Killer Heat (34 page)

“Raise your light,” Mike said.

All around the blackened cellar were the remnants of a primitive
prison. Dungeon-Russell Leamer's phrase-seemed like a much
more appropriate word.

Thick bars formed a barrier between the open area around the
foot of the staircase and the four walls of the room. Behind them
were tiny cells, each barely large enough to hold a single
individual. Neither a cot nor a mattress could have fit in such a
confined space. It was clearly meant to be a barbaric form of
punishment.

I moved the light up and down along the bars, around the
circumference of the room. I did it a second time, sweeping the
monochromatic walls horizontally.

“Too good for Troy Rasheed,” Mike said, taking a step back up
toward me. “I hate being wrong.”

I clung to the banister as he went by me. Sitting on the lowest
dry step, I took one last look, aiming the flash lower than my
first two efforts.

Lightning backlit several of the cells through the two small
windows as I guided my own beam over the surface of the water.

“Pam?” I screamed, grabbing at the leg of Mike's trousers to
pull him back down.

In a far corner of the room, curled on its side, was the naked
body of a young woman who was hogtied with legs and arms behind
her- the only way someone could have fitted her in the space of one
of the cells. A third of her body seemed to be submerged in the
rising water lapping at her lips and nose.

A piece of cloth gagged her mouth. Her eyes were open, staring
back at me, and Pam Lear was still alive.

FIFTY-ONE

Mike jumped from the steps onto the floor of the basement and
sloshed through the muddy water to Pam's side.

"I'm a cop, Pam. You're all right. You're going to be fine. I
had never seen anyone's eyes opened wider, still full of fear and
overflowing with tears that began to run into the water under her
head.

Mike pulled the filthy piece of cloth out of the girl's mouth
and she began to gasp for air, breathing and sobbing, unable to
form or speak any words. Before I could remove my jacket, Mike had
taken his off and put it over her body. The dirt that was caked all
over her from head to toe didn't conceal the lacerations on her
torso or her goose bumps from the chilly dampness of her cell.

I lifted my leg to step over Pam, so that I could help Mike cut
her bindings. Her chest was still heaving wildly and her eyes
followed me with understandable distrust.

Mike was used to dealing with corpses. He liked every aspect of
the cold, clinical procedures of a homicide investigator. It was
with living, breathing, emotionally scarred victims that he was
most uncomfortable.

But this time he was giving it all he had. He was kneeling in
the water, talking to Pam and explaining what he was doing, in an
effort to comfort her

You'll be fine,“ Mike said, stroking the hair that was clotted
to her head. ”We're going to get you out right now, get you safe
and warm." Thunder clapped again and her body shook.

“You're alive and we're here to help you and-”

Just don't tell her that nobody's going to hurt her before we
know where her torturer is, I thought.

She was still trying to control her breathing-how long had she
been gagged?-and still couldn't find her voice. The only thing that
came out of her mouth was guttural, choking sounds

My name is Alex. I'm going to touch you, Pam. I'm going to help
Mike get these ropes off your hands and feet." She had been
manhandled and abused and assaulted by a stranger, and we needed to
reassure her that our contact was meant to be helpful to her

You've got that knife?" Mike asked.

Her eyes popped again. She looked at us as though we were her
abductors. “No,” she said, gulping in more of the muggy air. "No,
no, no knife.

“It's okay, Pam. I won't hurt you,” I said. “That's the only
way we can get you out of these ties.”

Mike was dabbing at her face with his handkerchief. He held
Pam's chin in his hand and gave her his classic Chapman grin. “You
wouldn't want my friend Alex to cook for you, but she's got long,
skinny fingers that are going to get you undone much faster than I
can. Just stay with me, Pam. Trust me.”

I took the switchblade out of my pocket and opened it. On the
blade, on top of the rust, there were dark stains, probably Pam
Lear's blood.

Mike kept her focused on his face, telling her how happy he was
to find her, talking to her about school and history and her summer
job. He knew that more highly charged words-family and friends, who
they were and where they might be-were the wrong connection to make
at this moment. Too likely to result in more of a meltdown.

I leaned in over Pam's hands, which were tightly bound against
her lower back. “I'm going to lift your arms a little bit, to get
them away from your body,” I said. “Is that okay?”

“Yes,” she said, the breaths coming more regularly now.
“Yes.”

“If it feels too tight, you tell me and I'll ease it back down.”
I raised her left arm-the one beneath her body-and rested the tip
of her elbow on top of my knee, to give myself a bit of room to
maneuver. I didn't want her to feel the back edge of the knife's
blade against her skin.

Slowly and carefully, I began to saw at the rope in an upward
direction. It took longer than I expected to cut through the dense
material, and twice Pam's hands jerked away from me, pulling her
ankles up behind her.

All the while, Mike tried to soothe her with banter and charm,
tried to keep her attention away from me and the knife. There was
no point in asking her questions until we were all out of this
dungeon.

“I'm just about there, Pam,” I said. “Your hands are almost
free.”

A blast of thunder rolled over us. Pam's eyes blinked rapidly
and she looked up the staircase to the landing. “It's the storm,”
Mike said. “There's no one there and I'm not going to leave you.
We're almost done.”

“There you go,” I said.

Her right arm dropped limply to her side. Mike took it between
his hands and began to knead her slim wrist, massaging it to get
the circulation back.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Pam said, saying the words
over and over, barely understandable through the sobs. She was
hoarse from the gag that had absorbed all the moisture in her
mouth.

I was able to slice through the bindings around her ankles more
quickly, but her limbs were so numb she didn't seem to feel the
moment of release.

“We're going to sit you up,” I said. “Mike's going to turn his
head for a minute while I put his jacket on you, okay?”

Explain everything you're doing to the victim. Give her back the
feeling that she can help control her situation, take part in
decisions that are being made.

Mike stood up while I took his nylon windbreaker, helping Pam
guide each of her arms into a sleeve. I moved in front of her and
zipped the jacket up.

“We're going to try to get you to your feet,” I said.

Mike leaned down and put his hands under the arms of the petite
young woman. He tried to raise her slowly, and it was obvious she
was struggling to control her tears. “I can't,” Pam said. “Can't.
Can't.”

“You don't have to do a thing,” Mike said. “I'm going to carry
you upstairs. I'm going to put you over my shoulder, Pam. You've
seen firemen do it, right? You just hang on to-”

“I can't,” she said again, looking at her hands.

“I'll be behind you. Let Mike do all the work,” I said,
reassuring her.

Mike lifted Pam off the ground, out of the water, and, as gently
as he could, hoisted her over his shoulder.

I pointed the flashlight at the bottom of the tall staircase,
and as Mike started to walk, I took hold of one of Pam's hands that
was dangling behind his back. Holding the jacket in place over
Pam's lower body, Mike marched us up to the landing and around
again to the door that led back into the house.

He carried the dazed young woman into the room I figured must
have been the commanding officer's suite-the largest one we had
come through earlier-and lowered her onto an old upholstered divan
along the wall.

I went to the window and yanked at a panel of the heavy gold
curtain that sagged from its rod.

“What the hell are you doing?” Mike asked.

“It worked for Scarlett O'Hara.”

“What did?”

“Making a dress out of her mother's moss green velvet po'teers,
Mike. Her old drapes.”

I dragged a chair close to the window, climbed up, and took the
wooden rod down. The two panels fell to the floor.

I swept them up and took them back to Pam. “They're just dusty.
But I'd like to cover you with them till we get some dry
clothes.”

“And I'm going to get some water for you,” Mike said. “How long
since you've had a drink?”

She lifted her hand and held it to her throat, as if that would
make the words come out more easily. “Not sure. What day is
it?”

“It's Tuesday, Pam,” I said.

“Yesterday,” she said, as Mike walked to the front door of the
house. He went outside and, when he returned, he was carrying the
canteen he had thrown to break the window. Pam's eyes locked on it
and she started to quiver again.

“Rainwater,” Mike said. “I've filled it with rainwater. You've
got to drink slowly, though.”

“It's his,” she said, recoiling from the canteen. “No.”

Mike got to his knees again, in front of her. “There's no fresh
water on this island, Pam. This is all we can give you. You need to
sip at it. C'mon.”

She shook her head violently from side to side.

Mike poured some of the water onto his handkerchief and dabbed
at the girl's lips. “This will feel good, Pam. You're dehydrated.
You need water.”

She breathed in deeply and reacted instinctively to the
moisture, putting her tongue out to taste it, then swallowing
hard.

“I've wiped the canteen, Pam. Don't be afraid to use it.”

I took it from Mike. “I'm going to hold your neck. I'd like you
to lean your head back and take a drink.”

“It's his,” she repeated. “Don't want it.”

“Whose is it?” Mike asked. “Tell me who brought you here.”

“Wilson,” Pam said, dropping her head forward as she dissolved
in tears again. "He told me his name is Wilson.

FIFTY-TWO

Where the hell is Mercer?“ Mike said, walking to the front door
of the Governor's House. ”Where did Leamer tell him we were?"

“What if he looked for us while we were in the basement? Figured
he was mistaken about the building?”

“I'd have heard him.”

“Over the thunder?”

Mike was walking back and forth impatiently. I could tell that
he wanted to move out of this macabre setting and resume the
search for our killer.

Pam had described her captor perfectly. It was Troy Rasheed,
using the name he had taken, along with his father's life. She had
not seen the tattoos on his arms and body until he had tied her up
and removed his lightweight rain jacket. But in the hours that he
spent torturing her, she had memorized most of the initials-the
prison art-that constituted his personal rap sheet

The storm's passing, Coop. I want to go to the office and get
that chopper airborne. Get Pam to a hospital."

We both knew we couldn't take her out of the building yet. I
rubbed her ankles as I talked to her, but I didn't know when she
would be able to stand, much less walk.

“I was stupid,” Pam said. “I was stupid to believe him.”

“You're alive,” I said, working her lower legs with my hands.
“You did something right. This isn't your fault.”

“He was friendly to me,” she said. “Not just Sunday, but the
other times he'd been at Fort Tilden during the month.”

“You don't have to go through it now. Don't upset yourself.”

Mike walked over and sat on the arm of the sofa. Pam wanted to
talk now. He gave her more water, and in a hoarse voice she went
on.

“I came with him because I'd never been here. I know all about
this island but I'd never seen how beautiful it is.”

“I understand,” I said.

“I mean, it wasn't because I was attracted to him, really. He
was kind and all that, but it wasn't about him.” She was looking at
me for a sign that I believed her.

Nelly Kallin was right. Troy Rasheed had learned how to catch
his flies with honey this time around.

“You're going to tell Alex everything that happened, Pam,” Mike
said to her. “There'll be lots of time for that when we get you
taken care of, but it's more important that we start at the end of
the story. I want you to tell me when Wilson left you, what he said
to you, where you think he went from here.”

Mike had all the facts he needed from Pam for his purposes. He
knew she'd been picked up by Rasheed, accompanied him
voluntarily-as the other three woman may have done-and then been
betrayed and assaulted. There was nothing more to know at the
moment except how to find him and stop him.

“I don't know when he left me,” she said. “I have no sense of
what time it is. I-I guess it was last night-no, maybe in the
afternoon. It's been dark for two days-no light in that-that
prison.”

“How did you come to the island?” I asked.

“The ferry. Of course the ferry.”

“On Sunday?”

“Yes. Yes, he convinced me to leave my job early. It was my last
day, and nobody from the intern program was around. He told me
there was this event going on, this Civil War reenactment. I'd
heard about them. And it was a Park Service program, so I didn't
think it would be a bad thing to do.”

Mike caught my attention and rolled his eyes. He wanted to
fastforward the story so we could make decisions about what to do
next.

“When he tied you up-Wilson, this man,” I said. “Did he say
anything about where he was going?”

“Did I tell you he was in the army?” she asked. “That he was a
veteran, back less than a year from Iraq? I mean, that's another
reason I trusted him. I really respected all his years of
service.”