Chapter Twenty

 

Jack sped through the yellow light and ignored the honking from the car he’d cut off. He risked a quick glance at his father, unable to believe he was sitting next to him in the SUV.

“Where the hell have you been?” he asked, as he moved to the left lane to pass the car in front of him. “And where’s mom.”

His dad put one hand on the dashboard and with the other grabbed the hand grip above the passenger window. “Your mother’s safe. I’ve got her stashed somewhere safe.”

Anger churned in his stomach and his hands tensed on the steering wheel. “Safe from what? What the hell is going on?” His phone rang on the center console where he had connected it. Jack hit the button. “What’ve you got?”

T.J.’s voice filled the car’s interior. “Forensics are at the hospital. I called the newspaper office and no one’s seen Gemma. I’ve already got a BOLO out on her.”

His body went cold at the news. He’d been holding onto the slimmest of hopes that it was all some kind of prank and she’d turn up fine and be surprised that he was tearing the town apart looking for her. “Thanks,” Jack said as he tried to figure out his next move. His mind and body felt numb from fear. He had to let go of the fear or he’d be useless to the investigation.

Think!

If the killer had contacted Gemma, he could have lured her anywhere. The only other place Jack knew to go to was her house.

“You there, Jack?” T.J. asked.

“Yeah.” But his mind might as well have been in another state as facts, witness statements and evidence ricocheted around his brain. Jack shook his head as if that would help him put order to his thoughts. He needed to know what his father was involved in, but more importantly he had to find Gemma. She was his first priority.

“One more thing,” T.J. continued, his voice dropping to a more ominous pitch. “Carmichael and O’Hara went tearing out of here about ten minutes ago. I was on the phone and didn’t hear what went down, but word is there’s another body.”

For a second Jack’s vision swam and the car swerved.

“Jack!” his dad barked.

Jack straightened the wheel. “Who’s the victim?” he demanded, as images of Gemma, Dana and Sylvie filled his head.

“I’m working on that,” T.J. said. “I’ll let you know when I hear anything.”

The line went dead. A cold sweat broke out along his spine and his mouth felt dry. It couldn’t be Gemma. There hadn’t been enough time. God, there couldn’t have been enough time.

The killer raped and strangled the women. Then he moved the body to another location. He left very little evidence, which suggested careful planning. If the body found was another one of the killer’s victims, it didn’t seem possible that he could have snatched Gemma, raped her, strangled her and moved her body in the amount of time between Gemma’s disappearance and the call coming in to the police. Then again, the killer hadn’t stuck to his MO with Candy. He’d simply sliced her up.

His mind veered to the possibility of the latest victim being Sylvie or Dana, which made him want to hurl. He hadn’t become a cop to see the people he cared about become targets of a madman.

Jack’s dad twisted in his seat. “You’re working that serial killer case, aren’t you? I read about it in the paper. Who’s Gemma? You think this serial killer’s got her?

“I don’t know,” he gritted out, swerving around another car as he made the decision to head to Gemma’s house. He hit the siren to clear a path in front of him. “How did you find me at the hospital?”

His dad cleared his throat. “Wasn’t me. It was Stan. All of it’s been Stan.”

Jack clenched down on his teeth. His normal cool, calm attitude had completely deserted him by this point. He wanted to shake his father to get the truth and then he wanted to wring Gemma’s neck. To do that, though, he needed to find her.

“Start at the beginning,” he ordered his father.

“Look Jack, you want the whole truth, you’re going to have to talk to Stan. I swore to you fifteen years ago that I wasn’t on the take and that’s the truth.”

Jack slid a sideways glance at his father to see that his face was flushed and he wore his bull-headed look, the nickname his mother had given that mulish thrust to the jaw.

“I believe you,” Jack said. He heard his dad sigh, as if in relief. He wished it would last, but he knew that the truth meant raising old skeletons that were going to uncover things some people would prefer left buried. “But you knew something, didn’t you?” Jack let out a sharp bark of laughter. “I mean you can’t be partners with someone as long as you were partners with Stan and not know something crooked is going on.”

Jack hit the turn signal, checked the intersection had cleared of cars and made the turn. He took his eyes off the rood to glance at his father, who couldn’t quite meet his gaze and hunkered further down in his seat.

His father rubbed his temples and let out a sigh. “You’re right. I knew something hinky was going on, but I turned a blind eye.” The words came out stiff, almost hoarse. Bill Donahue was a good-sized man, but as he spoke, he seemed to age before Jack’s eyes and to shrink in size. “Stan’s first wife, Vera, had brain cancer. They’d maxed out their insurance and they were close to losing the house.” His dad fell silent for a moment.

Jack focused on his driving, but when his father didn’t continue, he prompted him. “And?”

Another sigh came, deeper than the last. “And, by the time I found all that out, Stan was knee deep in bribe territory with no way out.” The words came without apology, simply a recitation of facts. But Jack knew his old man and he wasn’t fooled. It had to have killed Bill Donahue to learn not only that someone he’d respected and admired had been dirty, but also that his friend had needed help and he’d missed the signs.

His father shifted in his seat. “Stan offered to bring me in. I told him I wanted nothing to do with it.”

“But you didn’t turn him in.” Jack wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He’d become a cop with all the baggage of the accusations against his father. He’d followed the book and been a straight shooter, knowing one whiff of scandal would do him in.

He’d accepted it because he’d believe in his father’s innocence—in his complete innocence.

Only his father had been complicit. He might not have taken money, but he hadn’t served justice either.

“No, I didn’t turn him in. We were partners. Vera died,” he said with a slight hitch to his voice, “just before the indictments were supposed to come down. Stan said he was grateful she never had to know.”

Jack swore under his breath. He recalled Stan and his wife occasionally coming over for dinners at his house when he was in junior high and high school. Then one day he’d overheard his mom say that Vera had passed away. Funny, how he’d forgotten that until his dad’s conversation had jarred it free. At that point, the newspapers had gotten hold of the story and his family had had other worries to deal with.

A message pinged from his phone. He had an email from Princess Bubbles, which he didn’t recognize, but Gemma’s name filled the subject line.

“This discussion isn’t over,” he said to his dad, as he pulled into Gemma’s neighborhood. “But right now, I’ve got to find a woman before she gets killed.” He shut off the siren and slowed down.

He slid into a spot in front of Gemma’s house and snatched up his phone, disconnecting it from the charger. He tapped the screen and brought up the email. Dana and Aunt Sylvie...that was it. What was that supposed to mean? He tapped on each of the photos that she’d attached. They were two photos of Dana’s room, no written message.

He tapped on one of the photos to increase its size until it flooded the screen. He saw the two dolls, one of which was covered with cuts and slices.

“That son of a bitch!” Jack wanted to punch something.

He examined the second photo and realized they were the same dolls from a different angle. He hit his contacts list, found Gemma and called. The phone rang and rang and then went to voice mail. She wasn’t picking up.

Why wasn’t she picking up? Had she sent the photos or did the killer already have her? Was he using her phone to play him? Jack didn’t know what to think and the worry and fear would paralyze him if he didn’t keep them under control.

“Stay in the car,” Jack ordered his dad. He hit the recent calls button and tapped T.J’s number. He passed the phone to his dad. “Talk to my partner T.J. Tell him I’m at Gemma’s house. Our killer has been here. I need a team down here and I need back up now.”

He unbuckled his seat belt and got out of the vehicle. He unsnapped his holster, took out his weapon, and moved cautiously to the front steps. The front door stood ajar.

A crunch from a footstep had him whipping around, his weapon up. His dad held up his hands.

“I told you to stay in the car,” Jack said.

His dad dropped his hands and shrugged. From somewhere down the street a dog barked. “You don’t have back up. Until you do, you’ve got me.”

“Are you carrying?” Jack watched as his dad reached down and pulled a small caliber weapon from an ankle holster. He and his dad would have to talk soon.

Jack raised his fingers and counted down three, two, one, and then pushed the door open, ducking to the side, his weapon tracking any sign of movement. He moved into the living room. “Clear.”

From over by the first floor bathroom he heard his father shout, “Clear.”

Together they moved through the first floor, clearing rooms. With backs pressed to the wall, weapons ready, Jack took the lead on the stairs. At the top, he motioned for his dad to wait. He stepped onto the landing and peeked around the corner. All the doors on that floor stood wide open.

Pressing his lips together, Jack jerked his head towards the hallway. Following the same routine, they cleared all the rooms until they got to Dana’s room.

Jack entered first, his weapon up, adrenaline pounding through his veins. Unless someone was under the bed, the room was empty. The only other place to hide was the closet, the door of which was held open by a jumble of shoes.

Jack holstered his weapon and approached the bed. Gemma must have touched them. While the yellow-haired doll lay against the pillow, the dark-haired one had been tossed on the bed. The photo had been offensive enough. In living color, seeing the mutilated doll against the backdrop of Dana’s girly toys and bedclothes sickened him.

A cell phone rang breaking the silence. His dad pulled Jack’s phone out of his pocket and passed it to Jack.

T.J.

“Donahue,” he answered curtly.

In the background, he heard a police siren. “Jack, I just heard from Carmichael. The victim is a male, 56 years old. He’s been dead a while. He was an insurance agent, name of Raymond Glogowski. He sold homeowner’s insurance. He lived a few blocks from the hospital.”

Jack’s muscles relaxed when he heard the victim was a male. “What’s the connection to this case?”

“Carmichael and O’Hara are still searching the house. But it’s our guy. The victim was sliced and cut like Candy. The ME said he took his time before he nicked an artery, which finished off the vic.”

The killer was getting sloppy. The number of victims was piling up and so was the evidence. Why had Glogowski been on the killer’s radar? “T.J., the killer was here, at Gemma’s house. He left a doll that he butchered like he did Candy and the insurance agent. We need a team here.”

“Already on its way. Your dad passed on your message earlier.”

“Right.” He looked over at his dad, who stood patiently waiting for him to take the lead.

Jack heard squawking over the line.

“Hang on,” T.J. said, “dispatch is patching Carmichael through.”

His hand on the phone tightened and he pressed it closer to his ear, straining to catch anything being said. The siren came over loud and clear and the occasional rumble of T.J.’s voice, but no clear words.

Then T.J.’s voiced filled the line. “Jack, they found a woman in a root cellar out back. She’s alive, but cut up pretty badly.” T.J. paused and Jack braced himself for what was to come. “It’s Sylvie, Jack, and she was alone.”

***

Gemma drove into the self-service gas station and pulled up in front of pump number six. She checked the clock in the car. She’d made it with two minutes to spare.

She took her hands off the wheel and noticed the way they trembled. She’d been a mess since the phone call in Dana’s bedroom. She shouldn’t have threatened him. She shouldn’t have said she would call the police if he didn’t put Dana and Sylvie on the phone.

She’d finally heard Dana’s voice. She’d been crying, begging for Gemma. Gemma’s heart had broken at the sound. Dana was scared and needed her. She would’ve done anything at that point, but she had to stay strong.

She’d then demanded to talk to Sylvie, only he’d laughed and said in that horrible mechanical voice, “You’re too late.” He’d proceeded to give her precise instructions with a time limit in which to accomplish his directives or Dana would be hurt.

When would it end?

She didn’t even try to control the tears. First her mother and sister. Now Dana and Sylvie. Why did the people she love keep getting hurt?

She wiped the tears from her face and blew her nose. She didn’t dare chance drawing attention to herself by crying in public. She didn’t want anyone else getting caught in this twisted game.

Her bones ached like an old woman’s as she climbed slowly out of the car. He’d told her to get twenty dollars worth of gas and to wait for his next contact. She used her credit card to pay for the gas. She stuck the nozzle into the tank and while the gas flowed, she examined the area.

The gas station and its convenience store sat at the end of route twelve, which fed into the highway that led towards Cornell. At this time of day, traffic was light. Across the street, a large box store and supermarket catered to the tract homes that occupied the new development that had had gone up a few years back.

She glanced at the other two pumps being used. One was by a guy in a suit, who wore an air of impatience and the other was by a mom with two youngsters in the backseat. Neither appeared interested in her.

Two male teenagers came out of the convenience store holding chips and sodas. They were arguing loudly. One shoved the other and it looked like they were heading for a fight.

The pump clicked signaling that it had reached the predetermined limit. Gemma pulled the nozzle out and secured it. She closed the gas cap and rounded the car. A young guy came whizzing by on a skateboard, nearly running into her. He had to steady himself on her arm before taking off and telling her to “watch it.”

Gemma shook off the incident and hurried back into the car. She put her bag on the seat and noticed the skateboarder had joined the other two teenagers and they all acted like best buds.

She dragged her gaze away, and rested her hands on the steering wheel. Now what?

Texting Jack one more time was tempting. In the short time they’d cooperated together, she’d come to rely on his strength and common sense. But fear skittered along her nerve endings making it impossible for her to follow through on the action. What if the killer had eyes on her? What if he was watching her like before?

Her phone rang, jangling her taut nerves. Was it Jack again or the killer? Her fingers shook as she reached for the phone and her body shuddered when she saw the screen. Aunt Sylvie.

Bile rising in her stomach, she hit the accept button. “Yes?”

“Drive two point four miles up this road. Stop before the highway turnoff. You’ve got five minutes.” The call disconnected and the mechanical voice disappeared.

Gemma started the car and exited the gas station. Grateful for the light traffic, she pressed the pedal. She kept her eyes on the road, while darting glances at the dashboard clock.

Had Jack found her note? Was he even now following her? She’d been too afraid to call, though she’d risked emailing the photos.

Aunt Sylvie’s screams echoed in her head and a moan left her lips. “Please be alive. Both of you, please be alive,” she prayed.

She pushed further down on the pedal and watched the odometer. At two point four miles, she pulled over to the side of the road. Precisely five minutes from the last call, her phone rang, that funeral dirge grating on her ears.

“Get out of the car and toss your phone away.” The line went dead.

Gemma got out of the car and walked over to the edge of the road. The ground sloped downwards for about fifty yards and then it turned into woods.

This would probably be the last chance to leave some kind of clue for Jack. She couldn’t call him. The killer already knew she had a relationship with Jack. If he was watching, he’d be looking for any attempt she made to contact him.

In a flash of inspiration, she thought of T.J. The killer didn’t know about T.J. She pulled T.J.’s number up and hit the call button. Then she brought her arm back and threw with just enough strength to let the phone land a few yards away, though she powered through to make it seem like she’d thrown it with all her strength.

She returned to the car and wondered what could possibly be next. Without her phone, how did the killer plan to contact her.

The Wedding March filled the car, startling her. Her heart beat double time and she knew she was close to losing what little control she had. She whipped her head around, but no one was in the car with her.

The sound was coming from her...bag. She snatched up the bag, shoving items aside until she saw the strange phone next to her wallet. Her heart beating at twice the pace as the melody, she picked the phone up and stared at the screen.

Unknown.

“Hello?” Her voice cracked and she cleared it. “Hello?” she said again.

“Finally, we’re alone.” The voice that traveled across the line was no longer disguised, which only sent ice shards shooting down her spine. Why had he left off the mechanical disguise? But she knew why. He had no intention of letting her go.

She replayed his voice in her head, trying to get a fix on whether she’d ever had contact with him before. But as a reporter, she met so many people.

“Who are you?” she asked, clutching the phone to her ear, desperate for answers.

It began as a chuckle and turned into a giggle, before it cut off abruptly. “Your bridegroom. But are you worthy, Gemma?”

She passed a hand over her eyes before replying. “How do I become worthy?”

“You don’t become worthy,” he shouted, loud enough she pulled the phone from her ear. “You either are or you aren’t. It’s time to find out. It’s time to play the game.”

Gemma squeezed her eyes shut and forced the words she had to say past her throat. “Tell me what I have to do. I’ll do anything.”