Survivor: 1 (31 page)

At least she had allowed him to open the blinds a little.
The early-evening sun spilled streaks of gold through the
window, bringing in some heat. Brad had the air conditioner set at a comfortable level. He had spent the last
few hours watching TV and reading the newspaper,
which had been left outside their door this morning,
courtesy of the hotel. Lisa's parents had called around noon, and Lisa had risen long enough to talk with them
and assure them she was okay. Brad told them he would
call as soon as he heard from Billy Grecko, which should
be any minute. Both sets of parents were in a state of
panic, and Brad could only imagine the anguish they
were going through. It had been Billy's idea to keep the
lines of communication between their parents open, including telling them the truth of Lisa's kidnapping. The
best thing Brad could think of to keep their fears at bay
was to talk to them every six hours or so, assure them
they were fine and that they were holding up well under
the circumstances.

At the same time, Brad knew that Lisa needed to get
some serious professional help. She had spent most of
the morning and early afternoon in a deep sleep, and
now that she was awake she had been sitting in a vegetative state in front of the TV, talking only when he asked
her something. The blows she had rent upon herself earlier that morning had left bruises along the right side of
her face. Brad had fidgeted, torn between wanting to call
somebody to help her-maybe get his parents or one of
their friends back home to summon a good shrink over
to Vegas to get Lisa into therapy or something-but he
couldn't. They were trapped in one of the most popular
luxury hotels in Las Vegas, under the watchful eye of the
security experts Billy Grecko was connected to, until the
people responsible for Lisa's abduction and near murder
were apprehended. Until then, he felt powerless.

Then the phone rang.

Brad picked it up on the first ring. "Hello?"

"Billy here." Brad could detect the strain in Billy's
voice. His stomach plunged down an elevator shaft.

"Yeah, Billy." Brad tried to keep his voice calm.

"We didn't find anything." At the confirmation, Brad's
spirits sagged. He glanced at Lisa, who didn't appear aware that Brad was on the phone. "We tore that place
apart. Looked through the house from top to bottom. The
forensic guys went over every square inch of the room
Lisa described and took some samples, but they didn't
look too happy. They don't think they've found anything.
Motherfuckers painted the goddamn room!"

"What?" Brad's mouth went dry.

"They painted it," William said again, spitting the words
out in disgust. "There's a fresh coat of white paint covering the room, even the ceiling. Even the goddamn floor is
painted. Motherfuckers even laid down brand-new shag
carpeting!"

Brad felt himself slump. Any DNA evidence that might
have been in that room was now contaminated. "What
about the rest of the place?"

"Couldn't find anything. We went through the whole
house. Best we could come up with were some shoe impressions left in the dirt along the driveway and the side
of the house."

"the bedroom window-"

"Showed signs that suggested it might have been
boarded up, but that's it." Billy sounded pissed off. Judging by the echo, it sounded like Billy was calling from his
car phone. 'There were fresh nail holes in the side paneling bordering the window. No signs of the boards or the
nails used. One of the detectives said there's very little we
can go on."

"What about the property the house is on?" Brad was
trying to think of any lead they could pursue. "Tbe surrounding area? Maybe they just haven't looked far
enough."

"We searched the property and some of the surrounding area," Billy continued. "Got two sets of tire tracks and
the FBI is trying to come up with a match, but that's a long shot, too. Couldn't find anything in the woods beyond the cabin. Even had a search team make the mile
hike along the path Debbie Martinez normally took on
her walks, but they didn't find anything."

"Shit!" Brad could feel the room dosing in on him.

"Detectives are questioning Oliver Gardenia, the man
whose name appears on the deed as being an officer in
the Golgotha Corporation. He appears to have an airtight
alibi. He's already provided documented evidence supporting his claim that he was in New York the weekend
Lisa was kidnapped. Plus, he doesn't resemble the description of the men that kidnapped her."

Brad didn't know what to say. Lisa was unresponsive,
still watching TV. Oprah had given way to Jerry Springer.
A pair of white-trash couples began immediately verbally
assaulting each other the minute the show started.

William continued with the bad news. All the criminal
checks we've run on potential suspects have turned up
nothing. Tim Murray doesn't have a criminal record. A
check through the DMV brings up several Tim Murrays,
but they don't resemble the suspect Lisa described."

"He told her that he had gained weight and grown a
beard to pull her kidnapping off so he wouldn't be recognized!" Brad hissed, now suddenly angry. Goddamn it,
why were they beating around the bush on this? "He altered his appearance. Why can't you just show us some
photos and-"

"We can't just pull DMV records on people without a
criminal history based on lack of evidence." William
sounded just as frustrated as Brad was feeling. "Besides,
we got teams of detectives tracking these guys now for
questioning."

"So what are we supposed to do?"

William sighed. Brad waited for him to continue. He got up and headed to the bathroom again, where the
conversation could be somewhat private. "What about
the other guy, this Al?"

"We found a guy in the DMV records that matches the
name and description and sent a team of detectives to
question him," Billy said. "They haven't been able to locate him."

"What about the surveillance tape at the Bank of
America?"

"We're working on that now," Billy said, and the first
strains of optimism crept into his voice. "In fact, that's our
biggest lead. Huntington Beach PD reports that they were
able to get a good blowup of the man who accompanied
Lisa into the bank. They're putting it over the wires today."

"is there any way to check the description with the
name Lisa gave?"

"All we know is that his name is Jeff." Billy sounded depressed again. "We've got no last name. That's not enough
to go by."

The claustrophobic feeling tightened. There was no
way these men were going to let this go. Even if they had
no criminal records, they knew that law enforcement
would be on their trail. That's why they had tried to kill
Lisa after forcing her to withdraw her and Brad's life savings. Only Lisa had escaped with her life, barely. It had
been two weeks since the nightmare began. Surely, if
they were going to come after them they would have
done so by now. Unless-

"You say you can't find this Al guy?" Brad asked.

"Yeah," Billy said. "LAPD detectives didn't find him at
his home, and his neighbors haven't seen him for at least
a week!

Brad's mind was racing. Wasn't Al one of the men who
had threatened Lisa? "He's coming after us," he said. 'That's why you can't find him. He and the other two are
coming after us and-"

"And you're safe," Billy soothed. "Just stay where you
are. We're gonna get them. How's Lisa doing?"

Brad looked out the bathroom door, the sound of the
television welling in the background. "Not so good.
She's ... she's all ... she..." Brad's voice was shaky. "She
needs help, Billy. She's so ... so depressed and so ...
she's just so down that I'm afraid for her sanity. I think
she's suicidal. She needs help."

"We're gonna get her help, buddy," Billy said. "Don't
worry about that!

"No, I mean she needs help now." Brad gripped the receiver, trying to control his emotions. He described Lisa's
outburst this morning, how she wished it had been her
who had been killed instead of Mandy and Alicia. How
the thought of what Jeff had probably done to that baby
tore her up inside, how she wished she were dead because of her actions. He described the pain he felt as he
watched his wife punch herself in the face repeatedly,
punishing herself. "She's really, really in a deep state of
depression, Billy," Brad said, and now his voice did crack.
"She's been sleeping all day, and now she just sits in front
of the TV like a goddamned vegetable. She looks like
she's in shock or something. She won't talk and I ... I'm
trying to give her space to work it out, but ... I'm afraid
its gone beyond that. I really think she needs to be in a
hospital"

%et me make some calls," William said,"and if I can get
her in somewhere nearby I'll have her admitted. Okay?"

Brad nodded, fighting the tears streaming down his
face. "O-kay, Billy. 'ITS-thanks"

And hang tight; Billy said. "We're doing everything we
can. We're gonna find these guys.'

"Okay, Billy."

"I'll call you later if I can get Lisa into a hospital somewhere, okay? In the meantime, stay put. You need anything, you let John know."

When Brad hung up he sat on the toilet seat for a moment, still fighting back the tears. Then he stood up and
carried the phone back into the room. Lisa was still sitting
up in bed, staring at theTV, her eyes glazed over. He set the
telephone on the nightstand, looked at his wife. "I love
you, Lisa."

Lisa stared at the TV; it was as if she had never heard
him.

And then Brad did break down and he sank to his
knees, arms cradling his head as he slumped against the
bed, and he cried heart-wrenching sobs at Lisa's feet.
Lisa stared at the TV in a daze, watching as Jerry Springer
encouraged familial violence to take place on his show.

Sunsets in the deserts were beautiful.

Tim Murray had just reached a crest in the hill he was
hiking, and he paused to watch the sky turn red on his
way back to where he had parked his SW, which he had
gotten at the scrap-metal yard the night they disposed of
Al, where it had been marked for destruction. A light
breeze ruffled his hair, now cut closer to his scalp. He
had shaved his beard off last night, revealing a face that
was slightly cherubic, with pinkish skin. He had also
changed eyeglass styles, wearing a pair of wire-rims that
helped accent his face. He looked like a very different
man from the one who had kidnapped Lisa Miller two
weeks ago.

The SUV was another quarter of a mile south along a
remote trail. There was still enough sunlight left in the
day to get him back to the vehicle. Then it was a trip back
to Las Vegas and the motel he was staying in for the night near Circus Circus, on the other end of the strip. All his
equipment was back at the room, behind locked doors.
He wouldn't need much for the job tomorrow. Just one
camcorder and that was it. No lights, no boom mikes, not
even any plastic tarp to roll away the body and catch the
flying blood.

The weather forecast for tomorrow afternoon was calling for a storm.

'Iim Murray grinned. Today's late-afternoon drive had
been a scouting expedition. When he had gotten the call
early this morning to get his ass to Las Vegas and prepare
for filming, he knew he had to do some fast thinking.
Rick Shectman had warned him that if he blew this one
that he would end up worse than Al. Tim believed himhell, he'd seen what Animal had done to Al, and knew
the sadist wouldn't care about doing the same to himbut he wasn't afraid. He was confident in his abilities; he
knew that the desert outside of Las Vegas was the perfect
stage for a snuff film, and it was just a matter of doing
some exploring to find the right remote spot. The
weather report only boosted his confidence. Not only
was rain expected, but wind as well. It could very well
turn into a sandstorm. What better way to fuck up DNA
evidence and scatter a body?

Tim laughed. He looked back down at the boulders,
where he decided they should film tomorrow. He had
found this spot twelve miles away from a secondary
road; the dirt trail had led northeast, and there had been
no signs of civilization. When Tim had seen the small rise
he had pulled over and begun the hike, telling himself he
would only go out for a mile or so. A quarter of a mile in,
he had come upon the little canyon. Away from prying
eyes. Tomorrow they wouldn't have to hike this far
back-they could bring her here in the SUV The storm
would erase tire tracks, too. Ha

Tim Murray clambered down the rocks, heading back
down to the desert floor. He didn't think Rick suspected
that he was planning on leaving the business. Tim had
made the decision last night after his meeting with the
producer and hearing his indifference to the fact that
he'd produced a film in which Animal had murdered an
infant and was thinking of using the sadist to indulge in
similar atrocities for the pedophile underworld he'd sold
the film to. Tim knew from experience it would only get
worse. 1 wenty years ago, producing a snuff film was
something he thought he'd never be involved in. Sure,
he'd heard the rumors before. When you worked in underground pornography you heard the stories, but you
never saw the actual product. Then, fifteen years ago,
he'd actually seen his first one, at a private party. It had
been old, an 8 MM reel shot in Mexico. Not too long after
that, the party's host had asked Rick Shectman if he
could make him one, and Rick had agreed and asked
Tim for his assistance. And being that Tim knew so many
people nobody would care about if they went missing,
and because the money dangled in front of him was too
good to pass up, he'd said yes.

But f never agreed to kill innocent babies, he thought as
he trudged through the desert, the warm wind blowing at
his back. Junkie fuckups that cause nothing but trouble
to society are one thing ... babies are another. That was
something people like Rick Shectman didn't understand.
And that was why Tim Murray wanted no part of it. Maybe
I'm getting too old for this shit, he thought. Fuck, twenty
years ago you couldn't find anal scenes in mainstream
porn, and now it's a mainstay. Nowadays people are paying to watch videos of chicks throwing up. People are getting more bizarre in their fetishes. And the underground is
getting more hardcore. That first snuff film he'd seen had
merely shown a woman being raped and strangled by two men on camera, their faces hidden by masks. Violent, yes, but not perversely so. Now Rick wasn't satisfied
with a snuff film unless Animal sadistically tortured the
person. Now the bar was being raised even higher by using chicks that looked like models, by using babies and
children, and the fact that Rick was entertaining the
thought of having Animal do a necrophilia or cannibalism film. Tim wanted no part of it. After this job was over,
he was finished.