day. To his knowledge, nobody else had reported seeing anything out of the ordinary in the jurisdiction, which provided no other places to begin an investigation.
Certainly not one where he knew that the abductor had been there personally.
The image of the message scrawled across the mirror rested at the front of Reed’s mind as he jogged back toward his sedan. Bypassing the house for the concrete drive running along the side of it, together he and Billie made it back in just over a minute.
Letting her into the back, he slid into the front seat, pausing just long enough to grab up his phone and the notepad from the seat beside him.
In the first one, he typed a single text message, letting the person on the other side know that he was close and would be arriving soon.
Once it was sent, he dropped it back into the empty cupholder beside him and added another entry to the column on the right.
Where is her bike?
Scribbled so fast it was barely legible, Reed flipped the pad onto the passenger seat. Rotating once mid-flight, pages fluttered before the entire thing landed in a heap.
Paying it no mind, Reed turned the flashers back on and tore away from the house.
Having made the trip to his next destination many times in the preceding months, he didn’t bother switching on the GPS. Instead, he pushed fast through the quiet streets, the late hour making traffic non-existent. Slowing just enough to make the necessary turns, he wound his way to the freeway encircling the city.
Heading north, he was there for just a couple of miles before exiting, his next stop also in Hilliard.
As he drove, one time after another he tried to play back the two brief conversations he’d had with Della. Neither had yielded much, a combination both of the sheer random nature of the situation and her extreme fear about what was going on.
The former had now been remedied, at least somewhat. In just a half hour, he had managed to conclude that Della Snow was a real person and that everything she had told him was true.
She did live at 215 Hudson Lane, and she was a graduate student at Franklin University. He would know soon enough if the owners of the property were out of town, but based on the look of things, whoever lived there had been away for quite some time. He also knew the girl had never been in trouble before, not even the slightest passing interaction with the law. And that he had stood in her bedroom and bore witness to what appeared to be a direct message from whoever had put her in a box.
In total, a mountain of information that meant what she was describing was true, any initial skepticism caused by the salacious nature of it now well past.
Who would even think up such a thing, Reed wanted to believe he didn’t have any idea. After working with the department for more than a decade, though, he had seen the various levels of depravity that people could take.
Nothing surprised him, no matter how crazy it seemed.
How or why they had done so, Reed knew better than to even speculate on just yet. Trying to get in the head of someone that would do such a thing – and even worse, have justified it to themselves – was an option he would hold off on until it was absolutely vital.
Because at the moment, his next step h
ad to be focused on finding Della Snow. That meant he needed to work on the extreme terror gripping her, hopefully making their next few conversations a bit more fruitful.
Nudging the wheel to the side, Reed pushed off the freeway. Sliding past a host of bank chains and fast food restaurants all standing closed for the night, he moved beyond the usual expanse of exit services and into the neighborhoods clustered tightly to either side.
Gas station neon was replaced by overhead sodium lights, family dwellings lining the streets. Despite summer being weeks away still, lawn maintenance was already well underway, flower boxes and the tire ruts of mowers lining the yards.
As he drove, a thought occurred to him. Grabbing up the phone again, he pushed into the call history and again pressed the most recent listing.
An instant later, Grimes was back on the line.
“Greene is tracking down the owners of the house right now. We should have some information about that soon enough. Earl is running hot as we speak.”
Knowing that was precinct-speak meaning that the crime scene unit was on their way, Reed nodded.
“Good,” he replied. “Actually have another request, and it might be an odd one.”
“Everything about this one is odd,” Grimes quipped. “What have you got?”
Raising his eyebrows, Reed was unable to argue with the captain’s logic. If everyone made it home at the end of this one, it certainly had all the earmarks of water cooler conversation for the foreseeable future.
“So far I’ve talked to Della twice, but each time it’s been pretty stilted. The girl is so damn petrified, I keep having to scream at her to get her to focus.”
“Right,” Grimes said. “Understandable.”
Making one last turn, Reed punched the gas hard toward the end of the street. In response, the speedometer and RPM needles both spiked, receding just as fast as he mashed on the brakes.
Sliding to a stop, he looked up at a single-story ranch house, the exterior pale yellow, the shutters painted light blue. In each of the windows were flower boxes, geraniums already hanging down over the edges of them.
The Scorekeeper Page 5
