Grain of Truth Page 24

  The kitchen area was divided off by a breakfast bar with stools. The stove was clean. The sink was empty. The counter had been wiped down.

  The bedroom area was along the far wall. It looked tidy as well, except for one thing.

  The bed wasn’t made.

  As far as signs of a struggle, it wasn’t much, but judging from the state of the rest of the apartment, Frankie was fairly sure that it was a sign. She turned to the others. “Amos doesn’t seem like the type to leave his bed unmade.”

  “No,” said Elke. “He doesn’t.” She let out a heavy sigh. “Oh, no. Something happened to him.”

  Iain was already across the room, looking down at the bed.“You have gloves, either of you?”

  “Sure, for collecting DNA samples,” said Frankie, taking the kit out of her bag.

  Iain took some rubber gloves and tugged them on. He moved the pillow on the bed. “Hey, look at this.”

  “What?” said Frankie, hurrying over.

  Iain pointed. “That’s his phone under the pillow.”

  “He wouldn’t have left his phone,” said Elke.

  Iain picked up the phone. He turned it on. “Huh. That’s interesting. It’s recording.”

  “What?” said Elke, coming closer to look over his shoulder.

  “It’s recording,” said Iain. “It’s an app that records to .mp3. Looks like it’s been recording for hours.”

  “You think Amos did that on purpose?” said Frankie.

  “He recorded his abduction,” said Elke. “Start it at the beginning.”

  Iain touched the screen of the phone. He manipulated the controls of the app for a few minutes and then sound began to come out of the speaker.

  Sounds of muffled movement was all they heard for several moments.

  Then the sound of Amos’s voice, crying out in pain. “What was that?” said Amos’s voice. “What are you doing to me? Who are you?”

  “Shh,” said another voice, a male voice. “Shh, beautiful.”

  Amos yelled. “Help! Help me! Someone help me!” But his voice faded out, getting less strong. And then he was quiet.

  “That’s it,” said the other voice. “Hush now.” The voice began to hum to himself, and there was the sound of Amos’s body being dragged off the bed and away.

  After that, nothing but silence.

  “We show this to the police,” said Elke. “Let them say then that there’s no sign of foul play.”

  Iain set the phone down. “Right. We need to call this in.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Elke found herself frustrated with the forward motion of Amos’s abduction. The police came, and they took lots of things out of Amos’s apartment, and they logged it and bagged it and they promised to file reports.

  But now it was evening, and nothing was happening.

  Frankie’d had to go home an hour ago. She had a family to worry about. Elke and Iain, however, hung out in the police station.

  Iain paced a lot, but he was quiet.

  She kept asking him questions about procedure, and he answered as best he could, but he said that he wasn’t as familiar with the procedure in a missing person’s case as he was in a homicide case.

  But Amos wasn’t missing. He’d clearly been abducted. Shouldn’t something more be done?

  Iain agreed that there should, but he said that until there were some solid leads, he didn’t know what they should do. Amos had been taken, but they didn’t know by whom. They didn’t know where Amos had been taken. He wasn’t sure what the police could do right now. Furthermore, the officers had lots of other cases demanding their attention. It was a hard truth to accept, but there might be nothing more they could do for Amos right now.

  “I don’t accept that,” Elke said. “And you shouldn’t either. Come on, Iain, you’re an amazing detective. You have to find him.”

  “I don’t know if I can,” said Iain.

  “I’ll help you,” she said. “Where do we start?”

  Iain stopped pacing and sat down next to her. “I don’t know.”

  “Where would you start if this was your case?”

  “I…” He tilted his chin up and gazed off into the distance. Then he looked back at her. “I’ve never worked a missing persons case.”

  “It’s a kidnapping, damn it.”

  “Well, it’s not kidnapping,” he said. “There’s no ransom note.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Then he probably wasn’t taken for money. Why else do people take other people?”

  Iain thought about it, and then made a face. “I think we both know the answer to that question.”

  “No, or I wouldn’t have asked.”

  “If it’s not money, it’s for personal gratification. It’s typically sexually motivated.”

  “Dick did seem to be flirty, from what Amos said. It’s probably Dick, right?”

  “Probably,” said Iain. “But we don’t know who Dick is.”

  “So, sexually motivated. Like he’s going to—” She broke off. “Oh, God. You remember when Amos wanted to know why Dick was letting him see his face?”

  Iain nodded.

  “He’s going to kill him,” said Elke.

  “Maybe,” said Iain. “That kind of murderer, a sexually motivated thrill killer, he might stalk victims before taking them. But the key there is that there would be more than one victim. Those kinds of killers aren’t satisfied with doing it once.”

  “So, a serial killer,” said Elke. “Like the Haven Hills Ripper?”

  Iain eyes widened. “Hell, that does fit, doesn’t it? Son of a bitch.”

  “Guess who’s working that case?” said Elke.

  * * *

  James Meyer and Michael Banks looked even less pleased to see Elke than the last time she’d approached them.

  “What’s wrong this time?” said Banks. “We don’t have any more of the Mukherjee case files, we swear.”

  “No, this isn’t about that,” said Elke. She took a deep breath. “Listen, I know that things have been a little tense between us in the past, but I wonder if we could put that aside?”

  Meyer looked at Banks. “Sounds to me like she wants something and she’s buttering us up.”

  “Sure does,” said Banks. He eyed Iain. “And you? Hudson? What have you got to say about this?”

  “We just thought maybe we could collaborate,” said Iain. “We think our executive assistant may have been abducted by the Haven Hills Ripper. He was taken last night, and if he’s with the murderer, he’s likely running out of time.”

  “Or he’s dead already,” said Banks.

  “What?” said Elke, her voice shrill. How could Banks have said that so casually? And besides, Amos couldn’t be gone. Not Amos. She didn’t know Amos very well, but she liked him a lot. And he didn’t deserve this. They had to find him.

  Banks turned to her, and there was sympathy in his eyes. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. It felt like we were talking shop amongst individuals, not with someone who cares about the victim.”

  “Cares about…?” Elke put her hand to her chest. “Oh, God. Amos has a family. Parents. Maybe a boyfriend. Maybe siblings. We haven’t notified anyone, and—”

  “Let’s try to find him first,” said Iain, cutting her off. “Listen, Amos fits the profile for the killer.”

  “The killer takes men from bars out on the south side of town,” said Banks. “That where your boy disappear from?”

  “No,” said Iain. “From his bed.”

  “Well, that doesn’t fit,” said Meyer.

  “Maybe he’s escalating,” said Iain. “He’s gotten away with three murders thus far. He’s probably feeling pretty darned proud of himself. And we know that killers like him like to be close to law enforcement. Picking someone like Amos, who works for the DA, it’s likely heightening his excitement. He feels like a god. He can’t be stopped.”

  Banks considered. “Could be.”

  “We have the abduction on tape,” said Iain. “We have the k
iller’s voice.”

  “Really?” said Meyer. “Can we hear that?”

  “Well, the phone was bagged for evidence,” said Elke.

  “Get it over here,” said Banks.

  Elke raised her eyebrows. “Me? You think they’ll be happy to give me evidence? Because, let me tell you, there’s been a pretty hostile reception to my requests since I started working here.”

  “Right,” said Meyer. “Well, we’ll get it, then.”

  * * *

  After Dick left, Amos sat there, not doing anything, for a long time. He was too afraid to try anything, and the vestiges of whatever he’d been drugged with were still making him limp and woozy. True to his word, Dick had stuffed a tennis ball in Amos’s mouth and tied it in place. Amos couldn’t talk. He could barely breathe.

  But after some time passed, his desperation began to outweigh any other feeling he had, and he decided he had to try to save himself.

  The stakes were about as high as they got. He didn’t want to spend his last hours sitting around waiting for his doom. No, he was going to get himself out of there. If he didn’t, he was going to die.

  So, he worked on trying to move the chair. It wasn’t easy. He managed to unbalance it a bit, one leg coming off the floor followed by the other, but he couldn’t get the chair to scoot in any direction.

  After what seemed like an eternity, he finally got the hang of it. Shifting his weight back and forth, he made the chair inch across the floor toward one of the shelves.

  Amos saw a long fireplace lighter over there. He didn’t know how he could use it, but he thought he might be able to burn through the zip ties. Once free, he could bust out the window and make a run for it.

  He kept his eye on that lighter and he moved himself an inch at a time across the floor.

  He was about two feet away when he leaned a little too far to the right, and the chair became unbalanced and toppled over with a clang.

  His full weight fell on his arm, which was wrapped around the chair and tied in back.

  He cried out.

  The pain was excruciating. It radiated up to his shoulder and down his fingers.

  He needed to get his weight off his arm, but he couldn’t move.

  He started to sob.

  And then he realized he’d made a lot of noise. What if Dick was coming back now? What if he decided that Amos was too much trouble? To heck with it. He’d “take him into himself” now.

  Amos stopped sobbing. He threw his weight and rolled the chair.

  But now he landed on his hands.

  He shrieked.

  And then waited, listening for Dick, waiting for the door to open, for Dick’s awful smiling face to be there.

  How was it going to happen? He’d read about the victims before. They’d had their throats cut. They’d been raped.

  He shuddered.

  But his hands hurt. His arm throbbed. He thought his arm might be broken.

  Damn it.

  And then—

  Footsteps.

  He couldn’t even breathe.

  It was Dick.

  Dick was coming.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  “Donald Pierce,” said Meyer. He turned to Banks. “Wouldn’t you say so?”

  “Oh, definitely.” Banks nodded.

  “What?” said Elke. “What are you talking about?”

  The two had gotten the cell phone in minutes flat. They’d had no problem getting the recording to listen to. Near as Elke could tell, they hadn’t even filled out the appropriate paperwork. What the heck was up with that? Inwardly, she fumed, but she was too worried about Amos to let it get to her.

  “Let me show you,” said Meyer. He pulled up a file on his computer screen and a window with a video popped up. Meyer played it.

  It was an interrogation video. A well-dressed man in a suit was sitting on the opposite side of the table. “No problem at all,” he was saying, smiling widely. “Anything I can do to help out the police.”

  Elke gasped. “That’s the voice on the phone.”

  Meyer nodded. “Yeah, exactly.” He stopped the video.

  “But I don’t understand. You interviewed this man already?”

  “He was seen at one of the bars two of the nights,” said Banks. “We brought him in for questioning. He was very pleasant and very helpful and had no problem giving a DNA sample.”

  “Which is useless, since the bodies are all soaked in bleach before we get them,” said Meyer.

  “We had nothing on the guy, but both of us had a gut feeling on him,” said Banks. “Of course, you’d say we shouldn’t trust our gut, wouldn’t you?”

  Elke swallowed. “I don’t know about that. Surely you have to agree that you need more than your gut.”

  “Maybe,” said Banks, shrugging.

  “And maybe it was more that a gut feeling,” said Meyer. “This seemed like the type. He talks a good game, lots of charm and bravado, but he has a pretty pathetic life. Works some part time job at a Wal-Mart or something and still lives with his mother. Not all loser types end up turning into serial killers, but a lot of serial killers are frustrated. They have grandiose ideas of themselves and their lives aren’t measuring up. If they can’t be successful, then they can be powerful, and what greater power is there than the power over life and death?”

  “Yeah, okay, there’s that,” Banks conceded.

  “That sounds like a lot more than your gut,” said Elke.

  “It’s still speculation,” said Iain.

  Banks and Meyer glared at him.

  Iain looked away.

  “The voice should be enough for a warrant,” said Meyer, “but I don’t know if it’ll be enough to save your friend.”

  “What do you mean?” said Elke.

  “Well,” said Banks, “Pierce lives with his mother and sister out to the west of town. But he’s likely not keeping his murder victims there. So, we can go search the address, but we might not find anything.”

  Elke’s heart sank.

  * * *

  Amos’s heart banged against his rib cage.

  The footsteps were coming closer and closer.

  The doorknob rattled.

  He whimpered involuntarily, tears springing to his eyes. Maybe he was a coward, but he didn’t want to die. Not yet, and not like this. He could only think of his mother, how much this would hurt her, how she would fall to pieces. Amos was her only child. And his dad… it would kill him too.

  I have to live, he thought. For Mom and Dad.

  But how was he going to do that? He couldn’t get the chair upright and Dick was coming in right now.

  Except no.

  The doorknob was still rattling.

  “Hey, Donnie!” yelled a female voice from outside. “You in there? Open the door.”

  Amos’s heart leaped. That wasn’t Dick. He was saved. That person out there could get him out. He yelled at the top of his lungs.

  Most of it was muffled by the gag in his mouth.

  “Donnie, open up!” said the female voice again.

  Amos yelled again.

  “I don’t even think he’s in there,” the girl said to herself. Then her voice raised. “Mom!”

  Another voice, far off. “What are you doing in the basement, Ellie? You know your brother doesn’t like you in his things.”

  “Mom, come here.”

  The voice got closer. “What?”

  Banging on the door. “This door’s locked.”

  “Yes, Donnie keeps his things in there.”

  “You have the key?”

  Amos yelled again. He needed to make them hear him.

  “You hear that?” said the girl, Ellie. “Something’s in there. I think it’s an animal or something. I think Donnie brought home a dog.”

  “There’s nothing in there, Ellie, you idiot girl.”

  Amos yelled again.

  “It’s whining!” said Ellie. “Tell me you can’t hear that.”

  “I don’t hear a thing,”
said Ellie’s mother. “You’re deaf or stupid, I ain’t sure which.”

  “You have the key or not?” Ellie sounded hurt.

  “No, I gave it to your brother. He wants his privacy. Says he does projects in there and he’s embarrassed for me to see. Truth be told, I hate pretending to be impressed with whatever pathetic project he gets started on. He wants his privacy, fine.”

  “Mom, for serious, there’s something in there.”

  “You think it’s easy being a mother? Just you wait until you have kids. Kids think everything they do is so amazing, and most of the time, it’s just crap.”

  “Mom.” The girl’s voice was subdued.

  “Come away from there. Leave it be.”

  “If he’s got a dog in there—”

  “There’s nothing in there.”

  “You remember what happened with the last dog.”

  The mother’s voice was quiet. “That was a long time ago. Now come away from there.”

  Summoning all his lung capacity, Amos yelled again, determined to make himself heard.

  But instead, all he heard were footsteps going away from the door. They were going to leave him in there. He was on his own after all.

  * * *

  Elke was the one pacing now. “How much longer?”

  “I don’t know,” said Iain. “They’ve drafted the warrant and sent it off. We’re waiting for a signature before they can go.”

  “But we don’t even know if he’ll be there. This Donald or Dick or whoever he is could have him anywhere.”

  “True,” said Iain. “But at the very least, maybe they can talk to his mother or something. Find out where else he spends his time.”

  “Like he’s going to tell his mother where his kill site is,” Elke scoffed.

  Iain was quiet.

  Elke stopped pacing. “I’m going there.”

  Iain got to his feet. “Where?”

  “To Pierce’s house,” she said.

  “That’s a bad idea.”

  “You heard Banks,” she said. “Amos might already be dead. If he’s still alive, then every minute we waste is another minute that could be his last. I can’t risk him any longer. I have to do something.”