They Never Die Quietly (2010) (5 page)

After meeting with Captain Davison and surviving one of the rare occasions when he browbeat his subordinates, Sami Rizzo and Alberto Diaz drove to La Jolla to interview Andrew McDonald, the husband of Peggy McDonald. Situated high on a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, the McDonald's two-million-dollar home sat among other jewels even more impressive. By San Diego standards, particularly in La Jolla, one of the more affluent communities, seven-figure properties were mainstream. In any suburb close enough to smell the ocean, starter homes--tiny matchboxes that in other parts of the country might sell for eighty thousand dollars--were priced at nearly a million.

Before the detectives made it to the top of the concrete stairway leading to the front entrance, Andrew McDonald opened the door. Wearing a Hard Rock Cafe T-shirt, khaki shorts, and sandals, an outfit unsuited to the sixty-degree day, he stood silent. His dirty-blond hair, cut short, looked unkempt. The puffy bags of flesh under his eyes seemed extreme for a man in his early thirties.

Sami offered her hand. Her lower back, slightly improved, still felt tight and achy. "I'm Detective Rizzo, and this is my partner, Detective Diaz."

Declining a handshake, McDonald stepped to the side and motioned them in. They followed him to a small den decorated with Southwestern furnishings. McDonald sat on a leather chair. Still silent, he pointed to the brown sofa. To Sami, he appeared to be more composed than she expected. The other three husbands, men who'd been interviewed under similar circumstances, were frantic.

"Is she dead?"

The jaw-dropping question clobbered Sami. Diaz stared at his fingernails. "There's no evidence to support that possibility, Mr. McDonald," Sami said.

McDonald folded his hands as if in prayer. "He's murdered them all and he's going to kill Peggy."

"Not if we have anything to say about it," Diaz said.

"Based on your track record thus far, detective, it seems that you don't have a fucking
thing
to say about it."

"We're doing everything in our power to rescue your wife and daughter," Sami said.

McDonald's face flushed with blood. "Like you did for the other three butchered women?"

Diaz sat forward and coughed into his hand. "I know this is difficult for you--"

"Difficult? You two haven't a clue what I'm feeling right now."

"Mr. McDonald," Sami said, "you have a choice to make. We can sit here and listen to you berate us for our incompetence and waste valuable time--precious time--or you can cooperate and offer some information that may save your wife and daughter."

McDonald fixed his eyes on Sami's and sucked in a quivering breath. "I'm sorry. You can't possibly imagine what it's like waiting for the telephone call or knock at the door that's going to change your life forever. All I can think about is how horribly she's going to..." His eyes filled with tears. "Where do monsters like him come from?"

Sami could say nothing.

"When did you last hear from your wife, Mr. McDonald?" Al asked.

"Like I told the other detective when I reported her missing, she left me a message last night. She got a flat tire and was about to ask me to pick her up, but then told me to forget about it."

"Have you erased the message?" Al asked.

He shook his head.

"May we listen to it?" Al said.

McDonald stood and pointed. "The answering machine's in there."

The detectives followed McDonald into a recently remodeled kitchen; it still smelled like cut wood and fresh varnish. Sami noticed the remains of a partially eaten frozen dinner sitting on the counter.

McDonald pushed the play button on the answering machine.

"--if you get this message before"--a long pause--"seven-thirty, I'm stuck on Soledad Mountain Road, just south of the park"--another pause--"Forget it. I'll make other arrangements." Her voice sounded anxious.

Other arrangements indeed, Sami thought.

McDonald folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the counter. "That's it."

There was, of course, the remote possibility that Peggy McDonald and her daughter, April, were not abducted by the suspected serial killer, which fostered a series of delicate questions.

"How long have Mrs. McDonald and you been married?" Sami asked.

"Our tenth anniversary is next month."

"Everything okay with the marriage?"

McDonald's eyes narrowed. "What the hell does that mean?"

"You and the Mrs. get along?"

"We have our moments."

"Ever have any major disagreements?"

"Nothing worth talking about."

Sami pondered for a moment. "How soon after you received the message from your wife did you become concerned?"

"I don't know...maybe an hour or so."

"You're about five or ten minutes from where your wife's car broke down, right, Mr. McDonald?"

"And your point is?"

"I'm just a little surprised that you weren't tempted to hop in your car and check things out."

"Look, detective, I don't appreciate this interrogation. Maybe instead of breaking my balls you and your partner should be trying to save my family."

"That's exactly what we're trying to do, Mr. McDonald," Sami said. "Sometimes the slightest, seemingly insignificant detail can result in a clue. If I've offended you, I apologize."

McDonald combed his fingers through his hair. "He's going to butcher my wife, isn't he?"

Sami, her throat knotted up, couldn't answer.

Sami and Al sat in the car, reevaluating their conversation with Andrew McDonald. "So, what do you think, partner?" Sami asked.

"I think Mr. McDonald's going to be a widower."

Feeling a bit guilty about badgering McDonald, Sami asked, "Was I too rough on him?"

He lifted a shoulder. "You're emotionally involved with this case, partner. You need to take a few deep breaths and regroup."

Sami's cell phone beeped.

"Sami Rizzo."

Captain Davison's voice thundered in her ear. "Just got a call from a young man who believes he saw Peggy McDonald and her daughter just before they were abducted. He claims that she borrowed his cell phone to make a call."

"When?"

"Last night. Around seven-thirty."

About the same time her husband had gotten a message from her, Sami thought. "Did he say where he saw her?"

"Exactly where we found her BMW."

"What else?"

"Said she refused his assistance--already had help."

"From whom?"

"A big guy--well over six feet tall."

The children of the victims had all claimed that the suspect was very tall. "Did he get a look at the guy?"

"Said it was too dark. All he could remember was that the suspect wore a Padres baseball cap."

Sami guessed that more than a quarter million six-foot-plus men wore Padres caps. "Did he see anything else, Captain?"

"He spotted a black or dark blue, late model Ford Supercab pickup parked behind the BMW."

"Big surprise." This confirmed what one of the children had said. "Anything unusual about the truck? Roof rack, company logo, camper shell?"

"Couldn't remember a thing."

If the truck belonged to the killer, it could prove to be a significant lead. But more than two million people lived in San Diego County. Thousands drove dark colored late model Supercabs.

"Did Mr. McDonald offer any clues?" Davison asked.

"Nada."

A long silence. "Everything okay, Rizzo?"

As he was not normally concerned with her state of mind, the captain's question alarmed Sami. Was he fishing for something? Perhaps he sensed her personal involvement in this case? "I want to nail this guy, captain. Really want to fry his ass."

"We all do, Rizzo. We all do."

Forgetting the handcuffs, Peggy almost catapulted off the bed when she heard the door unlock. The bed moved six inches away from the wall before her body snapped back onto the mattress. The steel cuff cut into her wrist.

The door creaked open and Simon walked in. Alone.

Her eyes were wild. "Where's my daughter, you sick bastard?"

"Safe."

"Where
is
she?"

He walked toward the bed and Peggy cowered, expecting him to strike her again.

He reached in his shirt pocket and removed a small package colorfully wrapped in scarlet red paper with white hearts. A delicate bow sat on top. It looked about the same size as a deck of playing cards.

"I'm sorry I hit you. I'm not the raving maniac you think I am. Sometimes...I just get angry." He handed her the package. "Accept this as a peace offering. Please?"

How could she trust this lunatic? "What is it?"

"April picked it out."

His eyes looked sincere, but..."When can I see her?"

"Open the package and I promise to bring her back."

Her hands trembled as she tore off the paper and found a white cardboard box. Carefully, she removed the top. Inside the box she found the gift wrapped in tissue paper. She looked up at him. "April picked it out?"

He nodded.

She delicately separated the tissue paper.

Peggy McDonald gasped for air. With her free hand, she covered her mouth. She gawked at what lay in the bottom of the box, unwilling to grasp the reality of it. Her hands began to tremble and a wave of nausea gripped her. She could taste the bitter tang of bile in the back of her throat. She glanced at Simon and could see the look of satisfaction on his face. She now realized the depths of his evil.

With a glow of victory in his eyes, Simon grinned and walked out the door.

Simon lay naked in bed, staring at the colorless ceiling. The full moon, spilling through partially drawn blinds, provided the only light in the room. More than ever before he needed to hear his mother's soothing voice, to feel her loving authority in every reverent word. He had sinned. Pitifully broken God's word. Children were pure; God's most cherished creations. Yet, Simon, seduced by Satan, had used an innocent child as a weapon against her wretched mother.

It felt like his experience with Bonnie Jean all over again. The blind rage. The dark part of him that took control. The other self he feared so much. But unlike the incident with Bonnie Jean, Simon remembered every detail of his vile deed against the helpless child.

"Please don't hurt me," she had mumbled

"It's your mother's fault," he had whispered in her ear. "Blame her, not me."

Now, several hours later, lying in bed, thoughts of what he had done weighed heavy on his conscience.

"Can you hear me, Mother?"

I'm with you, Simon. Always watching over you
.

"How shall I atone for my sin?"

A dark closet will not absolve this sin
.

"What is God's word?"

An eye for an eye
.

Simon rolled off the bed and stood tall. As if drawn by a powerful magnet, he marched toward the kitchen. His face felt as cold as stone. The razor, still bloody, lay on the counter. He snatched it without a second thought and headed for the bathroom. His first inclination was to amputate his own ear. After all, he did wish to fulfill the eye-for-an-eye scripture. But by doing so he feared that it might interfere with his "work." Studying his hand, he considered a finger, perhaps just the last joint of his pinky, but to do so would hinder his dexterity and potentially impair his ability to perform physical therapy.

"Help me mother. I don't know what to do."

Perhaps you should consider something less obvious, son
.

He went into the kitchen and spotted the rectangular wooden block, knife handles sticking out. He grabbed the poultry shears, an absorbent dishcloth, and walked toward the table. He lifted his right leg and rested the heel of his foot on the chair. Then he bent over as if he were going to trim his toenails. Gripping his first four toes, he curled them under, out of the way. The baby toe stood alone, pink and slightly crooked. He opened the shears and firmly pressed the sharp V against the base of his toe.

"Is this what you want, Mother?"

It is not my will, dear boy. It is God's.

"Will he be pleased with my penance?"

His grace will fill your heart
.

Simon tightened his grip on the shears. He placed the dishcloth under his foot, prepared for the gush of blood. Then he closed his eyes and squeezed the shears with all his might.

On Saturday morning, the November sun rose over the eastern mountains and the crisp evening air quickly surrendered to the warmth of the solar awakening. Sami had just returned from a painful walk around Balboa Park. Her back would not have survived a jog. Angelina, still sleepy, hair tangled and unruly, thumb planted securely in her mouth, was sitting on her grandmother's lap when Sami walked in the front door. Usually Angelina charged toward her mother like a twenty-five-pound linebacker. Today she seemed content cuddling with Grandma. Sami stood for a moment and snapped a mental picture of her daughter snuggled against Grandma's warm bosom. As a child, Sami could never remember sitting on her mother's lap.

Carefully, Sami did a few side bends, then slowly tried to touch her toes. She winced from the pain.

"Did you call Doctor Alvarez?" Josephine Rizzo asked.

Sami sat on the sofa and unlaced her Nikes. "Not yet, Ma."

"You'll be flat on your back if you wait."

She'd not yet decided whether she had enough nerve to call Simon. "I'll call the doctor Monday morning." On one hand, having her mother live close enough to enlist her services on a moment's notice served Sami well. On the other hand, it provided an ideal opportunity for her mother to nag.

Josephine huffed. "Got your father's head. Just like a rock."

How many times had Sami heard that cliche? In no mood to duel with her mother, Sami conceded. "Maybe I'll try to reach the doctor today." Oh, how she hated to give in!

Until her father died--almost eight years ago--Sami hadn't fully understood his vital role as peacekeeper and commander in chief of the household. Everything centered on him, and she adored her dad. He provided love, understanding, and a consoling shoulder whenever Sami needed support. This did not suggest that Sami escaped harsh discipline or punishment when she violated her father's strict commandments. After all, Angelo Rizzo, born in Palermo, Sicily, ruled his castle with a firm hand and European stubbornness. Nevertheless, Sami, no matter how disobedient, still remained his pride and joy.

Sami spent most of her life trying to please her dad, doing whatever she could to fulfill his lofty expectations, hoping to feel deserving of his love. Yet she believed that she never quite hit the mark. He never outwardly showed his disappointment, but Sami could see it reflected in his green eyes. Whether it was for a substandard report card, a forgotten chore, or serving him lukewarm espresso, his displeasure ripped through her. Had he lived another two years, he might have--for the first time in his life--shown pride in her appointment as a homicide detective. Sadly, he would never know his dying request for her to become a detective came true.

After his funeral, Sami's mother suddenly metamorphosed from a soft-spoken woman to a mean-spirited shrew. After his death, Josephine Rizzo couldn't meddle enough in Sami's life. It was as if she were making up for lost time. She criticized Sami's every move. And Sami strongly suspected that her mother's repressed hostility was now venting itself.

Since her father's death, Sami expended great energy trying to comply with her mother's wishes, often compromising her principles in an effort to avoid conflict. But it seemed that Josephine Rizzo derived great pleasure from undermining Sami. After repeated attempts to appease her, Sami gave up. Their relationship, fostered neither through love nor mutual respect, was impelled by obligation. To honor her mother could never be a conscious choice, but rather a commandment and accepted tradition. Sami often wrestled with this paradox.

Honor and respect. Honor and respect.

This truth echoed the ultimate hypocrisy. How could she honor and respect her mother when she didn't even like her? How could Sami endure Josephine's harsh manipulation and constant criticism without suffering deep wounds of resentment?

With Angelina, Sami had read all the popular books on parenting, hoping to abandon her twisted notions. She tried, desperately, to approach parenthood with an open mind, to pave new pathways of understanding. But she had not anticipated rearing Angelina as a single parent. So when Tommy DiSalvo, Asswipe Extraordinaire, announced that "things weren't working out," Sami's meticulous plans and dreams of raising the perfect child and creating a household rooted in a strong family structure were suddenly derailed. Facing the enormous task of raising Angelina on her own filled Sami with a profound feeling of inadequacy.

While Josephine watched Angelina, Sami tried to enjoy a long shower, allowing the hot water to pulse against the sore muscles in her lower back. For the past three weekends, her ex-husband had disappointed Angelina by calling at the last minute and announcing that he could not spend the weekend with his only daughter. Angelina didn't understand this, but Sami knew too well that Tommy, unreliable and rarely trustworthy, considered his daughter an inconvenience when other less noble activities presented themselves. Each week, Sami had to invent excuses that Angelina might understand. Today, Tommy claimed that he had to help a friend move but promised to "swing by" on Sunday. Did he actually think Sami would hang around for the entire day waiting for him to fulfill his empty promises?

Tommy DiSalvo hadn't wanted children and had no desire to get married. Sami, regrettably, talked him into it, convinced him that it would help solidify their commitment to each other. She lied to herself and Tommy, pretending that marriage could fix their failing relationship. But marriage had not been powerful enough to heal their damaged love, if love even existed.

After toweling off, blow-drying her hair, and coating her skin with raspberry moisturizing cream, Sami slipped into her favorite lounging shorts, threw on a baggy T-shirt, and joined her mother and daughter in the living room. Now wide awake, Angelina sat on the floor cross-legged, using the corner of the cocktail table to support her bowl of Cheerios.

"Want some coffee, Ma?"

"Gotta get moving." Josephine lifted her rotund body off the chair with a grunt. She looked around the messy room and shook her head. "Don't know how you live like this."

"Do we have to go through this every time you come over?"

"I don't have to come over, Sami." Josephine glared at her daughter. "Men like a clean house. You're never going to--"

"Thanks for watching Angelina, Ma." The last thing Sami needed from her mother was advice on how to find the perfect man.

Josephine struggled to bend over. "Give Grandma a kiss."

Angelina sprang up and kissed her grandmother's cheek, leaving a tattoo of milk on her face.

"Coming over for lasagna tomorrow?" Josephine asked.

"I'll call you."

After her mother left, Sami, feeling a moment of courage, decided to call Simon. She'd been thinking about it but hadn't quite mustered the nerve. Not expecting him to be working on a Saturday, she could leave him a message and avoid talking to him. By doing this, she hoped he would return her call, and in an abstract way he'd be taking the initiative. A little twisted, but it worked for her.

She picked up the business card and dialed the direct number to physical therapy. It rang twice before Sami heard a young woman's voice.

"Bayview Hospital Physical Therapy, how may I direct your call?"

Unlikely that two Simons worked for the hospital, she didn't want to struggle with his last name. "May I speak to Simon, please?"

"One moment, I'll page him."

Page him?
Sami expected to hear his voicemail. Unprepared to speak with him, she panicked.

"This is Simon."

She could see those ice-blue eyes. "You probably don't remember me--"

"Is this Sami?"

Her palms were moist. "You remember me?"

"How could I forget?"

A long silence.

"Is your back still giving you trouble?"

"It's slightly improved, but I thought maybe--"

"Your timing couldn't be better. I just finished with my last patient and...how quickly can you get here?"

This caught her completely off guard. How could she squirm her way out of this predicament? "I appreciate the offer, Simon, but I have a two-year-old daughter and my babysitter--"

"Bring her along. We've got a play area that'll keep her out of trouble for hours. Do you know how to get here?"

She felt trapped. "How about Tuesday or Wednesday?"

"Booked up solid, Sami. Besides, you don't want those back muscles tightening up even more, do you?"

He certainly was tenacious. "I really can't, Simon."

"Look, Sami, I know a little bit about backs and they don't get better on their own."

Her cowardly plan had just been upended. "Um, I guess I can be there in about...an hour."

"Great. See you in a little while."

Her hair needed to be cut, her hips carried a few extra pounds, and the stressful investigation added new wrinkles to her face. But if her visit to the hospital was only therapy, why did she care how she looked?

When Simon hung up the telephone, he thought he would surely pass out. Only through a divine miracle had he endured the racking pain. He bent forward, squatting slightly, and gripped the front of his thighs. His fingernails almost pierced his skin through the cotton fabric of the surgical scrubs. He closed his eyes and sucked in heavy breaths of air.

Carol, Simon's assistant, casually strolled past him and noticed him bending over. "You okay?"

He almost lost consciousness after amputating the baby toe. Suturing the wound without anesthesia had been even more excruciating. "Got up in the middle of the night and like a fool I jammed my baby toe into the bedpost. I think it's broken."

"Why don't you ask Doctor Martin for some Vicodin?"

Simon wanted no part of pain medication. How did he expect to atone for his sin without pain? "Already took some."

Carol flipped through the pages of her clipboard. "There aren't any more patients scheduled today. Maybe you should get an X-ray."

"Got it buddy-taped. Not much more you can do with a toe."

Carol shrugged and went into the office. Simon limped to the restroom. With each step the pain radiated through his entire foot. He could barely stand, let alone offer treatment, and Sami, at his request, would be there soon. What was he thinking? He had no idea how he would drive home. How would he work on Sami's back? When he'd driven to work, the simple act of stepping on the accelerator and brake pedal felt like a pit bull chewing on his foot. Had he given the situation more careful evaluation he would have taken a personal day.

Knowing that the physical therapy department closed at one p.m. on Saturday, Simon waited in the restroom until one-fifteen, hoping that his colleagues would be on their way home. When he returned to physical therapy, everyone was gone, just as he had hoped. He sat quietly, trying to ignore the stinging pain. A soft knock at the door broke the silence. At first, he considered ignoring it but could not imagine acting so insensitive. After all, he had invited her. While slowly limping to the door, he imagined standing in front of Sami while blood soaked through his Reeboks. He opened the door and did his best to force a smile.

"Hi, Sami. It's great to see you again." He shifted his attention to Angelina. "And who's this lovely little princess?"