Chapter Twenty-Two

 

“All right,” O’Hara said, jabbing a finger at the map tacked to the wall. “We’ve notified the state police for all roads leading out of Carville, and an Amber alert has been issued on Dana.” He turned to his younger partner. “Sam, anything from the car?”

Sam shook his head. “Nothing.”

Jack shoved both his hands through his hair, and then dropped them to his side. “What about the house? Did you get any prints there?”

Sam pulled a piece of paper closer to him. “They’re still processing the scene. They’ve got the dead guy’s prints and a few others that are going to take time to identify. It looks like our unsub used the place as an occasional base. ”

Jack knew it would take time to not only gather the forensic evidence but to process it. They didn’t have that time. He needed answers now if they were going to save Gemma and Dana. Sylvie was in the hospital. T.J. was with her and had promised to call when he had word on her condition.

“There was an unopened bottle of milk purchased after our insurance guy was killed. He didn’t buy it. Had to be our killer. Forensics will be paying special attention to the kitchen and bath areas.”

Jack moved to the white board where O’Hara had tacked the photo of the dead insurance guy. He tapped the photo. “What do we know about him?”

Sam opened a notebook and flipped several pages until he found what he wanted. “Raymond Glogowski. He operated a one-man insurance agency, selling homeowner policies. He was fifty-six, didn’t smoke, divorced ten years ago and no kids. His neighbors said he kept to himself, which is probably why his neighbors didn’t notice he wasn’t around.”

“So, what went wrong?” Jack asked.

Sam leaned back in his chair, but there was nothing relaxed about his expression. “His secretary got worried. She’d received an email about two weeks ago telling her to close the office, that he needed time to take care of a personal matter. When Glogowski didn’t respond to a few emails, she decided to check his home. He didn’t come to the door, newspapers and mail were piled up, but his car was in the drive. She called in to the station and they sent a patrol to do a wellness check.”

“He’s getting sloppy,” O’Hara interjected. “We’ll get him.”

“Yeah, but will we get him in time?” The muscles in his neck and shoulders tightened and it felt like a rock sat right on top of his heart, pressing down. He rubbed his chest and looked at the spot on the map where he and T.J. had found the car Gemma had abandoned. From that point, if she were in a vehicle, she could be miles away. Heading north, west, or east would have taken them out of town. South would have taken them back into the city to another hidey-hole. The insurance guy’s house couldn’t be used as a base. “He has to have another place to hide out.”

O’Hara rubbed a hand behind his neck. “This guy has been a planner until now. He’s going to make a mistake.”

Jack’s phone rang. He pulled it out and saw T.J.’s name. “How is she?” he asked, not bothering with preambles.

“They’ve got her under heavy sedation. She needed more than a hundred stitches. The bastard cut her in both arms and on her legs. He left her torso, neck and face alone. She’s going to have scars, though.”

“She’s tough,” Jack said, forcing the words past the muscles tightening in his throat. Sylvie shouldn’t have been attacked. She, Gemma and Dana should be safe in their home. He’d become a cop to stop stuff like this from happening.

“She is. So’s her niece. Any word?”

“No,” Jack said. “State police are patrolling the roads outside the limits, but he could be holed up anywhere.”

Jack heard the sound of an ambulance in the background as T.J. continued to speak. “Sylvie is being moved to a room. I’ll get someone here to watch over her and take her statement if she wakes up. I’ll meet you at the station.”

“No,” Jack said, coming to an instant decision. Meet me at...” he put his hand over the phone and looked at Carmichael and O’Hara. “Where can I find the secretary?”

O’Hara looked at his watch. “Probably home. She’s has a small house on Winslow St.” He rattled off the address from his notebook. “We arranged to meet with her tomorrow at nine at the office.”

Jack returned to the phone and repeated the address. “It’s slim, but we have nothing else to go on.”

Forty minutes later Jack stood next to T.J. as they rang the doorbell of 28 Winslow Street, a neat house with a small yard in a middle class neighborhood. The door opened with the screen door between them. Jack and T.J. held up their badges and identified themselves.

The woman on the other side appeared to be in her forties. She wore a plain skirt and button down blouse and slippers on her feet. Her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying.

“Ms. Baldwin? We’d like to talk to you about your boss, Raymond Glogowski.”

“Please come in,” she said opening the door. She ushered them into a tidy living room and gestured for them to sit. “How may I help you?”

“Ms. Baldwin, can you tell us if Mr. Glogowski acted differently at all before you received the email?”

She shook her head. “No. That’s why it was such a surprise when I got the email asking me to close the office. I mean, he’d just come back from a week at his cabin. He loved to fish up there. He was relaxed and happy. He never indicated he had a serious personal issue to deal with.”

Jack leaned forward, his nerves taut with anticipation. Finally, they’d caught a break. A cabin would be a perfect place to for the unsub to go with two hostages. If it was like any of the fishing or hunting cabins he’d been to, it’d be in an out-of-the-way place with no neighbors around. “Do you have an address for Glogowski’s cabin?”

“I don’t know the address offhand, but I know it’s located somewhere off of old route 22. There might be an address at the office, if you want me to check tomorrow.” Her gaze bounced between Jack and T.J.

Old route 22. That road lay to the west of the place where Gemma’s car had been found. Several small lakes were scattered along the route, and a number of cabins had been built to take advantage of the hunting and fishing in the area. At this time of year, many of the cabins were unoccupied. Summer was long over and hunting season wouldn’t open for another week. Checking out Glogowski’s cabin had moved up to priority number one.

Jack stood up and moved away, letting T.J. ask more questions while he called into the station to dig up an address. It seemed to take forever before he had one. He disconnected the call and caught T.J.’s attention. “We got it.”

Elation pulsed through him. He wanted to believe they were on the right track, that they would find Gemma and Dana before their captor decided to use his knife on them or worse, kill them. Too much time had passed and, as a cop Jack knew that the more time passed, the more the odds were against them. They couldn’t be wrong about the killer using Glogowski’s cabin, because if they were wrong, Jack didn’t think he could live with the result.

He and T.J. excused themselves and ran to the car. Jack got in and hit the siren. T.J. called for backup.

Jack gave T.J. the coordinates to the cabin and T.J. punched them in. It was a good forty-five minutes away at normal speed. He’d have to push the SUV as hard as it could go and try to shave off as much time as he could.

He checked the clock on the dashboard as he peeled away from the curb. How much time did they have to save Gemma and Dana? He pressed down on the pedal and watched the speedometer needle rise.

They had to be in time. Gemma drove him crazy. She was a reporter, the last person he would have ever expected to be attracted to. But it was more than that. She made him feel alive. She challenged him. She brought light into his world. He couldn’t lose her.

He pictured Dana, recalling the feel of her soft skin as her little girl arms clutched him around the neck. She had wanted him to slay monsters. He intended to do just that.

***

The walk to the cabin had seemed like walking the plank. The closer she got to the door, the more certain she was that death awaited her.

Alone, she would have made a run for it. But behind her, her captor held on to Dana. As long as Dana was in his clutches, she had to play by his rules. She looked around, taking in the isolation of the place. There’d be no easy escape from here, not unless she managed to get the key to the car.

Two steps led up to a wooden porch.

“It’s unlocked. Go in.” His voice floated to her, triggering a memory if only she could latch on to it.

She entered the cabin, uncertain of what to expect. The front door opened to a single room that clearly served as living room and dining room. At the back, she saw a kitchen. She noticed two closed doors and guessed one was a bedroom and the other a bathroom. She didn’t see another exit.

The living room was furnished simply with a couch and an overstuffed armchair. A bookshelf filled with novels hugged one wall. The dining table stood empty of dishes or cutlery. Beyond the novels on the shelves, nothing of a personal nature indicated who the place belonged to. More than that, she didn’t see anything that would function as an obvious weapon.

The door closed behind her with a snick, and Gemma controlled the shudder that ran down her spine. She spun around to face her captor.

“Why don’t you give her to me?” she asked.

“I don’t think so,” he said, tipping his head up to smile.

Gemma’s breath hitched. “I know you. You’re that insurance guy, aren’t you?”

He stepped forward and Gemma stepped back. “Insurance served my purpose.” He waved the hand with the knife, causing Gemma’s stomach to lurch. “Everything you need is in the bedroom. It’s time to find out if you’re worthy, Gemma.”

Gemma licked her lips. She had to think past the fear. “What qualities does a woman need to be worthy, Tad?”

He stepped forward again and Gemma couldn’t help taking another step back.

“She must be loyal. She must follow instructions well.” He brought the knife up and rubbed it along his jaw. “She needs to know her place.”

Gemma couldn’t keep her gaze off the knife. It was too close to Dana. She had to find a way to get them out of this dangerous mess.

“Tad, why don’t you let me take her? You’ve had a hard day.”

“Today is our wedding day. It’s time for you to get beautiful. Go in the bedroom, please.”

Gemma hesitated. “How about Dana and I go in there together.”

His body stiffened and the knife slid up Dana’s back. “I won’t ask again. Get in there.” Each word was bit out. “I’ll count to five and if you don’t get in that room and do as I say, I start cutting. One.”

“No, please, don’t.” Gemma whirled and ran for the bedroom door.

“Two.”

She opened it and entered.

“Three.”

When she turned, he stood a few feet away. He pulled the door shut and she heard the lock catch.

Tears leaked from her eyes. What was she going to do? She wiped her tears away with her sleeve and examined her prison. It was a man’s bedroom. A simple double bed occupied the center of the room, covered by a navy comforter. A large splash of lacy white obscured most of the comforter.

Her eyes skittered away and she noted the locker at the foot of the bed and a dresser against one wall. Avoiding another look at the bed, she moved to the closet and opened the door. Nothing. Not even a hanger that might have worked as a weapon. She faced the dresser and pulled out one drawer after another. She found a Yankees T-shirt in one and a knit cap in another. The dresser sat below a curtained window. She pushed the curtain aside to find it had been painted black and nailed shut. She gave it an experimental shove, but as expected, it held fast. The window didn’t look like it would shatter easily.

She dusted her hands on her pants and still avoiding the bed, turned her attention to the locker. A brand new, shiny lock held the clasp shut. Breaking into it would take time and effort she didn’t have.

And exactly how much time did she have? She could hear the weighty sound of a clock ticking in her head, only she didn’t know the final hour. Did she have ten minutes? An hour? A day?

The bodies of the two women he’d killed in Carville had been discovered about four days after they’d last been seen. Did she have three or four days? She honestly didn’t want to find out.

Escape. The word beat like a drum in her head. She had to find Dana and the two of them needed to get as far away from this psycho lunatic as they could.

She rubbed her hands up and down her arms to take away the chill that had lodged under her skin. Knowing she couldn’t avoid it any longer, she turned back to the bed to confront the real nightmare that awaited her. He expected her to dress in that wedding dress.

The thought of putting it on made her physically sick. She breathed deeply through her nose to tamp down the nausea.

She didn’t see any shoes, so she dropped down to the floor and checked under the bed. No shoes, but something lay back towards the headboard. She scooted as far to the head of the bed as she could get. Her shoulder ached as she jammed it against the bed’s baseboard and reached as far as she could. Her fingers touched something and she pulled it towards her until she could get her hand around it.

It jabbed into her palm. When she brought her hand out, she opened it to see a homemade fishing lure. It consisted of a beer cap with a couple of beads attached to a double hook.

It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was something. Still, she needed a bigger weapon, and she needed it quick if she and Dana were going to survive the next few hours. She was contemplating trying to take the bed frame apart when a scream pierced the air, long, high pitched, the sound of a child in terror. Gemma flew to the door of the bedroom and yanked on the knob. Locked, as she’d known it would be. She banged on the door with both hands and screamed. “Let me out! Dana, baby, I’m here!” She pounded with her fists over and over, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Let me out!” she repeated over and over.

Dana screamed again and then the sound cut off. Gemma’s heart beat overtime, the sound so loud she could barely think. Her hands hurt from where she’d banged them against the wooden door. She pressed her ear against the door, straining to hear a sound, any sound.

Nothing.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh,God.

She couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. Her chest hurt and her vision swam. “Dana” she whispered rawly.

A large thump hit the door, startling her into jumping back. Her breathing sawed in and out as she stared at the door. Her fingers tightened on the lure.

“It’s our wedding day, Gemma. You’ll be a worthy bride,” he said, his tone soft and loverlike. “Not like the others.”

Gemma wrapped one hand around her stomach. She didn’t want to think about what had happened to the others.

“Where’s Dana? Please put her in here with me.” She hated that her voice sounded shaky and wobbly, but intuitively she understood he wanted her in his power.

Another thump banged against the door, rattling it and making her breath hitch and her pulse accelerate. “To be worthy is to be obedient. I am the one who makes the decisions. I am in control. The brat stays here.” All softness in his voice had been replaced by a hard edge. “Do as I say and you’ll see her. When I open the door, I will expect to see my bride. Don’t disappoint me.”

Her feet remained planted before the door, her body strung tighter than a guitar wire.

Think, Gemma, think.

She forced her limbs to relax and willed herself to focus. Once more she examined the room’s contents. She studied the window again. On TV, people broke windows with their elbows and fists. She wasn’t sure it was as easy as they made it look, but even if she could break the glass, he would hear her. More importantly, she couldn’t escape without Dana. She had to rescue Dana first and then figure out how to get out of the cabin.

Faded brown curtains hung loosely from a thick wooden curtain rod. If she could remove the rod, it might serve as a weapon.

She crossed the floor in quick silent steps. With the dresser in the way, she was too short to reach the rod. If she tried to move the dresser, the noise would probably bring him into the room, a situation she wasn’t prepared for yet. It wouldn’t be easy to climb the dresser, but she’d do whatever it took to get away from this madman.

Using her arms, she lifted herself up using the top of the dresser for support and letting her legs dangle below, she brought one leg up, until she got her knee on top of the dresser. Then moving one hand to the window for support, she brought her other knee up.

Clutching both sides of the window frame, she took a moment to get her heart rate under control. She reached up and tugged on the wooden curtain rod until she loosened it from its setting.

Carefully, she lowered it to the dresser and then reversed the maneuver that had allowed her to climb up on the dresser.

Back on her feet, she slid the curtains off the rod. She opened a dresser drawer quietly and shoved the cloth rectangles inside.

The clock in her head ticked louder. He’d told her to get ready. How much time did she have left?

To her eye, the curtain rod measured about two feet long, and about an inch and a half diameter maybe around. It was too long to shove up the sleeve of the dress. Even so, it was a weapon.

The fishing lure and the wooden rod would have to work. She’d make them work.

She lay the rod on the bed and picked up the dress, holding it up before her. Layers of lace threatened to overwhelm her. The style was old fashioned with a high neck and tight sleeves.

No way could she shove the rod up the sleeve of this dress. No way was she stripping down to her undies either.

If he wanted obedient, he could buy a blow-up doll. Gemma had never been obedient and she wasn’t about to change for a psychopath. Discovering she still had clothes on underneath meant he had gotten the dress off her and if he got the dress off her, she wanted every layer of armor possible to use against him.

She turned the dress around, relieved to see a zipper and not buttons at the back. She burrowed beneath the lace until she found the skirt and bunching it up into her fists she pulled the dress on over her clothes. The bodice was a tight fit, but she managed.

She zipped her back with a bit of contortion of her arms and sucking in her breath and tugged the dress down when she finished. The skirt touched the floor, easily covering her pants.

The rod wouldn’t fit inside her pants leg, but if she tied it to the outside of her leg, she might get away with it. With all the lace puffing out around her, he’d never notice the bulge. She hurried to the dresser and took out the curtains. They were long enough to use as strips.

She shoved up the layers of lace and captured them under her arms. She pressed the rod against her right leg and using the bed as support tied the bottom to her ankle, tight enough to keep it in place, but loose enough that she could release it easily. With the bottom secured, she battled the yards of lace to do the same again at the top of her thigh.

The only items remaining on the bed were the veil and the fishing lure. The veil had a crown so she could lay it easily on her head. She took the lure and stuffed it inside her left sleeve. It bit into her skin, an uncomfortable reminder that she faced worse ahead.

Finished with her preparations, she sat on the edge of the bed with her right leg stretched out and her fingers curled into the lace on her lap. She stared at the door, counting seconds in her head

She was a bride awaiting her execution.