Sworn to Silence (45 page)

Detrick lived in a two-story Tudor on the south side of Millersburg. John pulled curbside to find the house totally dark. He knew he was about to cross a line. But there was no way around this. Kate was missing. If she was right
about Detrick, she would be dead by morning. There was no time for protocol. For all intents and purposes, his career was already over, anyway. May as well go out with a bang.

He trudged through deep snow to the front door and hit the doorbell a dozen times. When that didn’t rouse anyone, he pounded with his fist. After a few minutes, a middle-aged woman in a pink robe and matching slippers opened the door, leaving the security chain in place. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” she snapped.

“Mrs. Detrick?”

“I’m Lora Faulkor, the housekeeper. Grace and the kids moved out about a month ago.”

John showed his badge. “Is Sheriff Detrick here, ma’am?”

“I assumed he’s on patrol. Working on those murders.” Her expression transformed from annoyed to worried. “Has something happened?”

“I have reason to believe he could be in trouble, ma’am. May I come in?”

Closing the door for an instant, she unfastened the chain and swung it open. “What’s happened?”

“All we know is that he’s missing.”

“Missing? Oh my.” She began wringing her hands. “I told him not to go out in this weather. He probably had a wreck.”

John entered a large living room furnished with early American oak furniture. Modular sofa. A coordinating plaid chair. A hint of wood smoke in the air from an earlier fire.

“Why did Mrs. Detrick move out?” he asked.

“I assumed it was because of the divorce. There was a lot of tension, of course. Mr. Detrick works a lot of hours and has no time to cook or clean, so he kept me on.”

“I see.” The timing of Detrick’s marital situation didn’t elude John. “Does he have a study or home office?”

She blinked, clearly surprised by the question. “Why on earth do you need to see his office?”

“I need to ascertain his whereabouts. It might help me figure out where to look. If he keeps a record of his patrol grid.”

“Wouldn’t he keep that at the sheriff’s office?”

“Time is of the essence, ma’am. If you could just show me to his office.”

“Oh. Well. I guess you could take a look. I just don’t see how that will help.” Pressing her hand to her stomach, she started down the hall. “Are the rest of the deputies out looking for him?”

“Every available man.”

“How long has he been missing?”

“About two hours now. We can’t get him on the radio or cell.”

“Oh, no. My goodness. That’s not good.”

He followed her down a hall, the walls of which were adorned with dozens of framed photos. Detrick’s kids, he thought, and wondered how a father, a
cop,
could lead such a dark double life.

She entered a room and turned on the light. A study, John thought, taking in the desk topped with a banker’s lamp. Beyond, a floor-to-ceiling bookcase was filled with books and knickknacks that weren’t quite pretty enough for the rest of the house. Several law enforcement plaques adorned the walls.

“What exactly do you need to see?” Lora asked.

Ignoring her, John went directly to the desk. Locked. He’d reached the point of no return. He gave the housekeeper a hard look. “Where’s the key?”

“I don’t understand why you need to go through his desk. This doesn’t make sense. Why are you doing this?”

Picking up a letter opener, he knelt behind the desk and rammed the point into the lock, breaking it.

“What are you doing?”
she cried.

He rifled the drawers. Within minutes, he’d searched the entire desk, but found nothing. “Where else would he keep personal papers and things?”

“What’s really going on here?” she asked. “Who are you?”

“We’re trying to ascertain his whereabouts.” John put his hands on his hips and looked around. “Where does he keep his personal effects?”

“I think you should leave.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“I’m calling the police.”

“The police are out looking for Detrick, ma’am.”

That stopped her, but John knew it wouldn’t last. “I need to know where he keeps his personal effects.”

When she didn’t answer, he crossed to her, grabbed her arms and shook her.
“Where, goddamnit!”
he shouted.

She gaped at him, her mouth quivering. “He keeps some things in the attic.”

Leaving her, he took the steps two at a time to the second level. All he could think about now was Kate. The time they’d spent together. The note of utter certainty in her voice when she’d told him about Detrick.

He found the attic door at the end of the hall. He heard the housekeeper behind him. “I want you to stop right now and tell me what’s going on!” she cried.

John went up a narrow stairwell, opened the door and hit the light switch. A bare bulb dangled from a rafter, illuminating a small attic crowded with boxes, an old metal file cabinet, a half dozen folding chairs, a collapsed patio table umbrella.

“I’m calling Deputy Jerry Hunnaker right now,” Lora said.

John looked up to see her standing at the door with a phone in her hand. “You do what you have to do.” Spotting a beat-up file cabinet, he crossed to it and yanked on the drawer, but it was locked. “Where’s the key?”

“I don’t know.” She punched numbers into her cell phone.

John looked around for something to break the lock with. Finding an old umbrella, he rammed the metal tip into the lock.

“What are you doing?” she screamed.

He hammered away at the lock until the top drawer rolled open. He saw files near the front. At the rear he found several Tupperware containers and a shoebox. He started with the files. Bank statements. Utility bills. Meaningless forms and warranties. Finding nothing of interest, he pulled out the shoebox and found photos. He knew immediately they were police file photos. Hundreds of them. Dead bodies. Homicides. Suicides. Horrific accidents. The one thing they had in common was that all were violent.

John reached for one of the Tupperware containers, opened it. He found a pair of women’s panties. He went to the next, found a black bra. A sheer
kapp,
the kind worn by an Amish woman. Souvenirs, he realized. “Christ.” The one thing he hadn’t found was something that would lead him to Kate.

He started toward the door, nearly running over Lora, who stood in the
doorway. “I called Nathan’s office,” she said. “They don’t know anything about him being missing. I told them what you were doing. They’re on their way.”

“If Detrick was in trouble, where would he go?”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

Before he could stop himself John grabbed her shoulders, put her hard against the wall. “If I don’t find him, he’s going to kill someone! Now where the fuck is he?”

“Kill someone?” She stared at him, her mouth agape and quivering. “You’re crazy! Nate wouldn’t hurt anyone! He’s a police officer! He wouldn’t do that!”

“He already has!” John shouted. “Is there someplace private he goes to be alone?”

“H-he never mentioned a place!”

“Does he have a cabin? Anything like that?”

“I don’t know!”

Struggling for control, he released her and stumbled back. For several seconds they stared at each other, then John turned and took the stairs two at a time to the ground floor. He went through the door and ran to the Tahoe. By the time he climbed behind the wheel he was shaking. Snatching up the phone, he called Glock. “Detrick’s our man.”

“How do you—”

“I just left his house. I went through his office. He’s got souvenirs.”

“Jesus, Tomasetti.”

“Where are you?”

“North side of Painters Mill. I’ve checked two farms on the list, but I’m batting zero.”

“They could be anywhere.” John grabbed the list of abandoned properties off the console. “We gotta find her, Glock. She’s in trouble.” Starting the engine, he pulled onto the street. “Where do I look?”

“There’s an abandoned motel off of Route 62 out of Millersburg. I’m heading that way now. You’re closer to Killbuck. There’s a house there that’s on this list.”

John squinted down at his list, frustrated because he wasn’t familiar with the area. “Goddamnit, we need more manpower.”

“Pickles and Skid are out looking. We’ll find her.”

John ended the call and made the turn onto State Route 754. The township of Killbuck was ahead, the abandoned house just beyond. The snow made for agonizingly slow travel. Visibility had dwindled, making it difficult to see the road. Even the telephone poles and road signs were invisible. In a few hours travel would be impossible.

He squinted through the windshield at the swirling maelstrom beyond. “Where are you, Kate?” he whispered.

The only answer was the steady beat of the wipers and the echo of his own fear.

I watch him remove my boots. Around me, the old house creaks and moans against the storm raging outside. Even with the heater turned on high, the room is cold. My legs and arms shake uncontrollably. I can no longer tell if it’s from the cold or from the endless stream of terror coursing through me. I recall my last conversation with John, and I wonder if he believed me about Detrick. I wonder of he’s looking for me. If
anyone’s
looking for me. Or if I’ll end up like the others.

Detrick sets my boots aside and looks at me. Even in the dim light, I see the hunger burning bright and hot in his eyes. I’m so repulsed my stomach threatens to rebel.

“You’re shaking,” he says. “I like that. I like it a lot.”

I look at him dead-on, trying to conjure anger, anything but this fear that’s beating me down. “It was you that night in the woods, wasn’t it?”

“I’d dropped her panties. Fell right out of my pocket.” He grins. “Close call, wasn’t it?”

“Why do you it?”

He looks amused by the question. “My mommy wasn’t mean to me and my daddy didn’t rape me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I just want to know why.”

“I like it. I always have. It’s pretty much textbook with me. Started with animals when I was a kid. I killed a kitten when I was eight, gave me a boner like I’d never had before.”

As he speaks, I take a mental inventory of my physical condition. My toes
are numb with cold. My ankles are stiff from the rope. My hands are still bound, but my legs are free. I can fight. I can run.

“I want to rip you open,” he says. “I want to hear you scream and grunt. I want to see your eyes bug out.” He grips his penis through his trousers and massages himself. “See what I mean? It’s like fuckin’ Pavlov’s dogs. I think of cutting you, and then I gotta do it. I got to hurt you, and then I gotta get off. My cock ain’t gonna quit until it’s done.”

I suppress a shudder. “If I die tonight, the cops are going to be all over this. They’ll figure it out. They’ll know Jonas Hershberger isn’t the killer.”

“Keep talking, Kate. I like the sound of your voice.”

My breaths rush between my teeth. Too fast. Too shallow. I’m scared. So damn scared.

Kneeling, he moves toward me. I recoil, but he snags my hair in his fist and yanks me toward him. “I’m going to take off your pants. You’re going to lay there like a good little bitch and let me. Or I’ll hit you with the stun gun. You got that?”

He pushes me onto my back. My elbows and hands grind into the floor beneath me, but I don’t fight him. Not yet. Let him get distracted. Let him think I’m going to be easy.

I cringe when he moves my coat aside and unfastens my jeans. His hands are rough. For the first time they tremble. His breathing is elevated. Despite the cold, I see a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“I’m going to hurt you. It’s going to be bad, Kate. Worse than anything you could ever imagine. You’re going to scream.”

He yanks my jeans down my hips, past my knees, then rips them from my ankles. The air is brutally cold against my bare legs. I sit up, trying to cover myself. The blow catches me off guard. Open-handed across my cheek. Hard enough to make me see stars. I fall back, then turn onto my side to keep the weight off my arms.

Snarling something I don’t understand, he yanks me up by my hair. Pain screeches across my scalp. The second blow is like a stick of dynamite going off in my head. I fall back, and lay still, my cheekbone aching.

Above me, Detrick unfastens his pants and jams them down to his knees.
He’s looking down at me, his mouth pulled into a perpetual snarl. “You’re going to be the best one yet,” he whispers.

His erect penis bobs in front of him, purple-red and bulbous. Reaching into the breast pocket of his shirt, he removes a condom, rips it open. His hands shake as he covers himself. The sight of his clean-shaven groin shocks me, though it shouldn’t. I was right; that’s why the lab techs never found hairs. I see the lubricant glistening on the condom, and I think of the other women who suffered the same fate I face now.