Freak (6 page)

“Investment bankers work on Saturdays?”

“If you consider golf, dinner, and poker to be work,” Sheila said drily. “I was lucky to see him this morning. He probably won’t be home till midnight.” She winced, trying not to think about the scene she’d made at brunch earlier.

Jerry glanced at his watch again. “I’m actually glad he’s not around. It was you I came to see. I need to talk to you about something important.”

“Something about you and Marianne?” The words were out before Sheila could stop herself. Shit. She hadn’t wanted to bring up Jerry’s wife, and now she had done just that.

Jerry looked surprised. “No. Why would you think that?”

“I—” Sheila stopped. She’d already stuck her foot in it and wasn’t sure what to say next. “Shit,” she said instead.

Jerry was quiet for a moment. He drummed his fingers on her desk. “I know she’s seeing someone,” he said finally.

“Jerry . . .”

He lifted a hand, his expression pained. “That’s not why I’m here. But since you brought it up . . . I saw her with him the other day. It’s pretty obvious they’re . . . close.”

“You saw Marianne the other day?” Sheila looked at him closely. “You saw her, or you followed her?”

Jerry wouldn’t meet her gaze.

“Oh, Jerry.” She sighed. “That’s not the way to get her back.”

“I didn’t say I wanted her back.”

“Of course you do. She’s your wife. You love her. Fifteen years of marriage is a long time.”

“She left
me
.”

Sheila was growing more uncomfortable by the second. “You know why she did.”

“Because I pulled away,” Jerry said, frustrated. “I know I was terrible to live with, for months. Maybe I still am, I don’t know.”

“It was a difficult time for us all, Jerry.” Sheila hadn’t wanted to have this conversation with him, but she supposed now it was inevitable. They were friends, after all, and it wasn’t realistic to think they could sit alone in her office and not talk about something major that was affecting them both. “People cope with it differently.”

“Your hair is longer.” Jerry looked at her, his eyes soft. “Like Annie’s. You look more like her.”

Sheila and Marianne were both of Chinese descent, and yes, Sheila had let her dark hair grow out over the past year. It now fell well past her shoulders. “We’ve been mistaken for sisters more than once,” she said with a smile.

Jerry sighed deeply and tugged at the collar of his turtleneck. “Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. I was at a crime scene this morning. There was a body found at a hotel downtown.”

Sheila was instantly intrigued. Despite the craziness of last year, she still had a thing for true crime. “Yes, it was all over the news this morning. I heard it on the radio as I was driving in to the office. What happened?”

“A young woman was murdered.” Jerry cracked his knuckles. “She was strangled, then carved.”

“The news didn’t say anything about her being carved.” Sheila found herself both fascinated and repulsed. “Do they know who did it?”

“They’re working on it. You remember my old partner, Mike Torrance?”

She nodded. Detective Torrance had interviewed her at length after her rescue from Ethan’s basement. Mid-forties, scruffy, gruff voice, generally unsympathetic and a borderline jerk. Morris couldn’t stand the guy, and Sheila couldn’t say she blamed him.

“He called me over to the hotel. Wanted me to see the body.” A dark look flitted across Jerry’s face. “Not my idea of a fun Saturday.”

“I don’t understand. You’re retired. What does a murder victim have to do with you? Did you know her?” Sheila sat up with a start. “Oh God, Jerry, I’m so sorry—”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Jerry said. “I didn’t know her, but she . . .”

Sheila waited for him to continue. After a few seconds, impatience and curiosity got the better of her. “Okay, out with it already. What does a dead body in a hotel room have to do with you? Or me? Because you wouldn’t be here if this didn’t have something to do with both of us.”

Jerry sighed, and it was then she noticed how deeply the lines were etched into his forehead. He’d really aged in the last few months, and Sheila didn’t have to wonder how bad his scar looked under the turtleneck. There was a reason he was still wearing them. Marianne had tried for months to get him to go to a plastic surgeon who might be able to improve its appearance, but apparently Jerry had never been willing to discuss it.

“The victim had the message ‘Free Abby Maddox’ carved
into her back.” Jerry spoke clearly but softly, his rasp worse than ever.

Sheila froze. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“The cops think Seattle has a new serial killer on its hands,” Jerry said.

Her gaze fell to the manila folder sitting on the desk between them, and she finally found her voice. “Is that what’s in there? Pictures?”

“Crime scene photos. Do you want to see them? You don’t have to look if you don’t want to, but I brought them in case you did.”

She hesitated, then reached forward and slid the folder toward her. Taking a deep breath, she flipped it open, bracing herself. The first sheet was a typewritten page of notes, and she skipped past it to the color photographs underneath.

The images were difficult to process. At first glance, they weren’t nearly as gory as she was expecting—she’d seen much worse on TV and in the movies. The only difference was, in these photos, the women were real people, and now they were dead.

And not just dead.
Murdered
.

“That first picture is of Stephanie Hooper,” Jerry said, his voice taking on a mechanical quality Sheila had never heard before. “Age twenty-four. You can see she has an uncanny resemblance to Abby Maddox, though of course nobody would have picked up on it at the time. She was found in a hotel room downtown a week ago.”

Sheila peered closer at the photo. The woman was lying atop a rumpled bed, dressed in tight jeans, naked from the waist up. “What’s that around her throat?”

“Zip tie.”

“You’re kidding.”

“If you look at the next picture, it’s a shot of her at the morgue, and you can see the carvings on her back.”

The next one was worse. Under the harsh lights of the morgue, the bruises were clearly visible, and
FREE ABBY MADDOX
was carved deeply, and rather neatly, into the woman’s back. The victim’s skin color was unnatural, and with her lying on the cold steel table, it was easy to forget that she had once been alive. Breathing. Vibrant. The thought pinched something deep inside Sheila, filling her with a profound sense of sadness. She looked up at Jerry. “I can’t make out the second carving beneath the name, it’s too small. What is it?”

“It’s a one, then a slash, then a ten,” Jerry said.

Sheila frowned. She didn’t get it.

“Look at the next photo. If you want to. Though you definitely seem to have a better stomach for this stuff than I do.”

Obligingly, she turned to the next picture. And felt another pang.

“Victim two was Brenda Stich.” Jerry cracked his knuckles again, something he always did when he was stressed. “This is the one they found this morning. Different hotel. Age twenty-six. As you can see, she was also a Maddox clone. She also died of asphyxiation by zip tie.”

Sheila inhaled sharply. Even though Jerry had told her what to expect only moments before, it was something else entirely to see it in full color. The words
FREE ABBY MADDOX
were indeed carved deeply into the woman’s back, and the blood from the wounds was smeared all over her skin.

It took her a second before she could speak. “What’s that underneath Maddox’s name? Same as the last girl?”

“Sort of. Only this one says two-slash-ten.”

It was too much to process. Taking one last look at the picture,
Sheila closed the file, relieved there were no more photos. Hands trembling, she clasped them together again, trying to regain her bearings. She knew Jerry was about to explain everything. Problem was, she was no longer certain she wanted to hear it.

“Rape kits on both vics came back negative.” That distant tone again. Jerry sounded as if he were reciting. “Both women had engaged in intercourse recently, but there’s nothing specific to indicate sexual assault. The first one, Stephanie Hooper, was a student at the University of Washington. The second one was enrolled at Seattle Pacific, though she only went part-time.”

“Both college girls,” Sheila said. “And the zip ties? Any significance with those?”

“None the cops can think of. They’re cheap and impossible to trace.”

“And the knife?” Sheila said. “Was the same one used to carve both women?”

“Someone’s been watching
CSI
.” Jerry gave her a wan smile. “It’s not definitive, but it appears that the same knife was used in both murders, something longish, sharp, and smooth. The carving was likely done postmortem.” He paused. “The number on the first vic was never released to the media. At first they thought the one-slash-ten corresponded to a date of some sort. But with this next vic—”

It hit Sheila then.

“He’s counting them.” Horrified, she tried to wrap her mind around it. “One out of ten. Two out of ten.”

“Yes.”

“And they think there might be eight more victims?”

“They do, yes. And so I have to talk to Maddox today. At the prison. Find out what she knows.” Jerry glanced at his watch again. “I’m late.”

Sheila blinked. “That’s funny, I think I misheard you. I could have sworn you just said you were going to talk to Abby Maddox today.”

Jerry gave her a look.

“Give me a break!” Sheila felt her face grow hot. “Tell them to go to hell! Why would you—”

“It was either me or you. Maddox has been asking to speak with you for the past few months.”

Sheila sat up. “And why wasn’t I informed of that?”

“They didn’t want to upset you. You’ve been through enough.”

“That’s not for anyone to decide but me.” Aggravated, Sheila pushed her chair out from the table and stood up. “You should have told me, Jerry.”

“I only just found out myself.”

Sheila started pacing the floor. “Why does she want to talk to me?”

“I don’t know,” Jerry said. “I feel like it’s a ploy. But whatever she knows, she won’t reveal it to the cops. She’ll only speak to you. I’m hoping she’ll settle for me instead. If she knows anything about what happened to that poor girl this morning . . .” His voice trailed off.

Sheila turned around to face him, and saw him tugging at the collar of his turtleneck again. He saw her watching and stuck his hand back in his lap.

“And you agreed to go?”

“Yeah. And I didn’t want you to hear about it from anyone else but me.” He sighed deeply. “Those bodies, they change everything. She’s made it clear through her lawyer that she might know something about the murders. At least, that’s the way she and her attorney are playing it.”

“I’m going with you. If she’s asking for me, then I need to see her.”

Jerry looked horrified. “Oh,
hell
no. And I’ll give you three good reasons.” He leaned forward. “First, I don’t trust the bitch. She’s playing games, and you don’t need to be subjected to her bullshit, not after everything you’ve been through. And second—and this is an even better reason—Morris will kill me if I let you anywhere near her.”

“Don’t be silly,” Sheila said, although she couldn’t necessarily be certain that Morris wouldn’t at least knock Jerry on his ass. “I’ll tell him tonight when he gets home that I went to see her. I don’t even have to bring you into it, really. What’s the third reason?”

“The postcards.”

Sheila fell silent, remembering. A year ago, while Abby Maddox was on the run from the police, she had sent Sheila postcards, taunting her. It was how they’d tracked her. It was how she’d gotten caught.

“I’m not worried,” Sheila said. “I can handle her.”

“She’s got a bone to pick with you,” Jerry said. “And I’m sorry, but I’m not comfortable with that.”

“It’s not up to you. Or Morris, for that matter.” Sheila stood over him and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not scared of her, Jerry. Toward the end, I wasn’t even scared of Ethan, really.”

“Let me repeat. Morris will kill me.” Jerry enunciated every word. “He won’t like this, Sheila. Not one bit.”

“Let
me
repeat. It’s not up to him. If Abby’s been asking to see me, then of course I need to go.” She gestured to the manila folder on the desk. “What happened to those young women isn’t right. They’re pawns in a sick game, and if there’s anything I can do to stop this from happening to someone else, I need to do it.”

The look on Jerry’s face told her he was choosing his words
carefully. Finally he pushed his chair back and stood up. “Okay, we’ll go. But be honest with me. What do you really think, looking back on it now? You still think Ethan was telling the truth? That Abby masterminded all those killings, and that his only role was the disposal of the bodies?”

“It wasn’t his only role, remember. Let’s not forget that he hunted them and raped them, too.” Sheila’s voice was hard. “During my time with Ethan in the basement, yes, I really did believe he was telling me the truth. It all seemed entirely plausible that Abby was running the show, especially after she—” She glanced at Jerry’s throat and decided not to finish the sentence. “And then she took off, and was on the run for weeks. Of course it all made her seem incredibly guilty.”

“And now?”

“You know what they say about hindsight.” Sheila shut down her computer and reached for her purse. “When I look back on it now, it’s clear Ethan would have said anything to get me to feel sorry for him. He was so manipulative and he lied about almost everything else—why not Abby? He wanted my sympathy, my understanding. He had every reason to lie about her. But that doesn’t mean she wasn’t involved somehow.”

Jerry nodded and followed her out of the office.

“So what does she want?” Sheila said as she locked the door behind her. “Obviously she couldn’t have killed these two women herself because she’s been in prison for the last year. But if it turns out she does know something about it, what does she expect in return?” They made their way toward the elevators.