The Dead Place (29 page)

Kate swam toward consciousness slowly. Her body felt oddly heavy and ached all over, as if she’d done something physically taxing and her muscles were spent. She tried to lift her head, wincing at the fresh pain that erupted with the tiniest movement. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. She tasted blood, and when she licked her lips, salt.

“Wake up.” The voice came from far away. Something tapped against her cheek, a steady beat of small blows. She pulled away from it and someone laughed, and then a hard hand caught her chin and yanked her head up.

Kate opened her eyes and saw Dr. Beetleman in front of her, holding her jaw in one large, leather-gloved hand. She jerked back, only to howl in agony as her arms protested. They were chained above her head, wrists cuffed together and suspended from an iron hook. Her toes were on the floor, but her legs were too weak to hold her.

“Don’t worry, it will wear off.” Dr. Beetleman spoke calmly. He waved something small and black in front of her. “A stun gun. Gift from my younger son. I’ll admit that I was disappointed when he wanted to go into police work. I’d given him so many opportunities, so many, and yet he chose something so ordinary.” He imbued the word with disgust. Then he smiled, his fleshy lips curving upward, but his strange gray eyes unchanging. It was like watching a circling shark. She recoiled and he laughed.

“Where’s Grace?”

“Where she belongs.”

“If you’ve hurt her I’ll kill you.” It was a ludicrous threat, and he ignored it.

“You’re a big disappointment to me, Kate.”

“Not as big as you are to me.”

He laughed again. A harsh sound, like metal beating rock. There was no real humor in it. He stroked the side of her cheek with his gloved hand. “Such a pretty face, but too much talk. Your husband should have curbed your tongue years ago.”

“Your wife should have cut out yours.”

The blow caught her flat against the side of her face. She swallowed the cry that rose from her throat, but couldn’t stop the tears stinging her eyes. They trailed down her cheeks, and through their haze she saw his pleasure at the sight of them.

“Your mouth could be put to such better uses. Did your husband never teach you that? Ian has been so lax.” He made a tsk-ing sound. She looked past him, trying to find Grace. Through the doorway she could see the dog bowls and chain. The chain disappeared beyond the doorway. Was Grace attached to it?

“It’s a pity we don’t have more time. I could train you to put it to better use.” He blocked her line of sight. “What are you looking for?”

“The police. They’re on the way here right now.”

“The police?” He sounded delighted. “Somehow I really doubt that. You see, the police think you’re crazy, Kate. Just another out-of-control artist. They probably attribute it to drug use.” He imitated someone popping pills.

“How are you going to explain this to your wife?”

Another ringing blow. Kate’s teeth scraped the side of her mouth. She tasted more blood.

“Don’t you dare talk about my wife!” There was no more affability in Laurence Beetleman’s voice. This was raw anger, and for the first time she saw him as a killer.

He said as if he could read her thoughts, “You’re going to die, Kate, and it’s so unnecessary.” He reached out a hand to cup her breast through her sweater, and she flinched. He laughed, squeezed harder. “We’ll have some fun before you go, don’t worry.”

“Let go of me.”

In answer, he put both of his massive hands on her sweater and ripped it down the middle exposing her breasts. She pulled away, but he simply hooked one hand into the waistband of her jeans and yanked her back, the other hand scooping her breasts free of her bra. He dandled them as if they were fruit. “Just as lovely as I remembered. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen these.”

His words made her as nauseated as his touch. He’d seen her breasts before? When? He looked into her face, and must have seen her confusion because he laughed again and said, “You don’t remember? Let me refresh your memory.”

He dropped her breasts and walked away. She was shaking. Her arms wouldn’t last much longer. Already, it felt as if they’d been pulled too far from their sockets. She tried to see where he’d gone, but he was out of her line of sight and all she could hear were his footsteps. She looked the other way, trying to swing in her bonds, hoping to catch a glimpse of her daughter. Had he hurt her?

As softly as she could, she whispered, “Grace?”

The chain in the doorway moved a little and then Grace came into view, scrambling over the pallet closer to the dog bowls so she could catch a glimpse of her mother. Beetleman had taken off Kate’s coat and Grace was naked again, her body looking bluish and bruised in the poor light. New tears clouded Kate’s vision. She mouthed, “I love you,” but Grace simply stared at her with large, frightened eyes, her long limbs tucked close to her body.

“Do you remember me?”

The sibilant whisper electrified Kate. She swung around and stared, a horrified cry caught in her throat. Her rapist stood in front of her. She’d know him anywhere, the same balaclava, the same dark jacket and pants. Above all, the same voice, that frightening hiss that came to her in her dreams. Her whole body shook as he walked slowly toward her.

“I see you do remember,” the snakelike voice said, and then he stood face-to-face with her and she looked into cold gray eyes and knew it was Beetleman.

Ian parked behind Laurence Beetleman’s brown sedan and tramped to the front door, snow spilling into his shoes and soaking the bottom two inches of his khakis. He rang the bell and stood shivering on the porch. He’d left the house without a coat, and the V-necked sweater he wore over his button-down shirt wasn’t nearly enough protection from a twenty-degree day.

There was no answer. He thought he saw movement in one of the leaded glass panels flanking the front door, and tried to peer through it. Something dark passed over it, but he couldn’t be sure it was a person. He rang the bell again, but no one came.

He glanced back at the street where Beetleman’s car was parked, and then up at the house. He walked over to one of the curtained windows, but could see only the glistening lights of a Christmas tree through the lace. Maybe they couldn’t hear the bell. Or maybe they didn’t want to answer. He hurried back down the walk, flapping his arms against the cold, and tramped across the lawn to the fence that enclosed the backyard.

Snow had accumulated against the fence line, and after he’d reached over to unlatch the gate, Ian had to put his shoulder against the wooden slats to shove the door open far enough to pass through.

In a corner of the yard was a small cottage. Dr. Beetleman’s studio. Ian remembered seeing it when he’d been here for the party back in September, but he’d forgotten all about it in the months since. The place looked deserted, but a light from the Beetlemans’ deck illuminated the wide expanse of fresh snow, unbroken except for a single set of footprints heading from the house to the studio.

Ian followed them, running through the falling snow as best as he could, his feet sinking into drifts as high as mid-calf.

“Stop right there!” The voice reached him at the same moment as the distinct click. It was the sound of a gun being cocked. Ian spun around. Clara Beetleman stood at the edge of the deck wearing a padded green coat and a pair of high black rubber boots. Her arms were locked in front of her and in her hands was a small, black gun.

“You!” Kate cried, and Beetleman laughed.

“Yes, it’s me. Surprise.” He grinned, and with the mask his face looked like a death’s-head. “The arts center needs support at the very top. That idiot Virgoli doesn’t have the skills, other people didn’t have the credentials or right frame of mind, but then I found Ian Corbin. He’d spearheaded similar, albeit smaller, projects and was eager to try his hand at something bigger. Eager to get the recognition he deserved. He was the right candidate to champion my project. It was all perfect, except for one little impediment.” He tapped Kate lightly on the forehead. “You.”

“You hid in my studio?” She was ashamed that her voice shook. She didn’t want to show her fear.

“Yes. It was quite easy. There’s very little security in those old buildings and such convenient fire escapes. And you were so predictable. It was easy to find out when you’d be there. I just had to wait.”

“Why?” The question slipped out before she could stop it. He actually chuckled.

“You were ambivalent about moving to our nice little town, so I needed to give you an incentive.”

“You bastard.”

A gloved hand whipped up and wrapped around her throat before she could react, and then he squeezed. “Careful, Kate, I might have to bridle you.”

He pressed his body against hers, moved his face in close. She could smell his fetid breath and the leather from his gloves. The hiss of his voice circled her, became all the noise in the room, as he choked tighter and tighter. Somewhere, dimly, she was aware of Grace whimpering. His face was disappearing behind constellations. She could feel her consciousness slipping away and she would die here, now, in this basement. He would take her body to the same river where he’d left Lily Slocum and Elizabeth Hirsh and she would float in that darkness forever.

Her feet brushed the floor, she pushed with them, trying to escape. The feel of him hard against her repulsed her. In desperation she brought her knee up as hard as she could, ramming it into his crotch.

He yelled and released her throat, falling back, his hands cupping the front of his pants. She sucked in air with a deep inhale and kicked him again as hard as she could, aiming for his ribs this time and feeling a satisfying crunch as she connected.

Already off balance, Beetleman crashed to the ground, the keys flying from his hand and skittering across the floor. He was on his side, moaning, and she tried to reach the keys with her feet. Even if she grabbed them, there was no way she could use them. She kicked them instead, stubbing her toes against the concrete before one kick connected and she sent them sailing farther out of the room.

Grace was huddled on the pallet, her hands wrapped around her head. “Grace, the keys! Grab the keys!”

At her mother’s voice, she looked up and stared from her mother to the keys. “Can you get them, sweetie?” Kate said. “See if you can get them.”

Grace ran out the line of the chain, but she was still too far. “I can’t reach them!”

“Try again. You’ve got to try! Lie down on your stomach and stretch across the floor.”

Beetleman rolled onto his knees, pushing himself up. Kate swung forward and kicked him again as hard as she could in the stomach. He collapsed with a loud groan.

Grace stretched out on her stomach and reached across the concrete. The keys were less than two inches away, tantalizingly just out of reach. She strained against the ankle cuff, stretching her body as far as it would go. Kate could see the outline of every vertebra in her spine and every knuckle in her long, white hands. Grace began crying. “I can’t do it, Mom! I can’t!”

“Yes you can,” Kate called. “Try again, Grace, try!”

Blood spilled from the thin skin just above Grace’s foot from the heavy shackle digging into her ankle as she pulled as far as she could. Her arms strained against their sockets like her mother’s as her hands stretched across the concrete. She grazed the keys and then, miraculously, her middle finger closed over the tip of one.

Ever so slowly, inch by inch, she pulled the keys back toward her. Finally, with a cry of triumph, she clasped them in her hand.

“Good girl!” Kate cried. She glanced down at Beetleman who was moving on the floor. They didn’t have long. Grace freed herself and ran, crying to her mother, stepping over Beetleman to get to her side.

“It’s too high,” Kate said of her own chained hands. “You need something to stand on.”

“I don’t know if there is anything.” Grace leapt over Beetleman and ran from the room, her ankle dripping blood.

Kate could hear her searching. “Can you find a chair?”

Grace came back in the room dragging a large, black case. “It’s the only thing I could find—I hope it’s high enough.” She pushed it next to her mother and clambered on top while Kate tried to steady it with one leg.

Grace’s fingers moved over the metal cuffs. “I can’t see,” she said, struggling to insert the key. All at once it connected, the cuff opened, and one of Kate’s arms flopped down. The other cuff followed and Kate dropped. Her fall upset the case and Grace landed on top of her.

“C’mon.” Kate used her legs to scramble up and Grace followed, but Beetleman’s hand closed over Grace’s injured ankle.

“You’re not going anywhere, slave,” he hissed.

Grace screamed and Kate swung around. “Hit him!” she yelled.

Grace balled up the fist clutching the keys and clouted Beetleman with all her strength on the side of his head. His eyes rolled back and his hand slid from her ankle as he clunked back onto the floor.

They ran for the stairs, but when they got to the top the door was closed and no amount of pushing would open it. Grace tried all of the keys on the ring, but none of them fit the lock.

“They don’t work!”

“Try again! I can’t do it.” Kate massaged each sore arm with the other, watching as Grace took the keys one by one, but without any luck. The key for this lock wasn’t on the ring. “He must be carrying the key for the door. We have to go back.”