The Crypt (35 page)

“These,” Rod said and shoved a manila folder across the table at her. He stepped away from the table and started pacing in front of the door.

She flipped the folder open. Inside sat a series of pictures. The first one was the image of a man who looked to be in his early twenties. He was clearly dead, his eyes wide open, slack jaw, body askew. She knew he wasn’t sleeping. Too much blood. Someone had stabbed the guy in the stomach in a crude attempt to offer him a free vivisection.

The next picture was more of the same. Different angles exposed every gruesome detail of a life exterminated.

“What’s this got to do with me?”

“That’s Joseph Singer. He was murdered by his girlfriend who has never been located. Until now.”

Sarah looked up at him. Rod stopped pacing and knocked on the two-way glass. A moment later four men entered the room, two of them carrying machine guns strapped across their shoulders.

“What do you mean, until now?” Sarah asked, her mouth barely moving. She started to put it all together.

“I have multiple witnesses who will place you at the scene of the murder. Joseph’s sister saw a picture of you and will testify in court that you were the Sarah that Joseph Singer was dating at the time of his murder. I have enough proof and numerous witnesses to bury you with this charge and get a first degree murder conviction which will keep you behind bars for a very long time.” He stopped and crossed his arms, staring down at her. “Think on these things, Sarah.”

Real fear set in. She had killed before. Many times, but they were all in self-defense. She had never committed the act of murder for the sake of murder itself. Although she could make an exception with killing Rod. It would be a pleasure.

Her bladder tightened. She needed to pee. She needed to think. She couldn’t show weakness. But who really cared now? Did Rod think he could toss this at her and nail her to his cross? She had to admit, his play was solid, but it wasn’t checkmate yet.

“I’ve never heard of Joseph Singer. The charge is bullshit and you know it. Others will too. We both know I’ve killed before, but those people deserved to die. You have nothing on me.”

“We’re talking about a college kid here. A jury will eat this up. No amount of pleading will offer a reasonable doubt to them with the case I’ve got. But, Sarah, help me, work with me, and this Joseph Singer case goes away.”

“You’re delusional, you know that. You’re fucking gone. Loco, crazy, whatever … you’re just fucked. You can’t ruin people’s lives like this. It’s unconscionable.”

Rod stepped toward his men and the door behind them. “Sarah, you may be a hero to the public with your recent media exposure, but they don’t know about Joseph. This case will bury you. Forever.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, riddle man. I didn’t do this,” she said, gesturing at the pictures.

Rod stopped at the door, his hand on the knob. “You haven’t figured out who you’re dealing with yet, have you? That’s a mistake. Know your enemy, Sarah, know your enemy.”

Sarah looked away, her headache all but forgotten as the Advil had done its job. She sat on the verge of tears.

A nightmare. That’s what her life had become. The more she helped people, it seemed the worse things got. The stakes had risen and she wasn’t sure she could deal with it. What if Rod really did charge her with the murder of Joseph Singer and led her away to face a courtroom? It would take years to deal with something as serious as murder. Could she ever shake it? And what about Drake? He’s to be shot later in the day and there was nothing she could do about it because she was in Chicago and he was in Toronto. Ultimately, Rod has killed Drake by bringing her here.

Who’s the real murderer now, asshole?

Rod stood by the door, surrounded by his bodyguards. How many men made him feel secure around her?

“I know who I’m dealing with,” she said. “An asshole.”

“That’s right Sarah. Call me names. No problem, but remember this. You’ve seen what I can do with a commercial airliner in federal airspace. A simple murder cover-up is the next face on a milk carton, filed as a missing persons indefinitely. Refuse me and I’ll see you go down for first degree murder. Work with me and in a few years you’ll have more freedom to move about. Maybe one day you’ll even get married.” He stopped talking, covered his mouth as he chuckled and opened the door. “Sorry about that. I wouldn’t want to joke about something that’ll never happen. Sarah Roberts, married … imagine that.”

Then he stepped from the room, followed by his men, and slammed the door shut.

They left in time to miss her tears.

Chapter 4

Drake Bellamy got out of Spencer’s police-issued, unmarked car and stepped in line at the ticket office. A light breeze ruffled his hair. It proved to be a great day. Spencer Milton had called yesterday and offered to take him to the Blue Jay game at the Rogers Centre, downtown Toronto. Drake had accepted as only recently he had been out of the hospital and mobile again. After what Monika and her brothers had put him through, he was lucky to be alive.

Spencer had spent a lot of time at the hospital with him, taking his statement and piecing everything together, step by step, and eventually they had gotten closer, bonding over the ordeal. They had talked about sports. Drake wanted to golf again before the summer was out, and Spencer wanted to catch a few ball games.

When Spencer called him yesterday, he’d accepted and just now realized how lucky he was, standing in the warm Toronto sun, anticipating a cold beer and a hot dog, a good game and companionship with the lead cop on the case who saved his life a few weeks ago.

He took in a deep breath and thanked God he was still standing. Two weeks ago he had been shot and was about to be kicked off the edge of a cliff, but Spencer had showed up in time. Drake had picked up a baseball bat and broke the shooter’s head as bullets zinged by him.

He laughed. A baseball bat stopped the madness, and here he was, about to watch the game of baseball.

Weird how shit works out.

A hand slapped his shoulder and he jumped.

“I found a great spot up close,” Spencer said as he joined him in line. “Wow, slow lineup.” He looked at his watch. “Oh well, we still have over an hour before the game starts.”

“Spencer, I wanted to thank you for taking me out to the ball game today.”

“Whoa, you gonna start singing?”

“No, no, just, it feels good to be out again.”

Spencer stepped back a little and faced Drake. “You almost got killed. It’s about time you started living.”

“I know, I know, but it’s over. What I have to live with now is the threat of Ferenci. He left me that note and no one has been able to find him. He could be anywhere, lurking around with a gun, anxious to put a few holes in me.”

“We have guys looking for him as we speak. I’m here with you and I’m armed. You’re safe. Everything will be okay.”

“I’m excited about this … so why do I feel spooked?” Drake asked as the line moved forward. “I know this is my first time in public again, but it’s over, right?”

Spencer tapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve got your back.”

They made it to the ticket window, bought their tickets and started for the doors.

“We got great seats,” Spencer said. “We’re about eight rows up from the third baseline. This’ll be awesome.”

They entered the stadium and walked through security, Spencer showing his detective ID. After collecting a couple beers and hotdogs, they made their way toward the seats.

Drake’s uneasy feeling increased. There were too many people. It felt like some of them were staring at him. He’d seen uniformed officers walking among the patrons too.

“Spencer, why are there so many uniformed cops here?”

“That’s normal at a major event like this. They hire them for security.” He stopped talking to drink from his beer cup. “You’ll see them out on the field too. Very common. Nothing to worry about. There’s been no call for beefed-up security. This is completely normal.”

Drake took a long swallow of his Canadian Ice beer and followed Spencer to their seats. They walked down the cement steps until they reached their row, edged in and sat down.

The field seemed massive as was the roof, which sat open for the game. Drake was happy he’d brought his sunglasses. The sun beat down on them and would continue to for the next few hours.

Maybe I should’ve brought sunblock.

Spencer looked at his watch. “The game doesn’t start for another forty-five minutes yet. Once it does start, if those two seats four rows up aren’t taken, we’re moving closer to the action. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Drake knew he should be having a blast, but the ominous feeling wouldn’t abate. Something bothered him deeper than his reluctance to come out in public after what had happened to him just weeks ago.

It was like someone was watching him. Would today be the day Ferenci tried to kill him as he had threatened two weeks ago? Would Spencer be able to stop it?

Drake took another long gulp of his beer and decided to let it go. He’d never be able to enjoy the game if he constantly thought about Ferenci. That part of his life was over. The cops would pick up Ferenci and all would be well with the world again.

Drake looked down and saw he’d almost finished his beer.

“Spencer, I’m going to head back up and grab another one. It went down too quick.”

“Get me one too,” Spencer said, handing Drake a twenty. “If I’m not here when you get back, I’ll be in those two seats up ahead.”

“Got it,” Drake said and headed up the stairs.

His shoulders shuddered with the distinct feeling of being watched.

Chapter 5

Elmore got to the bottom of the stairs and stopped. He admired what he’d created. Two cages, both with vertical bars for a door, the walls made of cement blocks he’d piled to the roof. He couldn’t believe he had done so well. Over two years of having multiple women and not a single problem. No police nosing around. Not a single escapee.

And there never will be. My house is a fortress.

Jackie lay on the cot, wrapped in the thin blanket he allowed her to have. He smiled at the thought of the fun they’d had, but it was time for her to go. She disgusted him now. She had brought this on. It was her fault. Having to deal with her caused him stress. If only she’d been better, nicer.

Why couldn’t you have been stronger? Like a Sarah? I might have kept you longer.

He stepped closer to the bars and stared down at her. Under the thin sheet, she was dressed in panties. That was the only clothes any of his girls were allowed to wear. The panties were changed twice a day and then they were shipped out to men all over the globe who yearned for the smell of a woman. If Jackie only knew how much money she had made him, she would be surprised he had to dispose of her.

The table behind him had all the tools he’d need. Elmore stepped over to it, grabbed a book of matches and a nail clipper and walked back to the cell door. He tore off one match, lit it and then tossed it at Jackie. The lit match almost extinguished itself in flight, but made it to her skin and flared out. Jackie moved a little in her sleep.

He tore off three matches, lit all of them together and tossed the trio at her. This batch stayed aflame better and landed on her ankle. It burned bright for a moment — then Jackie jumped and screamed.

They never seem to get used to the burning.

Jackie got to her feet and stood in the middle of her cell, staring at him. He knew she would be afraid as this wasn’t a normal visit. The clock on the cell wall had a purpose. He came with breakfast and he came with dinner. Then he came at nine in the evening, on the dot, every night and they were to be ready for him. With dinner, Jackie received a wet cloth and enough water to bathe and a new pair of panties. She knew, one odor, one speck of dirt on her person, and she would pay dearly. She had learned early. Pain was a serious motivator.

Elmore held the nail clipper out until it reached between the bars. Jackie hesitated for only a moment, then stepped closer in her bare feet and took the clipper.

Without a word, she attended to her fingernails. He’d been letting her grow them lately as her time with him was coming to a close.

The thrill of a new girl always stirred things in him that a girl of six months could never do. He would grab one this week or next week from the studio. It would be easy. The stupid girls put themselves out there, naive and vulnerable, almost announcing to the world that they want to be taken.

They show up at his studio to do a photo shoot in a pair of panties. During the shoot, they spill their life story. Mother doesn’t love them, family disowned them, living on the streets or with friends. No one knows they’re there, but they needed some quick cash. He butters them up and offers a premium contract for the studio that’s north of Toronto. To consider the job, they could come and see the studio. After agreeing, they end up in his cage. The cameras at L’Amore Studio would show the photo shoot, how professional it was and then the girl getting paid and leaving. What the camera doesn’t show was the girl walking out to the alley and getting in his car. No camera, or no one, ever set eyes on them again.