The Body Reader (25 page)

CHAPTER 58

Y
ou have tissue and muscle damage, but you should heal with time and rest,” the young doctor told Jude. “I doubt that arm will ever be a hundred percent again, but hey, you’re alive, right?” He beamed at her.

It was the morning after Uriah had driven her to the ER. Turned out he’d taken her to Little Falls. It had a good hospital, it seemed, with good doctors. Really young doctors.

“I read about you,” the young doctor told her. If she wasn’t mistaken, he seemed a bit enamored. She supposed they didn’t see many women this far into the frozen tundra. Oh, she’d made a joke. Interesting. Because of course Little Falls had women. Beautiful women, like the one standing near the door, tablet in hand, ready to sign Jude out.

She’d been told a cop was waiting to drive her back to Minneapolis. And just minutes ago, she’d watched a live feed captured in front of the governor’s cabin, where Phillip Schilling had promised to do everything he could to help law enforcement with their investigation.

“I’m a father first and foremost, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t deeply saddened by the loss of my son despite his unconscionable actions and his obvious involvement in the deaths of innocents,” he’d said. “But I’m relieved that our streets are once again safe.”

Jude figured public sympathy might win him the Senate. News anchors were already noting how well he’d handled all that had happened, including the drama with his daughter. And there was much talk of his children being bad seeds. Both she and Adam. Uriah was getting credited with cracking the case, and her father had mentioned how Jude’s partner, or ex-partner, had been an impressive player in not one, but two personal events. “And he saved the life of my daughter, whom I still love,” the governor had said.

Should she feel bad? About suspecting him for so long?

Yes.

And maybe she would, once this was over, but right now she had plans to return to the family property, where the investigation was taking place. Last she’d heard, when Uriah called to check on her, a grid search was being established and volunteers were on their way to begin combing the area.

“There’s been a change of plans,” Jude said once the doctor had left and the nurse had signed her out. “I’m going to the crime site.”

The friendly female officer rested her hands on her belt as she contemplated Jude’s announcement. From the crisp flatness of the woman’s shirt, it was obvious she wore a bulletproof vest. Some officers did on a daily basis, some didn’t. Could be she thought it might be dangerous spending a couple of hours with Jude. Could be she wanted to make it home to her kids, if she had any.

“If you don’t take me, I’m going to hitchhike there,” Jude told her. “Which I can tell you won’t be much fun since I’m recovering from a bullet wound.” She glanced down at the gray-blue sling. She was probably lying about the hitchhiking, but if her follow-up plan—renting a car—fell through, she’d resort to it.

The officer knew when to give up.

After reporting the change in plans, she drove Jude to the site, letting her out where the governor’s property began—an area cordoned off with yellow crime-scene tape.

Jude got out of the car, thanked the woman behind the wheel, and walked toward the uniformed officers at the roadblock. Jude introduced herself even though their expressions told her they knew who she was, but that wasn’t enough to get a hall pass.

“Nobody allowed in,” one of them said.

“Call Detective Ashby,” Jude told him. “He’ll okay it.”

Once the call was made, it didn’t take Uriah long to get there. He pulled to a dusty stop, cut the engine, and dove from his car to stride toward her, arms swinging, looking like an angry parent. His hair was curlier and wilder than usual, the way curly hair got when exposed to the elements for too long. He needed to shave, and he was still wearing a white shirt with her blood on it.

“You’re supposed to be on your way to Minneapolis. And”—he leaned close so the officers wouldn’t hear—“you don’t work for the department.”

“What about you? This isn’t your jurisdiction.”

“The head of state police field operations requested my help. And somebody had to lead them to Adam Schilling’s body.”

“Even though it’s been years since I spent time here, I probably know this land better than anybody walking the grid.” Her voice dropped. “I might be able to help.”

He looked at her sling. “How’s the arm?”

“It hurts. A lot. But the pain meds from last night have worn off. My head is clear.”

A black Cadillac appeared, coming from the direction of the cabin, heading toward the highway.

“My father,” Jude noted as the man of the hour stopped at the checkpoint, lowered his window, and said something to the guard, who smiled and moved the wooden roadblock out of the way to allow the car to pass.

The governor gave the detectives a grim nod but thankfully didn’t stop.

“I’m impressed,” Uriah said, watching the taillights and trail of dust. “He drives his own car.” His focus shifted, and he reached into a pocket to pull out his phone. He hit the screen and barked, “Hello.” As he listened to the caller, his face changed to something Jude, for once, couldn’t identify. Like a combination of disbelief and fear.

“Octavia?” she asked hopefully when Uriah tucked his phone back in his pocket.

He glanced in the direction of the officers. To Jude, he said, “Let’s get out of here.”

Side by side, they walked to his car. Uriah helped her in and slammed the door. Taking a seat behind the wheel, he cranked the engine, made a three-point turn, and headed back down the dirt road in the direction of the Schilling property.

“What is it?” Jude asked.

“They think they might have found something. A root cellar about a half mile from the cabin.”

She straightened in her seat. “Has anybody gone inside?”

“No, they were told to stand down. They’re discussing how to handle it.” He glanced at her, saw her intensity. “It could be nothing. It could be more of his memorabilia. It could be a killing room. We don’t know.”

Or it could be the place where he’d photographed the girls and maybe kept them.

CHAPTER 59

T
hey left the car on the dirt road that led to the cabin and followed Major Mark Shultz, head of field operations, through a dense area of birch and pine. A few minutes in, the tangle of overgrown woods opened to reveal a previously hidden clearing of knee-deep grass.

“I remember those apple trees,” Jude said. “There was a house back here at one time. Not anything livable. Rotten, the roof collapsed. My mother had it bulldozed. She was afraid somebody would get hurt.”

Along one side of the clearing were several officers huddled in a circle.

“We found what looks like a cellar or bunker.” Shultz pointed. “Just beyond that rise. Behind it, there’s a faint grass lane that shows signs of vehicular traffic.”

“Recent?” Uriah asked.

“Yes, but unfortunately some overzealous searchers drove over it before the area was contained.”

They followed the major to a mound of earth that often indicated a root cellar commonly used years ago to store fruits and vegetables underground. At the bottom of a short set of stone steps cut deep into the soil, an officer worked at a door with a pair of bolt cutters.

With Uriah and Jude watching, the bolt cutters did their job and were tossed aside, the padlock removed. Officers drew weapons while the man who’d cut the lock pushed open the door. He immediately recoiled, hand to his face, stumbling backward.

From where they stood, Jude caught a whiff—and remembered that smell. Of a body that had gone unwashed for too long. Of feces and urine and rotten food.

Uriah behind her, she pushed past the cluster of men and women who stood horrified at the entrance. The officer who’d failed to enter put out an arm, blocking the way.

“It’s okay,” Major Shultz said from above the earthen stairwell.

The arm dropped.

Without taking her eyes from the dark hole, Jude said, “I need light.”

Someone passed her a flashlight.

With one hand, she thumbed it on and shot the beam around the small space, quickly assessing the situation. “Nobody here.” She ducked inside, noting the cement-block walls, dirt floor, low wooden ceiling. And more. The mattress on the floor, the lantern, the open bucket used for a toilet. Junk-food wrappers that rustled under her feet.

She focused the beam along one wall. It was floor-to-ceiling books, all the same size, stacked spines out.

Beside her, Uriah snapped on black evidence gloves, handed her another pair. He slipped the flashlight from her, and while she gloved up—awkward due to her arm—he carefully removed a book from the top of a stack. He opened it and said in surprise, “A journal.”

Jude looked around the room. “I think they’re all journals.”

“Here’s a signature.” Uriah grew very still. “Octavia.”

She spotted another book on the bed. With a gloved hand, she picked it up and opened it to the last entry.

Uriah directed the beam at the page, and they both read Octavia’s words:
Yesterday I heard something that sounded like fireworks. I wonder if it was Fourth of July.

“She heard the gunshots yesterday.” Jude looked up at Uriah. “Which means she was still alive today.”

CHAPTER 60

U
riah went silent, probably trying to make sense of it all.

“Adam didn’t relocate her,” Jude said, slowly putting the pieces together. “Octavia was here when Adam was shot.”

He looked up from the journal he held in his hand, puzzlement on his face.

“When we met my father driving down the lane, he might not have been alone.” Maybe he knew Adam had been kidnapping and killing young women all along. “That might be why he chose to make his statement at the cabin.” She was speaking rapidly now. “It wasn’t about the best location for the press conference; it was about covering his own ass.”

Uriah finally caught up. “Son of a bitch. He needed to get back here.”

“Right. He wanted to get her out before we found her.”

Uriah was already moving, pounding up the steps. Outside, he passed the journal to one of the crime-scene team as he filled in Major Shultz.

“You’re talking about the governor.” Shultz cast a doubtful and suspicious eye at Jude.

There it was: that look she was so familiar with. He knew her history, probably knew she’d recently been kicked out of Homicide. That kind of thing didn’t instill confidence.

“If you’re wrong, I’ll be fired,” he said. “I’ve got a wife and kids to think about.”

“You can risk your job or someone’s life,” Jude told him. “Seems an easy choice to me.”

The crime-scene specialist broke into their conversation. “You need to see this.” She held up the journal Uriah had given her, the book flat and open wide, her gloved finger pointing to a specific area of text.

Everyone leaned forward to read in silence.

OMG, he’s old! He’s so old! Older than my dad. And I don’t even care! How sick is that? It doesn’t even matter to me that my kidnapper, the guy who’s been fucking me for so long, is the governor of Minnesota. How can that not be cool? I think I love him even more now.

Not Adam. Her father.

Jude thought back to her conversation with her brother yesterday. He’d bragged about the death of Lola Holt and Ian Caldwell, but he hadn’t confessed to the other murders. It seemed she’d been right about her father all along. She wished she’d been wrong.

Learning of his guilt was an indescribable feeling. Everything she’d sensed for so long had finally been substantiated. For a few hours after Adam had confessed, she’d felt disappointment in herself and the years she’d wasted thinking her father was a bad man. That had been immediately followed by the realization that she could put the past aside and maybe they could have a relationship. She’d even imagined having dinner with him, talking, sharing stories, offering and receiving support. Like a real family.

Shultz barked orders into his shoulder mic. “We’re going to need an APB issued,” he said. “The APB? It’s on the governor of Minnesota.” A pause. “That’s right. The governor.”

More calls were made, and a message went out to patrol units across the state.

“Keep us updated,” Uriah said as he and Jude ran for the car.

“You need a weapon.” Uriah popped the trunk and opened a flat black case. Jude spotted a Glock 17 similar to her confiscated piece, pulled it out, grabbed a box of ammunition. Uriah slammed the trunk, and they dove into the unmarked vehicle. Inside, they buckled seat belts while the just-launched APB scrolled across the mobile-data computer screen.

“We’ll never catch up,” Jude said. “He’s got a fifteen-minute lead on us.”

The car bounced down the lane, hit the narrow paved road that ran parallel to the highway, while Jude kept her eye on the computer, watching for new developments.

Within minutes of the APB, a report came through. The black Cadillac had been spotted heading south on 10, toward Minneapolis.

They merged onto Highway 10 South. Jude flipped on the lights, no siren, and Uriah stepped on the gas. The vehicle shot to ninety.

“State police are in silent pursuit,” she said, eyes on the screen. “Chopper in the air, dispatched from Saint Cloud.”

Keeping his eyes on the road, Uriah pulled his phone from his pocket and handed it to Jude. “Call the major. Tell them to tail Schilling, but no hot pursuit. No lights, no sirens.”

Jude made the call and passed on Uriah’s instructions. “We can’t jeopardize Octavia,” she added. “She could be in the car, so hang back. Don’t spook him. And, Major? I’d like to be there for the takedown. He might talk to me.”

“We’ll give you a chance to close in, but if he spots us, if he increases speed, that’s it. We’ll initiate the PIT maneuver. In the meantime, traffic is heavy with people heading back to the city after the weekend. We’re putting patrol officers ahead of the governor to see if we can slow the flow.”

They disconnected.

Thirty minutes later, the major called to say they were going to engage sirens. “Chopper has a visual lock, and we’re preparing to close the highway.” He gave her the marker number where the rendezvous and capture would take place.

Jude passed the information to Uriah, who hadn’t let up since pulling onto 10. Five minutes later, they heard the faint sound of sirens. Traffic speed rapidly decreased.

The road was a two-lane with a wide gravel shoulder. A few drivers spotted them in rearview mirrors and moved aside, dust flying. Far ahead, lights flashed. Above them, helicopter blades whipped the air. Jude turned on their siren, and more vehicles responded, breaking wider, moving left and right out of their way.

Another five minutes and everything came to a halt, civilian and police cars alike. Nowhere left to go, Uriah and Jude bailed and ran for the lights.

Surrounded by police cars, a helicopter hovering overhead, was a black Cadillac. The driver’s door flew open, and the governor stepped from the vehicle, no sign of Octavia.

Had he dumped her? Was she in the trunk? Was she dead?

Jude pulled her weapon and slipped her arm from the sling, ignored the pain, braced her gun hand, and strode straight for him, aiming at his chest, prepared to fire.

“Jude,” Uriah warned, urging her to hold, following her when he should have been behind the protection of a vehicle.

“Get back,” she told him.

“Don’t shoot,” Uriah said. “He might be the only one who knows where the girl is.”

She heard his footfalls beside her, knew he had his weapon drawn too. She didn’t take her eyes off the governor. “Hands up!” she shouted.

The governor ignored her command and circled to the back of his vehicle, opened the lid, and dragged a young woman from the trunk while pressing a gun to her temple.

They should have rushed him.

“It’s her,” Jude said. “Octavia.”

She was naked except for a filthy white T-shirt, gag in her mouth, arms tied behind her back. No panties, no bra, no shoes. She wasn’t emaciated, but her legs and arms were thin, her stomach round, like somebody who was malnourished. Her long hair was matted, and even from a distance Jude could smell the unwashed odor of her.

The governor pulled the girl to his chest, an arm under her throat. She squinted against the glare of the sun. “Call everybody off, or I’ll kill her. Right here, right now.”

“Stand down! Stand down!” someone shouted. Officers moved back. All but Jude. Schilling had nothing to lose one way or the other, and if they let him leave with the girl, Octavia would most likely be dead within an hour.

Jude felt blood from the bullet wound trickle to her armpit and slide down her stomach to the waistband of her jeans, but she didn’t feel any pain. She made eye contact with Octavia. She could read those eyes. She’d lived in that mind-set. No fear. The fear was long gone.

Jude gave her head a miniscule nod to the right.

Octavia understood. She
understood
. They were reading each other.

The girl ducked; Jude pulled the trigger, catching Phillip Schilling between the eyes. He dropped like a stone, his gun clattering to the blacktop.

Jude didn’t allow herself time to think about what she’d just done—a daughter killing her own father. She filed it away for later. Later she would mourn, not her father and her brother, but what had never been.

She tucked her weapon into her belt and walked toward the man on the ground and the young woman standing over him. An officer approached with a blanket. Jude held out her hand and he passed the cover to her.

Octavia seemed oblivious to her surroundings. Instead, she stood staring at the dead man at her feet. Jude spoke her name in a quiet voice. She removed the girl’s gag and untied her wrists. Eyes tracked away from the body to latch on to Jude.

“Are you cold?” Jude asked, holding the blanket out and open.

The young woman seemed to put the question to herself, wondered if she was or wasn’t. Jude gently placed the blanket around Octavia’s shoulders, then pulled Uriah’s phone from her pocket.

“You’re bleeding,” Octavia said dully.

Jude looked at the drops of blood hitting her boot. She felt light-headed, and she didn’t know how much longer she’d be able to remain upright. She poked at the keypad of the phone. After a quick Internet search, she found the number she was looking for, entered it, and lifted the phone to her ear. When a voice answered, she said, “I have someone I think you’ll want to talk to.”

She passed the phone to Octavia. “It’s your mother.”

The blankness melted from the girl’s face as she awkwardly lifted the device to her ear. “Mom?” She spoke with trembling hesitation.

How slow and fast life moved. Octavia had spent over three years in captivity. Today she’d written in her journal like always, expecting nothing, certainly not knowing that on this particular day everything would change.

Jude watched a helicopter from Hennepin County Medical Center land in the grassy median, and she felt a hand on her back. She looked up to see Uriah’s mouth moving as he pointed toward the aircraft. A medic stood in the open door, motioning them to come. It took Jude a moment to realize the medic wanted both of them, Octavia and herself.

Two injured people.

Uriah guided her toward the craft while an officer took the phone from Octavia and spoke into it, most likely giving Ava information about where they were going.

They were both helped into the copter, both strapped onto a gurney while medics bent over them. At one point, Jude looked out the window to see the ground falling away. Uriah was down there, watching them lift off, his clothes molding to him and his hair whipping around his head.

While one of the medics inserted an IV needle in the back of her hand, Jude looked across the aisle to reassure herself that Octavia was okay. Then she let out a sigh and closed her eyes.