“Who did, babe?”
“The man in that house.” Her eyes glazed a moment. “Mr. Town-fucking-Manager.”
“Dammit! I want him dead.”
“I know, my love.”
“Where is he?” Owen demanded.
“North of here. A big building with sick people in it.”
“A hospital?”
Brigitta nodded, expression solemn. “A big one.”
“Strong.” Owen said it like a curse. “They will save him, most likely. Dammit!”
“Well…”
“Well, what, babe?”
“Not if you go for a visit, my love. He won’t survive that.”
A smile blossomed on Owen’s face, but the look in Brigitta’s eye worried him. She seemed…distant, withdrawn. “You okay, babe?”
“Yes, my love,” she said, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Let’s go to the hospital.”
Owen cranked the wheel of the Skylark, spinning it around in a cloud of hazy smoke. “Don’t need to ask me twice. How do you feel about nurses, babe?”
Brigitta smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.
Chapter 2
2007
1
LaBouche sat slumped down in the silver WRX he’d used to abduct Becky Lewis. He was down the block and around the corner from the Lewis’ house, and he watched as his partner cuffed that asshole Drew Reid and went inside the house. He considered running down there and ripping Reid’s throat out and leaving him slumped on the porch while Lewis was inside coddling his dumb fuck wife, but the time for giving in to every impulse that came along had long since passed for LaBouche.
Lewis came out a minute or two later and herded Reid to his cheap little Honda. He pushed Reid into the back of the car and cuffed him to the passenger-side headrest. He walked around to the driver’s side and got in. LaBouche’s mouth stretched in a wide grin as Lewis backed out of the drive and drove away.
He waited a few minutes to see if Lewis had forgotten anything. Then he started the car and idled up the street. He pulled into Lewis’ driveway and got out.
When old Mrs. Carmody answered the door, he didn’t speak. He put his big hand in the center of her chest and flung her backward into the house. The old biddy didn’t even scream, she stared at him with wide, shocked eyes as he stomped up to her. He let his Lee-visage fade from her eyes and smiled wider as she shrieked in terror.
Upstairs, Jenny Lewis asked what was going on, but LaBouche could tell by her voice that she was doped to the gills on Xanax or something. The thought soured his smile a little—sedated, she’d be much harder to terrorize.
He grabbed Carmody by the foot and dragged her up the stairs. Maybe he’d do Jenny first and feed off Caromdy’s terror.
2
“Shannon,” he asked, putting his hand on her shoulder.
“Wassat?” she mumbled.
“You fell asleep in the movie. Want to just head to bed?”
Her eyes widened, and her cheeks turned pink. “Uh…”
“I meant, do you want to go to sleep? I’m good to be alone now.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m okay. I always fall asleep in action movies. Scary stories, too.” She smiled and rubbed her eyes. “See? All better.”
“Really, Shannon, if you’re tired—”
“Nope. You’re up, I’m up.” Mike’s phone rang, and Shannon jumped. “Oh! That startled me. I’m such a goose.”
Mike smiled and handed the remote to Shannon. “Chief Richards,” he said in his cop voice as he walked into the other room.
“Mike, I got a strange one,” said Jack King.
“What is it, Jack? It’s my weekend off.”
“Yeah, boss. Sorry, but I don’t know what to make of this.”
Mike sighed and shook his head. Shannon leaned in the door jamb, blinking and obviously trying to keep from yawning. “Sorry. Work,” he mouthed at her.
“It’s okay,” she said.
“You with someone? Didn’t mean to interrupt,” said Jack.
“Yeah, just tell me what’s wrong, Jack.” Mike walked across the room, phone to his ear, and peered through the blinds. Out on Main Street, everything was quiet, but lights burned on the police side of Town Hall.
“I got a call. Anonymous.”
“Okay. We can trace it if it’s necessary.”
“Might be, boss. Guy said there’s a body over at Play Time.”
“Play Time?” Mike asked.
“Yeah, you know that old abandoned church on Union?”
“Sure.”
“Someone’s renovating it. It has ‘Play Time’ painted over the door now. Guy said there’s a body over at Play Time. A girl. Teenager. Said she’d been tortured to death down in the cellar.”
“Tortured?” Mike said, and then with a glance at Shannon, opened her door and stepped out on the landing, pulling the door shut behind him. “Tortured? What do you mean tortured, Jack?”
“That’s all he said about her. ‘Teenage girl tortured to death.’ He said the cellar is made up like a dungeon, a bunch of little cells with torture equipment and restraints.”
“And he didn’t leave his name?”
“No, boss. What should I do?”
Mike glanced at the time on his phone. “Well, shit. Fifteen minutes past shift change.”
“Yeah, I know, boss. Want me to call the contractors?”
“And have them fuck up the crime scene?”
“Chief, there may not be a crime scene.”
Mike puffed out a breath. “Well, we can’t take that chance. Meet me in front of Town Hall.”
“Ten-four,” said Jack and then closed the connection.
Mike shoved the phone into his pocket and made a face up at the night sky. “Shit always happens on my nights off.” With a sigh, he turned and opened Shannon’s door. She stood just inside, wearing a light jacket and holding out his fleece. “I’m sorry, Shan. Work.”
She shrugged and smiled. “I’ve always wanted to do a ride-along.”
“Shannon, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“I’ll stay in the car,” she said, stepping outside and closing the door.
Shaking his head, he opened the door again and squeezed past her. “Need my gun,” he grunted. He walked back inside, mind awhirl, trying to find a polite way of telling Shannon she needed to stay home, that this wasn’t some fucked-up date night. He grabbed his gun off the top shelf of her pantry where he’d hidden it earlier and clipped it to his belt.
When he went back outside, Shannon was sitting on a step halfway down to the driveway. He climbed down the stairs and held out his hand to her. “Okay. Ground rules.” He held up his hand and ticked off the points with his fingers. “You stay in the car. You do what I tell you to, when I tell you, and without question. Plus, you stay in the car. No matter what, you…stay…in…the…car.”
“I’m confused,” she said with a laugh. “Do you want me to stay in the car?”
“This is serious, Shannon. Jack King and I have to go inside that creepy old church around the corner. I don’t want you inside there. Not for any reason.”
“That old white church? You know the kids say it’s haunted.”
“I know.” She turned to go down to the drive, but he held on to her hand. “Tell me you agree to the rules.”
“Sure, Mike. No problem.”
“Okay, then.” They climbed down the rest of the steps and got into Shamu. “Seems silly to drive across the street, but there you go.” He threw the Chevy into reverse and backed down to Main Street. Then he flipped on his lights, bleeped the siren, and backed straight across to Town Hall
“Hmm, an abuse of power so soon during the ride-along,” Shannon said with a lilt in her voice. “Interesting.”
“Take it up with the police chief.”
“Oh, I plan on it.” Her face wore a mischievous, flirty expression.
“You should be careful, flirting with a guy. You might get h
is wants all out of whack with his needs.” He laughed.
“You can have anything you want or need, Mike,” she said, all signs of the carefree flirt gone.
Mike glanced at her, saw the solemn expression, and swallowed hard. “Shannon, it’s not the time, but there—”
“Hey, Chief,” said Jack, knocking on the trunk.
“He’s got the best timing,” said Shannon.
“You don’t know the half of it, Shan.”
She smiled at him, and he smiled back.
Jack opened the rear door and slipped into the back seat. “Hey there, Ms. Bertram.”
“Hello, Mr. King,” she said, imitating his punctilious tone to perfection.
“Come on, now. You know my name’s Jack.”
“And you know my name.” She winked at Mike.
“Okay, playtime is done. Jack, wearing your game face?”
“Ten-four, Chief.”
Mike threw the car into gear, drove north a block, and turned onto Union Street. He let the car roll up the street at idle, staring at the huge white clapboard church. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard anyone talk about the place. He wracked his memory, but couldn’t remember anything coming through the police department about anything called Play Time, either. Whatever it was, no one in town seemed suspicious of it. Maybe it was one of those fancy, members-only nightclubs like they had in the City.
He brought the car to a gentle stop facing the main entrance, letting his high beams wash the shadows away from the front of the building. He glanced at Jack in the rearview. The man was sitting forward in the seat, staring out at the building. “What do you think, Jack?”
“Looks quiet, boss. Looks…creepy though.”
“Definitely,” said Shannon. “What mom would leave her kids there?”
“Kids?” asked Mike. “I thought it was a nightclub.”
Shannon shrugged. “I have no idea. I’ve never heard of the place.”
“But you live right around the corner,” blurted Jack. “Surely, there’s been something.”
“Not that I remember,” she said. “Nightclubs and childcare, neither one is on my priority list.”
“Yeah, me neither,” said Jack.
“This is a small town; this place should have been a topic of conversation, gossip, at least,” said Mike. “I mean, the new nail salon is nowhere on my list of priorities, right, but at least six people brought it up, for one reason or another.” Shannon nodded, and Jack shrugged. Mike met Jack’s gaze in the rearview, and he offered a terse nod. Jack popped the back door open and got out. Mike turned to Shannon. “Stay in the car, Shannon.” She laughed and shot him a salute as Mike got out of the car.
Mike and Jack approached the steps leading up to the doors that opened on the vestibule. “The caller said the body was in the cellar, right?” Mike asked. “I’ll take the left, you go around the right, see if we can find a cellar bulkhead.” Jack nodded, and, hand on the butt of his gun, strode around the right side of the building.
Mike walked around to the left and wrinkled his nose at the stink. The distinctive scent of rot was heavy in the air. He glanced up at the stained-glass windows and saw shadows moving around inside the nave. It looked like they were dancing, but Mike couldn’t hear any music, not even the faint thump of drums and bass.
He turned the corner and saw Jack standing next to the cellar bulkhead, a grimace covering his face. “What’s up?”
Jack shook his head. “That funk…got to be cadavers.”
“Yeah, I agree. The stench is too strong to be some little animal that crawled in there and died.”
Jack shifted his feet and nudged the shiny new chain and combination lock with the toe of his boot. “Not getting in here.”
“No, but isn’t it strange that a bright, shiny new lock and chain appear on the night we get a call about a body in the cellar?”
“Yeah,” Jack grumbled.
They walked back to the front of the building and climbed the steps. Mike tried the door, but it was locked. With a glance back at the car, he pounded on the door with the edge of his fist. Shannon smiled and waved.
Heavy footsteps approached the door from within. The door swung inward, washing the steps with warm yellow light. The lights burning inside the nave silhouetted a male figure. “What?” said a deep, resonant voice.
Mike squinted and held a hand up against the glare. The timbre of the voice set his nerves on edge. “Who’s that?” he barked.
“We’re busy in here. State your business or get off the steps.”
“I’m Mike Richards. Chief Mike Richards of the OFPD. We need to look around the place.”
“It’s a free country. Come back when you have a warrant.”
The man stepped back and started to close the door, but Mike stepped forward and put his hand on the door. “No, it’s not going to go that way. We’ve got a report to check out, and I’ll tell you, based on the stench coming from your cellar, I believe exigent circumstances exist that require me to search the premises.”
“Rats,” the man grunted. “Dead in the walls.”
Mike stood where he was, hand pushing counter to the renewed force to close the door.
“Dammit, that’s why it stinks!”
“We’re coming in,” Mike said in a cool voice. “Keep interfering, and you'll spend the rest of the weekend in lockup.”
“At least the rest of the weekend,” said Jack. “Your paperwork might get lost.”
The man holding the door growled something under his breath and removed his hand. He turned and stomped toward the nave, with Mike close on his heels.
The interior of the vestibule had been gutted to the studs, chunks of plaster and lath lay around the edges of the room, and plaster had been ground into the carpet between the outer doors and the doors to the nave. The carpet reeked of mold and piss. There was a scarred old wooden door hanging askew from its frame to the left and a set of stairs leading up to the balcony on the right.
With his eyes adjusted to the light, Mike recognized the man at the door from his nights of drinking and debauchery. It was Red Bortha, though why he was called Red when he was as bald as a cue ball was anyone’s guess. Red had never liked him, and Mike didn’t much care for Red, either. “What is this place, Bortha?”
“The fuck does it look like? It’s an old church, dumbass.”
Mike scoffed. “Wow. Now I can recognize old churches. Thanks for your help.”
“What he means, asshole, is what the fuck is Play Time and why are you fucks in here this late on a Saturday night?” demanded Jack. “And show some respect.”
Red stopped, shoulders rippling as his muscles tensed. “Fuck respect,” he said in ragged tones. “I don’t give a shit.”
“Come on, Red,” said a woman from inside the nave. “They’re just doing their jobs.” Mike would have recognized her voice anywhere. Sally McBride.
“Hey there, Sally,” he said.
“Since we’re not at work, I get to answer you like you always answer me. Fuck you, Mike.”
Mike grinned. “Yeah, I’ve earned that.”
“In spades,” she said, but her tone was a touch friendlier.
“So? What is this place, Sally?” He walked into the nave. Like the vestibule, the walls had been stripped to the studs, but the plaster and lath had been cleaned up. The old carpet had been ripped out, exposing the old pine floor that had moldered beneath it for decades. Throw rugs had been spread on the floor without a thought toward interior design—almost as if they were there to cover stains rather than because the place was being refurbished.
“It’s okay, Red. Let me handle the Chief, here. You go on with your work.”
Without looking at either cop, Red walked past them to the vestibule, grumbling under his breath with every step. He slammed the vestibule doors, and a moment later, the front doors of the church.
“This place, Mike, will be a community center. For the under-privileged kids.”
; There was something in her voice that rang false, and it wasn’t just the preposterous story. Possibilities slipped through his mind like eels: a sex club, an S&M club, an adult store, a drug den. Most of those weren’t illegal, though, so why all the secrecy?
“Sally, we’ve had a report. We’ve got to investigate.”
“So you said.” Sally’s hands jerked out to her sides and then dropped to pat the pockets of the loose house dress she wore. “We take no liability if you get hurt. This place is a work in progress. A construction zone if you will.”
“I assume you have permits then?” asked Jack.
Sally’s face reddened, and sheen spread across her forehead and cheeks. “Well…”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Mike with a wave of his hand. “We don’t care about small shit, right, Jack?”
“Uh, right, boss.”
“Have your little party then…investigate away.” With that, Sally turned her back and knelt. She took a brush out of a metal pail and scrubbed the floor.
Interesting, Mike thought. He pointed at one of the carpets with his chin. Jack nodded and walked over to it, turning up one edge.
“What are you doing?” screeched Sally.
Jack looked up at Mike, eyebrows arched. “Nothing, Sally. Just looking at the floor.”
“Well, you can see there are no bodies under there! Leave it alone!”
Jack pursed his lips, but when Mike nodded, he let the corner of the rug fall to the floor. He straightened with a loud sniff. “Something’s gone off, Sally.”
“Rats,” she snapped, turning her head away. “In the walls.” She tried to re-wet her scrub brush, but slammed it into the lip of the bucket instead, spilling water all over the floor. “I told them to get someone else,” she muttered.
“Told who, Sally?”
She didn’t answer—she sat there with her back to them, water spreading across the floor, wetting her house dress.
Mike gestured to the vestibule. “Cellar door the one hanging crooked in there?”
Sally grunted.
“Guess we’ll head down there,” Mike said. He and Jack tramped back to the vestibule and moved the broken door out of the way. Mike flipped the light switch next to the door several times, but no lights came on in the cellar.
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