Provoked (12 page)

              Basia wasn’t sure where she was headed when she hailed the cab outside her building. She didn’t even stop to talk to Mark in the lobby. She felt bad. She’d always found the time to talk to Mark, her building’s security guard, but her mind was elsewhere. She was scared. She’d been scared before at the hands of her husband. Now that she’d tried to kill him, he was pissed. Basia knew she had to go into hiding. She told the cab to take her to the Grand Hyatt Hotel. It was close to familiar places for her. She knew Darek couldn’t afford a luxurious hotel, not without her money.

              The hotel concierge asked for her name when she asked for a room with a view. Basia didn’t want to check in under her real name, she didn’t want to be tracked. For that same reason, she paid in cash. She chuckled within when her mind, suddenly remembering the first-name-only game she and Riley had played. She didn’t want to use Basia, so she used the American name for it. That thought gave her some comfort and she smiled.

              “Barbara Riley,” she announced and then signed the name for her room.

              Basia decided to write Riley a letter and hopefully explain the abuse; how it began and why she decided to end it. She’d already told him, but this way she’d be able to get more down on paper without interruption. She hoped he’d understand.

              I love you, Riley. Always will.

              If circumstances were only different, we could be together. I will never allow a man to imprison me emotionally or physically. I am a strong woman, but I’m scared.

              After so many months, I still have no answers. I did learn to accept it and move forward with my life. The question of why everything happened will remain unanswered. I learned to cope with the anxiety of fear. The memories are placed as far back as possible. They are left in the past. It took a long time, which seems like an eternity. In the beginning, I had to transfer myself out of my own body and place those memories in an area where I made myself believe it had happened to someone else, or I had read it or seen it in a movie. That was my safety point at that time.

              I want to try to explain the abuse. What I felt? And hope you can try to understand.

I remember his rage. One night he had me pinned against the wall. I couldn’t move. His hold so fierce, so strong; I felt a burn in my arms where his hands gripped me and in my thigh as his knee pressed against it. It continued. His usual torture, he seemed to enjoy in some sick way. For so long, I had believed I was not abused. I had no broken bones, no black eyes, and no bruises. His grip, his hold that night then bruised my upper arms, my thighs.  I was wrong. When someone holds you against your will, punches a hole in the wall an inch from your face, pushes you against a wall, a cupboard, inside the shower; it is abuse. There are so many different ways he abused me; not just emotionally and verbally, yet physically too. I also learned that ordering someone to perform sexual favors because it is your “wifely duty” is a form of sexual abuse. Let alone, tearing the blankets off you when you are in bed, demanding sex, isn’t consent.

              I remember his hands squeezed my arms so tight, I couldn’t move. I moved my mind to my safe place, I felt no pain but the fear remained. Holding his grip, he twisted his shoulder into my throat. I couldn’t catch a breath. I could feel myself turning blue. A quick thrust of my knee stunned him long enough to run from him. He grabbed the back of my shirt and yanked me back, then paused and laughed. He said I was not worth the effort. One night, he forcefully shoved me toward the staircase. I reached for the bannister to prevent falling down the stairs. My life flashed before me. Luckily, he didn’t succeed that night. My decision to leave was made. Then the apology came, along with flowers and tears. Which made it easy, because I didn’t want anyone to know; I was ashamed and embarrassed.

              As usual during his outbursts, he screamed, and when I say scream, I mean that decibel point way beyond normal yelling.  Nothing even close to two people fighting; this is far worse. It sends a chill, a shiver of pain through your ears into your entire body. Your mind blanks out the words used. You just remember the screaming and the fear. Words that should never be used with someone you supposedly love. The mind freezes and ignores. Memories of trauma are difficult to remember. Abuse after so long numbs you, numbs your mind. Fear is all you see and feel.

              Then the apology comes the next morning, the knock on the bedroom door, when it is difficult to open your eyes. They’re swollen and sore. You’ve cried yourself to sleep after he finally tires of his screams and demands. I remember the last morning I woke up that way. His voice had calmed from the night before. It sounded like the voice of the man I thought I loved. I got out of bed and whimpered. A slight cramp in my leg caused my leg to buckle when I tried to walk. It reminded me of the night before and his knee pressed deeply into my thigh. I lifted my skirt and discovered a bruised thigh. Then I remembered his nose had rubbed against my cheekbone. I stopped to look in the mirror. It frightened me to see the mark on my face. He’d rubbed so hard, my skin appeared to have a carpet-burn-like scrape. My skin appeared raw from his action. I felt it burn when I slightly touched it. Horrified at the sudden thought that my husband, the man who I believed loved me, had abused me. My body trembled. I wondered if it would be safe to unlock the door.

              He stood with an offer of a single red rose that he held in his hand. His lips began to speak an apology, but I heard only the sound of his voice. I didn’t care for an apology. I wished the past few months were a nightmare and the man I loved was back. His eyes told me he wasn’t sorry. When I looked at him, I saw a man I didn’t know. A man who’d begun to control me, not love me. Part of me wanted to pack a bag and leave, but it was my house. I’d grown up in it. However, it was also his house. His recent behavior and control over me began to tell me I wasn’t as safe with him as I’d once thought. I needed to figure out how to get away from him out without losing everything my parents had worked so hard for. My father’s lawyer advised a prenuptial. Without it, he’d take half of everything.  I was upset, angry, and not willing to give him what he wanted. Until I could figure out a plan, I decided to play along with his rehearsed apology. His smile came across as a controlling evil smile. That’s when I learned to smile the same way. He thought he was smarter, and that was exactly what I wanted him to think. His game of control was about to change hands.

              I’d asked him to leave my house after the first time. He opened the front door and stood with a smug look on his face. Scary; he looked like a pyscho. He’d completely lost it. He folded his arms across his chest…“Go ahead,” he said. “Leave. This is my house too. If you don’t want to live with me…you leave.” I grabbed my purse and walked toward him. He stopped me. No. He grabbed my arms with such a tight grip; I felt the circulation slow. It felt like burning pins and needles in my arms, I began to shake. By then he was screaming but not making any sense. I don’t hear what he’s saying. I didn’t understand. I only understood fear. This man was out of control. He pushed me against the wall and slammed the front door shut with his foot. “Don’t ever think you’ll leave and make a fool of me. The only way you go out that front door, is in a body bag, you stupid bitch.” To add more fear, if that’s possible, his fist missed my face by a mere inch and made a huge hole in the wall beside me. I contemplated on charging him until he broke down and cried with some lame excuse of too many beers with his friends. He told me I was just mad that he had friends and I didn’t. The only friend I have was John, and I’m accused of having an affair with a gay man.

              There was no respect, no love. He didn’t even want a wife. He wanted an obedient whore. Then I overheard his conversation to kill me in the mountains, and that he had rigged my parents’ car, which caused their accident. It was all to get my father’s money. I had no other way out. No one would have listened, understood, or helped. I had to survive. I never wanted to think about all of this ever again, but I needed to tell you. You are the one person I know in my heart…I truly love. I understand if you cannot feel the same after knowing everything past the first name.

              Basia signed her heartfelt letter for Riley. She felt better. She felt relieved to finally get everything off her chest. Whether or not she ever got the chance to be with him, at least she knew she had told him everything and how she felt. Her heart still sad, she decided to take a long hot bath. Basia pressed send. The letter she wrote to Riley appeared in her sent file.

              Riley and Kennedy walked into the interrogation room. Through the glass window sat Adam Crawford. He didn’t appear stressed, worried, or scared; actually he had a smirk on his face. His legs stretched on top of the table and his cuffed hands rested behind his head. Not a soul was in the room with him. He just sat there with a smirk.

              “Sick bastard,” Kennedy announced out loud.

               Riley nodded in agreement and placed his hand on the doorknob. He looked back at Kennedy before he entered the room to take Adam’s statement. The sick bastard refused legal counsel and informed the police he’d be his own counsel. That only confirmed Riley’s thoughts that Adam definitely planned to use the arrest as his marketing tool for his so-called bestseller.

              “Hey, Kennedy, can you continue to search for Lieutenant Lis? I’m really worried.”

              Riley had tried her cell several times and only got voicemail. Kennedy nodded.

              “I’m on it.”

              “Let me know as soon as you find her. I need to speak with her urgently.”

              Riley hadn’t confided to anyone, not even Kennedy, about his feelings for Basia. But he was sure Kennedy was picking up on Riley’s anxiety to find her.

              “Detective Briggs, it’s so nice of you to stop in and visit.” Adam’s smug tone made Riley chuckle.

              “This isn’t a visit. You do know why you’re here?”

              Riley pulled out the chair. The legs of it scratched along the floor in a high-pitched squeak. Adam didn’t flinch.

              “Yes, I know why I’m here. I killed my tenants.”

              Adam’s cold expression chilled Riley. He’d said it calmly like he was telling Riley about a trip he’d taken.

              “Can you tell me how you killed them?” Riley questioned.

              “Killed them like cockroaches with my pump sprayer.”

Riley sat back and listened to Adam talk about his tenants like they were insects. The man seemed to have no conscience or show any remorse of what he’d done. Riley couldn’t determine whether Adam was recollecting the real murders or the fictitious ones from his book. His cocky laughter finally stopped.

              “They were poisoned, Detective. Read my book. It has all the answers.”

Riley already knew this but wanted confirmation. Something didn’t sit right with him.

              “Beth accidentally took the poison. But her boyfriend got shot, so I had to finish her off and dump her body. I couldn’t leave her body there, without being able to frame the bastard, now could I?”

Riley shook his head, not in agreement but in disgust.

              “So you killed Beth, and then took her body out of the building? How did you kill her and where did you dump her body?”

              “She was just sick from the poison. I decided I better hurry it up, so I carried her down to the basement to finish the job.”

              “Finish the job?” Riley asked what Adam meant.

              “Made sure she was dead before I took her body out of the building.”

Adam remained calm and unbothered.

              “How did you
finish the job
, so-to-speak?”

              “Grabbed my grandfather’s old pump sprayer and hit her over the head a couple of times. She was a tough bitch; had to hit her quite a few times. She cried and begged. A woman’s voice can be irritating when you’re trying to focus. Then I finished the job with my knife.”

              “So she was alive when you took her to the basement and hit her head with the old pump sprayer?” Riley confirmed.

              Adam nodded and then he leaned forward. “She had that whiny voice, I remember what she said.”

              Adam sat back in his chair and went quiet for a moment, and then an evil smile crept across his face. He took a deep breath and snorted as he relived that night.

                                                                                    ****

              “Please don’t kill me,” Beth’s shaky words begged.

              He ignored her plea and grabbed the back of her head by her hair. He pulled her across the cold cement floor. No one could hear her cries for help down in the basement. The loud noise from the boiler system blocked out her begging and screams. The sweat rolled off his face. The temperature in the room registered over a hundred degrees. He lifted his hand to wipe the sweat off his brow, while still holding the knife. All he could think of was getting rid of her, but he didn’t know what to do. She continued to beg and her voice crawled under his skin, “Shut up, bitch. I can’t think.”

              He wasn’t sure where to cut her. He’d never used a knife on anyone before. The anxiety of it had made him sweat. He wiped his brow with his sleeve and caught a glimpse of the pump sprayer. The plan got screwed up when Beth’s boyfriend was killed in the drug bust.

              “This isn’t your fault.”

              He lifted her head by her hair. The horror in her eyes did not bother him in the least. He felt nothing.

              “I’m sorry for whatever I’ve done to you. Please don’t hurt me,” she pleaded for her life.

              “It’s nothing you’ve done. Your death would have been peaceful if your stupid boyfriend hadn’t gotten himself killed tonight.” Adam’s voice was cold without an ounce of emotion.

              “Please, I’m begging you.”

              Her hysterical cries did nothing to stop him. No one heard her screams.

              Adam poured bleach into the bucket he kept in the boiler room. His boiler room was cleaned up when he left the room an hour later. He walked through the building for one last round of the day. After he checked the lights in the hallways and staircases, he made a last check in the laundry room and the lobby. No one was around. The building was quiet. He went back to the boiler room and wrapped Beth’s body. He tossed her over his shoulder and carried her out through the back door to put her in the trunk of Mrs. Clarke’s car. The old lady, who loved him like a son, had given him a set of keys years before and told him to use the car when needed. She kept it parked in the back of the building. He drove a few blocks and tossed her down the bank of a small wooded area.

              Adam looked at Riley. “Did you want me to tell you about the other two tenants? I mean, those stories are not as exciting as Beth’s death.”

              Riley had heard enough. Adam was definitely guilty of Beth’s murder with his step-by-step description and the autopsy report of her injuries. He already knew she’d been beaten and poison detected in her blood. Now he knew why; because he’d shot her boyfriend during a drug deal. Not that she’d be alive if he lived. It appeared Adam didn’t care if the girlfriends died too. It just became six murders instead of three. But what had he done with the other two women and where were their bodies? 

              “Okay, Adam. Let’s get to your statement.”

Riley placed the clipboard and pen on the table and pushed it across the table to Adam.

              “What? No small talk? Just business?”

              Adam’s cocky attitude started to piss Riley off. His patience ran thin with Adam.

              “Just write the fucking statement, Adam.”

              Adam removed his legs from the table and brought his hands from behind his head. He pulled the chair in closer to the table. His smirk had disappeared and had been replaced with the look of a child who’d done something wrong. Riley took notice and figured the fastest way to get the statement from this bastard was to give him the praise and attention he so desperately seemed to want.

              “I mean. You are the writer. I am the reader. I’m just a little impatient waiting to read your statement.”

              Riley played him causing Adam’s smirk reappeared. Riley won when Adam picked up the pen and began to write.

              “Coffee? Would you like a coffee while you write, Adam?”

              Riley tossed in a little extra attention which only relaxed Adam more.

“Yes, please, that would be great. Milk no sugar.”

              Riley rolled his eyes. He didn’t figure the man would ask for sugar. Riley knew even sugar wouldn’t sweeten this man. He stopped and asked himself if he believed Adam to be more of a sociopath or psychopath. He had to chuckle at the thought and whether or not it even mattered. One thing for sure: he was guilty and seemed to be quite proud to confess to the murders. Adam had so quickly confessed and Riley had concrete evidence. Riley knew from the little time he’d spent with Adam that he didn’t like his tenants or people in general, for that matter. With the exception of the little old lady who lived on the first floor, everyone Riley questioned at the brownstone had all given the same remark. Adam seemed to have a soft spot for Mrs. Clarke. Perhaps she’d been a mother figure to him, Riley pondered. 

              Riley’s phone vibrated in his pocket.

              “Briggs,” he answered and set Adam’s coffee down on the table.

              “Be right out” Riley pressed end and shoved the phone back in his pocket.

              “Adam, I have to go, but please continue to write your story for me. I will read it when I get back. Detective Kennedy will be here, if you need anything else while you write. Don’t forget to tell us about the other two deaths and their girlfriends. I can’t wait for that part.”

              Kennedy had walked in just in time to hear Riley speak to Adam. He shrugged his shoulders and looked at Riley with a questionable expression on his face. Riley leaned in and whispered to Kennedy, at the door, to play along with the
writer
act, as it seems to get the job done. Kennedy chuckled but agreed. He reached back to grab Riley’s arm.

              “Say hi to Lieutenant Lis. I hope everything works out. If you need me, I’m a call away.” Riley was touched by his words. Riley could tell by Kennedy’s tone and body language that he knew Lieutenant Lis meant more to him than the job. For the first time since Steve’s death, Riley felt as though he had a true partner who had his back. He made a mental note to talk to Lieutenant Phillips to bring Kennedy to the team.

              Riley’s phone vibrated again. This time it displayed an email from Basia Lis. His heart skipped a beat. He’d been so worried about her. Kennedy tracked her down to the Grand Hyatt Hotel. The APB didn’t deliver any reports of her whereabouts. Kennedy told Riley he’d check the hotels in the area for her. Riley told him to check only the most expensive luxurious hotels. He then had to let Kennedy know she came from money. When Kennedy asked if there would be any other name she’d register with to lie low, Riley quickly remembered their first-name-only game. For some reason, he thought she might use their first names and told Kennedy to check for Basia Riley, but then changed his mind. She wouldn’t want to use her Polish name in hiding from a Polish husband. He then mentioned to try B. Riley.

              He began to read the email and realized it was a long one. He decided to hook it up in his SUV. That way he could have it read to him as he drove. Her words pulled tightly on his heartstrings. He couldn’t even imagine the fear she lived in. Riley couldn’t understand why any man would even think of treating his wife that way, but he could understand her pain and suffering. He believed she felt she had no other choice in the end.

              His fist punched the dashboard. Anger burned through his veins. His heart ached. Riley’s emotions confused him. He was angry with Darek for treating his wife that way. He was scared at the thought of losing Basia. The emotion that hit him the hardest—love. For the first time in his life, he’d fallen in love. To know she felt the same way only enhanced the feeling. Riley thought it was odd that the thought of another woman in his life, even for one-night, was the furthest thing from his mind. There was only one woman he wanted: Basia.