Wounds (40 page)

“Anyone ever tell you that you have a problem with personal pronouns?” Poe's words were slurred, a result of his injured jaw. Carmen assumed the same sedative she was fighting was used on him.

“We do?” Finch rose and punched Poe square in the nose. He rocked back, then fell over. Muffled gasps came from behind them. Carmen didn't need to turn—even if she could—to know the abducted women were behind her. Finch sat Poe up again. The fury on his face faded. He sat again and studied his new captives.

“This is a real pleasure, Detective Rainmondi. I would never have guessed pretty little Shelly's big sis would become a cop, and a homicide detective no less. Yep, I am impressed.”

“Back to the first person, eh?” Poe shook his head.

Finch sighed. “Only a crazy man asks to be beaten, pal.”

“
You
think
I'm
crazy?” Poe laughed the best his fractured mouth would allow. Carmen glanced at him. What was he doing? “You should check the mirror.”

Finch leaned forward and studied his nails. “Perhaps I should have killed you when we offed Shelly. It wasn't like she was going anyplace. I was just so angry.” He smiled. “I may have been a little drunk too. She kept whining about wanting me to pull over. Nag, nag, nag.” He sighed. “She made us crash. I stole that car fair and square. You saw it . . . What's your name?”

“Poe. Dr. Ellis Poe.”

“Ooh,
Doctor
Poe. I'm impressed.” He thought for a moment. “Poe like the painter—” He snapped his head to the side as if someone was whispering in his ear. “Writer. I know he was a writer. Leave me alone.”

Carmen exchanged glances with Poe. Finch was howl-at-the-moon crazy.

Finch turned to Carmen and smiled. “Did you know that your sister was my first? A man always remembers his first.”

“You must be very proud. Release me so I can shake your hand.”

Finch's smile broadened. “Shake my hand. That's a good one, Detective.” He raised a finger. “Wait here. I want to show you something.”

Wait here? Really? Wait here?

Finch walked to the end of the wide and long room. She watched him go. That's when she noticed the old tools and bits of wood strewn about. Shuffler and Judy had been right. A wood shop. A commercial one, abandoned long ago. She snapped her gaze to Poe. “Stop antagonizing him.”

“Why? He plans to kill us anyway. The guy has ruined many lives. He ruined me. He ruined you.”

“Focus your attention on getting loose.”

“I have been. No luck.”

Finch returned with an old cigar box in hand. “I felt bad about beating your sister to death. We took a few things to remember her by.”

He opened the box and showed it to Carmen: a lock of hair, an earring, and an old stick of lipstick. The fire in Carmen's belly flared, but she kept it in check.

“She was so pretty. We wish she hadn't made me kill her.”

Focus, Carmen. Engage the man. Buy some time.

“You're slipping, you know.” She met his crazy eyes without blinking. “You let yourself get caught on camera.”

He shrugged. “It doesn't matter. We are almost done—No! It wasn't a mistake. No! I told you, it needed to be done. I had a right! Now,
shut up.
”

“You've changed your pattern, Finch. You drugged us. Toxicology showed no drugs in the bodies of the others you killed.” Carmen watched his reaction.

“I didn't want you talking during the trip back. Besides, by the time they find your body the chloroform will be clear of your system—” Again, he cocked his head. “Yes, it
will!
” He settled himself then smiled at Carmen. “See, this proves I loved your sister.”

Carmen wanted to vomit. “You killed her.”

“True. I feel bad about that sometimes, but some good came out of it.” He closed the box. “Until that day, I didn't know I could kill someone. Turns out, it's pretty easy, and it makes us happy. That was the beginning for us.”

“Where are we?” Carmen grit the question out between her teeth.

“I've forgotten my manners.” He grabbed Carmen by the collar and lifted her to her feet. He did the same with Poe. “Let me introduce you to the others. Turn around.”

Carmen did. What she saw made her ill. Three women were bound and chained like dogs to a post. Judging by the mess on the floor, they hadn't been allowed to use a bathroom. How long had they been missing? Days. Had they eaten?

One thing was clear: all three had been beaten.

Her eyes moved from the pathetic scene to one that was worse. The unconscious Daniel Templeton had been strung up, naked and hanging by the wrists from a rope tied to an overhead beam. His hands were purple from the lack of circulation and his arms looked out of joint. A short distance away, lying on the floor, was a tall, wooden cross. A workbench stood nearby. On it were several wood dowels, a multistrand whip, purple cloth, and a coil of razor wire.

“First the ladies,” Finch said. “Meet Mary, Mary, and Salome, or do you already know their names? The naked man is Dr. Daniel Templeton. Ever heard of him? He's a famous Christian. He's my special guest. He's going to be the center of our little party.”

“Why him?” Poe asked.

“We went to school together, Dr. Poe. He was a raging Christian back then. This may surprise you, but people were afraid of me back then. I don't really know why.”

Carmen resisted the quip that begged to be uttered.

“Danny was the only one who didn't judge me. He prayed for me. At least he said he would. He's the only one I told.”

“Told what?” Keep him talking.

“About the voices in my head. I hear voices. Always have.”

“Really?”

“Don't mock us, Carmen. The voices don't like you. They don't want you here.”

“I can leave.”

Finch frowned. “Don't mock me, woman.”

“That's a harsh way to treat a friend.” Poe looked from Templeton to Finch.

Carmen knew what Poe was doing. He was drawing attention to himself.

“He said his prayers could deliver me. He lied. And lied. And lied. I still hear them. He made a promise. No one breaks a promise to us.”

“Why not just kill him?” Carmen asked. “You've shown you can do that.”

“It had to be this way. It had to be special. Unique. Wonderful. It had to be my way—our way.” He smiled at Carmen. “Having you here has made this even better.”

He stroked her cheek.

“She's not answering her phone.” Bud clicked off his cell. “This isn't like her.”

“Maybe her battery died?” Hector was ever the optimist.

Bud snapped a glance at Hector. “Would you put any money on that?”

“Not a penny.”

Bud dialed the phone again. “I'm calling dispatch. Maybe we can reach her by radio.” That was a dead end, too.

“Come on.” Bud rose from the chair in the case room and started for the homicide area. “We're going to talk to the captain.”

Five minutes later, Captain Simmons had called Escondido police and asked that a patrol car be dispatched to Ellis Poe's condo. And he sent Heywood to check out Poe's boat.

A short time later, Heywood called. Simmons put it on the speakerphone. “Bad news, Cap. I found Detective Rainmondi's weapon and cell phone. I found Ellis Poe's phone, too. I've got Harbor Police checking Poe's boat and . . . hang on . . . Okay, the boat is empty.”

“What about her car?”

“No sign of it.” Pause. “Cap, I think Finch has her.”

Simmons swore.

Bud felt his strength drain from him. He let the despair linger for thirty seconds, then his training and experience kicked in. “Helicopters, Cap. We got to get helos in the air.”

“Agreed, but what direction do we send them?”

“We've been running down possible leads to cabinet shops. We have people in the city and county records working on finding cabinet shops that went out of business in the last five years.”

“Why five years?” Simmons stood.

“Property values in the county are still some of the highest in the country. It's hard to imagine property with a decent building on it not selling in five years. Possible, but not likely. We got two hits. One is just outside El Cajon. The second has a lot of buildings around. The El Cajon site is the most likely.”

Simmons put out a BOLO for Carmen's car and placed a call to the El Cajon police.

“The shop is outside the city. I looked at a Google map. It's kinda isolated.” Bud thought for a moment. “Cap, I don't ask many favors, but I have one.”

“You want ABLE to take you there?” The Air Borne Law Enforcement helicopter.

“Yes.”

Again, Simmons picked up the phone. When he hung up he said, “We're in luck. Get to the roof.”

“On my way.”

“Not without me.” Hector was right on Bud's heels.

The Eurocopter Astar 3B was one of the SDPD's most useful crime tools and had been called a “crook catching machine.” It could travel from the Mexican border to north county in twelve minutes. The trip from downtown headquarters to the east county city of El Cajon would take much less time. The passenger compartment could hold four others. Bud and Hector made use of it.

As the helicopter took off, Bud's stomach sank. And it had nothing to do with the sudden lift off.

Hang on, Carmen, you hear me? You hang on.

41

E
llis's knees shook so they barely held him up. The sights and smells and sounds turned his stomach. His arms trembled. He had tried to put up a brave front, to show Carmen he was no longer the coward he was when he was eighteen, but terror followed no logic and cared nothing about reputation. Bound hands or not, he wanted to run. To flee across the old workshop and make for the door—bust through it if necessary. It was dark outside. Maybe he could hide. Finch and his fractured mind had other things to worry about.

He doesn't want me. He wants Carmen. He wants the women. He wants Templeton. And he's got them. Maybe he would allow one man to escape.

He felt the urge to cry. To scream for help. To plead for his life. To promise anything and everything if only he could walk out the door. Maybe if he promised to keep everything secret . . .

If Ellis had learned anything since that night in 1985, it was that there were two emotions more powerful than fear: shame and love.

He understood shame. It had been his live-in companion for nearly thirty years, attaching itself to his soul like a leech, growing stronger each day until it left Ellis little more than an egg shell—thin, empty, and fragile.

Templeton groaned then writhed, his toes barely touching the floor. His eyes opened, then widened. Tears poured from his eyes: tears of pain, of fear, of pleading. The tortured man shuddered. Convulsed.

Finch shot toward the man and threw a punch to Templeton's ribs, hitting him like a professional boxer. Ellis heard ribs crack.

Oh God. Please God. Blessed Jesus.

Ellis backed away. He averted his eyes, but they fell on the women, then on the cross, then on the razor wire crown and other instruments of torture. Then on the bruised and bloodied Carmen, standing beside him. It was too much to see, too much to hear, too much to take in. He took another step back, adding two more feet between him and the horror movie he was being forced to watch. And experience.

Carmen swore under her breath, lowered her head, and charged. When one stride away from the behemoth, she screamed loud enough to rattle the windows. Finch had pulled back to throw another punch, but Carmen caught him midswing, just as he rested all his weight on one foot. Ellis heard the air leave the big man's lungs.

He backed away as the two tumbled to the ground.

Carmen landed on Finch, who seemed stunned by the blow and astonished by the viciousness of her attack. She didn't wait for a response. She scrambled to her feet and kicked for all she was worth. The first try landed on Finch's shoulder, the second on the side of his head.

Ellis moved another step closer to the door. This was his opportunity. He wouldn't get another.
Run! RUN!

Carmen raised a foot, clearly intent on driving the heel of her shoe into the man's skull. She was too late. Finch caught her foot and twisted. Carmen screamed and fell hard, her head bouncing on the concrete surface.

Now. Run. Run. Save yourself.

The room disappeared, replaced by a cool San Diego night. He saw the street on which Shelly was killed. He saw the overturned yellow Camero, heard the vicious rants of a young Mitchell Finch—and watched Shelly crawl from the overturned car as she had that night.

Ellis started for the door, but the vision wouldn't leave his mind. Shelly held out her hand, begging for help as she had in 1985—

No, this was different. She wasn't holding out her hand, she was pointing. Her blood stained face turned to him, her bloody hand pointing behind him. “
My sister . . .”