Steamy Sisters (9 page)

“Be lucky if I get off duty by midnight. Why? You missing me?”

“Of course. I was kind of hoping for a repeat of Tuesday.”

“Me too, Honey,” said Caleb. “Tomorrow night. I promise.”

“I guess I can wait, then”

“I hope you can. What are you going to get up to tonight?”

“What do you mean?” said Jessica.

“Nothing. Just wondering, that’s all.”

“I’ll probably watch a movie. Since I’m all by myself, here.”

“Reminds me, remember to turn the burglar alarm on, and lock all the doors and windows.”

“You thinking about the thief.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“I know you will honey. But better to be safe than sorry.”

“What if he does come?”

“Give me a call.”

“You going to be able to respond?”

“Might be a bit slower than normal, with all the road blocks. But I’ll make it somehow.”

“Good to know.”

“Okay,” said Caleb. “I’ll give you a call later. Check you’re okay.”

“Looking forward to it. You going to get intimate on the phone with me?”

“I doubt it. I figure the Secret Service will be monitoring every phone call in town today.”

“Jeez. I guess you’re right. I hadn’t thought about that,” said Jessica. “I’ll speak to you later, then. Bye.”

“Uh-huh,” said Caleb.

Jessica put the phone down and thought about the call. She was looking forward to seeing Caleb for sure. But she was also digesting the information he’d given her. It would be a perfect night for breaking into Szabo’s lodge. The presidential visit to the Economic Forum was an ideal diversion, and the Sheriff’s Department were going to have more than enough to do without responding to anything else. Jessica finally made up her mind that she would do it tonight, and that it would be the last time. She didn’t want to get Caleb into any trouble.

She prepared her gear for the evening and took a hot bath to relax and steady herself. The few hours before the break-in were always the most nerve wracking. Once she was on her way, the adrenaline would kick in, and she’d feel good.
 

She dried herself, and got dressed in her black outfit again. She left the house and made her way towards her target.
 

Once over the wall, she laughed to herself when she saw the same window open again. Didn’t he ever close it? She used the same footholds as last time, and was on the balcony within seconds.

She knew for sure that Szabo was out, as he was delivering his speech, and she walked nimbly down the stairs to the study. She opened the top desk drawer and took out the bunch of keys that she’d seen last time. Just about to head for the door section of bookcase, she noticed a watch on the desktop. She examined it. German. Very, very expensive. Probably buy a small house with it. She put it in her backpack. That would help the charities meet their fundraising targets this month. She wondered what else he had in the strong room, if he left stuff like that hanging around on his desktop.

The bookcase door opened easily, and her torch illuminated the way to the strongroom. Once downstairs, she turned on the light and took a closer look at the electronic combination lock. It wasn’t even activated. She tried the door. The handle turned, but it didn’t open. She worked her way through the keys one by one until she came to one which looked about the right size for the lock. She put it in and turned it. She heard the barrels rotate and slide in place. It was open. She re-tried the handle, and this time it opened. This was so easy. Szabo was either so arrogant he didn’t think that anyone would break into his house, or he just didn’t care. He had so much money, if he lost a few things, it didn’t matter.
 

The door opened outwards, and Jessica pulled it towards her. She slipped into the room beyond and closed it behind her, leaving it only slightly ajar. The room was dark, and she fumbled on the wall for a light switch, which she soon found. She flicked the switch, and there was a buzzing sound as the fluorescent tubes flickered into life. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the scene in front of her. She was dumbstruck. There were two naked men tied to different pieces of apparatus. They both looked in pretty bad shape. It was Szabo’s own little S&M torture chamber.
 

“What the fuck…” said Jessica to herself. Her breathing suddenly becoming rapid, and her heart feeling like it was going to race out of her chest.
 
She hadn’t expected this.
 
What was she going to do?

She edged nearer to the first piece of kit. Almost a sort of medieval rack type thing. She peered at the man bound to it. Shit. Was he dead? She hoped not. She saw some of the weals and wounds on his skin, and noticed the leather whip hanging up nearby.
 

A sudden anger rose up inside of her. What kind of monster was Szabo? She knew he was a slimeball and a thoroughly nasty piece of work, but she hadn’t imagined that he was as bad as this.
 

She bent closer to the man’s face to check for breathing, and she reeled back in shock as he opened his mouth. He was trying to say something.

She felt really scared and creeped out by this room and the thought of what had gone on in it. She looked at the man again.
 

The man strained to open his eyes, and looked at her. “He…help…me.”

Jessica rolled up her ski mask, suddenly realising that a person in a ski-mask was the last thing this poor guy would want to see. She looked him in the eye and nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you out of here.”

She turned her attention to the other man, who was shackled to an iron frame. He was in just as bad a state, but was also alive.
 

Jessica’s mind grasped for answers. What should she do?

She rushed back upstairs and brought down some water from the kitchen. She gave some to the men, and decided on her next move.
 

“Don’t worry, guys. I’m going to get help.”

She grabbed her backpack and returned to Szabo’s study. She picked up the phone and made an emergency call to the Sheriff’s office. She rolled her ski-mask back down, so her voice would be muffled, and she told the operator that there was an incident in the cellar at Szabo’s house, and an immediate police and ambulance response was needed.

She opened the front door, ran for the wall, and was over it in almost a single leap. She ran across the hillside, keeping out of sight behind trees and bushes. She reached the safety of home, her heart racing and feeling as if she would cough it up into her mouth at any moment. She closed the door behind her and dashed to the lounge. She closed the curtains, and took off her backpack and clothes and put them on the wooden floor. She removed Szabo’s watch from the backpack pocket and put it to one side. She scooped up the pack, catsuit, mask, gloves and shoes, and threw them into the fireplace. She rolled up an old newspaper, fetched a lighter from the kitchen, and set light to it. The flames slowly started to grow taller and the blaze burned brighter as everything caught fire. She threw another few small log on top and put the fire guard back.

She took the watch upstairs and hid it in her own safe in her bedroom, before heading to the bathroom, turning on the shower and letting the hot water cascade all over her. She’d wash away all traces of the disgusting, filthy Szabo.

She got out of the shower, put on a bathrobe and went back downstairs. She checked the fire, poking it a little to let the air fuel the flames. Her equipment was now mostly ashes, with just the electronic safe-cracking device barely recognisable. Another thirty minutes and it would be a molten mess.
 

She turned on the TV, more for comfort, that anything else. She couldn’t concentrate on watching any show tonight. As the TV blinked itself on, she heard some sirens in the distance. They must be headed for Szabo’s. She sat, thinking, wondering what to do with the watch. She had to get rid of it as soon as possible. The usual guy she had been using to dispose of the stolen goods was in Los Angeles, and it might look suspicious if she left town suddenly. Especially after the two men in the cellar had seen her face. If they gave a description, it might lead the police to her. She had no idea what to do. But she wouldn’t panic. She’d sit tight for the next few days, and then get on a plane to LA. Say she was going to stay with a friend.

She pulled her knees up against her chest, and snuggled into the bathrobe. Despite the fire and the warm night, she felt a chill run through her. It wasn’t just the fear of getting caught, it was the shock at seeing the two men in the cellar. What a creep Szabo was. She’d vaguely known that things like that went on. The extremes of the S&M scene. She just hadn’t expected she’d ever witness it. If it was spoken about at all, people would tend to joke about it. But seeing it, it was definitely no laughing matter. Szabo was a complete sicko.

She stared at the flames in the fireplace, wondering whether the police were at the house yet.

Chapter Seven

The response time had been slow, as Caleb had suggested it would be. The emergency services had arrived at Szabo’s house half an hour after they had received the phone call, despite the fact they were only a five minute drive away.
 

With all the senior men on duty for the President’s visit, two rookie patrol officers attended the scene, along with some paramedics from the hospital. It was a shocking introduction to police work for the two cops, and they’d quickly radioed for backup. Another twenty minutes later, Caleb arrived.
 

The rookie showed him down to the dungeon in the cellar and described what she’d seen when they had first gone in. The two men were now on the floor being attended to by the paramedics.
 

He took a deep breath, taking in the scene in all its gory detail. Whoever did this was one sick fucker. He looked at one of the men on the blanket on the floor and winced at the sight of the whip marks all over his body. He kneeled down next to him, and looked at the paramedic. “They both gonna be OK?”

“Probably. They’re half starved and badly beaten up. But they’ll probably make it.”

“Can they talk?”

“They really need to rest right now.”

“I’ve only got one question.”

The paramedic nodded a silent OK.

Caleb caught the man’s eye. “I know you’re hurting pretty bad. But just tell me, who did this to you?”

The man struggled to speak.

“Take your time. All I want is a name. Just a surname will do.”

“Sza…Szabo.”

Caleb nodded, rose to his feet, and walked silently back to his SUV.

Szabo was on the stage, five minutes into his speech. A light-hearted opening, a few jokes, and he had the audience in the palm of his hand already. The president, in the front row, had led the laughter and the spontaneous applause.
 

The press photographer’s flashes had illuminated the darkened hall in response to that, all of them looking for the killer photo. A close up of Szabo for the business pages. One of the president for the front page. Szabo looked like the guy who’d won the lottery. A big shit-eating grin for the TV News crews and the live streaming over the net. He was loving every minute of it. Centre stage. Mr Big.

Caleb slipped in un-noticed at the back of the auditorium, accompanied by a Secret Service agent. They talked with another agent by the door, and the three of them made their way along the side aisle towards the stage.
 

“You sure about this?” the lead Agent whispered to Caleb.

“Hundred percent.”

“Shit,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Guess we better do it then.” He nodded to the second agent, who talked into a concealed mic, alerting the other Agents as to what was about to happen.
 

Caleb led the way. They climbed the steps on to the stage and walked over to where Szabo was standing. Caleb removed his handcuffs from his belt and approached Szabo. Szabo was aware of somebody standing next to him and he hesitated in his speech. The audience gasped. The Secret Service led the president out of the room. The pack of photographers clicked away with their cameras, scenting blood.

Caleb spoke to Szabo, the microphone picking up his words and broadcasting them throughout the hall, and to the world. “You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent…”

He pulled Szabo’s arms behind his back, handcuffed him, and led him off the stage. This was going to be the perp walk of the century.

Chapter Eight

The telephone rang. Jessica woke with a start, and a feeling of dread hit her in the stomach. It was only six in the morning. Who was calling at this time? She feared she knew. She took a deep breath and answered. “Hi.”

“Jessica?”

“Yeah,” she replied, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “That you Caleb?”

“Uh-huh. Sorry for calling so early, but I need to come over. Is it okay?”

“I guess so. What is it?”

“Can’t speak over the phone. I’ll tell you when I get there.”

“It sounds bad.”

“It is. There’s been some real bad shit going down. I’ll be right over.”

“Okay. See you soon.”

Jessica got up, splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she looked around, and wondered if she might be sitting in a jail cell in a few hours time. She didn’t know how she was going to get out of this one.

The main gate intercom sounded, and she let Caleb through. She opened the front door and he entered silently. He looked tired.
 

“What is it?” asked Jessica. “What’s going on?”

“You seen the news today?”

“I’ve only just woken up.”

“We made an arrest last night?”

“The burglar?”

“No.”

“Who?”

“Charles
 
Szabo.”

“Charles Szabo. The financier?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What for?”

“We got him on a number of charges,” said Caleb, “Let’s just say the guy had his own private torture chamber at his lodge.”

“What?”

“Turns out he’s some kind of psycho sexual pervert. Whipped the shit out of a couple of guys he met in a bar.”