Relatively Rainey (27 page)
After another minute and a half of listening to Teague sigh and snort, while he attended to the discussion in his mind, Rainey prodded again.
“What are you having trouble with, Edward? Maybe I can help you process what needs to happen now. What are your concerns?”
The first real truthful thing spouted from Teague’s mouth. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“What can’t you believe?” Rainey knew the answer but wanted to see if he would say it.
“I can’t believe I’m sitting here, that this is all happening.”
Rainey tried to sound compassionate. “You did so much of it right, you can’t believe you made a small mistake with such significant consequences. An act of hubris, Edward, it was all that was necessary to bring you down. That flirt with danger, the moment you slipped that essay into Wendy’s hand, you knew it was a risk, a gloriously exciting risk. You lost the gamble and the game is over. Pride has no place here in this room. You have limited choices. The police will tear your life to shreds and get what they need. Your participation is not necessary to reserve your spot on death row in Central Prison. Help yourself out, Edward. Where can we find Wendy?”
Rainey waited again, listening to Teague’s breathing. He switched positions, trying to find comfort that was not coming, not mentally or physically, for a very long time.
“What is your biggest concern, Edward?”
He lost his façade for a brief second and Rainey saw the little boy beneath the polished man.
“Call me Eddie,” he said, as casually as an exchange over a cocktail might have been.
“Eddie,” Rainey complied immediately with his wishes, “what are we going to do? How can I help you get through this?”
Teague said, “Don’t tear up my wife’s place. Julia has spent a lot of time painstakingly refurbishing each piece. She remanufactured the 1810 wallpaper. It’s her dream to see it entirely restored.”
“Eddie, I don’t want them to tear up your wife’s things either. You obviously care a great deal about your wife. There is no reason to drag Julia down with you. Tell us what we need to know. Where is Wendy?”
Teague dropped the professor charade. Eddie Teague, the flawed man, planted both feet squarely on the floor, sat up straight in the chair, rubbed his hands on his thighs, sighed loudly, and gave up.
“There is a storm cellar.”
#
12:15 PM, Friday, March 6, 2015
The Hammond Family Estate
Cape Fear River
Buckhorn Road, Chatham County, NC
Within seconds of learning of Teague’s confession, Chatham County Sherriff’s department personnel sped toward the old Hammond place. Deputy Rosie Rivera passed the tree-lined carriage drive moments ago. An eight-year veteran of the department, Rivera was canvassing homes for the task force when the call came over the radio. Familiar with Julia Hammond Teague and her husband, the handsome professor, she had spoken to them after the Wilde sexual assault near the estate. Rosie remembered thinking what a lovely couple they were.
“You just never know about folks,” Rosie said inside her patrol car, as she hit the siren and lights.
After a swiftly maneuvered three-point turn on the narrow country road, she powered the patrol car back toward the well-worn drive. At one time, the estate had been large, spanning both sides of the river for several miles, and dating back to the late 1700s. Time and finances took a toll on the family holdings. All that remained was the old home and the ten acres surrounding it. Rosie knew all that because she’d been pouring over land deeds along the river, investigating every hunting cabin, fishing camp, and lean-to in that part of Chatham County. The task force believed the Triangle Terror was connected to the area somehow. Rosie took it personally that someone hunted women in her county, damn personally.
“Right behind you, Rivera,” Haywood called over the radio.
She could see the lights of his patrol car in her rearview mirror, as she slowed to turn into the drive. Rosie killed the siren and followed the path into the pinewoods. The radio filled with chatter. An ambulance was on the way. Detectives, supervisors, crime scene techs, they were all on the move, but at the moment, Deputy Rosie Rivera was the only one on site. Dispatch said the victim would be found in a storm cellar. No mention was made of a perpetrator’s presence, but Rosie’s heart still pumped with the speed of the adrenaline rush.
“Let her be alive,” she whispered.
After having been on scene when the young girl was pulled from the river yesterday, Rosie prayed the outcome would be different for this victim. She heard it was a fellow cop, a young Durham police officer.
“Hang on girl, we’re coming,” Rosie said, as she slid the patrol car’s transmission into park.
She rolled down the window and listened. She heard Haywood’s siren die on the breeze. The leaves rustled, birds chirped; all seemed peaceful if she discounted the sound of distant sirens closing in on the old river home on the banks of the Cape Fear. The restoration was going well. In the two years since she had taken possession of the property, the worn, rotting exterior had been “restored to its original Regency splendor,” so Julia Teague had proudly proclaimed. Rosie felt a little sorry for the woman. If this house became linked to all the murders and rapes, Julia Hammond Teague might as well rename it the Triangle Terror Bed and Breakfast and charge people to stay there. Fans of the macabre would come with or without permission.
Haywood’s patrol car pulled to a stop beside Rosie’s. She heard him check in with dispatch over the radio before they both exited the cars.
He turned to her. “No one is supposed to be here, but you know, be ready. Any ideas on the location of the storm cellar?”
Rosie pulled her weapon and led the way. “I think it’s on the other side of the house.”
Haywood came up beside her, weapon raised and spoke into the radio microphone on his shoulder, “Dispatch, be advised. Officers on foot, east side of the property.”
“Isn’t that a cellar over there?” Rosie asked, pointing at a rock structure, the majority of which was buried underground.
Wooden doors on the slanted entryway were chained and padlocked shut.
Haywood had aimed his weapon at the lock, before Rosie yelled, “Hey, wait a minute. You don’t know where that bullet is going to go.”
Rosie holstered her weapon and walked over to the doors. “Hello, this is the Sheriff’s department. Is anybody down there?”
The doors started bouncing. Someone was directly under them, pushing frantically. The sound of muffled screams from a gagged mouth reached Rosie’s ears.
“Hang on, hang on, we’ll get you out. Move away from the doors.” Rosie took off running, yelling back over her shoulder at Haywood. “I have bolt cutters in my unit.”
Haywood grabbed his shoulder radio. “Dispatch we have someone in the storm cellar. She’s alive. Expedite rescue.”
#
12:30 PM, Friday, March 6, 2015
Durham County Sherriff’s Department
Interview Room 212B
Durham County, NC
Rainey heard the words, “She’s alive,” from Sheila’s lips and exhaled loudly.
She hadn’t realized the tension in her body until she relaxed.
She heard the rest of Sheila’s statement, “They don’t have her out yet, but contact has been made with someone alive in the cellar.”
Rainey turned back to Teague. He was smiling, a genuine, joyful smile. She stared at him, wondering what he had to be so pleased about. He certainly shouldn’t be glad he left a living witness to his crimes, especially not one who was sure to have recognized him.
Without turning around to face her, Rainey told Sheila, “Tell them to be careful. Someone should read this guy his rights and get him in cuffs before he says another word.”
Teague’s smile turned to a smirk. The pleasant lilt left his voice. He shook his head from side to side. “Wendy, Wendy, Wendy. Too eager to please, that one.”
“Well, well. Welcome to the room Eddie. No need for a charade now, I suppose?”
Two deputies entered and moved over to Teague. They stood him up against the wall and searched him. When his shirt was lifted, Rainey saw the bruises he claimed were from falling.
“It looks like someone fought a bit harder than you were prepared for, Eddie. Oh, now that must really hurt. She damn near kicked your ass. What’d you have to do, knock her out with a flashlight, like the others?”
“Don’t answer that until I read you your rights,” one of the deputies said.
Teague remained quiet while the deputies cuffed his hands in front of him, connected the cuffs to a waist chain, and then attached that to another chain bolted to the wall. When they were finished, Teague was returned to the chair in the corner. The taller deputy read the Miranda Rights to the new prisoner. The shorter one put a rights waiver on the table in front of Teague.
Rainey taunted him, “Feel the walls closing in, Eddie?”
Shelia stepped back into the room, holding her cell phone to her ear. “They are going in now, Rainey.”
Teague smiled so broadly, Rainey knew she wasn’t going to like what they found.
#
12:35 PM, Friday, March 6, 2015
The Hammond Family Estate
Cape Fear River
Buckhorn Road, Chatham County, NC
Rosie leaned into the bolt cutters with all her strength until the steel hasp popped from the stress. Haywood stood by, weapon still pointed at the cellar doors. The word came down to be cautious and he was taking no chances.
“Rivera, maybe we should wait for the dogs. It could be a trap.”
Rosie yanked away the board that held the door shut. “The way she was beating on that door from inside. If it were rigged, she’d have been blown to bits before we got here.”
Rosie knew what blown to bits looked like. Army life still haunted her dreams.
“Back away from the doors. We’re coming in,” she yelled down into the cellar.
Haywood took a step back, as Rosie threw open the door. The sunlight flooded the small cellar. A severely beaten and gagged woman shuffled into view.
Haywood started yelling immediately, “Let me see your hands.”
Rosie pushed passed him and said, “Put that away. Can’t you see she’s tied up?” She climbed down the steps to the young woman, who had now begun to sob. “It’s okay, honey. You’re safe now. We got you. We got you.”
Rosie carefully pulled the gag from the woman’s mouth and asked, “What’s your name, honey?”
#
12:43 PM, Friday, March 6, 2015
Durham County Sherriff’s Department
Interview Room 212B
Durham County, NC
Rainey listened to Sheila responding to someone on the phone, “I see. That’s interesting. Please lock down the site. We need evidence techs in there ASAP. Search warrants are on the way.”
Teague watched Rainey. He was intent on her every expression. She knew what he was doing and called him on it.
“You won’t get the reaction you’re looking for, the anger you so desperately want me to show. You want me to lose control, to somehow bolster your opinion that we are all capable of murderous rage. It won’t happen. Not that I’m incapable. Touch my children and see. But you never had my sister in that storm cellar.”
Sheila stepped closer. “It was Hannah Barker, the first fetish burglary victim. You were right, Rainey. His first was the most important.” She asked a question about Teague as if he were no longer in the room. “So, what’s this been all about? Why make us think he had Wendy?”
Rainey made sure he saw her sneer. “This was Eddie’s last chance to cause and witness human suffering. The time we wasted with him could have cost Wendy her life. That would make his arrest somehow satisfying. Yes, he’s caught but he may have killed someone else in the process. A sadist to the end, right professor?”
“I’m sure the BAU will have plenty of time to examine my motives,” Teague answered, as the killer's swagger revealed itself. “I’ll be a star interviewee like Big Ed Kemper, a brilliant criminal, the perfect study candidate.”
“Kemper offered unique insight, Dr. Teague. You, they’ll probably just send you a survey or two. You’ve already told us all we need to know in your class notes. The video and photographic evidence they will find, your computer history, and the files you kept on each target will be more revealing than anything you would tell us. You’ve left us nothing to wonder about, Teague. You never have to say another word.”
Not having agents clamoring for his story and hearing he was not unique nor worthy of study did not sit well with the good doctor. He lashed out at Rainey.
“You still haven’t found your precious sister. You didn’t break my case. I made a mistake. You would never have known if I hadn’t given Wendy that essay.”
“You’re probably right, Eddie. But that’s what we do. The BAU doesn’t break cases. We link behavior based on case studies. We tell investigators what to look for and then we wait for the ego of a guy like you to shout, ‘Look at me, look at me,’ like the narcissistic brat you are. You are hardly unique.”
He tried again to cause Rainey pain. “If they find your sister alive, tell her to come see me in prison. But then, what are the chances of that? She’s been gone more than six hours. If she's still alive, she probably wishes she was dead by now.”
“I really only have one question, before I leave you,” Rainey said, as she stood to go.
“Why did I come down here today?” Teague laughed at his private joke.
“I want to know if someone could have taken Wendy through those woods at that hour of the morning without being seen?”
“Ah, ask the predator about what moves in his territory,” Teague replied. “No, whoever has her, took her in a car from her driveway or left her in the woods, probably dead, right out behind her house, while you’ve been here with me. It’s cold out there today. Freezing rain coming down by now, I’ll bet. Sure hope Wendy hasn’t suffered too terribly and that this doesn’t haunt you as your other mistakes have—”
Rainey left the room, letting the door close on Teague’s words. She had made it all the way to the bathroom before her knees began to shake. She locked herself inside a stall and leaned her back against the door. The emotional energy she held at bay for the past hour had to go somewhere. Deep breaths and focused thoughts would calm the shakes and set her right.