“Agents?”
I looked up from the notes I had jotted down. “Yes?”
“Jane Doe is back from her MRI, and Dr. Adams is with her. He should be out in just a few minutes with an update for you.”
“Wonderful.” I gave her a thank-you nod and stood. “Come on, partner. Let’s go.” I tucked my notepad back in my purse, then J.T. and I walked the fifty feet to the grouping of chairs opposite the nurses’ station. We took our seats for the umpteenth time. The ICU doors slid open a few minutes later, and Dr. Adams approached us. He sat in the chair to the left of J.T. and leaned in to talk.
“Thankfully she seems alert enough to know what’s going on. I asked her the usual questions, like what year we’re in and who the president is. She answered correctly.”
I let out a deep breath. “Thank God.”
“The MRI results showed there’s no brain swelling. All of her facial swelling is from the contusions and the ice pick injury. There’s no way of knowing if Jane has blocked out that incident or not, but I guess you’ll know once you start questioning her. If things become too taxing and stressful, I’ll have to ask you to stop for the night. I’m going to be in the room with you at all times, but I’ll be out of the way and quiet. I need to monitor her vitals. If we’re in agreement, I’ll show you in.”
I looked at J.T., my eyebrows raised with hope.
“Yes, we’re fine with everything you said. Let’s do this.”
“Okay, follow me.”
Beyond the glass doors of the ICU wing, we entered an area where a somber hush took over. Rooms were filled with patients, some barely clinging to life. The machines that monitored each breath and heartbeat, along with the whispers between the staff and families who kept vigil over their loved ones, were the only sounds in that unit. We entered cubicle six with Dr. Adams.
The back of the hospital bed was raised slightly. Jane looked the same as she had earlier except the IVs had been removed from her arms. Her eyes, although puffy, swollen, and bruised, were open. A curious expression took over her face. Even though the lights were dimmed and the blinds were drawn, there was enough clarity and focus in her eyes that I was confident she’d do fine. We closed the door and the privacy curtains behind us. Dr. Adams made the introductions then took a seat at the back of the room. J.T. and I pulled two chairs close to her bed and sat down.
J.T. spoke first. “Jane, we’re FBI agents, and we need your help. If you’re able to talk without too much pain or effort, we’d appreciate it. Otherwise, a nod is okay.”
She nodded.
“Is your name Jane Weeks?” I asked.
Her voice, although raspy, was clear. “Yes.”
“Would you like a drink of water?”
“Yes.”
I lifted the plastic cup off the rolling bed table and held it to her mouth. She gingerly sucked on the straw then nodded. I returned the cup to the table.
“Do you remember the events from yesterday?”
Tears sprang from her eyes, and the monitor beeped. Dr. Adams stood, but she shook her head.
“Yes, I remember.”
I carefully dabbed her cheeks with a tissue and continued. “Do you remember everything, including your attacker’s appearance?”
“I remember what I saw.”
I nodded to J.T. He stood and excused himself to call Spelling. We needed a sketch artist here right away.
“Jane, did he tell you his name or where he was from?”
“I assumed he was Ray, like what was written on the truck door. He didn’t say where he was from.”
“Well, he isn’t Ray. That much was a lie. The name John Pratt never came up?”
“No, sorry.”
“That’s okay. Where are your parents, and when are they coming home? We need to contact them and let them know what happened.”
“They’re in Maine, visiting my aunt and uncle.” She stared at the amount of gauze covering her arms.
“And you’re close to them?”
She nodded as more tears streamed down her cheeks.
I felt a maternal responsibility toward Jane, probably because she was only a few years younger than Amber. “Wouldn’t your parents be worried that they haven’t been able to reach you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then I need a number for either your dad or your mom.” I wrote down the number Jane recited. She said it belonged to her father. “Would you give the description of your assailant to a sketch artist? It’s imperative that we catch this maniac, and you’re the only witness we have other than a few people that saw him at night from a distance.”
“You mean I’m the only person that lived through his torture?”
I helped her with the water and steadied the straw in front of her mouth. “Yes, you’re the only person that had physical contact with him that lived, at least that we know of.”
The curtain fluttered when the door opened. J.T. was back. He nodded at me, and I knew Spelling had come through with a local sketch artist for us.
“What have we got, J.T.?”
“Spelling located the sketch artist that works with the Iroquois County Sheriff’s Department. She’ll be here in a half hour.”
“Do you need to rest, Jane, or can you tell us more?”
“I can talk.”
I squeezed her hand and was careful to avoid the stitched areas, which were everywhere. “You’re very brave, and we certainly appreciate your help. Can you start when you first had contact with him?”
She nodded and took a deep breath. “I worked in the gift shop yesterday. He strolled in kind of cocky, like he wanted to be noticed. Of course, I asked if he needed help. It’s my job. He wanted a new hat.”
“A new hat?” J.T. gave me a quick glance as he wrote.
“Yes, something a dark color, he said.”
I knew why, and by the look on J.T.’s face, he did too.
“Did he buy a hat?”
“Yes, a plain black one. He said he didn’t want any writing on it.”
That comment told me we were dealing with someone smart. He knew we had him on surveillance tape, wearing the yellow hat from Millstead Trucking. He didn’t want to give us any more clues.
“Anything else?”
Jane reached for the water. I helped her.
“Yes, he wanted stationery. All we carry at the gift shop is writing paper and envelopes, not actual matching stationery. I joked about it, and he said he wanted to write a letter because he was sentimental and had a lot of time on his hands. I guess that made me think he was a nice guy.” Jane tried to laugh but coughed instead.
Her comment made me think of the pad of paper he went back to the truck for. Something important had to have been written on it.
“Then what happened?” J.T. asked.
“He bought the hat, paper, envelopes, and a book of stamps. Then he asked me to come out to his truck for lunch. I told him it was frowned upon by management, but it was almost like he dared me.” She looked down and went quiet as she fumbled with the edge of the bedsheet.
“Jane?”
She brushed away the tears with the back of her hand. “I’m so naive. I fell for his charm hook, line, and sinker and nearly died because of it.”
“Don’t blame yourself. You’re young and impressionable, and that’s what he preys on.”
She took a careful, deep breath. “Anyway, like an idiot, I was flattered that an older man paid attention to me. I even had the cook make us grilled cheese sandwiches. I can’t believe I did that and paid for them too.”
“It’s okay. You said he was older. Older by how much?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t know, early forties, maybe. His face wasn’t perfectly clear because of the hat and beard.”
“What color was his beard?” J.T. asked.
“Gray and brown, but mostly gray.”
“That’s good, Jane. That tells us his hair is probably the same. Did you see his hair?”
“Only when he tried on hats for a minute at most. It was stringy and tucked behind his ears, but it did look the same as his beard, grayish.”
“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. So he hasn’t dyed his hair, and he isn’t bald. What about his eyes?”
“They were dark and empty.”
I winced and rubbed my side.
J.T. noticed. “What’s wrong, Jade?”
“I have that pain in my stomach again, but it’ll pass.”
“Do you get it often?” Dr. Adams asked.
“We aren’t doing this. I know it’ll pass. We need to focus on Jane.”
A frown furrowed J.T.’s forehead. “Okay, if you’re sure.”
I held my breath for a minute. The pain was intense. “Take over. I’ll be right back.” I stood as upright as I could and left the room. I followed the sign to the visitors’ lounge and pushed the door open. Inside, I dropped down on the sofa and squirmed while I rubbed my stomach and my left side. I was thankful nobody else was in the room. After I took a few deep breaths, the pain subsided. I stood, sucked in, and blew the air out slowly. I went to the ladies’ room, dabbed cold water on my face, and felt normal again. I returned to Jane’s room, where Dr. Adams stood against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Agent Monroe?” he asked when I passed through the door. “We can take a few tests.”
“I feel fine now. It was probably just indigestion. Please, let’s continue.” I took my place in the chair I had been sitting on. “Where did you leave off?”
“We waited for you to come back. Jane had just described his eyes.”
“Why don’t we save his description for the sketch artist? I don’t want to wear Jane out. What happened when you joined him in the truck?”
“The first thing I noticed was the smell.”
“The smell? Can you describe it?”
“It was pungent and thick, like something had rotted. When I commented on it, he said he had hit a deer the night before, and the odor came through the vents.”
I already knew what the smell was from. He had been driving around with two corpses in the truck. The sleeper was likely stained with blood too.
“Anyway, he apologized for the smell and changed the subject. He thanked me for lunch and said grilled cheese was his favorite. Then he asked me my name and age. He said he had a fondness for the name Jane because it was his mom’s name, but she had died years earlier.”
I held my breath again and tried not to show it. The pain was back.
“Go on,” J.T. said.
I was thankful he took over without even realizing it.
Jane continued. “I told him I had never been in a semi before, then he asked me if I liked games. I said yes. He said after we were finished eating, he’d show me an awesome game.”
“Then what?”
“Then I tossed the sandwich wrappers into the paper bag, and he said to check out the sleeper area. I climbed in and asked whose pink jacket was lying there. I looked over my shoulder expecting an answer, and that’s all I remember until I woke up. I was bound and gagged in the sleeper, and he was slicing my arms and chest with a box cutter.” Jane burst out crying.
Dr. Adams stood. The monitor was beeping again. “Agents.”
J.T. nodded. “That’s enough questions for tonight. The sketch artist should be here any minute, and you need a break. Can we get you anything, Jane?”
I handed her the box of tissues while I took another deep breath. The pain was fading again. Jane composed herself, drank some water, and looked at the doctor. “Can I eat something? I haven’t eaten since that grilled cheese sandwich yesterday. My teeth aren’t broken, are they?”
“No, dear, your teeth are fine, but let’s start with something smooth and easy to digest. Do you like mashed potatoes and gravy?”
She nodded.
“Okay, I’ll let the nurses know.”