Sudden Guilt (A Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order) Page 8
The ladder jerked away from the wall and sounded like thunder when it slammed to the floor.
Paige muscled up and held her breath.
Her heart raced.
Ten seconds later a light came from under the door, meaning the man was in the darkroom, heading here next.
If he came in and saw no one here, he’d look on top of the drawers and find both of them.
Paige jumped down and landed on her side just before the door opened.
A HAND WENT TO THE LIGHT SWITCH and the room suddenly sprang to life. The man wore no shirt and towered over her. His body was massive and muscled beyond belief. He had a lion’s mane of thick blond hair.
“Who are you?” he asked.
The tone gripped her so hard that she didn’t talk.
She’d heard it before.
It meant violence.
“Answer me!” he said.
Before she could say anything he slapped her across the face, with an open palm, but still strong enough to make colors flash. Ta’Veya suddenly appeared in her peripheral vision, getting ready to jump on him.
“No!” Paige shouted.
“No? Come here,” the man said.
Then he jerked her up, scooped her under his left arm and slammed the door shut as he carried her out of the room.
HE THREW HER ON THE MATTRESS, roughly, not caring if she broke her neck.
She could only think of one thing.
He didn’t recognize her.
He truly didn’t know who she was, meaning he wasn’t the man behind the scrambled voice.
“Don’t move!” he said.
She watched him walk across the floor, moving like a wild animal. He returned with a pair of scissors and rope. Then he hogtied her, tighter than tight, and cut her clothes off, every stitch of them.
“I think I made some kind of mistake—”
“No kidding.”
He smacked her on the side of the head.
Colors flashed as he gagged her.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Day Four—May 8
Thursday Afternoon
______________
NOW THAT MARILYN POPPENBERG wasn’t the woman from the boxcar, Teffinger intercepted Katie Baxter at the coffee pot and told her he was getting out of her way so she could run with the case.
She made a face.
“Finally, something to do.”
“It’s all part of my evil plan to keep you from having a life,” he said.
“Such a guy.”
He headed to his desk which was over by the snake plant, out in the main room with everyone else. As the head of the homicide unit he had every right to occupy the office down the hall, the one with four walls and a door that actually closed. When he got promoted into the position three years ago he actually sat in that room for a couple of days before he realized it was too close to the chief’s office and too far from the coffee.
And too much like an elevator.
Leigh disappeared early in the morning with a list of Ford Mustang owners. Ten of them were men. She wanted to talk to each of them, face to face, to get a personal feel for whether they were the one behind the collar.
She showed up at headquarters mid-afternoon, poured a cup of decaf and slumped in the chair in front of Teffinger’s desk.
“I talked to all the men but two,” she said. “None of ’em got me excited.”
Teffinger frowned.
“Not even a little?”
She shrugged.
“If we had endless resources, maybe one or two,” she said. “But none I could justify throwing money at today.”
Suddenly Sydney appeared, gave Leigh a quick hug, and sat down in the other chair looking excited. She ignored Teffinger and focused on the profiler.
“You wanted to know if any women disappeared who fit the guy’s profile,” she said.
Meaning young and attractive.
Leigh perked up.
“Right. You got someone?”
“Maybe—”
ACCORDING TO SYDNEY, a woman by the name of Rain St. John may have vanished this morning. A couple of old ladies found her purse lying in the middle of the sidewalk on Bannock around ten o’clock. Nothing appeared to be missing. Her keys, wallet and cell phone were all safe and sound inside. The wallet still had everything in it, including her driver’s license, two credit cards and $126 in cold hard cash.
“They turned in cash?” Teffinger asked.
“Yeah. It happens all the time.”
“Not on the planet Denver it doesn’t.”
Apparently Rain St. John was on her way to a girlfriend’s by the name of Megan Foster. They were going to get their hair done and Megan was going to drive. Rain called her and said she was parking her car and would be there in five minutes.
But she didn’t show up.
Not in five minutes.
Or ten.
Or thirty.
“Megan kept calling the Rain woman on her cell phone,” Sydney said. “When she never answered, Megan walked down the street and found her car. That’s when she decided things were weird enough that she should make a report.”
Her car was two blocks away.
The old ladies found the purse between the car and Megan Foster’s house.
She hadn’t shown up at any of the metro hospitals. Nor did she have a history of medical problems.
“What does she look like?” Leigh asked.
“Let’s just say no one would kick her out of bed.”
Leigh nodded.
Then looked at Teffinger.
“Sounds like it’s worth a look,” she said.
Teffinger looked at Sydney.
“Does the woman live alone or with someone?”
Sydney shrugged.
“Don’t know. Why?”
“Do me a favor and find out,” he said. “If she lives with someone, then get a consent to enter. If you can’t get consent or if she lives by herself then work up a search warrant. Either way I want to be walking through her door in two hours.”
Sydney rolled her eyes.
“Nick, I was just relaying information, not volunteering for work,” she said.
Teffinger cocked his head.
“That’s the problem with being the messenger,” he said. “You can get killed.”
AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER, Teffinger and Leigh knocked on the door of Rain St. John’s brick bungalow on Grant Street and got no answer. One of the keys from the missing woman’s purse fit the door.
Teffinger opened it and stuck his head in.
“Police. We have a search warrant.”
No response.
Leigh pushed through and said, “Let’s see what we have.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Day Four—May 8
Thursday Afternoon
______________
WHEN TARZAN FINALLY REMOVED THE GAG, Paige immediately sucked air and didn’t make a sound. She didn’t scream, mostly because more than anything in the world she didn’t want him to shove the gag in her face again; but also because she didn’t want Ta’Veya thinking she needed to run out and save her. Their only chance at getting out of this alive was if Ta’Veya had enough smarts to bide her time and escape.
From her hogtied position, she twisted her head up to gauge the man’s anger.
He was visibly calmer now.
“The ropes hurt,” she said.
“Shut up,” he said.
Ten minutes later he untied her and walked over to the fridge for another beer. She sat up, rubbed the circulation back into her wrists and looked for a weapon.
Scissors.
An ashtray.
Whatever.
About the best she could see was a sharpened pencil on the computer desk more than ten steps away.
If she attacked him she’d better kill him.
A pencil would only get him mad.
He took a long swallow of beer, about a third of the bottle, and said, “Lay down on the floor in f
ront of the drums, on your back.”
She did.
Still naked.
With her legs pressed together and her hands covering her breasts.
“Put your arms above your head,” he said.
She obeyed.
“Now spread your legs.”
She did.
“Wider.”
She chewed on her lower lip, almost got up and ran, but then remembered Ta’Veya and did as she was told.
“Now don’t move a muscle. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“After I relax a little we’re going to talk,” he said. “You’re going to tell me what you’re doing here and why you were trying to copy my computer files. Then I’m going to decide the appropriate punishment. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you think that’s fair?”
She knew better than to give him the wrong answer.
“Yes.”
SUDDENLY “SWEET CHILD OF MINE” filled the room, incredibly loud and extremely clear, pounding out of very expensive speakers. He walked over and stood above her, one foot on each side of her stomach.
“What’s your name?”
Her first instinct was to lie.
But she didn’t know how much trouble that would get her in if he found out.
“Paige,” she said.
“Paige what?”
She bit her lip.
And made a split-second decision.
“Paige Black.”
“Are you telling me the truth, Paige Black?”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
“Because we’re going to find out and if you’re lying the punishment’s going to be severe,” he said. “Do you like this song?”
She didn’t.
But said, “Yes.”
“Me too.”
He sat down, drained the beer bottle and set it on the floor. Then he twirled a pair of drumsticks, hit the snare three times and played along. Her immediate instinct was to put her hands over her ears but she dared not move. When the song finally ended he didn’t get up, but instead sat there and twirled the sticks. Ten seconds later the song started over again.
Then again.
He was halfway through the song for the third time when Paige saw Ta’Veya sneaking up behind him.
The woman held nothing in her hand.
Not a weapon of any kind.
What was she thinking?
He’d snap her like a stick doll.
She stopped not more than two feet behind him. Then she squatted down ever so slowly and reached for the beer bottle. Tarzan must have seen her because he twisted and struck at the exact moment that she swung the glass at his head.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Day Four—May 8
Thursday Afternoon
______________
IF RAIN ST. JOHN’S HOUSE HELD ANY SECRETS regarding her disappearance, it wasn’t giving them up without a fight. To Teffinger’s eye everything looked normal. Their primary goal was to find whether the woman had been threatened or had encountered any strange bumps in the night prior to her disappearance. No messages suggesting that showed up on her answering machine. Her emails, old and new, told them nothing other than she had an extraordinary sex life.
“This girl gets horizontal more than you do,” Leigh said at one point.
“It’s not a fair comparison,” he said. “She’s obviously bi, meaning she has twice the chances.”
“Actually,” she said, “she still wins even if you take only half.”
He chuckled.
Beaten.
“She even gets more women than you do,” Leigh added.
“See, that’s where you have me wrong,” Teffinger said. “You think I’m after women all the time. Actually—and don’t you dare repeat this because I’ll deny it—all I really want is one. One good one.”
She rolled her eyes.
“And you’ll go through dozens to find her if you have to.”
He nodded.
“We’re all forced to do things we don’t particularly enjoy.”
“Please.”
“Actually,” he said, “I’m going through one right now. Or she’s going through me. I’m not sure which.”
“And?”
“What do you mean—and?”
“And is she promising?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. That’s what I’m always trying to figure out.”
“What’s her name?”
“Ta’Veya.”
“Ta’Veya what?”
He shrugged.
He didn’t know.
“You don’t know her last name?”
“Not yet.”
“Did you ask?”
“Not yet. I haven’t had a chance.”
They found a shoebox full of hundred dollar bills in the bedroom closet behind a barricade of photo albums. Teffinger counted it.
“Fifty grand exactly,” he said.
“Well that’s interesting, isn’t it?”
He stood on his tiptoes, stretched up and put it back.
“Very,” he said.
THE FRONT AND BACK DOORS got crime scene tape. Then, as long as they were in the area, they knocked at the neighbors and talked to the ones who were home.
No one had anything of interest to say.
Apparently the Rain woman was a night owl, usually sleeping until noon and then going out-and-about until the wee hours of the morning.
The guy across the street, a scrawny man with a pervert’s face by the name of Bob Sorensen said, “I don’t know much about her. To tell you the truth, I never paid that much attention to her.”
His eyes darted nervously.
Teffinger spotted a pair of binoculars on the man’s coffee table. He would have a clear shot of the woman’s bedroom from just about any window in his house.
“Okay, thanks,” Teffinger said.
IT TURNED OUT THAT LEIGH was the keynote luncheon speaker at a criminal law seminar in Las Vegas tomorrow, meaning she needed to head to the airport tonight or first thing in the morning.
“Stay over tonight,” Teffinger said. “I still need to take you for a ride in the ’67.”
“You mean that fiberglass deathtrap of yours?”
“Red fiberglass deathtrap,” he corrected her. “We can head up to the Little Bear and get a burger.”
“I’m more in the mood for a shot and a beer.”
“They got those too.”
She looked at him funny.
“What?” he asked, curious.
“Mr. Happy’s not going to come out and visit me again in the morning is he?”
Teffinger smiled.
“No,” he said. “Mr. Happy and I had a long talk.” He paused, smiled and almost added, “Maybe you two want to shake hands. Just to be sure there are no hard feelings.”
But he didn’t.
Chapter Thirty
Day Four—May 8
Thursday Afternoon
______________
AS SOON AS THE BEER BOTTLE SMASHED against his skull, Tarzan knew he’d been hurt bad. Blood immediately gushed down his forehead and into his eyes. His vision blurred but he managed to grab a fistful of his attacker’s hair. Hands pounded on his face but they couldn’t get his fingers to open.
Then something terrible happened.
Pain exploded in his back, deep and serious.
He immediately let go and twisted around but couldn’t reach the source.
He ran to the mirror to see what had happened. A pencil stuck out of his back, close to his spine, buried deep. He couldn’t reach it.
He tried again, straining even harder this time.
A door slammed.
The women were escaping and he couldn’t do a thing about it. He ran to the elevator, stumbled into the wall, and then hit the button for the ground level. As it descended he squeezed blood out of his eyes. When the doors opened he staggered towards the north wall. The t
oolbox was there on the bench exactly where it should be. He rifled through it until he found the pliers. He gripped them in his right hand, twisted his arm around and pulled the pencil out.
The pain didn’t stop but a major layer of stress peeled off.
The thing was out.
He headed back to the loft and looked at the wound in the mirror. Surprisingly it wasn’t bleeding that much. He grabbed a towel and pressed it against the opening in his head. The stream of blood immediately tapered off.
Then he laid down on the shower floor and closed his eyes, keeping the towel against his head.
He felt faint and nauseous.
IT TOOK A LONG TIME but the bleeding eventually slowed to a trickle and then stopped altogether. He brought the kitchen faucet to a lukewarm trickle and stuck his head underneath, being as careful as he could to not open the wound further.
After all the blood came out of his hair he surveyed the damage with a hand mirror. The split was about three inches long, a good candidate for ten or twelve stitches.
He cleaned it with antibacterial soap, determined that no glass splinters were inside, and wrapped gauze around his head. Then he stepped into the shower and let the stream of water clean the hole in his back.
It took a good hour to scrub the blood off the floor and drums and elevator and garage. He didn’t do a perfect job by any stretch of the imagination but did enough to get by.
Del Rae called just as he finished up.
“Bad news,” she said. “I can’t get Megan back in.”
“You tried?”
“Trust me.”
“Then screw her,” he said. “She’s dead.”
“Unfortunately she already thought of that,” Del Rae said. “She said she typed out some notes and stuck ’em in a safe deposit box for the cops to find, just in case you and me were thinking about doing something stupid.”
Aaron threw a book at the drums.
The snare crashed to the floor.
“Now she’s really dead,” he said.
WHEN HE TOLD HER WHAT HAPPENED this afternoon she asked, “What did they want?”
“I don’t have a clue,” he said. “It’s a total mystery. And the one who said her name was Paige Black lied, at least I’m pretty sure she did. There’s no such person listed in the phonebook.” He exhaled and added, “Maybe we should cool it with everything for a while.”