Hold Still (21 page)

FORTY

November 7th

The e-mail came in just
before fifth period ended. The students in Jennifer Maisry’s fifth-period art class were engrossed in their latest assignment. Besides the susurrus sounds of rustling paper and snipping scissors, the room was silent. She wished all her classes were so easy.

Her BlackBerry buzzed atop her desk, signaling she had a new e-mail. A little wave of excitement went through her as she realized it was a response to her Craigslist ad. She’d taken the ad down for a month but recently decided to repost it. She read the e-mail. The guy’s name was Larry, but he was careful not to say anything that could later be construed as damning. That was always the first test—discretion. The ones who’d picked up escorts online before were always careful about the language they used so they didn’t incriminate themselves or Jennifer. The newbies were the ones she steered clear of.

Larry was a black male in his forties looking for a ménage
à
trois with a friend, also a black male.

“Mrs. Maisry?” the student’s voice made her jump. It was one of the blonde girls. They all looked the same to Jennifer. This one stood at Jennifer’s desk, staring at her expectantly. She couldn’t remember the girl’s name. Audra? Audrey?

“Yes?”

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

Jennifer smiled sweetly. “Of course. Don’t forget to take the hall pass.”

As she watched the girl leave the room, her BlackBerry buzzed in her hand. It was a call from her husband.

“Babe,” he said. “What are you doing?”

Jennifer sighed. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m at work.”

A noise of exasperation. “Still?”

“Still? Michael, I work the same hours every week.”

“It seems like you’re always there.”

She almost said, “How would you know? You’re never home,” but she bit back her response. She kept her voice calm. “I’m here the same amount of time during the same hours every week.”

“Well, whatever. I’m doing happy hour with Sal, so I’ll be late, okay?”

Even though he couldn’t see her, she arched an eyebrow. “Sal, huh?”

He coughed. “Uh, yeah. So don’t make dinner, okay?”

“Fine,” she said and hung up.

Although Sal was a real person—Michael’s sales manager at their Conshohocken dealership—Jennifer thought of Sal as a code word for “I’m going to be fucking my eighteen-year-old blonde greeter while you’re home alone, so don’t wait up.”

Jennifer had caught them once—a year earlier, when the girl wasn’t even legal. She’d gone to surprise Michael at the dealership with Chinese takeout—General Tso’s chicken was his favorite—and she’d seen the two of them through the crack in his office door.

Michael in the chair, his pants around his ankles, knees spread wide. The girl’s head bobbed up and down furiously, Mike’s hand tangled in her ponytail, controlling her movements. His head was tipped back, eyes closed. He groaned. Jennifer stood by the crack in the door, her whole body trembling till the girl finished. She listened to Mike’s satisfied grunts of “Oh yeah” as she ran back through the empty showroom. She sat in her car, gripping the steering wheel till her hands ached. A few minutes later, the blonde girl emerged, looking impossibly young and pert—and happy. Jennifer resisted the urge to run her over as she drove out of the parking lot.

She didn’t leave her husband. Their marriage had been a sham well before that. Jennifer had long suspected that Mike was having an affair. Although the proof of it was shocking, and even though she cried every time Mike stayed late for a month after that, she didn’t confront him and she didn’t leave.

They had an arrangement of sorts. Don’t ask, don’t tell. Successful dealership owner. Gorgeous schoolteacher. Beautiful, expensive home. To the outside world they were the perfect couple. A success story. But it was a facade, and after ten years Jennifer didn’t mind keeping it up as long as she got to stay in her beautiful home, drive a hundred-thousand-dollar car, and buy anything she wanted. She liked nice things and didn’t want to give them up just because of some stupid teenage slut.

She didn’t even need the job at the school. Mike would be happier if she stayed home redecorating their house and going to the spa every day—as long as she cooked dinner every night. But she’d tried that. Teaching gave her something to do, and although the kids occasionally got on her nerves, they looked up to her. Most of the boys had crushes on her. She loved the way it felt to walk across the room and feel all those eyes on her. Sometimes she wore low-cut shirts just for the openmouthed stares she got. Her principal would have reprimanded her if he wasn’t so busy staring at her tits. Her sister called her a narcissist, but Jennifer chalked it up to being incredibly lonely. Although Mike could be controlling and jealous, he hadn’t really looked at her in years.

“Mrs. Maisry?”

Jennifer looked up from her BlackBerry. It was the girl again.

“Yes?”

“Here’s the hall pass.”

What did she want, a medal?

“Thank you.” Jennifer smiled, taking it back.

She turned her attention back to her BlackBerry, reading the e-mail from Larry. She’d only done a threesome once before, but she found it incredibly erotic—two men touching her, kissing her, fucking her at the same time—two men wanting her at the same time. She felt a flush of anticipation envelop her as she typed in a reply.

Can you meet me today at 3 p.m. at the Starbucks at Germantown and Evergreen?

The reply came as she was leaving school for the day.
See you there
, it said.

She typed back,
Ask me if I’ve ever tried the pumpkin latte.

She drove back to the Chestnut Hill area of Philadelphia and parked in the parking lot on East Highland near Germantown Avenue. She walked down Germantown Avenue, pausing to check herself over in the window of the Chestnut Hill Bootery. At thirty-two, her body was still tight and toned. She hit the gym three times a week. Her skin was smooth and tanned. The sun glinted against the blonde highlights she’d gotten in her long brown hair. She looked good.

She strode toward Starbucks, wondering if Larry had a place to go. She’d run into that problem before. She refused to bring them home, even though Mike would never find out. When she first started, she’d made the mistake of bringing one of them home. He’d shown up unannounced three times after that. “You have the sweetest ass,” he’d said by way of explanation, as if he couldn’t stay away from her. Luckily, Mike wasn’t home. She’d done what he asked and charged him double what she had the first time. After the third time, she never saw him again, but his unannounced visits had freaked her out sufficiently. She stopped bringing them home.

Them. That’s how she thought of the men who paid her for sex. Not as johns or dates. Just them. She didn’t really consider herself a hooker. She liked to meet men who wanted to fuck her. Why shouldn’t she charge them for it? She didn’t want to have an affair. She didn’t want complications. She didn’t want the rigor or the tedium of something long-term. What she really wanted was a few hours now and then to satisfy her need to be desired, wanted, and touched. That’s all her trysts with “them” ever were. It wasn’t a real threat to her marriage—not as much as the teenage blonde was. Plus there was the titillation of doing something taboo, something so far out of her element. There was no beating the adrenaline high.

She waited in the Starbucks, sipping an iced tea until a tall, thin black man in his midforties dropped a few coins near her table. As she knelt to help him pick up his change, he smiled at her and said, “Have you tried the pumpkin latte?”

She smiled back. “Yes,” she said. “It’s very good.”

FORTY-ONE

November 7th

Caleb’s fingers trailed up Jocelyn’s
thigh, creeping under the hem of the black dress Inez had leant her for their date. His mouth was on hers before they even made it through her front door. As soon as she closed it behind them, he pressed her against it, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, focusing entirely on the kiss.

He’d taken her to dinner at Valley Green, a semifancy, expensive restaurant along the trail that bordered the Wissahickon Creek—what the locals referred to as “the crick.” It was twenty-three miles and meandered its way through Philadelphia. Although Jocelyn had taken Olivia to the Wissahickon Creek to feed the ducks, and responded to calls of women being pulled off the trail and raped, she’d never been inside the restaurant that sat along its banks.

She’d had the lamb, Caleb the duck. The food was delicious. She was heady after two glasses of wine and two hours of great conversation. She had no idea how the adult dating thing worked, but she knew as she and Caleb walked hand in hand back to his car that she wanted him to touch her. So she invited him back to her house. They moved away from the door and fell onto the couch in a jumble of limbs. Caleb pulled a Lalaloopsy doll out from under Jocelyn’s back, and they both laughed.

He tossed the doll aside and bent his mouth to her neck. Jocelyn’s skin felt hot. As Caleb’s fingers brushed across her pelvic area, she quivered. She felt the same desire she’d felt in the car the night she’d met him, but when his hand slipped inside her panties, her body tensed. It was almost imperceptible, the shift inside her. Phil had never noticed it. But she did. It was her body shutting down. She knew in that instant that no matter how much she wanted Caleb or how expertly he touched her, she would not fully enjoy the sex.

Caleb’s head shot up from where it had been buried in her neck. “What’s wrong?” he said.

Jocelyn froze. “What? Nothing, nothing.” She forced a smile. Caleb shifted, putting some distance between their bodies. His brow furrowed. The crinkly lines next to his eyes deepened. “I’m going too fast,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Jocelyn shook her head. She touched his cheek, trying to draw him back to her. “No,” she said. “It’s not that. It’s not you. I just . . .” She trailed off, thinking about what Phil had said about her being frigid.

“It’s okay,” Caleb said. He moved his face closer to hers, catching her mouth in a soft, slow kiss. His hands rested on her hips. She could feel his hardness against her thigh. He lifted his head again and smiled at her. “Tell you what,” he said. “We are not having sex tonight.”

Flustered, Jocelyn shook her head. “It’s okay,” she said. “I want to be with you.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you say that, but I think we should slow this down. Enjoy it a little. So here are the rules.”

“Rules?” Jocelyn arched a skeptical eyebrow.

“Rules, yes. No sex and no removing clothes.”

Jocelyn laughed. “No taking our clothes off? How will that work exactly?”

He gave her a playful grin. “You’ll see.”

His mouth moved downward from the hollow of her throat, over her clothes and down her body. He stroked her bare arms and moved his hands along the contours of her body, slowly, lightly. She closed her eyes, focusing on his touch and her shallow breathing until pleasure woke again at her center. She was seriously considering breaking both of Caleb’s rules when their cell phones rang.

They had dropped them on her coffee table. Hers was set to vibrate as well as ring. It danced on the table when she didn’t answer right away. She didn’t want to check it, but she had to in case it was Martina calling about Olivia. She and Caleb disentangled and picked up their respective phones.

“Work,” they said in unison.

As Jocelyn answered, Caleb stood up and moved away from her to answer his own.

“Rush,” Kevin said without preamble. “Can you get a babysitter? You’re gonna need to come in.”

Jocelyn watched Caleb arguing quietly into his own phone. His erection still strained against the front of his pants. She smiled. “This better be goddamned good,” she said to Kevin.

Kevin made a noise deep in his throat. “Oh, you’ll want to be here for this one. How soon can you get to Einstein?”

She felt a tickle at the back of her neck. Her skin felt cold. “Is it Warner and Donovan?”

“Yeah, and your unknown subject—this time they did a schoolteacher from Chestnut Hill. It’s already on the news. Ahearn is down here, and word is they’re calling Special Vics now. How soon can you get here?”

“Give me thirty.”

FORTY-TWO

November 7th

Jocelyn changed out of her
dress, and they drove separate vehicles to the hospital. She had the local a.m. news radio station, KYW, on during the drive. The droll, tinny voice filled up her car, sounding as though it were coming through some kind of filter. “A Philadelphia schoolteacher was brutally attacked in the Chestnut Hill section of the city this afternoon. She was abducted from Germantown Avenue by two men, who assaulted and crucified her. The police investigation is ongoing.”

The schoolteacher turned out to be Jennifer Maisry, who was thin with delicate features and the kind of tan one only got from a combination of summers down the shore and winters in a tanning salon. Her long brown hair, although mussed, was expertly cut and shiny enough to earn her an endorsement from any number of high-class hair products. She sat on the edge of the hospital bed, her well-toned legs dangling above the floor, her feet wrapped in gauze. Just above the collar of her hospital gown, Jocelyn spied a gold chain plastered to her sternum with sweat. From across the room, she could tell the chain itself was worth more than she made in a month, and peeking from the bundles of gauze were two sets of perfectly manicured toenails. From what Jocelyn could see of her fingernails, they too were manicured.

The nurse checking her IV said, “Sweetie, don’t get up. You have to keep those feet elevated.”

Jennifer vomited all over the floor.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” the nurse said. She reached across the bed and pressed Jennifer’s Call button. Within moments, another nurse pushed Jocelyn, Kevin, and Caleb out of the doorway and set about changing Jennifer’s hospital gown. She shot the trio of detectives an acerbic look. “Come back in a few minutes,” she said.

Jocelyn pulled the door to the room shut, noting that a white schoolteacher, Maisry, rated her own private room with solid walls and doors while Anita Grant had to bear her humiliation behind a semiprivate curtain for anyone to hear.

“She’s wealthy,” Jocelyn said. “Why is she teaching school?”

Kevin scratched his head and flipped open his notebook. “She teaches art at some swanky private school in Plymouth Meeting. Her husband owns a bunch of car dealerships. They have a mansion in Chestnut Hill. She got bored doing yoga and redecorating their house, so she dusted off her teaching degree. She has a minor in art history.”

Jocelyn rolled her eyes. “So, what happened?”

Kevin flipped another page in his notebook. “She was shopping on Germantown Avenue, stopped at the Starbucks for a latte. She was walking back to her car, which she says is parked on West Highland Avenue next to Valley Green Bank, when she was grabbed and forced into a gray Bonneville. She was taken to an abandoned building—she’s not sure where it was—by two black males. They held her down while a white male in a ski mask nailed her hands and feet into the floor.”

Kevin frowned. “I think you know the rest of the story.”

Caleb said, “Did she ID Warner and Donovan?”

“Yeah, we showed her a bunch of mug shots. She picked them right out.”

Jocelyn arched a brow and folded her arms across her middle. “So, these guys are out on bail for kidnapping charges, and they abduct a wealthy stranger in one of the more affluent areas of Philadelphia? In broad daylight?”

Kevin shrugged. “You were the one who said they’d escalate.”

“Yeah, but this is fast. I would have expected them to lay low for a while, not to go out and pick the most high-profile victim they could find. This doesn’t fit.”

Caleb tipped his chin in Kevin’s direction. “No chance that Maisry is an escort?”

Kevin shook his head. “I asked her that right away. She was pretty offended. She says no way. I don’t know why she would be—she’s happily married to a rich guy. Teaches kids.”

Jocelyn cracked the door to Jennifer’s room and looked in. She was still sitting on the side of the bed. Blood trickled out from under the gauze and dripped down the big toe of her left foot. She vomited again, this time into a basin one of the nurses held in front of her.

“You never know,” Jocelyn said, thinking of Camille. “People do strange things.”

Before Kevin or Caleb could respond, their attention was drawn down the hall near the entrance to the treatment area, where a male was yelling. As the doors swung open, Jocelyn heard the words, “ . . . my wife, goddammit.”

Caleb grimaced. “Three guesses who that is.”

A tall, pudgy man with thick, greasy black hair and a neatly trimmed beard strode toward them. He wore a long brown coat and, beneath that, a blue polo shirt that read “Maisry Lexus” over his left chest area. The top button was open, revealing thick rolls of fat where his neck should be and an unruly thatch of chest hair, punctuated by a chunky gold chain. He wore gray slacks and black dress shoes. A Bluetooth device was affixed to his right ear.

“You the cops?” he said, speaking directly to Caleb.

Caleb drew up to his full height and said, “I’m Lieutenant Vaughn. This is Detective Sullivan and Detective Rush.”

Maisry gave Jocelyn a sideways glance and, looking back at Caleb, hooked a thumb behind him. “You need to talk to your boys back there. They weren’t gonna let me through.”

Jocelyn suppressed a groan.

Your boys.

Maisry was rich, well dressed, and well groomed, but he need only open his mouth to let the world know the elegance was purely external. Minimal education, major attitude. A lot of bluster and very little trace of manners.

“Where’s my wife? They said she was in an accident. She okay?”

Caleb and Jocelyn exchanged a glance. He obviously hadn’t heard or seen the news, or, if he had, he hadn’t made the connection.

“It wasn’t an accident, Mr. Maisry,” Jocelyn said.

“Where is she? Did they tow the car? I gotta take pictures for the insurance company.”

“Mr. Maisry,” Caleb said. “Your wife—”

But Maisry was already pushing Caleb aside, heading for the door to Jennifer’s room. Jocelyn put her body between him and door. For the first time, he looked at her. His face pinched into a look of annoyance.

“Mr. Maisry, I’m very sorry to tell you this. Your wife was not in an accident today. She was attacked. Two men abducted her. She was taken to an unknown location where a third man crucified her before the other two men sexually assaulted her.”

He froze and stepped back. His face was ashen. “What?”

Jocelyn didn’t repeat herself. She knew he had heard her because he looked like he might throw up on her shoes. She gave him a few seconds to collect himself. Then he said, “They crucified her?”

Jocelyn held his gaze evenly. “Yes. They nailed her hands and feet to the floor. I’m sorry, Mr. Maisry.”

A shudder worked its way down from Maisry’s shoulders to his feet. For a moment, he looked like he might faint. His fat throat worked, but no words came out. Kevin took his elbow and steered him toward a chair.

Maisry stared up at them. “How—how does this happen?”

Jocelyn put a hand on his shoulder. “Your wife has already identified two of the suspects. We’ve got the whole city looking for them. We’re working on identifying the third suspect, but it will be extremely difficult since he was wearing a mask.”

Jocelyn wasn’t sure if Maisry was listening to her or hearing anything she said. His gaze was blank and pleading. He looked at each of them, as if willing one of them to say it wasn’t true. He finally opened his mouth to speak, but a howl issued from behind the door to Jennifer’s room. The sound was like a skewer to Jocelyn’s gut. She made a conscious effort not to wince.

Maisry jumped up and pushed past them. “My wife!”

He burst through the door. Jennifer lay in the bed, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. One of the nurses was changing the dressing on her left foot. When Jennifer saw her husband, she turned away. He went to her anyway, gathering her awkwardly in his arms and talking softly into her ear. Jocelyn couldn’t make out his words, but, after a minute, Jennifer nodded into his chest. Her shoulders shook, and he stroked the skin between her shoulder blades.

Feeling like a voyeur, Jocelyn pulled the door closed. They waited a half hour before Maisry emerged. Some of the color had returned to his face. “I’m going to go get her some of her own clothes,” he said. “She says it will make her feel better if I do.”

Jocelyn nodded.

“Oh, wait, the car.” He turned back toward Jennifer. “Babe, where’s your car? I’ll have someone pick it up.”

“It’s in the parking lot behind the Starbucks on East Highland,” she said.

Jocelyn looked at Kevin, but he didn’t show any sign of having caught the discrepancy.

After Maisry left, Jocelyn slipped into Jennifer’s room and introduced herself. “Mrs. Maisry, I know you’re exhausted, but I just have a few more questions for you.”

Jennifer nodded weakly without meeting Jocelyn’s eyes.

“What did you buy today?” Jocelyn asked.

Jennifer’s eyes darted toward her. “What?”

“You told Detective Sullivan that you were out shopping. What did you buy?”

Jennifer swallowed, her delicate throat quivering. “I—uh—I didn’t get that far. I had coffee at Starbucks, and then I was abducted.”

Jocelyn nodded along. “You were forced into the car while walking down West Highland Avenue?”

Jennifer hesitated a second. “Yeah. I was walking back to my car.”

“Your car?”

“Yeah.”

“The one your husband is going to have someone pick up in the parking lot behind the Starbucks on East Highland, which is in the opposite direction?”

Caught in the lie, Jennifer’s already pale face turned an unhealthy shade of gray. Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth to speak, but Jocelyn went on. “You had coffee and then you went immediately back to your car? Without shopping as you had planned.”

Jennifer stammered. “I—I—”

“How long have you been an escort, Mrs. Maisry?”

Jennifer’s mouth clamped shut. Fresh tears filled her eyes. Her bottom lip trembled, but she didn’t speak. Jocelyn moved closer to the bed, making her tone as nonthreatening as possible. “The last four women they did this to were prostitutes. Today you lied to the police about what you were doing and where you parked your car. The only reason that I can see for you lying about such trivial matters is that there’s something you don’t want your husband or anyone else to know. Either you’re having an affair or you’re an escort.”

Jennifer stared at Jocelyn in horror, her entire body shaking.

“Here’s what I think happened,” Jocelyn continued. “You have an ad on Craigslist. Warner answered it. You met them for coffee at Starbucks. You closed the deal. Their car was parked on West Highland Avenue. You left your car in the East Highland parking lot behind the Starbucks and followed them on foot to their car. The rest happened exactly as you said.”

Jennifer closed her eyes. A long moment passed. The sounds of the bustling ER outside the door became impossibly loud. Then Jennifer whispered, “Don’t tell my husband.”

Jocelyn sighed. “I won’t tell him, but it will probably come out at some point. Especially if we catch these guys. That’s going to be their defense—that they paid you.”

Jennifer’s eyes popped open, tears flowing freely. “They crucified me!”

Jocelyn gave her a grim frown. “I know. But they paid you for sex, and they will use that to their advantage. I’m not saying it’s right. It is a horrible, horrible thing, especially after what they did to you. I’m just telling you that you might want to tell your husband so he’s prepared for it.”

Jennifer shook her head. She brought her gauze-bundled hands to her face. A dot of blood leaked through one of them. “Oh my God, this is such a nightmare.”

A moment passed between them in silence. Jennifer brought her hands down and touched her fingers to the gold chain around her neck. Jocelyn could see the blood seeping through the bandage on the top of her right hand.

She met Jocelyn’s eyes, her own pleading and moist. “You probably want to know why I was doing it—I’m rich. I have a beautiful home. I don’t need to work. I certainly don’t need to—”

Jocelyn held up a hand to silence her. “Mrs. Maisry, that’s not important to me. I don’t need to know why you became a prostitute.” Jennifer bristled at the word, but Jocelyn went on. “My job is to find the man who put the nails into your hands and feet and arrest him so he cannot do this to anyone else. That’s what I care about. That’s what I am going to do.”