They Never Die Quietly (2010) (23 page)

Still fuming and injured from her confrontation with Simon, Sami stepped into the shower stall and let the warm water soothe her skin. So inflamed with anger, she grit her teeth fiercely. The mere fact that she stood naked washing her hair and body as nonchalantly as she might at home, completely disregarding the distinct possibility that Simon could wander in at any minute, proved beyond a reasonable doubt that her rational mind was nowhere to be found. Was she as mad as he?

As Sami showered, she kept one eye on Angelina's blurry image through the cloudy glass doors, occasionally sliding the door open and asking if Angelina was okay. Her daughter sat on the bathroom floor playing with Legos. A quick shower was all she needed. Just enough to clear the cobwebs and tend to her injury.

The muscles in her lower back, which had been feeling fine, were again throbbing. When Simon twisted her wrist and forced her to the floor, she had felt a twinge in her pelvis. The twinge subsided but not before the muscles twisted into a knot. If she wasn't careful, the knotted muscles would spasm and bring her to her knees. She could not afford to be physically impaired. In the past, pulsing hot water loosened the taut muscles. She hoped that once again her home therapy would be successful.

If ever she needed to rouse instincts for self-preservation and tap her sense of reason and logic, it was now. She had lost control, and that posed great danger. To survive, Sami had to tame these incensed emotions and proceed logically. The mere thought of Simon "adopting" Angelina infuriated her beyond any rage she'd ever felt. He had now signed a declaration of war, and Sami wasn't going to surrender without a fight. Her motherly instincts shifted into a no-holds-barred frame of mind, but she had to harness these emotions and focus her energy on a strategy.

As she turned in lazy circles, she couldn't help but marvel at the quality and craftsmanship Simon had employed when designing this self-contained studio in the basement of a madman's home. To her it represented a prison. Why would he spend so much money on a facility whose only purpose was to accommodate "sinners" awaiting execution? Further proof that the depths of his insanity had no boundaries.

The psychotherapy was over. Sami would now engage in a bare-knuckles fight. She already learned a bitter lesson: trying to outwit Simon and beat him at a game of chess proved futile. He was too shrewd for an easy checkmate. This battle would indeed be won by the most fit gladiator; a clash to the death. As much as she abhorred the thought, her only chance of survival--unless Al and a posse of detectives showed up with a battering ram and rescued her--would be to physically defend herself, even if that meant fatally injuring Simon. Somewhere in this prison she had to find something she could use as a weapon.

Under the circumstances, the act of violence itself did not bother Sami. She had been placed in a life-threatening situation, and any measure of self-defense, no matter how brutal, would never be questioned. It wasn't in her nature to harm another human, but when she thought about the women Simon had crucified, about the children who were left motherless, about the irrevocable damage to which Angelina had already been exposed, her blood ran cold. Yes, Samantha Rizzo could indeed kill this vile monster. In fact, a part of her derived great excitement in anticipating how it might feel to strangle the bastard with her bare hands. She was no longer a detective governed by rules of conduct. She now assumed the role of hostage and potential victim. And any measures she employed to defend herself would never assault her conscience.

There was, however, another alarming issue flashing through Sami's thoughts: How could Sami protect Angelina from witnessing such a savage act of violence? She could not predict how events would unfold. As of yet she didn't even have a plan. In her mind's eye Sami saw an image of herself bludgeoning Simon to death like a wild woman, while Angelina stood to the side watching in horror. How could a young impressionable mind ever erase such a horrific image? Sami had no choice. She didn't know how, but she would find a way to shield Angelina from watching her mother assaulting another human. If she could not, she'd face the consequences later.

Simon didn't know how extensively Sami had been trained in self-defense. She knew exactly where to hit an assailant to incapacitate him. Her earlier exhibition had been driven by anger instead of logic, and the first commandment of self-defense was to remain calm and clear-minded. The second, equally important, was to wait for your opponent to attack first. To maintain her composure and suppress a flood of out-of-control emotions would prove to be a monumental task.

When Sami stepped out of the shower, she dried herself with a thick bath towel, then wrapped it around her body and dried her hair with a smaller towel.

She cringed at the mere thought of wearing her dirty underwear. As she slipped them over her feet her face puckered like she just bit into a lemon. Disgusting, she thought. After quietly dressing in front of Angelina, who still occupied herself with the Legos, Sami found a hair dryer in the vanity and dried her hair.

In less than three hours, Simon would walk through the steel door with intentions of crucifying Sami, and here she stood like a teenager getting ready for a prom.

"Are you hungry, sweetheart?"

Angelina vigorously nodded. "Really, really hungry, Mommy."

"Want lunch?"

"Can we go to McDonald's?"

"Maybe tomorrow, honey. How about some chicken noodle soup?"

Angelina wrinkled her nose. "Okay."

After lunch, Sami planned to check every square inch of this prison. Six p.m. drew near. Somewhere in the confines of these soundproof walls were a weapon and a plan.

Al forced two bites of the grilled ham and cheese sandwich down his throat, dropped it on the plate, then nibbled on cold French fries. Of all the terrific places to eat in Mission Valley, he'd chosen Nikolos' Diner, a fast-food restaurant heavy on the grease and light on the quality. Al would be willing to wager a hefty bankroll that the chewy ham had once belonged to a pig old enough to collect Social Security. Sometimes he wondered if he purposely punished himself.

With the innumerable resources available to the police department, Al could not fathom how Simon's home address remained such a mystery. The lunatic had to live somewhere! It
was
possible that Simon lived with a roommate. And if his roommate was the primary resident, Simon's name might not appear on anything. Based on what Al had learned about sociopaths, it seemed unlikely that a man as antisocial as he could tolerate a roommate. Then again, who could figure out the pretzel logic of a serial killer?

Even more than trying to locate Simon's mysterious residence, the possibility that Simon held Sami and Angelina in some remote cabin or abandoned barn, miles away from civilization, troubled Al even more. If Davison called back with good news, it did not guarantee that Sami and Angelina were held captive in Simon's home. Another reason for Al to temper even the slightest optimism.

The waitress, a woman in her mid-twenties who looked like she could star in an MTV video, pink hair and all, topped off his coffee cup for the third time in ten minutes. Her flirtatious smiles and constant doting were less than inconspicuous.

She stopped chomping on a wad of bubble gum long enough to speak and pointed to his sandwich. "Anything wrong with your lunch?"

"It's a culinary triumph."

She set the coffeepot on the corner of the table and planted her hands on her hips. "You're not a regular, are ya?"

"Not hardly."

She glanced over both shoulders checking to see if anyone stood within earshot. "The food really sucks here, doesn't it?" She bent forward and spoke softly. "I get my meals for free but bring a sandwich from home. Can you believe that this joint's been in business since the early sixties?" She shook her head. "Amazing what crap people'll put in their bodies."

Al found her candor amusing.

"Bet you can't guess who ate here yesterday."

"A critic from
Food & Wine
?"

She giggled. "Carlos Valdez." He was the all-star second baseman for the San Diego Padres. "Right where you're sitting. In this exact booth."

"What did he eat?"

"Apple pie a la mode." She whispered again. "The desserts are good cuz they're from Leo's Bakery."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Know what? He left me a fifty-dollar tip."

"I'm afraid twenty percent is the best I can do."

"Oh, don't get me wrong. I wasn't hinting that you--"

"Can I have the check, please?"

She licked her ruby-painted lips. "Sure thing." She tore it off the pad. "Um...I get off work at six. Can I buy you a beer?"

"I don't drink."

"How about a cappuccino?"

He glanced at her name tag. "I'd love to, Lisa, but I've got other plans."

"Married?"

He shook his head.

"Got a main squeeze?"

He shook his head again.

"You're not that kind of guy?"

"Precisely. I'm gay."

It took Lisa less than ten seconds to drop the guest check on the table and beeline for the kitchen.

Al sat in his car, staring at the cellular telephone, urgently wishing it would ring. His instincts were again warning him of the unthinkable: the possibility that neither technology nor desire could rescue Sami and Angelina. He felt the helpless desperation quietly eroding away at the little remaining optimism. He neared the crucible, a point of no return, a time at which the glass would be half empty instead of half full. If Davison's call wasn't positive, Al would slip into a state of utter shock.

The cell phone rang and Al snatched it and flipped it open.

"This is Diaz."

"We checked with every California utility provider, Al, and came up with a goose egg," Captain Davison said.

These were not the words Al wanted to hear. "Is this some kind of perverse fucking joke?"

"I wish the hell it was. I've had a powwow in my office for the last thirty minutes, trying to brainstorm how to find this slimeball. Even got the FBI involved." There was a long pause. "We're lost, Al. I don't know where to go from here."

From his back pocket, he removed the receipt he'd found in the trash barrel at Benson Ford. He stared at it blankly. East County Lawn and Garden in El Cajon was about a twenty-minute ride. If someone there didn't know where Simon Kwosokowski lived...

"Al?"

"Yeah."

"I'm...sorry."

The captain's voice reeked of resignation. Al wanted to curl up in the fetal position and wither away. But he had to pull himself together and drive to El Cajon. He told Captain Davison about the lawn-and-garden receipt.

"Have you sent someone to watch her house for any activity, captain?"

"Around the clock."

"And you've got someone calling her home, cell phone, and mother's house regularly?"

"On the half hour."

A long silence.

Davison breathed heavily into the phone. "If you need anything, call me immediately."

Sami lifted Angelina onto her lap. "Would you like to play hide-and-seek?"

Angelina's face lit up. "Yes, Mommy."

Sami wasn't completely comfortable with her plan, but at least she had one. She'd learned through her martial arts training that a rational person had a definite advantage over an opponent driven by anger. And although size did play a role, a clever David could almost always overcome a crazed Goliath. If she could incense Simon to a point at which he'd be consumed with blind rage, she'd have the upper hand. She needed to provoke him beyond reason. A dangerous strategy, especially considering his strength. When he grabbed her wrist and twisted her body to the floor, she felt his power. But she did not have the luxury of options.

"Do you remember how to play, honey?"

Angelina pressed her index finger against her lips. "
Shh.
You have to be really, really quiet." She thought for a moment. "And hide in a really, really dark place."

"That's right, sweetheart. And if you hear a lot of noise and screaming, what do you do?"

"Don't be afraid?"

"Very good."

Although Sami's lower back still felt tight and could easily worsen, she had to risk injuring it further and paying the painful price. To support her ailing back muscles, Sami tore the bed sheets into several wide strips, wrapped them around the small of her back, and tightly tied them at her waist. The makeshift brace would not offer as much support as the elastic back brace she'd purchased from her chiropractor, but at least it might help.

Careful to use her leg muscles and upper-body strength, Sami pushed the love seat across the concrete floor. Her back retaliated with a stablike pain. She took a breath, bit her lower lip, and barricaded the love seat snugly against the steel door. She realized that the barrier served merely as a temporary safety net, and that Simon would find a way to break down the door even if she wedged the Rock of Gibraltar against it. By postponing Simon's entry though, she hoped to buy enough time to get Angelina settled inside the tall broom closet in the kitchen, and of course to infuriate him.

Sitting on the mattress, Angelina curiously watched her mother moving furniture. "What you doing, Mommy?"

How could she possibly explain her strange behavior to a two-year-old? "When I'm finished, I'll tell you, honey."

Next, Sami dragged the armchair across the floor and tipped the back forward so it leaned against the love seat. Standing upright, holding her lower back, she looked around the room.

Selectively using the siren, Al raced east on Freeway 8 at breakneck speed. Staying in the left passing lane, he occasionally encountered a driver actually observing the speed limit, which in Southern California seemed as rare as July rain. With a quick blast of his siren, panicky drivers couldn't get out of his way fast enough. He exited on El Cajon Boulevard and pulled into the first service station he spotted. The young attendant told Al to drive three blocks, turn left, and continue for about five miles. East County Lawn and Garden would be on the right.