Waking Nightmare (5 page)
Billings seemed to shift away, as if disassociating herself. She didn’t appear aware of her mother’s tight grip on her hand. Of Abbie’s compassionate expression. Her recital was flat, devoid of expression. And maybe all the more gruesome for it.
Like the other victims, once she’d been injected, her memory got foggy. She did remember that the rapist never undressed, which was in keeping with the statements from the other rape victims. She could recall the types of sexual assault inflicted, but was unable to list them in sequence or recall the exact number. She was able to describe with sickening clarity the nature of the paraphernalia used on her, the excruciating pain, and the torment that had seemed endless.
But despite her cooperation, by the time Ryne had neared the end of the questionnaire, he had little new information to add to their file on the rapist.
“Ms. Billings, do you recall any sudden changes in the rapist’s behavior?” When she shook her head, he pressed, “There wasn’t any certain moment in which he seemed to escalate to even more violence?”
Her voice was bitter. “He was
violent
from the first minute he touched me. But the only time he seemed out of control was when I resisted. Most of the time I had the impression he didn’t have any feelings at all.”
violent
from the first minute he touched me. But the only time he seemed out of control was when I resisted. Most of the time I had the impression he didn’t have any feelings at all.”
That perception could be owed to the mask the man wore, Ryne figured. Without a visual clue of the man’s emotions during the assault, he’d seem even more inhuman.
Or it just might be an eerily accurate depiction of a psychopath.
“At any time did he seem to experience sexual dysfunction?”
Ryne looked at Abbie as she asked the question. It was one of the last on his questionnaire, but she hadn’t seen the prepared list.
Billings just shrugged helplessly. “Like I told the other detectives at the hospital, after he shoved that needle in my arm, I wasn’t that aware of
him
, you know? It was like all my other senses faded except for feeling. Sensation was heightened unbearably. Like it wasn’t enough for him to rape me, nearly kill me,” she went on bitterly. “He had to give me something to make it even more painful.”
him
, you know? It was like all my other senses faded except for feeling. Sensation was heightened unbearably. Like it wasn’t enough for him to rape me, nearly kill me,” she went on bitterly. “He had to give me something to make it even more painful.”
And that, Ryne thought, might be the one most critical detail they had about the scum they were looking for. Certainly it jibed with what the other victims reported.
“Have you received any calls or notes from unidentified persons lately? Either before or after the assault?”
“No.” But then the import of his words seemed to strike her and her gaze flew to his, stricken. “Oh God. You think he’ll try to contact me?”
“Probably not. But if you get any strange messages, let us know, all right?”
She seemed to shrink back into the quilt, as if trying to make herself disappear. And Ryne knew she wasn’t going to hold up much longer. “What’s the last thing you remember before he injected you the second time?”
Her chin sank to her chest. “He was packing up. Putting things away and I remember thinking, ‘Finally. Maybe he’ll kill me or just leave.’ And I really didn’t care which. I just wanted it to be
over
.” She swallowed hard, pulled the quilt more tightly around her. “And then he jabbed me with that needle again, and I . . . I got so mad all of sudden. I couldn’t stop thinking, why me? What had I ever done to deserve this? Things started to get fuzzy again, but I was so angry that he was going to get away with this. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to kill him. And then my hands were free.” The quilt was shaking now with the force of her shudders. “I don’t know how, he must have freed them, but I tried to sit up and swing at him. I think I hit him. I was aiming for his face.” Nancy Billings reached out to hug her, and Barbara seemed to crumple into her mother’s embrace. “He went crazy, and this time when he started punching me . . . I must have blacked out. Because I don’t remember anything until I woke up in the water.”
over
.” She swallowed hard, pulled the quilt more tightly around her. “And then he jabbed me with that needle again, and I . . . I got so mad all of sudden. I couldn’t stop thinking, why me? What had I ever done to deserve this? Things started to get fuzzy again, but I was so angry that he was going to get away with this. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to kill him. And then my hands were free.” The quilt was shaking now with the force of her shudders. “I don’t know how, he must have freed them, but I tried to sit up and swing at him. I think I hit him. I was aiming for his face.” Nancy Billings reached out to hug her, and Barbara seemed to crumple into her mother’s embrace. “He went crazy, and this time when he started punching me . . . I must have blacked out. Because I don’t remember anything until I woke up in the water.”
“Was he gone then?”
She didn’t seem to hear his question. “I thought I was going to drown. My mouth was taped and the water kept getting higher until it would get in my nose unless I pressed my face against the top of the cage.” Her voice broke then, and she buried her face in her mother’s shoulder. “It was just like being locked in a nightmare. Only I couldn’t wake up. I couldn’t ever wake up.”
They wouldn’t get more from her today. Ryne flipped his notebook shut, feeling suddenly ancient. The wrecked and weeping woman on the couch was oblivious to them, caught in a vivid wash of memory that might never weaken.
Whoever said time was the great healer was full of shit. He had reason to know that demons could lurk endlessly in the subconscious, just waiting for defenses to be lowered before leaping forth again. Memory could be a ravenous predator, a Technicolor replay of details far better forgotten.
He hoped like hell that Barbara Billings was strong enough to cope with what was to come. The worst wasn’t necessarily behind her. Not by a long shot.
Chapter 3
Abbie ducked under the police tape and followed Ryne through the open front door of the Billings house. She was pleasantly surprised—and not a little relieved—to see open boxes of latex gloves and shoe covers sitting right inside the door. She paused to don pairs of both. Surprisingly, even in this day and age, she’d been to scenes where the police had to be reminded to wear gloves.
Raiker, of course, would prefer investigators wear totally sterile Tyvek suits over their clothes. But she was satisfied with the paper shoe covers that prevented them from carrying in particles that could be confused with trace evidence.
She signed in on the security log and, hands behind her back, stepped inside the home. Plastic evidence markers dotted the area. A crime scene tech was standing in the dining room directly ahead of her, operating the electronic crime scene scanner.
Robel was talking to Cantrell, so she moved away from them and continued through the house, stepping carefully around the markers. More CSU techs were in the bedroom in the back, going over grids of the carpet with handheld forensic vacuum units. The bed had already been stripped, the bedding individually bagged and tagged. Black fingerprint dust remained on the white woodwork and glass of the windows. An alternate light source and two sets of goggles sat on the floor next to the bed. From the looks of things, the techs were nearly done with the area. One of the detectives, she thought it was Cantrell, was taking notes of the contents of the closet and drawers.
She halted in the doorway, her gaze traveling around the room slowly. It was unmistakably feminine. Framed matted prints of flowers hung on pale pink walls. The ruffled curtains were neatly folded in bags. The bed was an intricately wrought white metal. And the nude mattress that sat on top of it was patterned with dark brown stains that would turn out to be Barbara Billings’s blood.
The evidence of the brutality that had taken place there provided sharp contrast to the delicate décor. A chill worked over Abbie’s skin and she moved her shoulders impatiently, shrugging it off. She turned abruptly, nearly running into a large detective she remembered from the conference room that morning. McElroy, the one with the sarcastic tongue.
“What’s the matter, squeamish?” He jerked a thumb toward the door. “If you’re gonna puke, do it across the street so you don’t contaminate the scene.”
“If and when I puke, I’ll be sure to clear it with you first.” Since he didn’t appear inclined to move, she brushed past him to get a look at the rest of the house.
Staying clear of the other detectives, she found the side door that would lead to the garage, then traced Barbara’s journey to the kitchen. She stopped even with the shelf on the wall, the one the rapist had leaned against, while he’d watched his quarry.
He’d have been filled with adrenaline. The scene he’d planned for, fantasized about, playing out according to his specifications. How long had he watched her? A minute? Two? All the while the anticipation would have built to an unbearable rush.
Abbie wasn’t even aware that she’d taken up the rapist’s stance, a shoulder against the wall, as she stared blindly toward the kitchen. The instant the victim had seen him would have been delicious. That first expression of shock. That quick transformation to fear. And then amusement would flare when she hunted desperately for the knives that wouldn’t be there. Of course they wouldn’t. Every precaution had been taken. So there was no harm in playing with her a little. Letting her run for those sliding doors that had been left locked, with the portion of wood she’d jammed in the track to keep out intruders.
He’d allow her to fumble with the lock for a few moments before pouncing. Her struggles would have knocked over that chair that still lay on the carpet. The privacy fence around the small backyard provided assurance that they’d play this scene out without interference from nosy neighbors.
Abbie curled one hand into her palm, as if gripping the syringe. Billings had said she’d been injected shortly after that initial struggle so the rapist had to have had it ready. In a pocket, or up a sleeve, she mused. With a plastic tip covering the needle to avoid pricking himself by mistake.
She felt, rather than saw, Robel’s presence beside her. “Which arm was she injected in?” she murmured, her mind still filled with the scene that had played out here two days ago.
“Left.”
“Which would almost certainly mean he used his right hand. She said she was on the floor before he injected her.” She looked at him then, the movement snapping her out of the surreal mindset of the rapist. “You asked her which fist he hit her with . . .”
“And she said both. I see where you’re going with this, but the first two victims were injected initially from behind in their left arms, which would suggest a left-handed attacker. The last two suggest a right-hander. Either he uses both hands equally well, or he’s switching things up to throw us off.”
“Discovering that he’s ambidextrous would be important information, too,” she said mildly. “Have they found the set of knives yet?”
Robel nodded. “Garbage can in the garage. The set’s already been dusted.” Someone called him and he moved away. Abbie saw a couple men in the backyard checking windows for signs of tampering. If he’d gained access from one of them, there’d be little chance of signs left in the ground below. It hadn’t rained in the vicinity for days, according to the online weather source she’d checked on the plane en route to Savannah.
A thought struck her and she retraced her steps to the front door, taking off the shoe covers before slipping outside. The porch was a small slab of cement punctuated with two posts that supported the overhang. Between the porch and the driveway was a small area with carefully tended hydrangeas clustered for maximum effect.
She rounded the area and eyed the shrubs. Nearly five feet high, they’d provide ample cover for someone crouched behind them, ready to roll into the garage as the door opened and its owner was backing her car out. If he timed it right and stayed down, the door would have been lowering before Billings could have caught sight of him over the hood of her vehicle. The car itself could have provided him cover as he tucked himself into the corner of the garage until the door was safely down.
She scanned the area around the bushes, but the crushed rock filler would leave no sign of footprints.
Billings had indicated she’d left the door leading to the house from the garage unlocked. She wouldn’t be the only one lulled into a false sense of security with an electric door. Abbie walked into the garage. There were no other outside doors, and only one window too small to allow an adult entry.
Peering into the window of the red Sebring convertible housed there, she saw an opener clipped to the visor. Abbie returned to the front door so she could don shoe covers again before continuing into the house toward the garage entrance. Billings’s keys still lay on a table in the hallway there, next to a spare electric opener.
She went in search of Robel, found him in the kitchen on his cell phone. From the gist of his side of the conversation, she figured he was relaying information to a superior. She waited for him to finish before asking, “Have you determined the point of entry yet?”
The hard line of his jaw was beginning to show five o’clock shadow. With a start, she realized it was nearing sup pertime. “No windows broken. All are locked. No doors appear to have been jimmied.”
“He could have had a key.”
“Billings claimed no one else had a key to the place other than her mother. Never lived here with her ex,” he reminded her.
She remembered. She also knew that sometimes victims intentionally withheld information that might cause trouble for people they cared about. “We should follow up on that. An old boyfriend could have had access to the place at one time, could even make a set without her knowing. But it’s also possible the perp came in through the garage as she headed out in the morning.” Briefly, she filled him in on the scenario she’d checked out, concluding, “Billings said she didn’t usually lock the door leading from the house to the garage. But even if she had, the seclusion would have offered him all the time he needed to pick the lock.”
There was a half smile on his face as he listened to her. It didn’t soften his expression appreciably. “That’s how Holmes and McElroy figured it, too. The extra opener would have given the perp access after he went back for his things.”
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