FATAL FORTY-EIGHT: A Kate Huntington Mystery (The Kate Huntington Mysteries Book 7) (23 page)

She turned slowly, her eyes seeking the dreaded clock. She could hear it ticking away but her mind was having trouble registering the time from its analog dial. Finally her brain cells computed it to be ten forty-seven.

Correction. My future consists of eight hours and thirteen minutes. I have got to get out of here!

She sat down on the side of the bed and tried to get her brain to come up with a plan. Her option list was limited. Keep banging on the wall and screaming, which seemed to be accomplishing nothing. Pray for a miracle. Try to get her captor to let her out of the straightjacket.

Only the last option held any great promise.

Sally realized she needed to use the bathroom. She stood up carefully and shuffled in that direction, the hobbles on her feet keeping her from being able to take normal steps.

Once in the bathroom, she experienced a moment of disorientation. The room looked different somehow. After a moment, she realized it was the wall color. She could’ve sworn the walls were white. But she’d been mistaken. They were a pale blue.

~~~~~~~~

10:30 a.m. Sunday

They’d been searching for Charles for almost an hour. Kate was feeling antsy. As much as she wanted to make sure he was okay, she felt they should be focused on finding Sally.

She glanced over at Judith.

The lieutenant must have read her thoughts, or was thinking along the same lines. “One more stop and then we call this a wash.” She pulled up in front of another older house.

Six minutes later, they were back in the car. Judith blew out air. Kate said nothing. The lieutenant started the car and headed in the direction of the police station.

Kate scanned the sidewalks and porches they passed, looking for a big, slightly demented black man. The Sunday morning streets and sidewalks remained disgustingly peaceful.

They all gathered in the conference room. Judith stood at one end of the table. “Okay, from the beginning. Everything we’ve got.” She looked at Tim.

Kate held her breath.

“A couple anonymous tips have confirmed what we already suspected,” he said. “Delaney’s our man.”

Kate slowly let the air out of her lungs.

“The foster daughter’s information confirms the profile,” Tim continued. “This guy was a slow-blooming psychopath. For many years, he settled for psychologically torturing his wife and abusing the family pets. He was creepy enough that the girl requested a transfer to another foster home, even though she and Carrie Delaney were close.”

“Then Carrie’s killed by some other psychopath,” Kate said, “and Delaney escalates to physical abuse of the wife.”

“The ten-year anniversary rolls around,” Tim said, “and the wife can’t take it anymore. She commits suicide and Delaney goes over the edge completely.”

Another minor piece fell into place in Kate’s brain. “Delaney retired from his job at a plastics company a few months prior to his wife’s suicide. So now he has no job, no wife, no purpose–”

“Wait.” Skip sat up straighter in his chair. “What company did he work for?”

Tim rummaged through some papers in front of him, but Kate remembered the company name this time. “Ameri-Syn Plastics.”

“Shit!” Skip jumped up. “That’s the company that rented that apartment, the one we looked at earlier.”

Julie Wallace shook her head. “But there was nothing there.”

Judith stood and started for the door, Kate and Skip on her heels.

“There was something there,” Kate said over her shoulder. “We just didn’t find it.”

Tim jumped up and motioned for Julie to follow. “We didn’t know what to look for. Now we do.”

~~~~~~~~

11:00 a.m. Sunday

The obnoxious clock ticked loudly in the otherwise silent room. It was far quieter today than yesterday–the difference between a Saturday afternoon, when some muffled outside noises had leaked past the insulation and wood over the window, and a Sunday morning, when most people were either in church or enjoying a leisurely morning at home.

Sally had never been much of a churchgoer since she’d reached adulthood, but she still fervently believed in the God of her Baptist upbringing. She knew Kate and her husband usually went to church. Would they have gone this morning? Had they given up on finding her and were relying on prayer at this point?

Sally’s mother’s voice echoed in the back of her head–the strong, vibrant voice of her younger years, not the reedy warble of today–
God helps those who help themselves, gal
.

“I’m trying, Mama,” she whispered. “I’m trying.”

She glanced at the clock again. Twelve noon. He’d be coming soon to bring her lunch. Her stomach roiled at the thought.

She took a deep breath to center herself. She had to stay focused. Be as submissive as possible, and convince him to let her out of the straightjacket so that she could wash up. Then when he put it back on…

Click, whir.

She sucked in another breath and dropped her gaze demurely to the floor.

Her captor bustled into the room. Sure enough he carried a paper bag with food odors emanating from it.

“I brought you some soup, my dear. We’re eating light for lunch today because I want you to have a hearty appetite for your last supper.”

Sally’s stomach clenched at those two words,
last supper
. Despite her best efforts, she wasn’t able to suppress a shudder.

“I’ve got carry-out menus for several local establishments. A Japanese place, a steakhouse, an Italian place and a pizza parlor. And if none of those suit you, I can get more.”

“Does the Japanese place have hibachi?” she asked in what she hoped was a defeated-sounding voice.

Joe dropped the other menus on the bed and opened the one with Asian characters on the front of it. “Why yes they do. Shrimp, steak, pork or chicken dinners with all the trimmings. Miso soup, fried rice, and grilled vegetables. The works!”

Her mind did battle with itself for a moment. Her practical side said chicken would go down easiest if her stomach was still in rebellion later. But another part of her contended that if this was indeed her last meal, then damn the nausea, it wanted steak or shrimp.

“Hey, they have combination platters too.” His gleeful tone sent another chill down her back. “Shrimp and steak or chicken and pork.”

That decided it. “Shrimp and steak.”

“You’ve got it. Dinner will be served…” He looked at his watch and then glanced over at the ticking clock. “At five o’clock sharp.” His eyes had that infuriating glint in them.

“But now, lunch.” He went through the ritual of tucking a paper napkin under her chin, then spoon-fed her chicken noodle soup from a styrofoam container.

She took her time, chewing carefully, making sure her stomach was willing to accept each bite before swallowing. Finally she could handle no more. She turned her head aside.

“I’m feeling a little nauseous. I think it’s because I… well, to put it bluntly, I smell. It’s so hot and sweaty in this thing. Do you think you could let me wash up, like we talked about earlier?”

He dumped the plastic spoon back into the soup container. “Hmm, I’ve been trying to decide if we should do that now or later.”

“I’d be so much more comfortable if we did it now. You said to let you know what would make me more comfortable.”

“That’s true. I did. Tell you what–”

A muffled noise penetrated the wall from the outer room.

“Shh,” he said.

It came again. A distant pounding sound. Then a voice calling out, too far away to make out the words. More pounding.

Her captor’s face had turned a deep scarlet. “Keep quiet,” he said through gritted teeth.

He stepped away from her and pulled a gun out from under his jacket. This one was bigger than the toy he’d used earlier. From his pants pocket, he extracted a long metal tube.

Sally stifled a gasp as she watched him attach the silencer to the gun. Her heart pounded. She fought the urge to scream.

He flicked the gun briefly in her direction. “Stay quiet!”

Then he hit his hand against the wall. Click, whir.

The pounding was louder now. So was the voice. Still muffled but definitely male.

Charles? Oh my God!

“Charles!” she screamed and stumbled after her captor.

He turned and waved the gun menacingly at her again.

She didn’t care. She kept moving. “Charles, no! Go away!”

The pounding became more frantic.

The opening in the wall closed just as she got to it.

She slammed her shoulder against it. “No, no, no!” She crumpled to the floor, tears streaming down her face.

A cramp doubled her over. Chicken soup spewed onto the carpet.

~~~~~~~~

The corridor was crowded. Judith and Skip stood closest to the apartment door, one on either side of it. The FBI and several uniformed officers lined the walls, staying out of the line of fire should the perp shoot through the door.

Kate stood behind Mac and Rose at the end of one group of uniforms. She watched Skip. He was jiggling something in his pocket. She suspected it was his lock picks.

She knew damned well they had the right place. She’d ridden with Judith. As they’d rounded the corner approaching the building, Kate had spotted again the window with the ugly brown curtains, only now the angle of the sun was different. With the light no longer reflecting off the glass, she could see that they weren’t curtains at all. The window was covered with brown paper. She’d pointed to it. “Look! On the second floor. I think it’s the same apartment. But it didn’t have a window on that side when we were in there before.”

Judith had flicked her eyes from the road to the window. Her lips had pressed into a thin line. “It’s inside the hidden room.”

Now the lieutenant whispered, “Where’s that damn superintendent?” She stepped away from the door and walked a little way down the hall. Keying her radio, she spoke softly into it. “Baxter, we’re at the apartment. Where the hell’s the building manager?”

“We just tracked him down, Lieutenant,” a tinny male voice answered her. “At his brother’s house. But he’s saying he has to call the company for permission to let you in.”

“No,” Rose hissed from beside Kate. “They might alert Delaney.”

“Tell him not to call anyone,” Judith said into the radio. “Is that clear? Leave a uniform with him to make sure he doesn’t. Then get me a search warrant asap, as in yesterday!”

“Oh, Lieutenant,” Skip called softly down the corridor, “it seems the door was unlocked.”

Judith closed the gap between them in three long strides. “Still can’t go in without a warrant,” she whispered.

“You can’t but we can,” Mac growled.

“Lieutenant,” Tim said in a low voice. “I think we have sufficient cause to believe someone’s life is in imminent danger.”

The door of the next apartment over opened. A hard-faced woman in gray sweats stepped out into the hall. “You all gonna do something about all that thumping over there?”

“What thumping, ma’am?” Judith asked.

“Somebody’s been banging on the wall over there, off and on. I guess one of the other neighbors finally called you all, huh?”

“Shit!” Skip shoved the door open.

Those who were armed drew their weapons. They surged into the apartment. Judith gestured for her men to check the bedrooms.

Rose raced to the long wall of the living room and grabbed the lamp on an end table. She lifted it off the table. Kate ran over to her.

“Find the trigger, something opens the hidden door.” Rose shoved a book lying on the table. It slid off onto the floor.

For the next few minutes, the two women frantically picked up or moved every object they could find. Kate wrapped her hand around a small vase of dried flowers on a bookshelf. She couldn’t pick it up. She tried moving it around. It bent backwards and a section of the wall slowly swung outward.

Kate took a step forward.

Wallace’s voice barked from behind her. “Unarmed civilians need to stay back!”

Skip grabbed Kate’s arm to restrain her, but the gesture was unnecessary. For once, she agreed with SA Wallace.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

12:15 p.m. Sunday

Sally put one foot flat on the floor and leaned back against the wall to lever herself to a standing position.

She staggered over to the bed and fell across it.

Oh, Charles! I’m so sorry!

Sobs racked her body.

~~~~~~~~

The FBI and police surged into the hidden room. After a moment, a male voice called out, “Clear.”

Skip let go of his wife’s arm and she rushed forward, her head swiveling.

He also scanned the room. The bed was empty, the indentation of a head and shoulders in the pillows propped at one end of rumpled sheets. The only people in the room were law enforcement officers.

He turned hopefully toward the one door.

Judith Anderson stepped through that door, her Glock pointed toward the ceiling. “Bathroom’s clear.”

“Where’s Sally?” Kate said.

Judith shook her head. “She’s not here.”

“How…how can she not be…?” Kate’s voice broke on a sob.

His own throat tight, Skip wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She turned and buried her face against his chest.

Julie Wallace was glaring in his direction.

He ignored her as he tried to comfort his wife.

The mood around the conference table was somber. Kate turned her tear-stained face toward Skip. “What does this mean? Is Sally dead?”

Skip covered her hand resting on the table with his own. She finally speaks to him again, and
that
has to be the question she asks.

Kate looked down at their hands. A small frown creased her forehead.

Skip opened his mouth to answer her, even though he had no idea what he was going to say.

SSA Cornelius saved him the trouble of coming up with something. “It’s possible.” The agent’s voice was gentle. “He may have caught on that we’ve identified him and decided to cut his losses.”

“Or he could have moved her to another location,” Judith said, her tone crisp, no-nonsense. “We’re going to operate under that assumption for now.”