Vicious

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

If any hikers had been roaming around that sloped section of woods, they might have noticed a pale grey object moving back and forth, hovering just above the ground. They might have heard a young woman crying for help.

But Moira had a feeling no one was around for miles.

She’d found part of a tree branch in the pit. Shedding her heather-grey sweater, she’d tied it to one end of the branch. She’d tried to stand up, but felt a sharp, grinding pain whenever she put her weight on her left foot.

So Moira leaned against the dirt wall of the pit. Even with her arm stretched above her head, it was still at least three feet from her fingertips to the top of the narrow trench. Her arm was tired from endlessly waving the makeshift flag over her head. Plus she had a cramp in her one good leg from standing on tiptoe for so long. All her screaming had left her throat sore and dry.

Moira had checked her wristwatch a few minutes ago: 2:30. She’d been stuck in this godforsaken pit for over an hour now. She’d tried several times to climb up the dirt walls, but her foot kept giving out on her. And there was nothing to hold on to—except fistfuls of loose soil and rocks.

The dark, dank hole smelled. In just her T-shirt and jeans, Moira shivered from the cold. She still had dirt in her mouth and in her nose, too. Mud, twigs, and God only knew what else had gotten tangled in her hair. She would have killed for a glass of water—and a couple of Tylenol. Every part of her body ached.

Every once in a while she heard a car in the distance driving along the road up ahead. Yet, obviously, they couldn’t hear her screaming for help.

Moira also detected some noises in the woods—and not just birds chirping. She’d heard bushes rustling and an occasional scurrying sound. She figured it was wildlife in the forest, but she yelled out for help anyway—just in case.

Her arm was getting numb. She lowered the crude banner, then rubbed her shoulder and shook her arm to get the blood flowing again. She told herself that Leo and Jordan would start looking for her soon. They’d find her before sundown. She just had to hang in there.

She felt something crawling on the side of her neck. She let out a shriek and frantically swiped it off. Moira shuddered. She didn’t see what kind of bug it was, but she figured there were more of the same down in the bottom of this smelly pit.

She heard high-pitched squealing in the distance, and she looked up at the patch of sky above her. At first Moira thought it was a flock of birds squawking. But then she recognized the sound as it got louder, more distinct. She listened to the same racket every day between classes in the hallways of Holy Names Academy. It was the sound of several girls—all talking, laughing, and screaming at once. Right now, it was a wonderful noise.

Moira quickly hoisted the makeshift flag and waved it above the edge of the crater. “HEY!” she screamed. “HELP ME! PLEASE, HELP ME, I’M TRAPPED!”

The din grew louder, and Moira guessed there were several girls—probably in an SUV or a small bus. Obviously, the windows were open. They had music booming. They were all talking over each other. It sounded like a party.

Moira kept screaming for help and waving the stick. She forgot about her ankle for a second and jumped up. When she came down on her foot again, the crushing pain shot through her leg, and she fell on her side amid all the mire and mud at the bottom of the pit.

The laughter and music faded, and Moira started crying. She picked up her sweater and saw that the branch she’d been using as a flagpole had snapped in two.

She had no idea how long she sat sobbing—and praying to God to get her out of there. But after a while, Moira wiped her tears with her sweater. Then she put it on. She was still shivering, but it was an improvement.

As she started to push herself up again, Moira felt something hard and bulky under her hand. Brushing away some dirt and dead leaves, she saw a blinking red light at the top of a device that looked like a clunky old answering machine. “What the hell?” she murmured. It felt heavy when she picked it up. Duct tape covered the back of it. She held the thing in the light and brushed some more dirt off it until she could read the printing across the side: SPY-TELL 300 MOTION SENSOR.

It confirmed what she’d thought when she’d first fallen into the pit. Someone was setting a trap here. Did the blinking red light mean somebody close by was picking up the signal on this device? They had to be in the vicinity. A small, portable thing like this couldn’t have much of a range.

Moira wondered if a hunter had created this trap. But what kind of lame-ass sportsman would catch his game this way? Trap some creature in a pit rigged with a motion detector, and then come shoot it—if the poor animal hadn’t already broken its neck in the fall? Yeah, that was really sporting. It didn’t make sense.

She stared at the blinking red light on the device. If this was a lazy, dilettante hunter’s trap for killing game, Moira shuddered to think that she might be sitting in dried animal blood. With reluctance, she felt around for shell casings or bullets. She imagined the creep who considered this way of hunting sport. Yet he might end up becoming her rescuer. Maybe he was on his way right now, with his gun loaded, eager to kill whatever defenseless creature lay in wait for him. Moira kept feeling around in the mud, twigs, and decaying leaves. She didn’t find any shell casings or bullets.

But then her fingers brushed against something else. She grabbed it and then rubbed the dirt off it. She looked at it in the light from the opening up above.

“Oh, no,” she gasped, tears filling her eyes. “Oh, my God, no…”

Moira suddenly realized what kind of game this cold-blooded hunter had caught down here in the past.

In her trembling hand, she held a woman’s tortoiseshell barrette.

“I’ll go pack Moira’s stuff, wait outside for her, and send her away in your car,” Leo said. He glanced over at Jordan’s prisoner stretched across the worktable. Then he locked eyes with his best friend. “I won’t say anything to her, I promise. But I’m not going with her, Jordan.”

They stood in the corner of the cellar’s big room—by an old blue plastic kiddy pool leaning against the wall and covered with dirt and dust. The man was out of earshot.

“You have to go,” Jordan whispered. “You can’t be part of this, Leo. You can’t be involved.”

“It’s too late, I’m already up to my eyeballs in it,” he argued. “Have you even thought this through, Jordan? I mean, the police are going to find his car soon. They’ll be looking for him—”

“They won’t find his car,” Jordan replied, shaking his head.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I sunk it in a swamp about a mile away from here,” Jordan said.

Leo stared at him and felt sick to his stomach. “You—you wouldn’t have done that unless you were planning to kill this guy. You’re going to make him disappear, aren’t you?”

Jordan didn’t answer.

There was a noise outside, gravel crunching under tires. Leo glanced up toward the dirt-streaked basement window, but some bushes outside blocked his view.

“Jesus,” Jordan murmured. He hurried toward his prisoner.

“HELP!” the man screamed. “HELP ME, PLEASE! DOWN HERE!”

Leo heard the car outside grinding to a halt in the driveway.

The man kept crying out for help. Jordan grabbed the handkerchief and wound it into a ball. He tried to stuff it into the man’s mouth, but his prisoner kept turning his head away. “HELP ME! GOD, PLEASE HELP ME!” he yelled.

Leo heard a woman’s muted murmuring as she talked to someone, and then the car door shut. Cell phones didn’t work in these woods, so she wasn’t talking on the phone. There had to be at least two people outside.

Jordan finally grabbed the man by the scalp and slammed his head against the worktable. The man gritted his teeth, but Jordan hit him in the ribs. His prisoner let out a yell, and Jordan forced the gag into his mouth.

Someone knocked on the front door. The sound carried down to the cellar as if it were just outside the room.

Jordan turned to Leo and hissed, “Whoever it is, get rid of them!”

Leo nodded and headed for the stairs. But Jordan rushed toward him and grabbed his arm. “Don’t screw this up for me, Leo,” he whispered. “I can hear you down here, you know. I’m counting on you.”

Jordan’s prisoner tried to cry out past the gag, but it was just muted whimpering.

Leo couldn’t quite look Jordan in the eye. He nodded again. “I’ll get rid of them,” he muttered. Then he hurried up the stairs.

The person outside knocked again—longer and louder this time.

In the kitchen, Leo found a pen in a glass jar on the counter. He didn’t see any paper, so he grabbed a napkin and scribbled on it. The thin paper tore in spots as he wrote:

SEND FOR THE POLICE. NO GUNS!! MAN TRAPPED IN BASEMENT NEEDING HELP…HURRY!

There was more knocking. Leo knew he was taking way too long to get to the door. Downstairs, Jordan had to suspect something was going on. “Coming!” Leo called, folding up the napkin. “Just a minute!”

He hurried to the front door and opened it.

He recognized the woman from the store yesterday, the pretty brunette. Standing on the front stoop, she wore a dark green windbreaker and jeans. Behind her was an old red Toyota, with the back window rolled down. Leo glimpsed her toddler in the child’s safety seat in back. He had an animal cracker in his hand and was walking it along the edge of the open window.

“Sorry I kept you waiting,” Leo said, a little out of breath. He stood in the doorway.

“Well, I’m sorry to bother you, so I guess we’re even,” the woman said with a timid smile. “My name’s Susan Blanchette. I understand Jordan Prewitt lives here.”

Leo nodded a few more times than necessary. “Yes, but he—um, he’s not in right now.”

“Well, I was hoping he could help me with something. Do you know when he’ll be back?”

One hand still on the doorknob, Leo shook his head and shrugged. “Sorry.”

“I’m staying down the road at Twenty-two Birch Way,” she explained. “My fiancé has disappeared. His name is Allen Meeker. He’s a good-looking man in his late thirties—with silver-black hair. He drives a black BMW….”

“Um, I wish I could help you,” Leo said stiffly. Then he held out the folded napkin.

But she didn’t see it. She was glancing just past his shoulder.

“Are you looking for me?”

Leo swiveled around to see his friend emerging from the kitchen and quickly stashed the napkin in his pocket.

Jordan looked a bit sweaty and frayed, but he put on his friendliest smile as he approached the fiancée of his hostage. Leo stepped aside. Jordan put a hand on his shoulder. “I was in the bathroom.” He turned toward the man’s fiancée. “Hi, again, how are you? Did I hear right? Did you lose somebody?”

She nodded. “Yes, my fiancé. I understand you were at Rosie’s place when he was there—almost three hours ago. That’s the last anyone has seen of him. I was hoping you could tell me something—anything. Did he by any chance talk to you?”

Jordan shook his head. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t notice much. I wasn’t feeling so well. In fact, I thought I was going to blow chow right there in Rosie’s.” He chuckled. “Huh, guess I had a bad ice cube last night….”

She stared at him and blinked.

“I was hungover is what I’m saying,” Jordan explained. “Hey!” He suddenly grinned and waved at the little boy in the car. “Hey, there, dude! How are you?”

Her son waved back excitedly. “Go Huskies!”

Jordan nodded and gave him a thumbs-up sign.

“You were very nice to us yesterday,” the woman said to him. “Thank you.”

Leo started to step back, thinking he might be able to signal to her somehow.

But then Jordan casually put his arm around him. He gave the man’s fiancée a contrite smile. “Well, I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful today.”

But she wasn’t giving up. “Rosie said you were in the parking lot when Allen drove away. Did you happen to see in which direction he drove off?”

Jordan thought about it for a moment. “It looked like he was heading toward town—that is, if I remember correctly. Like I said, I was kind of out of it.”

Leo could hear a faint whimpering sound from downstairs. Jordan must have heard it, too, because he stepped outside and started leading Allen Meeker’s fiancée toward her car. Leo trailed after them. He wondered if there was some way he could furtively slip the napkin into her hand.

“Not to alarm you or anything,” Jordan said to her in a hushed voice. “But you don’t suppose he got carjacked, do you?”

She shrugged. “I don’t really know.”

“Has anything like that ever happened to him before?” Jordan asked. “I mean, that looked like a pretty nice car he was driving. BMW’s a classic. No one’s ever tried to carjack him?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, maybe he got lost,” Jordan said. “Does he know this area? Has he been to Cullen before?”

“No, this is our first trip here.”

“Oh, right, you told me that yesterday.” Jordan nodded. “Um, have you guys been together long?”

“About a year,” Susan replied.

“You mentioned yesterday you live in Seattle. Is that where you guys met?”

“Yes. But listen, I—”

“Is your fiancé from Seattle originally?”

“No, he grew up near Chicago.” She gave him a puzzled half smile. “I’m sorry. Why are you asking me all these questions about Allen?”

“Well, I wasn’t being nosy,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I—I just thought if I asked about him, it might help you figure out where he went off to. Y’know, trigger something in your memory? But I guess it didn’t work, huh?”

Her gaze shifted from Jordan to Leo, then back again. “Didn’t I see a young woman with you yesterday?”

Hands in his pockets, Leo nodded. “Yeah, that’s Moira, but she went for a—a walk in the woods.” He furtively took the napkin out of his pocket.

“You don’t suppose she might have seen Allen, do you?”

“Who, Moira?” Jordan said. He shook his head. “I really doubt it.”

“Well, could you check with Moira when she gets back from her walk? I’d be very grateful….”

“Sure, no sweat,” Jordan replied. “We’re expecting her back soon.”

“Maybe she noticed Allen or his car somewhere. Again, his name is Allen Meeker. He’s about six feet tall, good looking—”

“Silver-black hair, little scar on his cheek, late thirties,” Jordan finished for her. “And he drives a black BMW. I’ll remember.” He opened the driver’s door for her.

Eyes narrowed, she stopped to stare at him. “I never mentioned Allen had a scar.”

“Really?” Jordan let out a skittish laugh. “Huh, I thought I noticed a scar when I spotted him in the store.”

She gave him a slightly wary sidelong glance. “Well, he does have one. You must have been more aware of things back at the store than you thought.”

“Guess so,” Jordan said. “Listen, if I think of anything else—or if Moira can tell us something—should we just swing by your place on Birch and let you know?”

“Yes, I’d appreciate that, thanks,” she said. “If we’re not there, just leave a note.” She climbed into the car.

“I’m sorry we weren’t more help,” Leo piped up. He held out his hand for her to shake.

But Jordan stepped in front of him and closed the car door. “Take it easy, dude!” he called to the boy in the backseat.

Crestfallen, Leo backed up and watched her turn the car around and head out of the driveway. He tucked the note back in his pocket.

Jordan put an arm around him. Leo started to wrestle away, but his friend held on tightly and pulled him inside the house. “Give it to me,” he growled.

“What are you talking about?” Leo muttered.

“The note, goddamn it,” Jordan said. “You were going to pass her a note. Twice you tried.”

“Jordan, I—”

All of a sudden, his friend slapped him hard across the face. Leo reeled back, stunned. He bumped into the banister and almost knocked over a tall floor lamp by the stairs. The whole side of his head hurt. Stunned, he put a hand to the side of his face and numbly gazed at Jordan.

“Give me the note,” his friend said.

Leo dug into his pocket. “The guy downstairs wasn’t lying. He said she was his fiancée. Well, you heard her. She’s his fiancée, and she’s worried about him.” He handed the napkin to his friend. “And I’m worried about you, Jordan,” he added in a shaky voice. “Christ, in all the years we’ve known each other, and with all the fights we’ve had, you’ve never hit me before.”

Jordan didn’t seem to be listening. He frowned at the scribbling on the napkin and slowly shook his head. “I was counting on you,” he muttered. “And you were ready to betray me—”

“That’s because you’re not acting rationally, damn it!” Leo cried. “I don’t know who you are anymore! Good God, weren’t you listening to her? It’s just like he said. She’s his fiancée. He wasn’t lying—”

“What about the carjacking story?” Jordan shot back. “He was lying to us about why he had a gun. She didn’t know a damn thing about any carjacking. We’ve already caught him in a lie.”

“Maybe he just didn’t tell her,” Leo argued.

“Something significant like a carjacking, you don’t think he’d tell her?”

“Something significant like your mother being murdered, you don’t think you’d tell your best friend?” Leo was still rubbing the side of his face. “You’re acting crazy, Jordan. I’m sorry, but you are. He tried to make a deal with you downstairs. If we drop this in the lap of the law right now—and they find he’s innocent—he won’t press charges. God, take the deal, Jordan. Let me call the state police….”

His friend turned and headed into the kitchen. Leo followed him in there and watched him open the refrigerator. “You can take some money out of your trust to buy him a new BMW,” Leo suggested. “Let’s get some damage control on this thing before it’s too late….”

Jordan leaned against the counter and drank a bottled water. He peeled at the label. “The first Mama’s Boy murder in the Seattle area was Sarah Edgecombe in Auburn in November of 1997.” His voice was void of all emotion. He may as well have been reading off that label he was peeling. “Mama’s Boy broke into Sarah’s house and dragged her away while she was giving her son a bath. He left a stuffed bear on the boy’s pillow, and he left the mother’s body in the woods at Discovery Park.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Leo asked. He sank down in a kitchen chair.

“Two years before Sarah, there was a woman named Patricia Nagel,” Jordan continued. “A few days before she was killed, Patricia told a friend that a man had followed her and her toddler son home from the El station. The investigators—”

“El station?” Leo repeated.

Jordan kept on talking: “The investigators figured he’d been following her and watching her for a while. Someone broke into Patricia’s apartment on Diversey Street while she was waiting for her husband to get home from work. She was cooking dinner. Her little boy was there with her in the kitchen—in his high chair. Neighbors found one of those big, multicolored lollipops on the kitchen table. Three days later, a golfer at Skokie Country Club found Patricia Nagel’s body in the rough near the seventh hole. She’d been strangled.”

Leo’s head still throbbed from Jordan’s slap. He was amazed his friend knew all these facts and details. “I don’t understand,” he said, leaning forward in the kitchen chair. “What does all this have to do with the guy downstairs?”

Leaning against the counter, Jordan still seemed focused on the label on the bottled water. “A lot of the Mama’s Boy investigators believe Patricia Nagel was his first victim, and that was two years before his first Seattle murder.” He glanced over at Leo. “Patricia was killed in Chicago, buddy. And you heard the woman at our door. Allen Meeker is originally from Chicago.”

With a sigh, Leo slumped back in the chair. “Oh, for God’s sake, that’s just a coincidence.”

“Is it?” Jordan said. He put down the bottled water and moved toward the kitchen table. He sat down next to him and grabbed his arm. “I don’t believe in coincidences, Leo. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that our guest downstairs rented the same house where my mother and I were staying when she was abducted—and about a quarter of a mile from where her corpse was found. I don’t think that’s a coincidence at all. There’s a reason for it. Don’t you see? He’s returning to the scene of his crime. And I can’t help worrying about that nice, pretty lady and her son who were just here.”

Leo stared at him. What Jordan said was starting to make sense. And that scared the hell out of him.

“Don’t you see?” Jordan whispered, squeezing his arm. “He took them to my mom’s old house for a reason.”