CHAPTER 28

 

Before sunrise the next morning, Amanda was heading north on I-71. As she sipped steaming hot coffee from the travel mug Alan had loaned her, her focus was divided between the night before and the day that lay ahead.

She and Alan had made love last night. It wasn’t their first time and it wouldn’t be their last. But this time had been different. Before last night, she had always caught herself thinking of Julie, Alan’s deceased wife and her former friend, and felt guilty. She suspected that Alan felt the same way.

When he had shown up that fateful day at Amanda’s workplace last year, Alan had still been struggling with the pain and despair of losing the woman he had loved so much. He and Julie had been happily married for years before Julie was suddenly diagnosed with brain cancer and passed away.

Like the proverbial fly in the ointment, Amanda had resurfaced in Alan’s life that day to complicate matters and as time went by had forced him into a compromised position. Should he spend the rest of his life pining for his beloved deceased wife or move forward? The answer hung in the air like a dark cloud whenever they made love, neither of them wishing to forsake Julie’s memory.

Last night, she felt as though that cloud had finally disappeared, freeing them of the underlying guilt and self doubt that had prevailed before. For the first time ever, Alan had told her he loved her, and she had replied that she loved him. At last they could focus on the future together as a couple.

She smiled to herself. What crazy timing! There they were, both immersed in their respective cases, both stressed out to the max, and what happens? They confess their love for each other!

Who’da thunk?

So now they were both business partners and partners in love. Could the two coexist, she wondered? Only time would tell.

As she noticed the first rays of sunlight emerge over the eastern horizon, Amanda fumbled with the Jeep’s radio until she found her favorite rock station. She was feeling more than a little apprehensive about what she was going to do once she arrived in Anston. Locating Clark Royer’s home was going to be a challenge since she’d had no luck finding it on Google Maps. His mailing address was a rural route—RR2, Box 43—which meant absolutely nothing to her and had been of no use in her search.

So, if and when she did find where he lived, what was she going to do? It was Sunday, for one thing. Would he be at home on the weekend? And if he so, what did she expect to accomplish? To somehow force Royer into giving her a full confession? Right.

She would just have to cross that bridge when she got there.

Glancing at the clock, she wondered what Alan was doing this very moment. He had told her he was going to drive out to the pedophile’s home and monitor his actions throughout the day. He mentioned that since he didn’t know exactly when the man was going to hook up with his “child victim for the day,” as he’d put it, he’d have to get an early start. He intended to head out after showering and taking Pan for a short walk.

Amanda knew one thing about Alan Swansea: he was very good at what he did. If anybody could nail this trafficking operation, it was Alan. He not only had experience in human sex trafficking as a result of another case, he was one of the most stubborn, determined people she had ever known. His laid back appearance was just a facade covering what went on inside. The man had a genuine passion for others and would do anything in his power to get the job done.

She also shared Alan’s stubbornness and determination. But when it came to experience in this line of work, she had zilch. She could tell that Alan was nervous about what she was doing and she sensed it was going against his better judgment to let her go through with it. She felt grateful to him for giving her this opportunity and she wanted nothing more than to prove that she could do this. Prove it to Alan, prove it to Nick.

If only she had more faith in herself.

She pulled into a convenience store north of Mansfield to refill her coffee and use the bathroom. When she got back on the road, she tried to relax and let the music soothe her, but it did little good. By the time she neared the outskirts of Cleveland she was pretty much a bundle of nerves.

She pulled off onto an exit ramp and within fifteen minutes saw a sign that told her she had just entered the village of Anston, Ohio. She already knew from her research that it was a one-horse town, consisting of one minuscule main road with a couple of gas stations, a diner, a MacDonald’s and few small businesses. Literally a town that you could miss in the blink of an eye.

She pulled into the BP, parked and entered the convenience store. She waited until a customer paid for his gas before approaching the clerk.

“Excuse me, but do you by any chance know a Clark Royer?”

The employee, a young man in his twenties, replied, “No, afraid not.”

“Okay, thanks.”

She got back into the Jeep and decided to try the diner. The place was small with a half dozen tables and a booth. The only customer was an older gentleman reading a newspaper. She decided to try the waitress first.

“Good morning. I’m trying to find out where Clark Royer lives. Do you know him by any chance?”

The woman was in her forties, plump and friendly looking. “I sure don’t—sorry. Hey Ralph, you know a Clark Royer?”

The man looked over and cocked his head. “What’s that?”

“Do you know a Clark Royer? This young lady is trying to find him.”

The old man stood up and came over to the counter.

“Royer, you say?”

“Yes. Clark Royer,” Amanda replied. “He’s supposed to live somewhere around here.”

“I know there’s a young feller who lives out at Raccoon Run name of Royer. Reckon that might be him.”

“Wonderful. How do I get to Raccoon Run?”

The man smiled, revealing a jagged set of tobacco-stained teeth. “Gonna have to go outside to show you. C’mon.”

Amanda followed him out the door to the end of the sidewalk. He pointed along the main drag and said, “Go that way about three miles or so ‘til you see a big two-story white house on the left. Go past that house and start looking for a road not too much further. The road ain’t got a sign—some fool ran over it a couple of weeks ago, drunk as a skunk—but it’s the only road for a ways so you can’t miss it. Take a right on that road and go another mile or so until you see an old barn on your right. Just past the barn is Waller Lane. Take a left on that and stay on it a ways until you see Raccoon Run. It’s a good-sized crick with a dirt road that runs along it to the east. The Royer fellow lives way up that road.”

Amanda had taken a scrap of paper from her purse and jotted the directions down. “Sounds like he lives in the middle of nowhere.”

“You got that right. I haven’t been up that way in a while but I can tell you it’s a pretty good jaunt to Royer’s place. Used to go fishing in that area a while back. That road is rougher than a cob so I hope you got a car with good shocks.”

“I’m driving that Jeep,” she said, pointing toward her uncle’s Grand Cherokee.

“You shouldn’t have no trouble then.”

“Thanks for your help.”

“You’re welcome. Be careful up there.”

She wondered why he’d said that as she turned away and got into the Jeep.

Before starting the engine, she opened Google Maps, spotted her current GPS position and attempted to trace the route to Raccoon Run using Ralph’s directions. She found the task impossible since she had no idea where to find the two-story white house he had mentioned on the map. She would have to get there first before attempting to go any further electronically.

As she drove along the road she found it physically hard to believe that the huge metropolis of Cleveland was less than fifteen minutes away. This place seemed like something she would find in rural Milldale, not in the populated area of northeast Ohio. The folks even spoke like hillbillies, making her wonder if the original settlers of Anston had been southern Ohio emigrants.

Referring to her odometer, she started looking for the white house after a couple of miles. When she spotted it, she peeled her eyes for the first road on the right. The flattened sign Ralph had mentioned was lying on the berm, perhaps a reminder to others not to drink and drive.

After a mile or so she spotted the barn and pulled over long enough to get a fix on her GPS. She zoomed in and found Waller Lane a few hundred yards away. So far, Ralph had been spot-on with his directions, she noted.

She pulled onto Waller Lane and drove a little further until she reached Raccoon Run. She saw the dirt road running alongside, pulled onto it and parked.

Amanda switched over to 3-D satellite mode and zoomed into where the blue icon of her current location was pulsing. Dragging her finger along the road on her screen, she eventually came upon a large clearing where the road apparently dead-ended. In the clearing were three structures: a good sized home, flanked by a garage, and beyond that a much larger building that looked like a barn in the satellite image. She backtracked to where she was and guesstimated that Royer’s home—or farm or whatever—was about three miles further up from where she sat.

She drove slowly, hoping that there wouldn’t be any vehicles coming down the road along the way. The road was narrow—too narrow for two cars to pass each other without one having to pull over onto the berm. The last thing she wanted was to run into Royer before she got to his place.

Her window was down and she could hear the sound of the creek that ran out of sight to her left. Judging by its swift flow, it must have rained a lot recently in the area. She glanced at the satellite view again, wondering at what point she should bail out before she got within viewing distance of Royer’s land. She didn’t want to park too far away—just far enough to avoid being seen.

She continued her drive until she reached a curve in the road that was probably only a quarter mile from Royer’s property. She pulled over and shut off the Jeep. The sound of the engine ticking from the heat and the babbling of the creek were all she heard.

Amanda got out, locked the doors and began hiking further up the road. Moments later she could see Royer’s house through a clearing up ahead so she slowed down to a crawl, attempting to get a fix on how to access his property without being seen. When she came within clear sight she saw a split rail fence that ran across either side of the road to the tree line.

Stopping abruptly, Amanda assessed the area. Royer’s property seemed much bigger than the satellite image suggested. As she observed his home, she saw that not only was it huge, it was impressive. It was a two-story frame that you would expect to find in an upscale neighborhood, not here in the middle of a field in the middle of nowhere. Had it been renovated since the satellite photo had been shot? Beyond the house to the east stood the large building that looked less like a barn now and more like some sort of storage facility. She saw some windows and planned on taking a good look at what Royer had stored inside before she did another thing.

There were no vehicles in the driveway and the garage door was closed. Was Royer at home or away? She couldn’t be sure. She would have to assume that he was and he could see her if she wasn’t careful.

She glanced to her left at the tree line. It was fairly dense but navigable. If she could stay hidden in the trees, she would be able to make it all the way to the large building without being seen.

Amanda entered the woods and stayed within fifteen yards of the tree line as she headed toward the structure. She wasn’t crazy about bugs and snakes and hoped she didn’t run into either. She had become a hopeless city girl since leaving Milldale as a kid and had lost any desire to go hiking or camping out.

The structure was only thirty yards or so away when she came to a stop. From this angle there would be no way that Royer could see her, so she came up to the edge of the trees and sprinted across the clearing to the east side of the building.

There were no windows on this side so she walked toward the back and spotted a window about half the distance to the other end. She walked over and peered inside. What she saw nearly took her breath away.

In the dim light, she could make out no less than a half dozen vintage cars neatly lined up in a row. An old Corvette Stingray, a GTO, a Ford Mustang Mach 1, and a few more she didn’t recognize. Every car was in mint condition, the paint sparkling despite the weak light, and not a single dent in sight.

So Mr. Royer’s a classic car buff. An odd pastime for a techno geek, but everyone needs some sort of release, she reckoned.

Her curiosity piqued, she wanted to see what else was inside that she couldn’t make out from this perspective. She had noticed that the entrance to this enormous garage/showroom was located on the other side and that it was visible from Royer’s house. She walked toward the end, stopped just shy of it and peered around the corner.

The house was perhaps fifty yards from where she now stood. Fortunately, there was a large oak tree growing in the backyard that obscured her view from most of the rear of the house. If she moved quickly enough, Royer most likely would never see her.

She inched out a foot or so and peered toward the garage door that was closed. This side of it was a smaller door. Amanda shot a quick glance toward the house then ran over to the door. She tried the knob and it turned. She swung the door open just far enough to slip inside and promptly shut it behind her.

Panting hard, she looked around. She was standing in what appeared to be the maintenance area of the building. There was a compressed air controlled car lift supporting what looked like a sixties model Pontiac Firebird. Unlike the other cars, this one was in serious need of bodywork. There were patches of body putty and a few areas that had been sprayed with gray primer paint. On the workbench sat a paint sprayer attached by a long hose to one of the two air compressors.

She was tempted to turn on the lights but decided not to take the chance. Instead, she made her way through the neat row of glistening American muscle cars all the way over to the far side of the building. When she neared the end, she let out a gasp and her heart skipped a beat.

Parked in the corner was a white police car. No, it wasn’t a police car but a sheriff’s department patrol car—an Adams County Sheriff’s cruiser identical to the ones in Milldale!

So Royer was the murderer—he did it! Just as he’d done back in high school, he had transformed a stock car into a cop car and used it to deceive his victims. As a database worker at Davidson and Associates, he had total access to the records of every client at the firm, which he used to his advantage. Whenever he found a case involving a wealthy person who lived alone and was vulnerable, he began planning his attack. The first thing he did was check out the local law situation—more specifically what models the vehicles were and their markings. Then he probably took a few shots, bought the same model car, brought it here to his body shop and got to work. The rest would be a piece of cake.

She knew this line of thinking was jumping to conclusions and pure conjecture but it fit. Clark Royer had money—plenty of it—certainly more than his job as a database manager paid. He had a hoard of vintage sports cars that were worth plenty in fair condition and much more after Royer had used his obvious skills to restore them to mint condition. He owned a home that had once looked little more than a farmhouse on the satellite view and now looked like it belonged to a well-to-do, eccentric weirdo.

She pulled out her iPhone and took two shots—one of the mocked-up cruiser and another with the cruiser in the foreground and the sports cars in the background. Wait until Alan sees these! She would text him the second she got back to the Jeep.

She went over to the cruiser and poked her head inside the open window. Just as she expected, the interior of the car was stock—no wire mesh partition, no police radio or on-board computer, no special controls or instrumentation. Royer had put all of his effort into transforming the exterior to make—

She heard a door open. A second later, the lights came on.

“Who’s in here?” a voice called.

Royer! she thought. Immediately, she ducked down in the shadows.

“I know you’re in here so you might as well come on out.”

Amanda felt her heart bursting out of her chest. What could she do?

“Trespassing is against the law and I have every right to shoot anybody trespassing on my property. If you want to avoid being wounded or killed, I suggest you give yourself up right now.”

She heard the sound of his footsteps grow louder. He was heading directly toward her! She wanted to take a look and see where he was but knew better. She would just have to lay low.

“Whoever you are, you are fucked! You’re obviously not armed or you would have shot me by now. So I’m the only one with a gun, and that gun makes me the boss. Give it up, woman! I’m in control and I will prevail—no doubt about it!”

So he had spotted her from the house. Shit! Amanda guessed that he was near the halfway point of the building now—maybe a little closer than that. She had nothing to defend herself with. Cold reality hit her hard—there was no way she was going to get out of this!

Her phone suddenly vibrated. Alan! she thought. Although the phone was in her back pocket with its ringer turned off, it may as well have been set on killer bee mode as it buzzed incessantly in the still quiet of the garage. No way he hadn’t heard it.

“You going to answer that?” he said. She nearly jumped out of her skin—he was only a few feet away!

Amanda paused a moment before breaking into a run. Immediately she felt a hand grab her by the elbow and a shot rang out. She heard the bullet ricochet off a metal ceiling girder as she struggled to break away from Royer. The man was strong and he effortlessly held her arm as if in a clamp. She felt the cold steel of the barrel suddenly press hard against the nape of her neck.

“I suggest you chill out, honey, unless you want to see your brains splattered all over my priceless possessions. That wouldn’t do either of us any good.”

Amanda relented. “Okay.”

“I’m going to take this gun away now. Don’t try anything or I’ll shoot. I want you to lead the way out of here—slowly.”

Amanda felt the gun taken away from her neck and pressed firmly into her back. She walked forward slowly as directed.

“So what may I ask are you doing here? You sure as fuck didn’t come to make an offer on one of my cars.”

Amanda was at a total loss for words. “How do you know that?”

“Oh, we have a comedian here! Okay, I’ll play along. If you were interested in purchasing a car, you would have probably had the decency to call first instead of taking the liberty of breaking in here like this. How’s that for an answer?”

“Pretty good.”

“Now, how about the truth?” he said.

“I just happened to be in the neighborhood and—”

He spun her around so violently that she screamed. He got right up into her face, pressed the gun against her temple, absolute rage in his eyes.

“Enough of the bullshit, bitch! You tell me what you’re doing here or we’re through talking, if you catch my drift!”

“Okay! I’m investigating a case with my partner.”

His expression changed dramatically as Amanda realized he was not expecting that particular reply.

“I see. So what are you, some kinda cop?”

“No, I’m a private investigator.”

“And what case are you investigating?”

“The murder of Jodi Wilburn,” Amanda replied.

He didn’t flinch. “Who may I ask is Jodi Wilburn? Or should I say, who was Jodi Wilburn?”

“An old friend of mine.”

“Interesting. Let’s go to the house so you can tell me more about it.”

He nudged her with the gun and Amanda turned to go. When they reached the inside of his house he ordered her take a seat at the kitchen table. As frightened as she was at the moment, she couldn’t help but notice the awful state the kitchen was in. She had expected to see a clean, modern space but instead saw was an old, dilapidated room in serious need of an overhaul.

“Sorry about the mess in here—haven’t gotten around to the inside of the house yet. Been too busy. So what’s your name, dear?”

“Amanda.”

“You mentioned a partner. What’s his name?”

“Alan.”

“Last name?”

“Swansea.”

“I see. So you and Swansea are investigating a case involving the murder of this Wilburn woman. Tell me more about that.”

“Jodi lived alone and had inherited a great deal of money from her grandmother when she passed. Somebody broke into her home, stole her inheritance and strangled her to death.”

“That’s horrible! And where did this happen?”

“In Milldale, a little town in the southern part of the state.”

“That’s very interesting. So what may I ask are you doing all the way up here investigating a crime that happened in the other end of the state?”

“We have reason to believe that you might be involved.”

He laughed heartily. “Is that so? And what in the world makes you think that, honey?”

His incessant use of honey, dear, and other terms of endearment was beginning to grate on her nerves in spite everything. She looked him over for the first time and saw a man who was probably suffering from a lack of confidence and attempting to make up for it with a gun, a bunch of restored muscle cars and quasi bravado. Although he wore jeans and a t-shirt, she could easily see him sporting a pair of pleated khaki Dockers and a navy blue polo shirt while crunching client data at a computer screen all day. All he needed was a pair of thick horn-rimmed glasses to complete the look of a total loser geek.

“I don’t think that, Mr. Royer. I know it.”

“Ha-ha! This is getting really interesting! How do you know it?”

“That Adams County Sheriff’s department pseudo-cruiser you have in you collection, for one thing.”

For the first time, a flicker of dread showed in his eyes. “How’s that? And how is it you know my name, Amanda?”

“You were driving that car the day you murdered Jodi. You pretended to be a cop so she let you into her house. Then you robbed and murdered her. And I know your name because you work at Davidson and Associates, which is where you found out about Jodi’s inheritance. What I don’t know, Mr. Royer, is how you knew Jodi had it all stashed in her house.”

“You’re a real smart bitch, aren’t you? Think you’ve got this all figured out. Let me remind you that this is my home and I’m the boss here, missy, before you start getting all cocky like some know-it-all cunt! Time to stifle the attitude right now, hear me?”

“Yes, I hear you.”

“Good. So let’s assume that what you said really happened. Have you taken a moment to think of how ridiculous that sounds? Anybody who knows how to read a newspaper or search the internet could find out that somebody’s rich and lives alone—without having to work at an accountant’s office. So that angle of yours is bogus.

“And how in the hell would I know that some dumb chick kept all her treasures in a safe at her home and not in the bank, living all the fucking way up here in Cleveland, Ohio?”

“I don’t know. But I’d like to.”

“I’ll bet you would. Well, I’ll tell you what. I’m going to tell you—call it a professional courtesy. Then you can feel like you have all of this figured out, case closed. I mean, what the hell difference does it make to me? You aren’t going to be leaving this house anyway, so you won’t be sharing it with anybody.”

For the first time, Amanda felt the full scope of this situation. He had been toying with her, keeping the mood just light enough to make her think she might make it through this alive somehow. She had been kidding herself.

But she was not about to show this nut case how scared she was. Somehow she had to keep the conversation going and maintain an air of self-confidence.

“So tell me. How’d you know?”

“Easy, really. All I had to do was drive down to Milldale and case the place out before putting everything into motion. The first thing I did was wait around for Mrs. Wilburn to leave for work one morning and then entered her house. She hadn’t even locked the door, if you can believe that! So I went inside and began looking around. The first thing I did was check out her laptop for anything that might be helpful. That’s when I discovered a scathing email from her ex-hubby, among other things.”

So Jodi must have deleted those emails right after hanging up from Nick’s call, Amanda thought.

“Then I cased out the entire house, beginning with a pile of bills on her desk. As I poked around her paperwork, I realized there wasn’t a single indication that she paid her bills by check or credit card—it was all in cash. That sent up a red flag.

“I came to the conclusion that she didn’t deal with banks so there was a good chance her inheritance was stashed away in the house somewhere. So I started looking for a safe but had no luck. Let me make one thing clear—even if I had found a safe I wouldn’t have attempted to crack it. Not my style. You see, it’s all about the challenge for me. Yes, the money’s good and all of that, but I get so much more than financial reward from what I do. I get power, and that my dear, is priceless!”

“So how many others have there been?”

“How many what?”

“Victims—how many others have you robbed and murdered?”

“What is this, truth or dare?” he laughed. “Let’s just say I like my second job, it has served me well and we’ll leave it at that for now.”

“But can’t you—”

Her iPhone vibrated again. Royer held out his hand.

“Hand it over,” he demanded.

Amanda pulled the phone out of her pocket and glanced at the screen. It was Uncle Ken. She noticed that it was him who had called the first time as well, not Alan. She handed Royer the phone.

He stared at the screen. “Who’s Ken Barker?”

“My uncle. He’s going to start looking for me if I don’t answer.”

“How’s he going to ever find you?”

“He knows I’m up here—so does my partner.”

“I seriously doubt that,” he said. He glanced at the phone again. “Seems he’s left a voicemail for you. Let’s see what he said.”

He tried accessing the voicemails but the phone was password protected.

“What’s the password?”

Amanda sighed. “3-7-3-3,” she replied. She thought it ironic that her password was of all things, “F-R-E-E.”

Royer punched in the code and accessed the voicemail. Amanda felt herself go numb as she heard her uncle’s message:

“Mandy, this is the second time I’ve called. Are you in Cleveland yet? Maybe you’re trying to find Royer’s place. Well, call back ASAP—I just found out they’ve arrested Nick. I’m on the way to the county jail now. Thought you’d want to know. Call me!”

“Your uncle just spilled the beans—he doesn’t know where you are—just that you’re somewhere in Cleveland. Which brings us to the sixty thousand dollar question: what am I going to do with you?”

“The answer is simple—you have to let me go. They know I’ve been looking for you and they’ll eventually find out where you live. You have no other choice,” Amanda said.

His fist hit the table so hard that a china sugar bowl fell to the floor and shattered into a hundred pieces.

“I don’t have to fucking do anything I don’t want to do!” he roared. “I am in charge here and what I say, goes. You got that, honey puss?”

Amanda didn’t reply; she just nodded. She now had a pretty good idea what Jodi must have gone through before Royer murdered her. He was not only a control freak but a hothead and a certifiable lunatic. It must have been terrifying.

She realized that her ass was grass, no matter what Royer chose to do. He would most likely kill her—little doubt of that. The question was when and where. Would he take her somewhere, murder her and then dump the body? Or would he simply do it here and take it from there?

How long would she have before he killed her? Her only chance would be to stall him—delay the inevitable for as long as she possibly could. Maybe, just maybe, she could figure a way to get out of this.

“So is Nick the same Nick who was married to Jodi?”

“Yes.”

“Looks like he’s gonna fry for his ex’s murder. Too bad.”

“That’s not going to happen. My partner knows all about you and will see that you fry whether you let me go or not. You can trust me on that.”

He laughed. “You can trust me on this: letting you go isn’t even an option, so you might as well get that out of your pretty little head. And I am not worried one iota about your partner. He’ll never be able to prove I did jack shit.”

“Don’t count on it—this will be an open and shut case.”

“No way. There’s only one thing that could possible incriminate me and it’s sitting out there in my workshop. All I have to do is make that disappear, and they won’t have a shred of evidence.”

Amanda thought a moment. It didn’t take long to realize that he was absolutely right. The patrol car was indeed all they had. At least so far. Could there be any other incriminating evidence when they got a warrant to search his property? She thought of how thorough Royer had been at the crime scene and doubted he would be that careless. Plus, he would have plenty of time to destroy anything else incriminating he might have before the authorities ever got here.

But not if she could prevent it. She had to find a way to reach out to somebody, and pronto. Let them know what was happening. Otherwise, she was screwed but good.

“You know I’m right, don’t you?” he said.

“We’ve got other evidence,” she lied.

“Nice try, but I don’t believe you. Let me tell you something, Amanda. I have this whole thing down to a science. I know what I’m doing and I know how to leave no trails behind. That’s why this Nick dude is being arrested and not me. Because they don’t have a goddamn single thing even hinting that I could have done it. And all the other times? Same story. Those cases have all grown stone cold because I’m that good.

“I’ll give you credit, though. Somehow you figured this out and managed to put me in a bit of a pickle. Nice work! But it’s nothing I can’t remedy. Enough of all this talk though, I’ve got to get to work. Stand up.”

She took too long to follow his order.

“Now!” he shouted, pointing the gun at her head.

Amanda stood up.

“I’ve got a few things to take care of, so while I’m busy you’re going to have to be detained. I know just the place—head out into the living room.”

With Royer at her back Amanda walked through the doorway leading to the living room. Like the kitchen, the place was dirty and dated with old furniture and chipped paint on the walls.

“Go sit over there by the radiator,” he said, pointing across the room. An old cast iron radiator stood midway along the far wall, suggesting that the house was much older than its modern exterior suggested.

“Sit down and don’t make a move.”

Royer kept his eyes and the gun trained on Amanda as he walked over to an end table, opened a drawer and pulled out what looked like a bicycle cable chain lock.

“Never used this before—looks like I’ve found a new use for it.”

He went over and grabbed both of her hands and clasped them together at the wrist.

“You’re hurting me!” Amanda cried as he began wrapping the steel cable tightly around her wrists.

He ignored her complaint. After wrapping her in a couple of lengths of cable, he pulled her arms toward the steel pipe coming up through the floor to the radiator.

“Get closer,” he demanded, pushing her at the same time.

Once he had enough slack to wrap both sides of the cable around the pipe he brought the ends together and slipped the combination lock through the looped ends.

“There we go,” he said, snapping the lock in place and turning the combination knob.

Amanda grunted as she tried to move her body closer to the radiator and loosen the chain enough to ease the pain in her wrists.

“Can’t you loosen this up some? I can hardly sit up!” she said.

“Nope, sorry. But I can do this.”

He began unbuttoning her shirt.

“What the fuck are you doing!” she cried.

“Make you more comfortable. You might as well relax, it’ll be easier.”

Amanda tried to knee him in the groin but he was too fast for her. He dodged, took the gun and stuck the barrel firmly against her forehead.

“If you want to live, you’ll stop resisting right now! Have you forgotten who’s running the show here? Now fucking sit still!”

Amanda was powerless as Clark Royer finished unbuttoning her blouse. He grasped her bra, pulled it down and stared at her exposed breasts.

“Nice! I’ll be thinking of these while I work on the car. Gotta give it a new paint job. In the meantime, you sit tight and wait here like a good little girl. I’ll be back to check on you soon.”

Amanda watched him as he left the room, stunned by what he had just done. It was one thing to be chained to a radiator, but seeing this sicko standing there ogling her boobs for no apparent reason other than to show that he was in control totally creeped her out. For some reason she thought of Adolf Hitler and had a glimpse at what Clark Royer could do if given half a chance. The man was control crazy and sick in the head.

She shifted herself around until she was as comfortable as possible. Examining the steel cable and where it was wrapped around her wrists, she came to the conclusion that there was no way to slip out of it. There were no more than a couple inches of play—not enough slack to free her hands.

She looked around for a tool or anything she might use to cut the cable. The nearest object, besides the radiator, was a threadbare chair six feet away.

In a nutshell, she wasn’t going anywhere.

Amanda spotted a clock on the fireplace mantle—it was almost eleven. She wondered if Uncle Ken would try calling again, or if he would call Alan to let him know that she wasn’t answering her phone. Not that it would do any good, anyway. They were both hours away and probably wouldn’t start worrying about her in time to catch this nut before he destroyed the evidence. And murdered her.

For the next hour Amanda sat thinking—about Nick, this case, Alan and her life. She had been close to death before; in fact it had also been during one of Alan’s other cases. She had escaped death by overpowering her captor, but only because Alan had shown up and distracted him, giving her just enough time to save herself along with the captor’s other victim.

Her quick action had impressed Alan—so much that he had asked her to consider partnering up with him. And now here she was. She had accepted his offer for this case mostly because she needed him to help her prove that Nick Wilburn was innocent. She had eventually ended up taking over the case herself and—hold your applause, please—had just found out who the actual murderer was.

End of story? she wondered. Was she going to be killed and was this asshole going to get away with murder? Would Nick be convicted and sent away for life?

She had no idea. It just didn’t seem right—that much she knew. She also knew she did not want to die. She wanted to live to see Clark Royer arrested, tried and convicted for his crimes. She wanted to live to see Nick freed and be able to get on with his life. She wanted to live so she could be with Alan because she loved him.

She heard the kitchen door open. A moment later Clark Royer sashayed into the living room, smiling. Not a good sign.

“Howdy, honey, I’m back!” he sang.

He came over and sat down next to her. He put his finger under her chin, causing her to flinch. The smell of auto paint was stifling.

“Gave that Crown Vic a brand new look—wait till you see her! No more cop markings, no more boring black and white paint. She’s a real beauty now!”

Amanda wondered if the crime investigators would be able to see what was under the fresh paint when they nailed this creep. Maybe they could tell he’d painted over the only solid piece of evidence.

“You’re awfully quiet—talk to me!” he said.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know—maybe something like how you can’t wait to see the former cop car? That would be a start.”

“Okay, I can’t wait to see it. How’s that?”

“Frankly, you don’t exactly sound very thrilled. But that’s okay, you probably have other things on your mind. Makes no difference anyway because I wouldn’t let you see it even if you wanted to.”

“Why’s that?”

“No time. I have to get you out of here, and the sooner the better.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“I’m still not sure yet, but I’ve been giving it some thought. Somehow we have to make it look like you were never here. Like something horrible happened while you were trying to find my place.”

“Horrible how?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Oh, you know. Like you took a curve too fast in that Jeep and crashed into a tree or ran into a pond. Something like that. Whatever happens, it’s going to kill you—that much I know.”

So he had found the Jeep—she should have known. Amanda felt her heart sink. Is this really happening? She felt as though she was in the midst of a horrible nightmare that never ended. She would pinch herself but this fucking chain made that impossible.

“We have to go now. Here, I’ll take that chain off.”

He knelt down, grasped the combination lock and suddenly paused before turning the dial. He reached over, opened her shirt and took both of her breasts in his hands.

“Damn, I wish we had more time together—you have one sweet body here, honey! Fuck it, just my luck. I sure wish I’d met you under more opportune conditions.”

He sighed and let go of her. He began working the combination but after three tries was unable to open the lock.

“Goddamn it, I forgot the combination! I’ll be back.”

He stormed out of the room and it sounded like he’d gone down to the basement. Amanda’s mind was in overdrive trying to think of a way out of this. Maybe she could take him by surprise the moment she was freed from the radiator. The guy was quick but maybe not quick enough. As long as that gun wasn’t pointed at her she may just have a crack at him.

Royer returned, carrying a hacksaw. “This’ll do the job.”

He placed a section of steel cable against the radiator and began to saw. He was using both hands—one to hold the chain in place and the other to work the saw. The gun was lying where he’d placed it on the floor beside him. In less than a minute he had cut the chain in two and in a flash Amanda sprung into action. She freed her hands, tucked in her thumb, flexed her fingers and delivered a perfectly placed eye strike to Royer’s eyes. Stunned and in agonizing pain, he fell back against the radiator, both hands covering his injured eyes. Amanda whisked up the gun off the floor and pointed it directly at Royer’s chest.

“Hands up, asshole!” she screamed.

Reeling from the pain of having his eyes nearly poked out of their sockets, Royer hesitantly removed his hands and raised them in the air. He was blinking his eyes repeatedly, tears pouring down his cheeks.

“I can’t fucking see!” he cried.

“You’ll be fine in a few minutes,” Amanda replied. “Unfortunately.”

“Where did you learn how to do that?”

“Self defense training. I graduated at the top of my class. Now turn around.”

“What the hell are you going to do now?”

“Tie your sick ass up.”

Amanda grabbed the bicycle chain and looked it over.

“Hands behind your back,” she ordered.

Royer did as he was told and using one hand, Amanda managed to wrap the cable several times around Royer’s wrists.

“I still can’t see—you sure my sight’s going to come back?”

“Pretty sure, but I can’t guarantee it. There have been a few cases where that move has resulted in permanent damage. So I guess it’s possible that you’re one of those few.”

She didn’t want to take the gun off Royer for even a second but she had to tie the cable together. She quickly tucked the pistol between her thighs just long enough to tie the chain twice then recovered the gun.

“Let’s go into the kitchen,” she said. “Don’t make any moves or I’ll blow you away.”

“Not much a blind person can do,” he said weakly.

Smiling, Amanda took Royer by the arm and led him into the kitchen.

“Sit down in this chair,” she ordered. “You got any duct tape?”

“Nope.”

“Liar. Tell me where it is or I’ll be forced to knock you out with the handle of this gun.”

“I think it’s in the basement.”

“Stand up and lead the way.”

“I still can’t see!”

“I won’t let you fall down the stairs,” she said dryly.

Amanda nudged him forward, holding onto his shackled hands. She opened the door and turned on the basement lights.

“Step down.”

Royer managed to get his foot on the first step and eventually made it all the way down to the bottom.

“Where’s the tape?”

“On the work bench, I think.”

Amanda spotted the tape and went over to get it, keeping the gun trained on him.

“Hey, I can see again!” he said.

“Wonderful. Now you can lead the way back upstairs.”

After returning to the kitchen Amanda ordered him to sit down again and began wrapping duct tape around Royer and the chair. After a half dozen or so rounds, she tore it off the roll.

“Where’s my phone?”

“In my pocket.”

“Which one.”

“Back.”

She went around and removed her phone from his pocket.

“You might as well just relax until the recruits get here,” she said before making her first call.