Merchants with Evil Intent (18 page)

      
“I need to question them. In fact,
several detectives will talk to them. See if their stories jive,” Brower
stated.

      
Dr. O’Reilly stood. “Surely you don’t
think these women are lying about what happened to them?”

      
Brower lifted his hand. “Take it easy.
I’m not saying anything of the sort. I’m trying to build a leak proof case
against the bastard who did this to them.”

      
O’Reilly’s demeanor eased. “Very well,
you can see Camille and Samantha first. These women have been through a
terrible ordeal and need to be treated gently.”

      
“I’ll treat them with the utmost respect,
Dr. O’Reilly,” Brower said as sugary as he could. “Please, lead the way.”

*
     
*
     
*

      
McShane showed up as Brower questioned
Samantha Hunter.

      
“So, this guy you met, what makes you
think he’s a cop?” Brower asked.

      
“He looked like one,” she sneered.

      
“And how does a cop look?” Brower sighed.

      
“The uniform’s usually a tip off.”

      
McShane moved closer. “He wore a
uniform?”

      
She shrugged, “Not always.”

      
“Can you identify him if you saw him
again?” McShane asked.

      
She snorted, “Oh yeah. He was good
looking, short spiky blond hair, green eyes and muscular.”

      
McShane tapped a number into his cell
phone. “Butler, do you have any pictures with you of Valik?” He paused for a
moment as Joe Butler replied. “Turn around. I want pictures of both Valik and
Orlov brought to Community an hour ago!” he growled.

      
Brower snapped his head away from
Samantha. “Jesus Christ Tom, Orlov? He’s a cop dammit!”

      
McShane nodded, “Yep and he also fits the
description.”

      
“Well if that’s the case I want a picture
of your guy Travers. He fits the description, too,” Brower sneered.

      
McShane nodded and pulled out his phone.
“Butler? Bring a picture of Detective Greg Travers, too.”

*
     
*
     
*

      
Joe Butler was instantly taken to Camille
Mayden and Samantha Hunter’s room. He passed McShane and Brower in the hallway.

      
He was a strong man, but seeing the women
so vulnerable almost brought him to his knees. His older sister, Janine, had
been raped and murdered years ago. The cops never found her murderer.

      
He walked towards Camille. Her eyes were
closed and her auburn hair disheveled as she lay on the hospital bed. His
eyebrows furrowed when he noticed bandages wrapped around both of her wrists.

      
“Who are you?” she asked with a scratchy
voice.

      
She startled him. “Sorry Miss Mayden. I’m
Detective Joe Butler. If you’re feeling up to it I have a few pictures to show
you.”

      
Camille eyed him for a few moments. He
looked cop-ish with his blond hair cut short and alert blue eyes. He was
handsome, she thought, and snorted. She always looked for the sunny side of
things.

      
McShane and Brower entered, talking in
hushed tones. Butler didn’t care; he was riveted on the lady in front of him.

      
Camille lifted her covers and brought her
legs to the side of the bed. Joe gaped at her feet.

      
She grimaced. “They say I’m not allowed
to walk for a few days, but I sure as hell can’t lie in this bed anymore.”

      
She attempted to stand. “Wait, let me
help you,” Joe offered. He threw a large brown envelope on her bed and
carefully picked her up and carried her to the recliner in the corner of the
room.

      
Camille felt self-conscious since she
wore a flimsy gown. Thank God they gave her a pair of cheap panties to wear
underneath it. Detective Butler placed her on the chair.

      
He smelled good, like soap.

      
“Is that better?” he asked.

      
“Much. Thank you.”

      
He grabbed the envelope and pulled a
little round brown table over, grabbing a chair for himself.

      
Joe nodded towards her feet. “Can I ask
what happened?”

      
She glanced down and shrugged. “Apparently
walking up expressway embankments without shoes is hazardous. The funny thing
is that I didn’t notice I was stepping on broken bottles.”

      
He nodded.
“Your
wrists?”

      
Tears pooled into her eyes. “The bastard
tied us to the beds. I worked my wrists around in the leather straps until I
freed myself. The doctor said they’ll heal in time.”

      
A lump formed in Joe’s throat.

      
“Has anyone called my parents?” she
rasped.

      
“Yeah.
They’re
on their way,” Brower offered.

      
She nodded thankfully.

      
Joe knew her background information,
having been on the case from day one. Not married, no boyfriend.
Worked as a restaurant manager.
He’d been to her apartment
to look for clues.

      
Her musical tastes ranged from classical
to heavy metal. She was an avid reader who kept a clean house. She also had a
nosey cat that followed him into every room.

      
He smiled, “Your cat is with your
neighbor, Mrs. Dewey.”

      
“Oh! Is Snoops okay?” she asked
worriedly.

      
“Snoops?” Joe grinned.

      
Camille shrugged, “She’s nosey so I
thought the name was appropriate.”

      
“Snoops
is
fine.
She’s a great watch cat. She followed me everywhere in your apartment,” he
laughed.

      
Camille sat up straighter. “You were in
my apartment?” she asked with an edge to her voice.

      
Joe blushed, “
It’s
procedure, Miss Mayden. It’s our job to investigate everything.”

      
Camille’s lip trembled. “Then why does it
feel like I’ve been violated again?”

*
     
*
     
*

      
Samantha Hunter woke and was asked to
join Camille and Detective Butler at the table.

      
Butler pulled three photos from the envelope
and flipped over the first one.

      
Sam sat at Camille’s side and they peered
at the photo.

      
“Wow, that’s not the creep that nabbed
me, but he looks a lot like him,” Sam whispered.

      
Camille nodded her head in agreement.
“She’s right. It’s not him.”

      
Butler shot an awkward glance at McShane
and Brower. “Show them the other pictures,” McShane mumbled.

      
When Butler turned over the photos both
women gasped.

      
“That’s the bastard!” Camille shrieked,
pointing.

      
“Yep.
That’s him.
No doubt about it,” Sam stated firmly.

      
Joe Butler stared in disbelief at the
image of fellow cop Viktor Orlov.

*
     
*
     
*

      
“I want an APB for Detective Viktor
Orlov,” McShane growled into the phone.

      
Brower stalked to the visiting room. He’d
been a cop for over twenty years and dealt with two dirty cops during his
career. He knew the signs and Orlov exhibited
none
of them.

      
He was positive once the other women were
detoxed and lucid they’d finger Valik.

      
“Brower, where are you for chrissakes?”
McShane bellowed in the hallway.

      
Brower stuck his head out of the waiting
room and McShane strode towards him. “This is
your
man. Where the fuck is he?”

      
Brower shrugged. “He called in sick.”

      
McShane rolled his eyes. “Christ, I hope
you have some men going to his house!”

      
Brower got into McShane’s face, causing
McShane to turn his head away. Brower’s breath was foul. It smelled like he ate
a turd for breakfast.

      
“Do you think I don’t know what the fuck
I’m doing?” Brower backed up and rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s not
answering. We’re trying to get a search warrant. There are still procedures we
have to go through.”

*
     
*
     
*

      
“Camille, can you tell me how you met
him?” Joe asked, pointing to the picture of Orlov.

      
She shrugged, “My friend, Geoff, wanted
to check out this Irish folk-band in the park. I wasn’t expecting to meet
anyone, ya know? Just went along to listen to the music and drink a few pints.”

      
She shuddered and continued, “Geoff kept
telling me that a hot looking guy was staring at me. I turned and checked him
out, which turned out to be a huge mistake. One thing
lead
to another and he offered to buy me a beer and at Geoff’s urging, I let him.”

      
Joe listened attentively, not showing any
emotion, it was what the job required him to do; and when Camille’s pause
lasted for several minutes he said softly, “I know it’s difficult for you to
relive that night, but I need to know what happened.”

      
Camille nodded, “We started talking about
mundane things like the weather, the band that was playing, trivial stuff. It
got to the point where we could barely hear each other. He asked if I wanted to
walk to the parking lot, to get away from the noise. I remember hesitating and
glancing at Geoff who nudged me with his elbow.”

      
She brought her hand to her forehead. “I
was so stupid to go with him! It wasn’t like I was desperate, but he was
handsome and I haven’t dated in almost a year.”

      
“No one is judging you, Camille,” Joe
murmured.

      
She lifted her eyes, frowning. “I began
to feel weak, tired and told him I needed to get back to Geoff. He laughed and
put his arm around my waist. That’s when I knew something wasn’t right.”

      
Joe’s eyebrows furrowed. “Did you try to
get away and he stopped you?”

      
She shook her head. “I never got the
chance. The last thing I remember was waking up in hell.”

*
     
*
     
*

      
“John, where’s Camryn?” McShane barked
into his phone as he lit a cigarette.

      
“She should be in Ireland now, why?”

      
“Did you see the news tonight? The
missing women have been found,” McShane replied.

      
“I did. Are they alright?”

      
“John, two of the women fingered Orlov as
their kidnapper. I need to know Camryn is safe.” John reached for the arm of
the sofa before sitting. “John? Are you there?”

      
“Yeah, just a little shaken. I knew there
was something wrong with him!” John bellowed.

      
McShane puffed furiously on his smoke. It
was the first one he had in over six hours. “Have you spoken to her since she
landed?”

      
“Not yet. I hired a driver to take her
around so she wouldn’t be alone. I didn’t like sending her by herself,” John
mumbled.

      
“I need you to get a hold of her. We’ve
got a potential problem on our hands.”

      
“And you need Camryn’s help?”

      
“Orlov didn’t show up for work today and
we can’t locate him. We’re working on getting a search warrant. When I get more
information I’ll call you. In the meantime, make sure she’s okay. I’ve got a
bad feeling about this.”

*
     
*
     
*

      
Viktor sweated out the time it took to go
through the airport. He figured he had enough lead time before they put out a
warrant for his arrest. But still, his gut churned. He felt vulnerable without
the gun he had safely packed away. If security found it, red flags would be
thrown and his ass would be in deep shit.