The small co-op apartment was his private escape. The single room was spare, dominated by a bed, a California king, draped by a luxurious, silk duvet cover in ruby red. Voluminous curtains in a shocking vermilion, and a large formal desk in cherry wood completed the womb-like interior.
Taking a seat at his desk, he unconsciously drummed his fingers on the blotter. The call was scheduled to take place in ten minutes. Ten more minutes before he knew whether this would be another lead that fizzled.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
His widowed mother’s death left him the sole beneficiary of an insurance policy that numbered in the millions. Conservative but intelligent investments, coupled with a frugal lifestyle, had allowed him the freedom to more or less do as he pleased.
He did not consider his approach to women to be a fetish, or even peculiar, for that matter. He liked his ladies to be loose, with few morals. The looser the better. Whores intrigued him. He paid for their services and there were few complications.
Occasionally, hookers weren’t enough and he took what he had to have by force. It wasn’t rape. Every woman wanted it. Despite their protests—their tears and begging—he read between the words, understanding that no meant yes, that please meant thank you.
His victims adhered to his warning. Most believed him when he said that seeking revenge, or contacting the authorities, would lead to dire circumstances. Except for one young girl in New Jersey, who pulled a knife on him.
He never lost consciousness, but there had been so much blood he thought he had been blinded. The sight of the hellacious scar still enraged him today. Nothing could ease the humiliation of being bested by that girl.
Years of private detectives yielded nothing. Tens of thousands of dollars spent tracking down false leads, from New Jersey to Los Angeles, Maine to Florida. It seemed the girl had disappeared.
Tonight he waited once again, aged fifty-two and running out of patience.
When the phone rang, he quickly snatched the receiver in hand.
The voice at the other end spoke in a monotone. “We found her.”
The man practically jumped out of his chair. “I beg your pardon?”
“We found her,” the voice repeated.