The Heart Has Reasons (41 page)

“I
know you’re in there, Ms. Santos.  Don’t force me to return with a
warrant.”  A sudden vision of the door imploding under the impetus of a
battering ram convinced her to disengage the deadbolt.  If he intended to
take her back to California, he’d have to drag her, kicking and screaming, the
entire way.

“Good
Morning, Ms. Santos.”  He nodded at the dark-suited man at his side. 
“This is Special Agent Harris.  He’s with the Charleston field office.”

Trying
to get her heart rate back under control, she shook the man’s hand, offering
him a smile so strained it threatened to crack her face.  At least Jarvis
hadn’t brought that bitch, Sengupta.  When he simply stood there looking
at her expectantly, she stepped aside for them to enter.  “Agent Jarvis, I
apologize for taking off the way I did, but I wanted to come home and I was afraid
you wouldn’t let me leave.”

Surprisingly,
he seemed not at all put out.  “It was my fault for not posting someone
outside your room.  I’m afraid I underestimated you.”  Holding her
gaze, he added meaningfully, “It won’t happen again.”

She
led them into the kitchen and, once they’d taken seats around the glass-topped
kitchen table, Jarvis regarded her thoughtfully.  “I’ve already acquainted
Agent Harris with the particulars of your case.  Have you seen the news
this morning?”

“Not
yet.  Have they mentioned my name?”

“The
media knows Sparrow was killed by his intended victim and, although no one at
the bureau will reveal your identity, I’m afraid the police aren’t so reticent
when it comes to leaking information to the press.  We’ve learned quite a
bit in the past twenty-four hours, so allow me to bring you up to date. 
The estate your abductor took you to belongs to Coco Keswick.  A former
porn star—”

“—she
gave up acting to direct and produce her own movies, which she geared
especially toward women,” Larissa finished for him.  “They’re really quite
good.”

Jarvis
appeared startled by this revelation, and she had the feeling that, beneath his
dark complexion, the normally imperturbable man was blushing.  Enjoying
his momentary discomfiture, she said, “What?  You didn’t know women
watched porn?”  A wide gold wedding band gleamed on his left hand so, when
he made no response, she added, “If you’d like, I’ll write down some titles
that you and your wife might enjoy.”

Agent
Harris appeared faintly amused.  Agent Jarvis did not.  Frowning, he
cleared his throat.  “That won’t be necessary.  Anyway, it turns out
Sparrow was Ms. Keswick’s nephew.  After you shot him two years ago, he
fled across country to seek shelter with her.  Ms. Keswick had contracted
HIV back when she was still in front of the cameras.  By the time Sparrow
showed up on her doorstep, she had full-blown AIDS.  He moved in with her,
adopted the name ‘Hank Keswick’, and gradually took over the running of the
business.  Financially, Ms. Keswick was already doing quite well, bringing
in just over two-hundred-thousand a year, but Sparrow decided to expand the
business.  After converting the guesthouse into a dungeon, he branched out
into hardcore bondage and S & M films and, subsequently, the company pulled
in three-quarters of a million last year.”

“I
wondered where he’d gotten the money to hire a kidnapper.  So, where’s
Coco now?”

“Ms.
Keswick’s health had been steadily spiraling downward.  She’d given him
her power of attorney but, knowing the gravy train would end when she died, he
apparently decided to keep her death a secret.  We found her remains
buried on the property.”

“He
killed her?”

“Possibly. 
Or she may have died from the AIDS.  Forensics will have to make that
determination.”  He paused for a moment, as if considering how forthcoming
to be.  “We also found the buried remains of three other women.  So
far, we’ve identified one, a social worker who disappeared several months ago
after her car broke down on the expressway.  We’re still working on
identifying the other two.”

An
artic chill shivered through Larissa and she hugged herself.  “He was a
serial killer.”

“It
appears so.”

“And
I almost ended up as one of his victims.”  She swallowed in an attempt to
relieve the painful tightness lodged in her throat.  “Did he kill those
women in the ‘playroom’?”

“It
doesn’t appear so.  When each of those women died, there were
round-the-clock nurses at the estate caring for Ms. Keswick, which would have
eliminated the privacy factor.  Plus, we found no traces of blood other
than yours and Sparrow’s.  When he terminated the services of the nursing
staff, he informed them that Ms. Keswick was going into a hospice facility and
they had no reason to doubt him.”

With
everyone gone from the estate, Sparrow would have been able to take his time
with her.  How many excruciating, agony-filled days would she have
lasted?  As grisly blood-splattered scenes involving wooden crosses,
scalpels, and blowtorches played through her mind, the kitchen suddenly tilted
crazily.  With both hands, she gripped the beveled edge of the glass
tabletop until the room settled back into its rightful position.

Jarvis
placed a comforting hand over hers.  “Are you all right, Ms.
Santos?”  She nodded weakly.  After giving her a few minutes to regain
her emotional equilibrium, he extracted a small, leather-bound notebook from an
inner jacket pocket.  “I’d like to go back over the events of your
abduction, beginning with when you first woke up in the back of the van.”

Having
to replay the first part of her story was not too bad because, fortunately, she
didn’t have to lie, although there was much she left out.

Finally,
after nearly two hours of question and answer, during which time Agent Harris
remained silent but intently watchful, they arrived at the point where her
kidnapper had delivered her to Sparrow.  Lying in general went against
everything she believed in.  Lying to law-enforcement officials sickened
her.

But
telling them the truth was inconceivable.

She
fought to stay calm as she once again related the story she and Chase had
manufactured.  At one point she caught herself rubbing the back of her
neck and — remembering what Chase had said about self-comforting gestures —
made herself stop.  She finished by saying, “And after I came to on the
‘playroom’ floor, I went back to the house, broke the glass from the front
door, went in, and called the police.”

“Why
didn’t you simply re-enter through the open rear doors?”

She
couldn’t very well admit that, once she’d accompanied Chase to the front of the
house, she’d been disinclined to make the long walk back around to the
rear.  “I guess I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“I
still find your claim of having fainted interesting.  Do you have a
history of losing consciousness?”

She
forced her jaw to unclench.  “It’s not a
claim
— I fainted. 
And, no, I don’t have a history of doing so.  But then, I don’t have a
history of being beaten and nearly tortured to death.  Nor had I ever
killed anyone before.  All of which was quite traumatic.”

“I’m
guessing that, when you shot Sparrow two years ago, it was ‘traumatic’ as
well.  Did you lose consciousness then?”

It
was on the tip of her tongue to answer in the affirmative, but Chase’s warning
suddenly echoed in her head:
During interrogation, stick to the truth as much
as possible
.  “When I saw the blood on my throat, my knees went weak
and I sort of collapsed to the floor, but I don’t think I actually lost
consciousness.”

“Usually
when one faints, the actual period of unconsciousness is fairly brief, yet you
claim to have been out for nearly an hour.”

“I
never
claimed that. 
You all
decided it was an hour, based
on the Medical Examiner’s estimated time of death.”

“An
hour that conveniently gave your abductor time to make a strategic withdrawal
from the Chatsworth area.”

She
scowled at him.  “Have you released Mr. O’Malley?”

“I
think you know the answer to that.”

“Are
you so desperate to charge someone that you’d send an innocent man to prison?”

One
huge, dark hand came up to forestall any further protests.  “You’re
forgetting that, not only did three witnesses positively identify him, they
also identified
you
as the woman tied up and gagged in the back of his
vehicle.”

“They’re
lying.  And if I was in his vehicle, why didn’t you find my DNA
there?”  It was a wild guess, but she saw the confirmation in his narrowed
eyes.

“O’Malley
thoroughly cleaned the vehicle before he was taken into custody.”

“You
have an excuse for everything, Jarvis.”

“Then
it seems we have something in common.”  When she speared him with a
venomous glare, he calmly gazed back, a faint smile playing about his lips.

“When
Mr. O’Malley goes to trial, you’re going to look like a fool — or worse — when
I testify as to how you railroaded an innocent man.”

The
two agents exchanged glances, and then Agent Harris spoke for the first time
since their introduction.  “Ms. Santos, are you familiar with Stockholm
syndrome?”

She
regarded him warily.  “No.”

“Stockholm
syndrome is a psychological response sometimes seen in captives in which the
captive begins to identify with, and display symptoms of loyalty to, their
captor, regardless of the danger in which they’ve been placed.”

“That
may well be, but it has nothing to do with me.  I don’t know what Agent
Jarvis has told you, but I feel absolutely no loyalty to the man who kidnapped
me.”

“A
psychological shift takes place in captives when they are gravely threatened
but are, at the same time, shown acts of kindness by their captors.  The
captive’s life depends upon the good will of their captor, and upon their own
ability to meet their captor’s demands.  Although the captive is obviously
terrified, adopting a positive attitude toward the one on whom their life now
depends serves to relieve their fear, as well as to help insure their survival.”

Was
that what she’d done?  At first, she
had
been terrified.  And
she’d been grateful that her kidnapper had treated her well.

“The
relief from fear serves as a powerful reinforcement for the change in attitude,
making the mental adjustment a genuine emotional transformation, rather than
simply a contrived one.”

Harris
and Jarvis both were watching her closely as Harris spoke, and Larissa had to
struggle not to fidget under the weight of their eyes.

“The
tremendous emotional, and often physical, duress induces these symptoms. 
It’s a common survival strategy for the captive to begin to develop a bond
with, and think highly of, his or her captor.  They may believe their
captor is showing them favor stemming from inherent kindness, while failing to
recognize that their captor’s actions are essentially self-serving.”

“I’m
sure this is all very interesting, but I
never
developed a
bond
with my kidnapper, and I certainly never thought highly of him.  Yes, I
was terrified, and yes, he never hurt me.  And although I was
relieved
he never hurt me, I was never grateful to him.”  She frowned at him. 
“Are you some kind of shrink?”

“I
prefer the term psychologist to that of ‘shrink’.”

Jarvis
reached across the glass expanse of the table to place a massive hand upon
hers.  “Ms. Santos, if you would agree to have a few private sessions with
Doctor Harris, I believe you’d find it very therapeutic.”

She
slid her hand from under his.  “I disagree.”  While she might indeed
find talking to Harris therapeutic, since he was primarily an FBI agent it was
doubtful there’d be any doctor-patient privilege.  “And now it’s
Doctor
Harris?  When you first introduced him it was
Agent
Harris.”

“Both
titles are correct.  I’d consider it a personal favor if you’d consent to
speaking with him.”

“You
may consider it whatever you like, but I’m not having ‘private sessions’ with
him because there is
nothing wrong with me.
  I can’t believe you
had the gall to bring a shrink to my house.  No offence intended,
Doctor
Harris.”

“None
taken,” Harris replied.  “But if I may continue, when subjected to
prolonged captivity, captives can develop a sexual interest in their captors,
and it’s my understanding that O’Malley’s an attractive man.”

The
heat that flooded her face was so intense she wondered if steam was wisping
from her ears.  “As I recall, Mr. O’Malley
was
fairly attractive
but, as I have repeatedly stated, he is
not
the man who kidnapped
me.  Despite what you think, I did
not
enjoy those days of
captivity and I
certainly
didn’t fall for the man who kidnapped me.”

“Is
that what I think?”

“You
obviously think there’s something abnormal about me, that I’m some freak who
enjoys being kidnapped and driven clear across the continent.”