116: After more than an hour inside, he felt the walls of Upchurch’s house closing in. Nash dialed Clair at the hospital. “Clair, this is bad, really bad. Bishop and this guy . . .” He pressed the phone to his ear and slowly crossed the basement, retracing his steps from the makeshift cage to the large freezer converted into a water tank next to the stairs, then back again, carefully using the clear step plates placed on the floor to prevent contamination. He found himself standing inside the cage. CSI techs scoured every surface. He watched one carefully collect bloody vomit from the far corner.
Clair sounded like she was walking and talking, out of breath. “We’ve positively ID’ed the girl you found upstairs as Kati Quigley, the Jehovah’s Witness who went missing yesterday afternoon with the boy we found in the truck, Wesley Hartzler. She’s stable and in ICU, still unconscious. The tox screen confirmed propofol in her system. They’re going to let her sleep it off. As soon as she wakes up, I’ll talk to her. She has several electrical burn marks on her body. They appear to be superficial, no permanent damage.”
Nash’s eyes dropped to a series of car batteries positioned beside the water tank. He had already told Clair about that. He didn’t want to think about it. “How about Larissa Biel?”
Clair said something to someone else, then returned to the call. “She’s in critical condition. Drugged too, which looks like a blessing. She went into surgery about thirty minutes ago.” Clair’s voice dropped lower. “They made her swallow glass. She has lacerations in her mouth, her throat, her stomach. She’s all torn up inside. I can’t imagine how painful that must have been.”
Nash closed his eyes. “What are we looking at here, Clair? This is way beyond anything Bishop has done in the past. What is his connection to Upchurch?”
“I’ve been trying to reach Poole, but his phone is going to voice mail. Kloz has been looking for something to tie the two of them together since we got his name, but he’s coming up blank. We’ve always profiled Bishop as a loner. None of it makes sense. We think they converted the freezer into some kind of deprivation tank.”
“A what?”
“A deprivation tank. They were popular in the fifties. Salt water is heated to exactly 93.5 degrees, basically skin temperature. Once you’re inside, all your senses are gone—you can’t see or hear anything from the outside. With the water at skin temp, you’d feel like you were floating. They’re supposed to be relaxing, a Zen thing.”
Nash’s eyes fell to the rusty metal of the jumper cables next to the tank. “This was anything but relaxing.”
Clair’s phone beeped. “Hold on a second. I’ve got another call.”
Nash watched one of the CSI techs bag a green quilt from the corner of the cage, gently folding it before placing it inside the large evidence bag.
He had to get out of there.
He took the stairs back to the kitchen and slowly crossed the room, waiting for Clair to return. When she finally did, he was on the second level, outside the room with the mannequin and all the drawings.
“Nash?”
“Yeah, I’m still here.”
“That was the patrol team taking Upchurch to Metro. He passed out in the back of their car. They’re rerouting to here.”
“Passed out?”
“They said he started screaming, tried to reach his head but couldn’t with his hands cuffed behind his back. Banged his head against the door. Next best thing, I guess. They think he had a seizure or something.”
“Could it be some kind of trick? An attempt to escape?”
“Doesn’t sound like it, but we’re not taking any chances. I told them not to open the back until they get here. The patrol car with the key you sent over just arrived. I’m on my way down to grab it, see if I can match it to a locker. I’ll ask the officers to stick around and help secure Upchurch. He’s not going anywhere.”
“Okay, let me know what you find. I’ll stay here until CSI wraps up.” He had entered the small room. Some of the drawings had been bagged, others laid out on the bed, CSI photographing all.