Chasing Evil (Circle of Evil) (20 page)

Humphrey lived in a brick apartment building that had given up any semblance of respectability and was firmly entrenched in deterioration. The agents got out of their vehicles and stood on the curb across the street peering at the structure. Only a few of the streetlamps that dotted the area were on. Cam assumed vandals had targeted the rest. In this neighborhood, repair requests would be slow to be fulfilled. As fast as new bulbs could be put in, others would be broken out.

The door of the black-and-white parked several yards away opened, and a uniformed DMPD officer got out and approached them. Cam made introductions.

“Officer Val Gomez.” The officer squinted toward the building. “Place looks a little better in the dark, to tell you the truth. Still no sign of Humphrey. There’s an alley with a side entrance to the building, but I’ve got a clear view of both exits from here. I was just inside forty minutes ago. If Humphrey is in there he’s not answering the door.”

“He hasn’t been at work for the last two days, so no telling the last time he left the building,” Cam told him. Or if he had left, how long ago. “We’re going to check it out. Talk to a few of his neighbors. Give Franks a call if you spot him.”

“You got it.” Gomez returned to his car.

“Any chance one of Humphrey’s old pals lives in this building, too?” The three of them waited for a rusted out black pick up to go by before moving across the street.

“Marchand’s a good judge of character. She called it right on a couple of the names she gave us,” Jenna reported. The redhead easily kept pace with them. “McCormick is doing a five year stretch—his second—for receiving stolen goods. Dows got out a couple years ago after doing ten years for manslaughter. His address is in the Pine Hills trailer park. Quinn isn’t in the system. It’ll take a bit more digging to track him down.”

The steps to the building were concrete, flanked with wide brick and cement railings. All were cracked and in need of repair. The front door bore the scars of numerous assaults through the years. The knob turned under Cam’s hand, and he pushed the door open.

The foyer was dimly lit by a wire-enclosed bulb. In contrast to the relative quiet of the street out front, Cam could hear a baby wailing, a stereo and TV blaring from somewhere inside and the sound of raised voices. “Which floor?”

“Third,” Jenna answered.

“Of course it is,” he muttered. They passed a small elevator with an out-of-order sign on it. He suspected it’d been placed there in the eighties. They headed for the wide wooden stairway that split the foyer, with hallways flanking it. They climbed the stairs in single file. No one they passed on the stairs looked at them or spoke.

That changed when they got to the third floor. Two dark-haired unshaven men in white ribbed tank undershirts stared at them coolly from their stance leaning on either side of a window. Cam didn’t even want to guess why the men had been stationed there. But he recognized lookouts when he saw them. One pulled out a phone as they turned the corner to climb the next flight.

“We just got reported to someone inside,” Franks muttered.

Cam figured he was right. Less than an hour ago Gomez’s uniformed presence hadn’t stopped whatever illicit activity was going on in apartment two-oh-nine. Cam couldn’t even summon the ability to care.

At midnight Sophie would have been gone almost twenty-four hours. An inner clock ticked away every passing minute. It took a massive strength of will to avoid contemplating what she might have suffered in the meantime.

Twelve days. His footsteps down the long narrow hall seemed to echo the words. Too short a time to constitute a relationship. It had begun and ended on Sophie’s terms. And really, its ending had come at an opportune time. He was still waiting for the other shoe to drop with Baldwin. The man hadn’t reached out again since the delivery of that one envelope. If Cam and Sophie had gotten more deeply involved, there was no way he could have done justice to the investigation of her disappearance. No way he could have shoved aside the tangle of sick fear that surged every time he allowed himself to contemplate her fate.

Nevertheless, his spine was slick with perspiration that had nothing to do with exertion. When they stopped before Humphrey’s apartment, his fists were clenched. Someone started out of the apartment next door just as Cam readied to pound on number three eighteen. Seeing the three agents, the woman ducked inside again.

“Mr. Humphrey,” Cam called. “DCI. Open the door. We want to talk to you.” They waited a minute. Then two. Cam listened closely. There was a jumble of sounds emanating from behind other closed doors in the hallway. But none came from three eighteen. He knocked again. “Mr. Humphrey. Open up.” He motioned to Jenna and Tommy and the pair split, each taking a door on either side of Humphrey’s to knock on. Cam pounded again, already resigned to the fact that the apartment was empty.

Jenna was having a similar lack of luck, but the woman they’d seen briefly a few minutes ago had opened the door, keeping the safety chain on. Cam moved to stand behind Tommy.

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am.” The agent’s voice was smooth. “We’re looking for your neighbor. Can you tell me the last time you saw him?”

She gave a quick jerk of her skeletal shoulders, bared by a black figure-hugging tank. “Don’t know. Don’t keep track of him. He minds his business, I mind mine. That’s the way he likes it and I don’t need trouble. I steer clear, you get my drift?”

Franks persisted. “Have you seen him today?”

She shook her head, and sent a furtive glance in the direction of Humphrey’s door. “He won’t like anyone talking about him. But he hasn’t been around lately. Usually we go to work about the same time. But I didn’t see him this morning or yesterday, now that I think about it. Someone else was at his door earlier. Maybe the same guy who was there yesterday. I didn’t look. He ain’t the type you want to rile, you know? Meaner n’ a swamp rat.”

“Have you ever gotten a look at anyone who has visited him before?”

“Saw a blonde woman here with some guy a few days ago and they had a real loud argument with him about a van.” The door was already easing shut. “That’s all I can tell you. I don’t even know the guy’s name. I’m sort of hoping he doesn’t come back.”

They tried several nearby doors in the hallway but not one of them opened, even those with sound coming from them. The word of their presence had already spread through the building, Cam realized. And this wasn’t the sort of place where people were interested in speaking with law enforcement.

“Let’s hope we have better luck in the trailer park,” he said as they turned to walk away. “Although it’d be nice to know the last time Mead saw Humphrey.” He looked at Franks. “Try him again.” The agent pulled out his phone to obey. “When we get outside I’ll look up Marion Thompson’s number.” Thompson was the director of the judicial district department of correctional services that governed the area. As such, she oversaw the parole and probation officers assigned to offenders in the south central counties of the state. “At least she’d know where Mead is.” If the officer were on vacation, Humphrey would have been assigned to another in the interim.

They hadn’t gotten more than a few steps before they all stopped. Cam looked at Franks, who still had the cell phone pressed to his ear. Then at Jenna. Without a word they turned in tandem and walked back to Humphrey’s door. Listened.

From inside came the unmistakable sound of a cell phone ringing.

Chapter 11

Sophie snuck a look at Cam. He was eating methodically, as if the act gave him no pleasure. She’d think the problem lay in the meal she’d prepared except that he’d once professed to love Italian food. Lasagna was hard to mess up. As such, it was one of her few specialties.

He’d been preoccupied all evening. Before. Even yesterday, when he’d called and begged off going to the Arts Festival. The phone conversation had been stilted and oddly distant. She’d been inordinately disappointed, although of course she understood that professional obligations could crop up suddenly for both of them. In the end she’d gone to the festival with a couple of her neighbors and enjoyed herself. Except for one recurring worry that managed to niggle through every time she began to relax.

The level of disappointment she’d felt at Cam not coming had seemed disproportionate to the newness in their relationship. They’d been occasional colleagues for years, minus the time he’d spent on the task force in California. Their paths had crossed infrequently at social gatherings. Other than that, had he not happened by Court Street while she was moping over a margarita at Mickey’s, the last several days would never have happened.

She brought the piece of garlic bread to her mouth and bit into it reflectively. It was a bit frightening to think how quickly he’d managed to feel like a part of her life. Which he wasn’t, of course. Couldn’t be. Sophia was new to casual, but she was fairly certain by definition neither party in such relationships was to get too serious. So it might be time to start cultivating a little distance of her own.

“I’ve been terrible company.” Her gaze flew to his. His golden brown eyes were serious.

“Were you preoccupied or ravenous?” she managed lightly.

“I don’t know. Both?” He reached over and scooped out some more lasagna. “This is great, by the way. My mom always said the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” He wink was a little wicked, and so like him that her worry eased a fraction. “Although I’d be glad to show you a more direct route.”

“I don’t know.” She reached for her wine and pretended to consider. “In the fairy tales short cuts always seemed to get the characters in trouble. Little Red Riding Hood. Goldilocks.”

“But shortcuts can be fun. They’re quicker and you never know what you’ll find along the way.”

She studied him over the rim of her glass. Taking a sip of wine, she set it down. “I’m someone who prefers signposts, I’m afraid. Maps. GPS. Google Earth. I like to know exactly where I’m going.”

He forked up a bite of lasagna. “We’re going to have to do something about your lack of spontaneity.”

It occurred that their banter held a deeper meaning, at least for her. She’d veered drastically from her normal path the first night she’d taken Cam home. She’d been in uncharted waters ever since. And on the one hand he was right. The experience had been deliciously new. Exciting. Thrilling, even.

But she wasn’t comfortable without a map, and at any rate, there couldn’t be short cuts in relationships, could there?

Maybe she could get used to casual. Although Sophia didn’t want it, she took another bite of bread. But she wasn’t sure she could ever get used to a journey with no particular destination in mind….

The sound of the door closing again had Sophia’s eyes sliding shut in a moment of despair. They re-opened an instant later, resolve stiffening her spine. She’d been afraid before, especially early in her career. Even sitting across from vile sadistic men already in prison could be harrowing. To hear the revolting details of their stories. To discern the notes of relish in their voices when they described mind-numbingly brutal atrocities. A few of them had outlined in great detail exactly what they’d like to do with her if given the chance. They’d meant to shock. They’d succeeded. But she’d managed to keep her reaction from them with a display of acting skills she’d never known she’d possessed. Act unafraid and you’d be unafraid. That had been her mantra.

But oh, it was so much easier to hide fear when she wasn’t locked up with a monster.

The man set the spotlight down in front of her cell. Sophia was shocked to see a sack full of food from Bryson’s, a popular-drive through restaurant in his other hand. Putting it down, he stepped to the side for a moment and then began unlocking the gate.

Sophia filed the information away. Both times he’d entered he hadn’t reached in his pocket for the key. So it was outside the cell nearby, possibly hanging from a nail or hook. Maybe she could reach it now that she knew it was there. The slats of the gate were wide enough for her to reach an arm through. Even if she could knock it to the floor, she might be able to…

“I know what you’re thinking.” He reached into the full sack and withdrew a sandwich. On cue, her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten since they’d hit a fast food place on the way home from Edina. But thirst was a bigger concern than hunger at this point. Her mouth was so dry she had difficulty summoning saliva. “You’re thinking can you reach the key? Was he stupid enough to put it where you could get it and escape?”

Taunting her, he held the key up for her to see. Then shifted to replace it before rejoining her. Opening the gate, he bent to grab the sack before entering and closing the gate behind him.

“When my mother would punish me, she’d often make me go in the hallway closet and shut the door.” She sent up a silent apology to her mother for the lie. Gloria Channing would never dream of behaving so callously to a child. But for all this man’s protests, she was more certain than ever that the majority of her profile was all too accurate. By drawing similarities between them, he’d be more forthcoming, whether he meant to be or not. “There was no lock. Once she forgot me and I was in there all night. But I didn’t leave until she came for me.”

He threw the bag to her. She fumbled the catch, but made no attempt to open it, despite the pangs of hunger that were gnawing through her. “Because she’d have beat your ass harder.”

“No, because my punishment wasn’t over.” She saw his quick look, kept her expression guileless.

His gaze narrowed. A trickle of fear snaked down her spine. “What are you waiting for? Maybe it was too soon to feed you. Maybe I should have waited until tomorrow.”

“I’m waiting for permission to eat.”

She felt a flicker of triumph at his look of surprise. He was caught off guard. Sophia didn’t know how she could use that to her advantage, but realized instinctively that her success depended on making him believe the tale she was spinning.

“Go ahead.”

There was a covered plastic cup with a straw in the bag. Sophia grabbed that first. Drank. The water was tepid but was an instant balm to her dry mouth and throat. She forced herself to stop after drinking half of it. Only then did she give in to her hunger. It was all she could do to not rip the wrapping from the sandwich and devour it in a few quick bites. But she made herself take a small bite of the hamburger. Chew. It was cold and tasteless. “Thank you.”

“Did you think I was going to starve you? I’m not a monster.” He made a move toward her. She dragged the edge of the comforter she was wrapped in and got off the mattress to sit on the cement floor, hoping he’d take the gesture as subservient. In reality she wasn’t certain she could carry on the farce if he touched her again. “Besides, I got other plans for you. Want to hear a few?” He watched her face avidly as he graphically detailed what he had in store for her.

Sophia held on to the memory of the incarcerated felons she’d interviewed who had tried the same tactic. He was looking for a reaction as much as they had been. But while outward dispassion had been the correct response for those men, this one required different handling. She let none of her revulsion show, but didn’t have to fake the fear in her expression. From the glint of satisfaction in his eyes, she knew it had pleased him.

“Better get this interview over with so we can get to the good part.” He reached down to stroke his bulging erection. “My old man always said it was a shame to waste good wood.”

His continual state of arousal surely was chemically induced. Sophia wondered if whatever substance he was abusing had left him impotent, or if he took an erectile dysfunction medication as a tool for perpetuating his sexual abuse. Her mouth dried. It was hard to be subjective about the question when faced with the evidence.

“What should I write on?” He hadn’t fetched a notepad. She was hoping that meant he’d have to leave. Perhaps for an hour or more. Long enough to try getting away again.

“Book smart, street dumb, aren’t you? Typical.” He took a pen he’d tucked in his waistband under his shirt and tossed it at her. “Figure it out.”

Her heart did a nosedive. He wasn’t going anywhere. Wings of despair fluttered in her chest. And this time she couldn’t quite banish them by sheer force of will. Sophia felt her final chances to escape this—escape him—dwindling.

But though the interview might only prolong the inevitable, every moment felt like a reprieve. She felt a measure of resolve returning. His earlier words echoed in her mind.

I’m not a monster.

Spoken like a true deviant. She picked up the sack the food had come in. It was slightly damp from the moisture from the cup. Carefully she tore it until it was flat. Then she smoothed the sandwich wrapper, set it aside. The interviews she’d done with incarcerated violent offenders had run to hundreds of pages. The criminal profile she’d developed for this man was nearly twenty.

She’d been given two ‘pages’ to write the correction.

“All right.” Drawing upon every hour of experience she’d acquired over the years she looked up at him expectantly. “My condo doesn’t allow animals,” she lied. “But I think if it did I’d have a cat. I was never allowed a pet when I was a child. Do you have one?”

“Cats.” He made a sound of disgust. “Figures. Worthless animals. Pets are too much damn trouble, but if I had one I’d have a dog. At least they can learn to obey.” The words weren’t surprising. Although the terms were often used interchangeably, psychopaths and sociopaths normally preferred dogs for that very reason. Cats were willful. And dogs could be counted on for unconditional love.

“And that’s important to you. Teaching those around you to obey.”

He shot her a quick look. “You’ll find out for yourself soon enough.”

She went on seamlessly. “Which did you have as a child?”

The man’s smile was humorless. Chilling. “We didn’t have either. I was the pet. Sounds like you were, too. But I wasn’t near as good a student as you. And my mother didn’t use closets.”

He was referring to the lies she’d told him regarding her childhood. Sophia felt a small glimmer of self-satisfaction. It meant he’d believed them. And it was imperative that she keep spinning the tale to establish a bond between them.

She didn’t fool herself that the connection would impact his final plans for her. He’d use what she shared to manipulate. To taunt her. But his expectations of her behavior would be different based on his earliest impressions of her. And that was what Sophia would use to manipulate
him
, given a chance.

He made a production of stretching out on the mattress. Folding his arms beneath his head. “Is this how your patients do it, doc?”

“A few do. Many sit in chairs positioned across from mine. The most important thing is for them to feel comfortable.”

“I’d feel more comfortable if you came over and gave me a blow job. You do that for your patients?”

Sophia treaded carefully. She needed to project as professional an image as possible to get him to open up to her. But if the proper deference weren’t shown, she’d incite another explosive response from him. “I don’t, no. But then I don’t think I’ve ever had a client with your intellect. Most can’t seem to manage the simplest obstacles life throws their way. You’ve smashed through all such roadblocks and pulled off the perfect crime.” She waggled the pen in her fingers at him. “Quite a difference.”

“Most people are idiots. They work at crappy jobs, taking all the shit their bosses shovel their way and whine about how bad things are. They don’t try to make things better.”

“How would you advise people to make their lives better?”

He rose to a sitting position in one smooth movement and shot a finger in her direction. “There are two kinds of people in the world. Those that are helpless and those that help themselves. If I want something bad enough, what do you think I would do?”

The answer came without having to think. “You’d find a way to take it.”

His smile was crafty. Once again she noted the missing tooth. Made a note of its exact location. Perhaps she could somehow bury a description of the man within the context of the profile.

“Maybe you got half a brain buried in there somewhere after all. Yeah, I would. But I couldn’t take anything if people weren’t stupid. Like you. Got a fancy security system. Even have the garage entry to the place secured. But you think an automatic garage door protects you. It doesn’t.” His wink had the hair on her neck rising. “That’s what I’m good at. Like you say, I don’t see obstacles. I see ways around them.”

Sophia was unsurprised. A conscience served as an impediment to criminal behavior. The lack of one put him a step ahead. Because it was difficult to combat an enemy who wasn’t bound by a similar moral code.

In the next instant his demeanor changed. Grew threatening. “You’re not writing anything down.”

“I have nearly perfect auditory recall.” It was the first truth she’d offered him. Gesturing toward the sack and wrapper, she continued, “My profiles run several pages. But I have to make every word count this time. So I’ll do without notes and rely on my memory.” Not so very hard to do, since she’d be writing a fallacy meant to stroke his ego, rather than a professional judgment.