What Burns Within (29 page)

“How long do you need to go easy on that leg?” Daly asked her.

She shrugged. “A couple of days.”

“That’s good. Then you won’t be able to go anywhere tomorrow. That will give you plenty of time to rest.”

“Tain can drive. The doctor said it’s actually good for me to get up a bit, keep the blood circulating.”

“Tain can handle things without you, and you can do your hobbling at home. You’re taking the day off.”

She opened her mouth to protest, and he raised his hand. Craig knew the look on Daly’s face, and a quick glance at Ashlyn told him that deep down, she knew better than to argue with Daly when he got like this.

Craig thanked them for the dinner, and Ashlyn didn’t try to avoid leaving when his parents made their exit. Part of him wanted to ask her to wait, but one look at his parents told him it wasn’t a good idea. Not to night.

Once they were gone he drifted around the main floor, not really thinking about what he was doing. Within a few minutes, he’d settled down on the smaller sofa, staring vacuously at the fireplace, his thoughts drifting back to that case last fall.

If it hadn’t been for the temporary transfer he hadn’t wanted—and had tried hard to get out of—he wouldn’t have met Tain and Ashlyn almost a year ago.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to keep in touch. He’d picked up the phone more times than he could recall and dialed Ashlyn’s number, but every time, he’d felt at a loss to know what to say and replaced the handset before the call went through.

There’d been so much he could have said in the weeks after, but he’d been wound too tight, fighting too hard to stay in control, dealing with too much of his life being exposed and the wounds still being raw.

He glanced at the solitary glass on the coffee table, wished he had more than juice and water on hand, and stood up. Craig flicked the light off and took the glass to the kitchen, wondering how well Tain and Ashlyn worked together.

Wondering why it bothered him so much that she seemed happy.

Lori sat on the edge of the bed, overdressed compared to her usual sleeping attire, blankly gazing through the window to the darkness in the sky, listening to the whir of the electronic toothbrush, the sound of water running, silence, then the splash of fluid being spit against the sink.

The usual bathroom sounds were just the background blur as she sat there, not really knowing what she should think about, not really knowing what was next. It had all come out from under her in a heartbeat, that second when she turned to find someone moving toward her in the darkness, someone who would change everything for her.

Send her life spiraling out of control, turn her world upside down or pull the rug out from under her feet…How many ways were there to politely say that someone had made a choice and that the result was that she had to get an HIV test, go through STD screenings, that she had to make a statement about what it felt like to have someone force her down on her own bed.

Lori yelped and realized she’d dug her nails into the flesh of her palms. She knew she’d heard the footsteps approaching, somewhere in the layers of sound and sensation her brain was pro cessing, but she still jumped when she felt his hand on her shoulder and pulled forward from his grasp instinctively.

“I…don’t think I can sleep in here anymore,” she said, standing suddenly, reaching for her house coat to pull over her already-covered body.

“I thought the doctor said it was best for you to try to regain control of your life, to not let this person take away anything more than he already had.”

Anything more than he already had
…What is that, exactly? Her sense of security, her self-confidence, her dignity? She fumbled with the cord on her house coat, her hand shaking so violently she had to physically force herself to stop and draw a deep breath as hot tears stung her eyes.

“You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you? Doesn’t bother you to sleep in the bed I was raped on.”

He got up from the bed and followed her toward the hallway. “Lori, you’re being ridiculous. Yesterday you said—”

“Yesterday I was wrong,” she snapped. “Oh, I’m sorry. You expect me to have this all figured out in a matter of hours and just move on. Well this isn’t like charting a course for a sailboat, Vish, so give me a goddamned fucking break if it takes me a while to get it together.”

She stomped down the hall, and the whole house shuddered with the force she used to slam the door to the den behind her, her shoulders quivering as she slumped back against it, her body sliding down as she covered her mouth and choked back her sobs.

Ashlyn’s shoulders lifted before she forced her torso down again, remembering that her leg injury meant she had to sleep on her back and forgo the usual tossing and turning she did on any given night.

“Damn,” she muttered, her eyes staring up at the blackness, only a thin shimmer of moonlight glistening on the chimes above her bed.

Bear chimes that Craig had bought her.
To remind you
, his note had said.

As though she could forget.

The next day, he’d been gone.

It had been glossed over, with terms like “unexpected” and “sudden departure” and “serious case” being thrown about to mask what it really was for her: Craig had been ripped from her life. She hadn’t known until then how much she’d relied on him when they worked together before.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but all she could see was the look on Craig’s face the first night she’d met him….

When she opened her eyes his image remained.

She brushed the tears aside, the ones that always came when she thought of that case. Maybe that was the real reason Craig seemed so damned important to her. He’d gotten her through it all. Then he’d been gone in the blink of an eye.

Her thoughts shifted to the girls they were looking for, the body of Isabella Bertini lying on the cement in front of her, and she shut her eyes again, this time, her mind ready to rest.

“Martha.”

“No, what’s your real name?”

“Shhh. I don’t want to get lashed.”

For a moment, Taylor thought that the girl was going to listen to her, but then she heard the quietest steps coming toward her and felt the bed sag as the girl sat down beside her.

“My name’s Lindsay.”

“He says to call you Delilah.”

“That’s not my real name, and I don’t like it.”

“It’s God’s chosen name for you.”

“Then why didn’t God tell me Himself?”

Taylor opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again.

“What’s your real name?”

She mashed her lips together, saying nothing.

“Are you Taylor?”

“Ho-how do you know?”

“We said a prayer for you at Mass on Sunday morning.”

“Oh.” Taylor felt her heart sink. It didn’t make any sense. Why did she feel so scared that this girl knew her real name?

“We have to try to find a way out of here.”

“Why?”

“He’s going to hurt us. Those other girls…they’re dead.”

“What girls?”

“Didn’t you watch the news?”

Taylor shook her head.

“The day he took you, they found a girl. What do you remember about the day he took you?”

Nicky, Nicky, Nicky
…

“I was looking for my brother at the fairgrounds.”

“That’s where he grabbed you from?”

She nodded.

“Then what?”

I’d opened my eyes, but all I could see was black. I rolled around
a bit, trying to sit up, but I could feel the car and hear the engine.
My leg bumped something, another leg, and I wriggled over as close
as I could, my nose touching hair, but there was rope in my mouth.
Just like the rope in your mouth when he brought you here. Wanting
to scream and the person there, in the darkness, didn’t wake up
or say anything
….

“Do you remember how you got in here?”

Taylor hugged her legs to her body, her chin resting on her knee.

“I want to go home,” Lindsay told her.

She heard the tremor in the words and knew what that felt like, wanting to cry but needing to be brave, biting your lip or putting your face into the pillow if it was really bad.

“Do…you really think he’s going to hurt us?”

Lindsay leaned so close that Taylor could feel her hot breath on her cheek. “I think he’s going to kill us.”

WEDNESDAY

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Tain murmured as he listened to the message on his voice mail, Daly telling him that Ashlyn wouldn’t be coming in as per his orders. Tain smiled, for a moment forgetting how much this complicated his life as he imagined the look on Ashlyn’s face when Daly told her she was taking a sick day.

With Ashlyn not in, John-John moved to the top of his list. Maybe he could rule that out without any complications and keep her from getting into more hot water. His smile faded as he thought about what Ashlyn would say if she knew he was trying to shield her, but it didn’t stop him from grabbing his jacket, a few files and walking out to the car.

Knowing it would be early for John-John to make an appearance on the streets, Tain did a little recon in the area where John-John usually worked, then stopped at a local Tim Hortons.

So far, the open abduction cases hadn’t turned up anything pertinent. Daly had intervened and passed those off to Sims. Shit. Sims had left a message saying to see him about that Wilson character…. Tain flipped to the page in his note pad, hoping he’d remember to track Sims down. Something about Wilson just didn’t sit right.

The list of recreation center member names hadn’t yielded much in the way of criminal interest, but there it was, near the bottom, too much of a coincidence not to take a hard look at.

Alex Wilson was a member at the Southside Recreation and Fitness Center where Lindsay Eckert was abducted. Alex Wilson wasn’t exactly a rare name, but it was worth checking it out to see if it was the same Alex Wilson. Tain reached for his cell phone and glanced at his watch when he got the voice mail and left a message.

He was sitting in his car now, sipping coffee. Something he’d acquired a taste for during the past year, as he put in longer hours and spent more time working alone. A solitary figure stepped out of a doorway onto the sidewalk, glancing in the opposite direction, oversized hands stuffed in the pockets of the leather coat, the bald head reflecting sunlight.

Tain didn’t need the quick glance at the photo to tell him who that was. He opened the door and got out of the car.

“Yeah?” Ashlyn groaned, her hand covering her eyes as she spoke into the handset.

“You actually stayed at home and you’re sleeping in? There might be hope for you yet.”

“Very funny, Steve.” She risked exposure to the light with a quick glance at the clock. Ashlyn groaned. “I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“With all the hours on this case—”

“Yeah, yeah, I likely needed it. What’s up? You want me to come in, after all?”

Daly laughed. “Can’t blame you for trying, can I?”

She smiled as she sat up, inspecting her lower leg and foot. The searing pain that had escalated after she’d sliced it had subsided with the assistance of painkillers, but it hadn’t returned during the night.

“Honestly, I just called to check up on you.”

“I know.”

“I meant—”

“It’s okay, Steve. You’re just calling to make sure I’m okay. No pain, no swelling and—” she propped the phone between her shoulder and her head as she removed the last of the bandages—“the wound is clean. Doesn’t look like it’s infected. I’ll be parading around in short skirts again in no time.”

“You didn’t bump your head when you were up there, did you?”

She smiled, trying to sound mildly offended as she said good-bye and hung up.

Craig sat down across from Daly. “It was either genuinely funny, or the job stress is getting to you.”

“Maybe a bit of both. But this time, amusement was the greater part of the mix.” Daly’s smile faded as he studied Craig’s face. “Why do I get the feeling that what you’re going to say isn’t going to be good for my blood pressure?”

“As though much I say or do ever is.”

“Point taken.”

“Look, it’s just something that came up last night, about the dates of those arson cases Ashlyn’s working. June fourteenth, July eighth, July twenty-fifth, August eighteenth and August nineteenth are all dates the arsons have happened on, the ones that were linked by MO when the case was still Robinson’s, right?”

Daly nodded. “And June fourteenth was when Julie Darrens was abducted. Isabella Bertini was abducted July eighth. Julie’s body was found at a fire July twenty-fifth, and as you likely know, the two most recent dates corresponded to finding Isabella Bertini’s body and the abductions of Taylor Brennen and Lindsay Eckert.”

“June fourteenth, July eighth, July twenty-fifth, August eighteenth, August nineteenth…Doesn’t anything else about those dates sound familiar?”

Daly paused. “Those are the dates of your rape cases.”

“Three big investigations happening simultaneously and the dates match for all of them. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

“There was also an arson on July eighteenth. You don’t have a rape reported for that date.”

“Which is hardly conclusive, given the stats on rape reports.”

“Those same statistics could mean there are a dozen more rapes that we don’t even know about yet. We certainly know there aren’t a dozen more fires we haven’t heard about.”

“You don’t have a child abduction matching July eighteenth either.”

Daly leaned back in his chair and groaned. “What are you thinking?”

“Just that it’s odd. It’s got me wondering…” Craig paused, then shrugged.

“I find it hard to fathom how a rapist could connect to child abductions and murders. At least, this rapist. None of these girls has been sexually assaulted, a fact we haven’t released to the press.”

Craig frowned. “I’m surprised Hawkins wouldn’t want to reassure the public with that small piece of consolation.”

“Hawkins has certainly had his own agenda with all of these cases, from the beginning,” Daly muttered. Then he glared at Craig. “And you know better than to repeat that outside this office.”

Craig put up his hands. “No need to worry about me. I’m just hoping he’ll back off from the rape investigation a bit. This thing with Lori seems…” He shrugged again, unwilling to voice his thoughts, even to his dad.

Daly reached for the ringing phone and barely managed two words before he hung up and passed Craig the note he’d scrawled.

“Another rape.”

“We know there wasn’t an arson fire last night.”

“Careful. I’m starting to believe in coincidences. And the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus.”

John-John spat on the sidewalk as Tain approached him. “Fucking cops. I can smell you lot a mile away. Whaddya want?”

“Connie Brennen,” Tain said. “I can see from the sneer that you know who I’m talking about.”

“So what if I do? She hasn’t been down this way in ages. Not since she roped some sucker into marital bliss.”

“You telling me you didn’t have a bit of an axe to grind with her? No lingering grudges, scores to settle?”

“What the fuck? Why’d I waste my time goin’ after her now?”

“You’ve gone after others before.”

John-John stared at him, and Tain glared back, waiting to see what he’d do.

Finally, John-John shrugged and sank back against the stairway he was leaning against, his oversized ass pressed against the concrete and spilling over like waffle batter when too much is put on the grill. “This business, sometimes you have to have a firm hand. Spare the rod and all that. You gotta know how hard it is makin’ a bitch behave.”

“So you admit you like to keep your girls in line.”

“I don’t ‘like’ it. I do what I gotta do to make sure the bills get paid.”

“Just a respectable businessman.”

“That’s right. Fucking tax-paying citizen.”

“And Jenny Fowler? That whole little mess with her girl was just what? Protecting your investment?”

The snarl returned. “Hey, I was cleared of that. No way you’re coming back on me about that now.”

Tain held up his hand. “I actually want to talk to you about Taylor.”

“Taylor who?”

“You’re serious? You can know who Connie Brennen is—and that’s her married name—but you’re telling me you don’t know the name of her kid? The one born less than nine months after Connie stopped working for you?”

John-John’s mouth set in a hard line, but he didn’t try to get up again. “That Taylor. What about her?”

“I heard some interesting rumors.”

“Yeah? She following in her mama’s footsteps? Bit young, but there are those who’ll pay top dollar for that sort of thing.”

“Doesn’t make your gut twist to think of some perv having a go at your own kid?”

John-John’s face paled and then flushed hot. “What the fuck are you saying? Taylor’s my kid? No fucking way.”

“Word was you were Connie’s steady back then.”

He snorted. “Connie fucked anyone who could scrape up enough cash, and you oughtta know that. When she got herself knocked up it could have been half of the local trade who was responsible.”

“Bit of a stretch on the suspect list, don’t you think?”

“She did a lot of business. Real efficient.”

Tain felt his lip curl. “So you’re telling me that you don’t think Taylor Brennen’s really your kid?”

John-John shook his head. “I mean, not like I’m saying I couldn’t perform the services, but it coulda been anyone, like I said. Connie spent more time out of her undies than in them.” He glared at Tain. “What d’you care, anyway?”

“You don’t know?”

John-John stood up, but he didn’t draw himself to his full height. “Like I said, haven’t seen Connie in years.”

“You not heard about the guy going around snatching young girls?”

“Them ones found in burning buildings?” He shrugged. “Heard something about it.”

“He snatched Taylor Brennen last weekend.”

There was no widening of the eyes, no change in the color of John-John’s face, nothing to give Tain a clue about what he was thinking. Tain pulled a card from his pocket.

“If you do think of anything, anyone with some special interests, anyone with a grudge against Connie—”

“What good would that do? Those other kids, their mothers working girls too?”

Tain shook his head. “Just being thorough. Always possible when kids go missing that someone else takes advantage of it, you know? Try to hide their crime behind the obvious suspect.”

John-John nodded as he sauntered off down the street, and Tain started walking back to the car.

Now, I guess we’ll see whether he was being straight with me
.