Justice Incarnate (19 page)

The man could push her buttons like no one else. Silently, she pushed through the door into the cool, vast space of the abandoned mill.

The pain hit her like the el she despised. It wasn't the urgent bite of the young, terrorized girls. Nor was it the bone-deep ache of innocence lost. This crushing weight was the accumulation of untold suffering.

Oh, how she'd failed each one of them.

Then, as abruptly as it hit, the pain subsided. Jaden found herself on her knees, her palms full of hot tears. Brian's voice in her ear, his arms around her created the blessed reprieve.

She could deny Cleveland's opinion no longer. She needed a partner. She needed Brian.

"Can you stand?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

"What is this? What comes over you? No more delays."

"Later." The weakness disgusted her. "I promise."

She pushed further into the mystery of the mill, testing doors, lighting up passages with her penlight.

The third door in the second hall held the answers. She felt it, even through the filter of Brian's touch. Opening the door, she reached and found the control panel. Lights came up and trios of long narrow windows filled with artificial sunlight and fluffy clouds. Just like she'd seen through the girl's eyes before her warehouse blew up.

One hand in Brian's, she began flipping the next series of switches. A refitted electric chair from the early 20th century elevated from the floor. Behind it a table appeared spread with everything from feathers to a bullwhip. The silk scarf from last night was folded neatly in the middle. She ripped her gaze to the left where a wall slid away, revealing a bank of flat screen monitors.

"The better to terrify you, my dear."

"Jaden?" Brian's voice echoed the bewilderment she'd felt on her first encounter with this madman.

"Little Red Riding Hood. Big bad wolf. You've gotta remember that. The better to see you with, the better to hear you with, the better to eat you with."

"This can't be Albertson."

She gave herself points for not caving to the temptation to strap him into the chair and make him see the truth.

"You expected a handwritten, notarized letter of confession?"

"Woulda been nice."

She counted to ten. By two's. A little calmer, she tried again. "As a cop, tell me what you see."

"First glance? A sex gym. You've got bondage, voyeurism and sadism all available at a whim."

"And?" She jerked her chin to the windows.

"Atmosphere?" His face fell as flat as the joke. "That might provide a false time line for a person forced to be here."

"Might?"

"Come on. The way Gary smells? Blindfolded, bound and gagged, a person would know where they were."

She wanted to cross her arms, but didn't risk breaking contact with Brian. She didn't care to imagine how debilitating she might become in here without him. It rankled, but at the moment it was a fact she couldn't dispute.

"It doesn't smell like old steel processing in here."

He sniffed and moved toward the back wall. She stayed close, summoning her fraying patience.

"No." His grip tightened and he groaned. "No."

She looked around him, understanding immediately. "That's his mark." She refused to tremble at the sight of the infinity symbol at the end of a short branding iron resting on a cold grate. "If you live, you live without threat of a repeat. A very civilized and relatively new development."

Brian blanched. "Albertson has a ring like this."

"Nice of you to notice. Proof enough yet?" Maybe at last justice would be served and she'd live to see the world free of a demonic presence.

But Brian shook his head. "The connection's weak."

She had her own, more colorful thoughts on weak at the moment, but he held her fast.

"Listen. It's circumstantial. Anyone could've commissioned that thing." He nodded at the branding iron. "A fraternity, a cult–"

"Getting warmer. He's a demon."

"Uh-huh. Does Albertson know he's possessed?

"It's more likely he doesn't know he's human."

"It's still not enough to single out Albertson beyond any doubt."

"Then I'll handle it myself."

"I thought that hadn't been working."

The accuracy of the barb stung. "It'll be fine when I find the right weapon. If you're not able to help through legal channels, I can deal with the fallout."

"Can you?" He raised their linked hands. "You said there's more to this than simple abuse of power and molestation."

She nodded. The unanswered questions hadn't stopped circling through her mind. "He's escalated from simple depravity, past despicable right into deranged."

"By all appearances he's as sane as they come."

"Is that supposed to be acceptance of my tall tale?"

"No. I'm cautiously exploring a theory."

Had she honestly expected more from a man unaware of the depth and span of his life? "He knows something I don't. Or something I haven't recalled. And you're involved or he wouldn't have tried to kill you. Cleveland said I'd need a partner."

"Is Cleveland like...you?"

"Only as alike as a scar can make us." She peeled back the fabricated skin, exposing the old scar behind her ear. Then she reached for the branding iron. "Match it up."

He responded with a restoring brush of his lips to her hair. "I'm believing all I can, Jaden." Setting the branding iron aside, he kissed the scar.

And put a chink in the armor surrounding her heart. "You can lead a horse to water..."

"Shouldn't that be my line?"

A familiar sound interrupted her, but she couldn't place it. "What is that?" She dragged him away from the horrifying chamber, not bothering to return it to its original condition. Better that Albertson know she was close.

"A train," he said. "This way."

They worked their way through the dim passageways to the back of the building. Above them, footsteps pounded.

"Guards?" she hissed.

He pulled into a shadow. "You said there wasn't any security."

"There isn't any visual or auditory set up." She paused. "But they're not searching. Hear that? They're all moving to one place."

He concurred and they continued until they reached what had once been a loading dock. She stopped and backpedaled, keeping them out of sight, when chains rattled and groaned to raise the rusty metal door.

Sunlight streamed in, a sweet contradiction to the black purpose of this hideaway.

To her astonishment, a three car train pulled by an old diesel engine squealed to a stop.

"What the hell?" Brian breathed.

Doors on the cargo cars opened and suddenly the loading dock was full of chained people. All female, all slumped with defeat.

"They're just kids."

"No," Jaden contradicted. "But he likes the young look." She ducked back further into the shadows as the cars were loaded. She had to think of a way to help them.

Brian opened his mouth and she saved him the trouble. "I know. Still no damned proof this is Albertson. It's probably some diligent squatter who started up a slave trade without consulting the owner of such a fine establishment." She rolled her eyes at the temper brewing in his. "Whatever. We need to get on that train."

"Hell, no."

"You've got a better way to find out the destination?"

Brian fisted his free hand. How to make her see reason? "Let's find the office and confiscate the records first."

"Okay." She lowered her eyes, but he wasn't buying the sudden submissive routine. He knew her brain was shifting gears faster than the old style dragsters his grandfather talked about.

"Proof's essential for conviction," he reminded her. "You do want your nemesis to spend more than a couple years in lockup."

The meek nod of agreement worried him more than her continued unexplained collapses. "Well?"

"We could at least tag the train."

Brian sympathized. He didn't want those poor girls hurt anymore than she did. But in his opinion this rescue was a close second to preventing more victims. If Judge Albertson was behind this disgusting mess he'd have an office and meticulous records. That meant evidence and evidence meant irreversible convictions.

He tempted her. "I bet the records name the destination."

"If there are records."

The sullen tone he chalked up to being overruled. He had to admit, defeat didn't look so good on her. "Trust me, Jaden. We'll figure it out."

She gave a last wistful look to the tracks, then fell in behind him, hand still linked.

Brian followed his instincts, shadowing the footsteps of the guards on the floor above. He was counting on another access, something suiting the powerful orchestrator of such horrible acts. And no, he still couldn't completely wrap his mind around Albertson in that role. But they'd know soon enough. He smiled at the sight of a narrow, spiraling staircase. No way it could be the Judge's access, but good enough for two not-so-dead investigators.

Beginning the corkscrew climb, he heard the distant grind of steel against track and the slow pulse of the train gaining speed.

Then he heard nothing but Jaden's scream as she tumbled down the stairs. Lights bloomed around them. There'd been cameras, at least sensors of some sort and he'd bet she'd known all along. Hell, he should've known all along. A voice from above told him to freeze–and he obeyed, praying Jaden would do the same. But when guards closed in on him from below, he realized she'd disappeared from the radar.

Some partner.

Chapter Eleven

The neighborhood grieves today over the loss of Mr. Harold Blair. Known as the grandpa-in-residence, he shared candy, time and wisdom with two generations of children on Gregg Street.

Preliminary police reports say he died of a gunshot wound to the heart. His foster son returned home during the attack, fatally wounding the assailant, an unnamed woman, while she tried to escape.

–
From the Lancaster Ledger, 1962

Chicago: 2096

Jaden couldn't let herself look back. She might try to help him. The women on the train needed her more. This is what she should've done at the museum: let the doubting Mr. Thomas take care of himself. He'd contrive some reason for his presence in his buddy's secret torture hideout.

The thought bolstered her as the mill threatened to drain her and she moved at top speed toward the sunshine–and the train undoubtedly destined for a thousand hells.

Neither the shouts nor the gunfire on her heels stopped her. She was a woman on a mission. It felt good to be working solo again.

Putting Brian out of her head, she ran to catch the old diesel, swinging herself up onto the junction of the second and third cargo cars. Letting her body adjust to the rolling rhythm of the train, she found she preferred the smooth ride of the el. Brian would revel in the irony. And there, before she decided how best to derail the Judge's delivery, she said a prayer for Brian.

It seemed most expedient to free the prisoners, rally them to revolt and take over the train. She set out to assess the threat. Reality was depressing, at least as far as her innate desire for battle was concerned.

Cursory surveillance proved only the engineer and one other armed man stood in her way. Easy enough, she thought, slinking up and into the engine compartment, feeling like an actor out of an old black and white western.

"Howdy," she said, humoring herself.

Both men turned, gaping like landed fish. Before the armed man could swing his gun into position, Jaden kicked and disarmed him. With the butt of the gun pressed into his larynx and her knee to his chest, she let him contemplate suffocation while she found the rest of his weaponry.

"Afraid of the chained women, are you?" In addition to the rifle at his throat, the man had a pistol, two knives and a taser. She used the taser against him and then casually pocketed the rest. The women on board had gained a small arsenal.

Approaching the engineer, she drew her favorite dagger from the sheath at her back. Emphasizing her advantage she sent a hair-skimming stroke down the length of his arm. The ensuing pat down revealed nothing noteworthy.

"Weapons locker?" she asked.

"You just disabled it, ma'am." He cocked his head toward the guard.

"Where are we headed?" she asked in her best syrup-soaked tone.

"Chicago, ma'am. Hammond Street docks."

She appreciated his immediate and full cooperation. Maybe extreme violence could be avoided.

"Then what?" she asked.

"Routine transfer to the ferry. I'm not used to overseeing that, ma'am. Not sure if they'll approve."

"'They' who?"

"Guards like him handle the ferry."

"You're separate from his crew?"

He nodded.