AS THE ODOMETER CLIMBED, so did Kate’s anxiety. With each passing mile, they were getting closer.
Up ahead, the sheriff’s blue and red lights flashed in the darkness, magnifying the sense of urgency. Kate clenched her teeth against the jaded voice of experience whispering in her ear. It might already be too late to save the missing girls. Each time the thought had resurfaced in her mind, it sprouted new claws and tore at her heart.
In response, she recited one of the many positive affirmations Dr. Wissel had taught her. “You’re doing your best, and it’s the best you can do.”
Tony’s right turn signal joined the palette of blazing lights, dragging Kate up from the depths of the dark ruminations. Barely tapping her brakes, she trailed the sheriff onto a narrow driveway that veered northward.
The Jeep bounced along the increasingly pock-marked road for another two hundred feet before emerging into a clearing. A one-story, blue and white Victorian sat at the far end of the open space. Elaborate lace curtains diffused the warm light spilling from the windows.
To the right, a period-era shed squatted in the darkness. The paint was badly faded and the small windows on either side of the front door looked like they had not been washed in over a decade. Branches encroached on all sides, giving the impression the small structure had already resigned itself to the inevitability of being devoured by the surrounding woods.
Peering around, Kate was glad they had taken the time to offload Wyman. Before leaving the marina, Tony had insisted he show them the location on a map. Then he had called the neighboring sheriff in Port Angeles to make the necessary requests for support and clearance in the other jurisdiction. The custody exchange with a PA deputy hadn’t eaten too much time off the clock.
Kate eased the Jeep alongside the sheriff’s SUV and cut the engine. Willing the veil of professional detachment firmly back into place, she retrieved her Glock from the glove compartment. Seconds later, she joined Tony on a short march toward the shed.
Weapons pointed at the ground, they approached from the right, careful to stay out of sight from the windows. Placing his shoulder against the wood paneling, the sheriff raised his flashlight to the grimy glass. The dim beam cut across three dusty old sawhorses, and a well-used workbench mounted to the far wall. A few rusty old handsaws hung from the ceiling, but otherwise the space was empty.
The blare of headlights reflected off the windows, drawing their attention back to the driveway. Holstering their weapons, they turned to find two PA patrol vehicles pulling into the small clearing.
Tony nodded to each of the male deputies as they exited their vehicles. “Thanks for coming out. Detective Barnes and I will …”
“Excuse me, Sheriff,” the younger deputy with black-rimmed glasses interrupted. “I know we need to move fast, but I want to make sure you know whose house this is before we go knocking on the door.”
“The records say it’s owned by Celia Verson.”
The deputy winced. “I went to school with her. Verson is her married name, but she was divorced two years ago, so she’s back to using her maiden name—Mayhew.”
Tony looked at Kate. “Well, I guess it makes sense Delford would use his girlfriend’s house. I was supposed to meet with her tomorrow to see if she could remember anything else that might help us. Now is better than later.” He motioned for the second deputy to take a position alongside the shed. Kate fell into step with the sheriff behind the younger man.
The moment they reached the porch, the sexy chords of an old jazz standard crept across the night air. Kate and Tony strode up the steps behind the deputy and waited while he rapped on the front door.
“I’m coming!” The voice bore a slight tremor. A second later the music abruptly ended, immediately replaced by a shuffling sound near the front left window. A hand clenched one side of the curtain and pulled it aside. A pair of pale blue eyes scanned the porch. They belonged to a face that looked as if it had recently weathered a horrible storm, one which had nothing to do with the elements.
The curtain fell back into place. The shuffling sound resumed, then drew nearer to the door. Kate listened to the sound of hardware flipping back and forth before the door finally swung inward.
“Hello, Nolan.” The greeting was directed at the deputy from a woman who stood no taller than five feet. Silver clips neatly pinned back straight brown hair above each ear. Deep hollows under her eyes made her appear gaunt despite the extra twenty pounds padding her hips. Clad in a peach robe and matching slippers, she crossed her arms over her chest.
“Good Evening, Celia. Sorry to bother you so late. Sheriff Luchasetti here drove over from Eagle’s Nest because he would like your help. But first, we need to know if you have anyone else here with you tonight?”
“Oh, God! What is it now? That monster is dead! Can’t you please leave me alone?” Her lower lip vibrated.
Tony offered a disarming smile. “Please Ms. Mayhew, we really do need your help. We’d like to start by checking out your house.”
Her features collapsed. “My home?” She cast her gaze about as if hell’s worst demons might be hiding in the walls. “Do you think he did something here? Oh God …”
Deputy Nolan stepped inside and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Celia, we’ll just need to check everything out and make sure you’re safe. No one is here with you tonight, right?”
Panicked eyes darted from face-to-face before settling back on the familiar one. “Yes, I’m alone. Is there some reason to think I’m not …?” The words trailed off as the deputy slowly guided her through a wide doorway on the left.
Tony and Kate hurried across the threshold into a tight foyer that opened into a short hallway. At the far end a door stood partially open, providing a glimpse of a white enamel stove standing alongside an ancient refrigerator.
To their left, Nolan was slowly escorting their host across a tidy living room toward a thickly padded recliner. Kate stepped into the room which was redolent with the smell of lavender.
A glance confirmed there were no other occupants. Kate stepped back in the foyer and pulled her gun, keeping it pointed down while Tony gently closed the door to the living room.
“I’ll take the hall,” she murmured as the sheriff pulled his weapon.
Tony nodded and started toward the dining room across the way. Within minutes, they had searched the hall, dining room, kitchen, and two back bedrooms comprising the fifteen-hundred-square-foot Victorian. Finding no sign anyone else was present, they holstered their weapons and rejoined Nolan in the living room.
Betraying no hint of disappointment, Tony smiled brightly. “All clear, Celia. Thanks for letting us take a look.”
She looked up from where she sat perched at the edge of a recliner. “Sheriff, I still don’t exactly understand what you were looking for. Can’t you please tell me what this is about?”
Kate thrust her hand forward. “We are very sorry to have disturbed you tonight, Celia. My name is Detective Barnes. We’d like to ask you some questions about Mr. Delford.”
The woman stared at Kate’s hand as if it were a species from another planet. “I already contacted a realtor. I’m moving out of here—as far away from here as I can get. He was here … in this house. I let him come here, I let him …” The last words were lost in a series of choking sobs.
Kate retracted her hand, then took a seat on the oversized sectional across from Celia. Tony sat down next to her while Deputy Nolan remained standing near the recliner.
The sheriff waited until the outburst began to ebb then abruptly changed topics. “When was the last time your dock was in use?”
“My dock?” She glanced at Nolan. “I never use it. My ex-husband used to fish for Coho. He had the boat, and he took it with him when he left. I’ve never used the dock since then.”
“Did Delford ever ask you to use it?”
“No. He didn’t have a boat. At least I didn’t think he did. Obviously, I didn’t know him very well.” Her eyes found Kate’s gaze and held it.
Kate had seen the look many times before. Celia was merely another in a long line of victims of sexual predators whose inner darkness had destroyed the light in those around them.
“Unfortunately for the good people, bad people lie well. I know you feel like your world has been torn apart Celia, but please trust me when I tell you, this had nothing to do with you.”
The other woman’s eyes filled with tears once more. Her words spilled out in a breathy whisper. “But how did I not know? Why didn’t I look him up online before I dated him? There are sites. You can find out … I didn’t even try!”
Tony leaned forward. “Celia, there’s something you can do now. You can help us.”
“Help with what? The bastard is dead.”
“We are investigating some other crimes he may have been involved with.”
“Besides the dead girl?”
Tony stared at her evenly. “Celia, it is very important you tell us if there are any cellars, wells, or other storage places on this property.”
She used the cuffs of her sleeves to wipe away the tears before inhaling deeply. “No, except for the small unit out front.”
“Did Delford have any places where he liked to go around here?”
“What? Like for hiking or …”
“Were there any cabins he would go to or …”
“No, we usually hung out at his place most of the time.”
“Can you tell us about his friends?”
She shook her head and looked down at the carpet. “He didn’t really have any friends. He said his parents died when he was young—he never learned to make friends easily.”
Tony placed his elbows on his knees, hoping to catch her eye. “Is there anything at all you can tell us about him? Extended family? Anyone he corresponded with online?”
“No one I know of. My ex-husband was so into his buddies he never had time for me. I actually used to wonder if Rick was too good to be true.” She winced but did not cry.
Kate folded her hands in her lap. “Do you have any of his personal belongings?”
Celia stood, prompting Kate and Tony to do the same. “After Deputy Wheaton told me what happened, I got so sick.”
She glanced away. “I tried to go back to work, but my boss told me to take the rest of the day off. So, I came straight back here and tore the house apart looking for anything that belonged to him. I boxed up all his crap and got it the hell out of this house.”
As she spoke, she seemed to gather more energy. “It looked like a hurricane had torn through here. It took almost two hours before I got all the drawers and closets put to rights.”
Kate glanced at Tony. “And you threw everything out?”
“Of course, I did!” Clutching at the neck of her robe, she continued in a softer tone. “Got rid of everything. Especially the ugly-ass bracelet he made for me. He told me I had to keep it forever. Even if he died.”
Kate and Tony exchanged a glance.
“Did he have any reason to think he was going to die?”
She shook her head. “I told him not to say stuff like that. But he went on and on about it. Said he would never rest in peace if I didn’t keep the bracelet.”
“What else did you find?” Kate asked.
“Some clothes and a few other pieces of junk. All of it went to the trash.” She turned on her heel and gestured toward the front window. “And I can’t wait until tomorrow when the garbage company hauls it the hell out of here.”
Tony took a step toward the hallway. “Celia, we’d like your permission to search the rest of your property.”
“Look as long as you like. But can’t you tell me what you’re …?” She was in the process of turning back to look at Tony when she realized he and Kate were already headed out the door.
*
The world spun, not in the way a planet imperceptibly rotates on its axis. It reeled in the empty, surreal way it does when a human heart has lost its anchor.
Zamira lay on her side atop the rudimentary cot that served as her bed. LED lighting shone down from overhead fixtures, illuminating the small space which had been her prison for the last three months.
She stared straight ahead, not seeing the thick chain-link walls of the eight-foot square cell or registering the persistent stench from the five-gallon portable toilets sitting nearby. The windowless room was home to ten other girls who shared identical accommodations. Like every other aspect of her environment, Zamira had ceased to acknowledge them.
Having been stripped of all hope, it was almost as if Zamira herself had ceased to exist. After she and her sister, Haryati, had been kidnapped from their village, they had been subjected to one atrocity after another. From losing their virginity in a gang rape, to spending days under the influence of mind-numbing drugs, she had prayed over and over again she might die.
Over the course of their imprisonment, she had been trained in every way imaginable to bring sexual pleasure to the human body. No act was too obscene, no fetish was off-limits—including forcing the sisters into sexual acts with each other. With each passing day, she had felt as if she were transforming from a person into a human sewer, forced to receive any possible combination of bodily fluids excreted from the men she was forced to service. The punishments for failure had been unimaginably cruel.
Through it all, Haryati had begged her not to lose faith. She had insisted none of the things they had been forced to do could ever change the goodness in their hearts. Despite their captor’s emphatic threats that their parents and family would be killed if they ever escaped, Haryati had promised they would be reunited with them one day. The conviction in her dark eyes had been enough for Zamira to retain a tenuous hold on hope.
After all, Haryati had always been a master storyteller. Zamira’s best memories, which now seemed like fairy tales themselves, were of bedtime in their parent’s house. Zamira would cuddle up against her sister on their mat, so tired from working in the rice fields she often dozed off long before Haryati finished telling her story. Without fail, her sister would patiently retell the story during their long trek to the mission school which had been built a few miles outside of their village.
Those had been the good days. Since then, there had been nothing but bad days. The horrible abuses she had suffered over the last few years had taken so much from her she had not believed there was anything left.
Until they took Haryati away from her. It was not long after they had made the arduous journey across the ocean that her older sister had finally decided to make good on her promise to escape. Ten days ago, Haryati had been taken from her cell. She did not return for a very long time.
When she did, the overhead lights were turned on, and all the girls were roused from their cots. They were told to stand at the gates to their cells.
The soulless man to whom they had been delivered when they arrived from Malaysia, had dragged a wide-eyed, Haryati into the room. He had a large knife strapped to his belt. The bearded, bald man who had driven them from the ship to this new hell had stood quietly beside him.
Without preamble, the soulless man announced Haryati had tried to escape. Unsheathing his knife, he had demanded the girls watch as he meted out the punishment for such abject disobedience.
Haryati had screamed to her little sister in their native tongue, imploring her to turn away. It was a request Zamira could not honor. Her sister had always been her light, even when they had descended into the darkness. She had no choice but to watch through all the screams and the bloodshed until her light was brutally snuffed out.
In the end, the screaming was joined by a second voice, one which persisted long after the life had left Haryati’s body. Faces frozen in a mask of shock, the other girls had eventually returned to their beds, some placing their pillows over their heads to drown out Zamira’s wails. In time, her strained vocal cords had quieted, emitting nothing more than a pathetic whisper.
The sights and smells of those moments had not left her mind for one second in the days afterward. They played on a continuous loop from which there was no reprieve.
Nothing could stop Zamira from reliving every second, not even the revelation that had occurred in the midst of them. In those final moments, while Haryati’s life had been tortuously drained from her, she had made a final effort to save Zamira. What the soulless man and his accomplice had likely believed were native nonsensical ravings, had actually been Haryati’s last gift to her younger sister.
Interspersed between her heart-wrenching screams, Haryati had managed to reveal what she had learned during her brief period of freedom. The information was Zamira’s key to escaping and ensuring neither she nor her family would ever be hurt again.
The problem was that escaping required both physical and mental strength. As it was, Zamira did not even have the emotional fortitude to rise from her cot. Besides, Haryati had always been the strong one. With her sister dead, there was no one else to save Zamira—there was only hell.