Linda Castillo - Sworn to Silence

All thoughts leave my head as I’m dragged up the steps. I flounder, trying desperately to free my hands and feet. My head strikes the top step hard enough to send a scatter of stars across my vision. My coat scrapes against wood as I’m hauled across the porch. Detrick lets go of me, shoves open the door. I smell mildew and cold, dirty air. He lugs me over the threshold as if I were a sack of grain. Claustrophobia threatens when the door slams. All I can think is that the monster has taken me to its lair.

Terror leaches into my brain, drop by terrible drop. I’m paralyzed with it. I think of Amanda Horner, Ellen Augspurger and Brenda Johnston. In my mind’s eye I see their brutalized bodies. I wonder if this is part of what they endured before he killed them. I wonder if I’ll perish the same way.

The door opens and then slams. I’m alone, but I know he’ll be back. The wood floor is cold and rough against my cheek. I lay on my side, breathing as if I’ve just run a mile. My back aches from the uncomfortable position, but I know the worse is yet to come.

My pulse is in the red zone. I can’t stop shaking. I need to think. Fight. Escape. Kill the son of a bitch if I get the chance. Raising my head, I look around. I’m in an old house. There’s no furniture. Probably abandoned. Vaguely, I wonder if this is one of the properties on the list, and then I remember I’d put Detrick in charge of checking them out. Chances are, it never got done.

He returns carrying a kerosene heater and a toolbox. A shudder moves through me when he makes eye contact. “I’ll bet you’re wondering how I knew you figured out my little secret.”

I stare at him.

“Your buddy with the Indiana State Police called for you. He wanted to talk to you about a cold case in Indiana. For some reason, he thought you were still the chief. You wouldn’t know anything about that, though, would you?”

He sets down the heater and kneels next to it. I work at the bindings at my wrists as he lights it. I don’t know what he used to tie me up with, but it’s soft and not easily undone.

Yellow light floods the room when the heater is lit. Straightening, he crosses to me and rips the remaining tape from my mouth. I spit out the wad of fabric and for several seconds all I can do is gulp air and choke back sobs. I spot the knife in his hand. A scream pours from my throat when he leans close, but he only cuts the rope binding my wrists to my ankles.

My hands and feet are still bound, but at least I’m no longer hog-tied. Straightening, I roll onto my side and look up at him. “You can’t possibly get away with this.”

Setting his left hand on my shoulder, he pats me down with his right. “You packin’ heat tonight, Kate?”

“No.”

He finds the Kimber in my coat pocket and pulls it out. “Nice piece.” Holding up the gun by its grip, he grins at me. “Expensive, too.” Assuming a shooter’s stance, he aims it at my forehead. “How does she shoot? Accurate? Much recoil?”

“Tomasetti knows everything,” I say.

“That drunk doesn’t know shit.”

“I told him everything. He’s on his way. It’s over.”

“What exactly do you think you know?”

“I know about the murders in Alaska. In Kentucky and Indiana. The four murders here in Painters Mill sixteen years ago.”

“Figured all that out by yourself, huh?”

“The people at BCI know, too. It’s over, Detrick. You can either give it up, or you can run. You could be in Canada by morning if you go now.”

“And what? Spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder? Not my style.”

“You’ll go to prison if you stay.”

I see arrogance in his eyes. He doesn’t believe me. He’s not taking me seriously. “There’s only one problem with your assertions, Kate.”

My throat is so tight I can’t speak.

“You don’t have any proof. No DNA. No fingerprints.” He shrugs with the nonchalance of a man dismissing a mildly annoying child.

“The circumstantial evidence is enough to get them looking. They look hard enough and they’ll find proof. It’s just a matter of time and you know it.”

A grin spreads across his face. “You’re forgetting I already have a suspect in jail. Do you have any idea how much physical evidence I have against Jonas Hershberger?”

“You mean the evidence you planted?”

“I have blood. Fibers. Hair. We’re talking DNA, Kate. Personal effects from the vics. Clothes belonging to the victims are buried out by the barn. Your officers just haven’t found the right place yet, but they will. Hershberger’s gonna fuckin’ fry.”

“Tomasetti’s got a search warrant. He’s probably at your house right now.” The lie flies off my tongue with the vehemence of brimstone and fire from a preacher.

His smile falters. The look that emerges chills me to the bone. “You’re a lying cunt.”

“You kill me and every cop in the state is going to be all over you.”

His lips peel back. The transformation from charming to psychopath happens so quickly I’m not prepared. He lunges at me, yanks me to my feet with so much force that my head snaps back. “You think you can rattle me with your lies? You think I’m stupid?”

“I think you’re a pathetic freak.”

“Let me tell you how this is going to go down.” He says between clenched teeth.

I try to twist away, but he’s got a vise grip on the sleeves of my coat and gives me another hard shake. “You’re so distraught over losing your job and your complete and utter failure with regard to this case, you couldn’t take it anymore. So you get yourself juiced up. You drive to this deserted farmhouse. Have yourself a few more drinks. Then you sit down on the floor, pick up that pretty little Kimber, stick it in your mouth and pull the trigger. How’s that for a happy ending?”

“No one will believe that.” The words are a scream inside my head, but they come out evenly.

“You wouldn’t be the first cop to eat a bullet because of the job.”

“Here’s a reality check for you, Detrick. Tomasetti knows what you did. He’s going to take you down. Your problems are just beginning.”

Moving with the speed of a striking snake, he grasps both sides of my face with his hands and pulls me close. “I’d sell my soul right now to cut you,” he whispers. “I’d slice you open and pull out your intestines the way I did the Johnston girl. Then I’d turn you over and stick it in places where you good girls don’t like it stuck in.”

I steel myself against his closeness, against the horror of the words. I stare at him, hating him, hating everything he is. “You do that and the cops will know I didn’t commit suicide. How are you going to put these murders on Jonas if another body turns up while he’s in jail?”

“You think you’re real smart, don’t you? Let me tell you something. There are a lot of things I can do to you the cops won’t be able to detect if this place burns down with you in it.” He motions toward the heater. “You put that thing too close to those curtains and this dump will go up like it was the Fourth of July.”

I shudder when he runs his tongue down my cheek. I smell garlic on his breath. The musk of drugstore cologne. The warmth of his breath against my face. The wetness of his spit on my skin.

“As long as I don’t break any bones, the fire will take care of any evidence. I wear a condom, you know.” He pats his coat pocket. “Got a whole box right here just for you.”

I head-butt him in the face as hard as I can. I hear his nose crack. He shoves me, cursing, and clutches his face. I catch a glimpse of blood between his fingers an instant before I land hard on my backside. I don’t wait for him to come after me. I roll toward the Kimber he dropped, wiggle like a worm until my right hand brushes the grip. If I can get my fingers around it . . .

Detrick kicks the weapon away. I look up to see him slide the knife from his pocket. He leans over me. I roll onto my back. Raising both legs, I mule kick him. He reels backward, arms flailing. I hear glass shatter, realize I nearly sent him through the window. I flip onto my side and look wildly for the gun. My last chance. My only chance of getting out of this alive.

But the Kimber is nowhere in sight. I squirm frantically in the direction he kicked it. Detrick’s hands come down hard on my shoulders. I twist, try to get into position to kick him again. I see his arm come toward me.

Crack!

Five hundred thousand volts of electricity ignite every nerve ending in my body. Pain wrenches a scream from my throat. My muscles contract. Light explodes inside my head. The next thing I know my cheek is against the floor. Another crack! and my body goes rigid. I feel my eyes roll back. I hear my teeth snap together. I taste blood at the back of my throat. My bladder releases.

Crack!

And the world fades to gray.

CHAPTER 34

LaShonda wasn’t happy about him going out in the storm. Glock didn’t like it either, but he didn’t have a choice. He’d tried Kate’s home phone and her cell and gotten voice mail both times. Considering the weather and Tomasetti’s cryptic call, he was worried.

He knew Kate was despondent about the murders and the loss of her job. Best case scenario, he’d find her at home snuggled up with a bottle of something eighty proof. It wouldn’t be the first time a cop had turned to alcohol for comfort or escape. It was the other possibilities that had him concerned.

He parked on the street in front of her house and squinted through the swirling snow. Usually, she parked in the driveway. Tonight, the driveway stood vacant. He told himself the Mustang was probably in the garage due to the storm. But Glock had been a cop long enough to know when he needed to listen to his gut. This was one of those times.

Wind and snow pelted him as he walked to the garage and looked in the window. Uneasiness rippled through him when he found it empty. At the back door, Glock tried the knob, found it locked. Using his gloved hand, he broke the pane nearest the knob, reached inside and unlocked the door. The house was warm and smelled of coffee. He flipped on the light. “Chief? It’s Glock. You here?”

The wind whipping around the eaves seemed to mock him.

Glock set his hand against the coffeemaker, found it cold. Papers and files and a laptop covered the kitchen table. He glanced down to see handwritten notes. The state police in Indiana. A former detective from Alaska. A newspaper story.

Quickly, he cleared the rest of the house, but Kate was not there. Back in the kitchen, he called Tomasetti. “She’s not home,” he said without preamble.

“I’m twenty minutes away,” Tomasetti said. “Meet me at the station.”

“What the hell’s going on? Where’s Kate?”

“I’ll explain when I get there. Do me a favor and see if you can get Detrick on the line. See where he’s at, what he’s doing. Don’t let on that you’re suspicious about anything.”

“What does Detrick have to do with this?”

“I think he might be . . . involved.”

“Involved in what?”

“The murders.”

“ What? You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me. Detrick?”

“Look, I don’t know for sure. Just call him, okay?”

“What if he’s at the station?”

“If he is, that’ll be the best news I had all day. If he’s not, then I’m pretty sure Kate’s in trouble.”

Awareness returns slowly. The first thing I become aware of is the cry of the wind. I hear snow battering the windows. I lay on my side with my knees drawn up to my chest. My wrists are bound behind my back. The arm I’m lying on is numb. My ankles are still bound. I’m shivering with cold. The crotch of my jeans is wet, and I remember peeing when Detrick hit me with the stun gun.