Linda Castillo - Sworn to Silence

I open my eyes. Yellow light from the heater dances on the ceiling. I feel cold air flowing over me, and I remember the window is broken. I look around. My heart jigs when I spot Detrick, standing in the doorway. At some point, he removed his coat. He wears a denim shirt over a turtleneck and a nicely cut pair of trousers.

“You broke my nose,” he says.

I notice the blood on the turtleneck. “How are going to explain that?”

“People fall when the sidewalks are icy.” His eyes run over me. His smile chills me. “You’re shivering. Cold?”

I say nothing.

“You shouldn’t have broken that window. Heater would have had it comfortable in here by now.”

The hopelessness of the situation is like a dark hole and I’m about to get sucked into it. This man is going to kill me. It’s just a matter of when. And how. Time is on my side, but I know it’s running out.

“You going to behave yourself if I cut the rope on your ankles?”

“Probably not.”

He laughs. “You try anything stupid, and I’ll hurt you bad this time, you understand?”

He looks at me the way a starving dog looks at a piece of meat before devouring it. He’s going to rape me. I see it in his eyes. The thought repels me, but I remind myself I’ve already survived it once. I can survive it again. I want to live. That interminable will pulses through me with every rapid-fire beat of my heart.

He starts toward me. I notice the stun gun in his hand. “Don’t use the gun,” I say.

“You going to cooperate?”

Unless I get the chance to kill you . “I’ll do whatever you want.”

He kneels next to me. The knife glints like quicksilver in the light from the kerosene heater. The scrap of fabric binding my ankles falls away. I feel his eyes on me, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. I know he’ll see my fear. I know he feeds on that.

My heart cartwheels in my chest when he begins unlacing my left boot. I stare at his fingers. The manicured nails. The rock-steady hands. He’s so utterly normal-looking I can almost convince myself this isn’t happening.

But the man unlacing my boot is incapable of feeling any emotion other than the gnawing compulsion of his dark hunger. Tonight, that hunger is focused on me—and minutes away from spiraling out of control.

The clock on the dash reads three-thirty A.M. when John parked the Tahoe outside the Painters Mill police department. Snow swirled in when he pushed open the front door. Mona sat at the dispatch station, a lollipop in her mouth, both feet propped next to her monitor. A lilting Red Hot Chili Peppers tune floated from a radio on the credenza. She looked up from her book when John entered. Her feet hit the floor and she stood.

“I thought you left.”

“I’m back.” He headed toward Kate’s office. “You seen the chief?”

“Not since Detrick just about arrested her.”

“Any idea where she is?”

“I figured she went home.”

“How long ago did she leave?”

“A couple of hours, I think.”

“Where’s Detrick?”

“I assumed he went home, too.” He brows snapped together. “Is there something going on?”

The bell on the front door jingled. Glock blew in looking as grim as John had ever seen him. Mona yanked the sucker out of her mouth. “What’s going on, you guys?”

Ignoring her, John turned to Glock. “Were you able to get Detrick?”

“I tried his cell, but he didn’t pick up.”

“Try him at home.”

He expected the former Marine to question the wisdom of calling the sheriff at three-thirty in the morning. Instead he slid his cell from its nest and hit two buttons. “Lora? Hey, it’s Rupert Maddox.” He looked at John as he spoke. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I was just wondering if you could put Nathan on the line for a sec.” Glock’s brows go up. “He’s not there? Really? Do you know where he is?” He nods. “Well, that’s dedication for you. I’ll get him on the radio. Sorry to have bothered you.”

His grim expression fell on John with the same levity of the words that followed. “Housekeeper says he’s on patrol.”

“Try him at the sheriff’s office.” John turned his attention to Mona. “See if you can get him on the radio.”

Sliding the headset over her ears, she hit a couple of buttons and spoke into the mouthpiece. “This is dispatch hailing 247. Sheriff Detrick, do you read?”

“Try his cell phone again,” John said to Glock.

The former Marine lowered his cell. “Voice mail.”

“Shit.” John’s mind skittered through his options. “Detrick own any property around here?”

Glock shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“What about abandoned farms or—”

“I have a list!”

Both men looked at Mona. She looked excited by the prospect of helping. “I have a copy of the one I gave Detrick.” Grabbing the mouse next to her computer, she clicked and the printer spit out two pages. Mona handed them to John. “I broke it down by homes, farms, and businesses within a fifty mile radius.”

“We need manpower,” John said.

“What about Pickles?” asked Glock.

“He’s on tonight,” Mona put in. “Took a call about fifteen minutes ago. Guy skidded off the road down by Clark. He’s trying to get a wrecker out there.”

John looked at the list. “Call Pickles. Tell him it’s urgent. Tell him to start checking these locations.”

“What’s he looking for?” she asked.

John struggled with how much information to reveal. “We’re looking for Kate. Her vehicle. We think she might be in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” She looked from man to man.

John lowered his voice. “We just want to find her.”

“Tell Pickles to stay off the radio,” Glock added. “Cell phone only.”

“I got it.”

“Call Skid, too,” Glock put in. “If they find Kate, tell them to call John or me only.”

John swung his attention to Glock. “I’ll call SHP and have them put out an APB on her vehicle as well as Detrick’s.”

“Roger that.”

Turning, John started toward the door. “We’ll cover more ground if we split up. You take the first property on the list.”

Glock came up beside him. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to stir the beehive and see what flies out.”

Detrick lived in a two-story Tudor on the south side of Millersburg. John pulled curbside to find the house totally dark. He knew he was about to cross a line. But there was no way around this. Kate was missing. If she was right about Detrick, she would be dead by morning. There was no time for protocol. For all intents and purposes, his career was already over, anyway. May as well go out with a bang.

He trudged through deep snow to the front door and hit the doorbell a dozen times. When that didn’t rouse anyone, he pounded with his fist. After a few minutes, a middle-aged woman in a pink robe and matching slippers opened the door, leaving the security chain in place. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” she snapped.

“Mrs. Detrick?”

“I’m Lora Faulkor, the housekeeper. Grace and the kids moved out about a month ago.”

John showed his badge. “Is Sheriff Detrick here, ma’am?”

“I assumed he’s on patrol. Working on those murders.” Her expression transformed from annoyed to worried. “Has something happened?”

“I have reason to believe he could be in trouble, ma’am. May I come in?”

Closing the door for an instant, she unfastened the chain and swung it open. “What’s happened?”

“All we know is that he’s missing.”

“Missing? Oh my.” She began wringing her hands. “I told him not to go out in this weather. He probably had a wreck.”

John entered a large living room furnished with early American oak furniture. Modular sofa. A coordinating plaid chair. A hint of wood smoke in the air from an earlier fire.

“Why did Mrs. Detrick move out?” he asked.

“I assumed it was because of the divorce. There was a lot of tension, of course. Mr. Detrick works a lot of hours and has no time to cook or clean, so he kept me on.”

“I see.” The timing of Detrick’s marital situation didn’t elude John. “Does he have a study or home office?”

She blinked, clearly surprised by the question. “Why on earth do you need to see his office?”

“I need to ascertain his whereabouts. It might help me figure out where to look. If he keeps a record of his patrol grid.”

“Wouldn’t he keep that at the sheriff’s office?”

“Time is of the essence, ma’am. If you could just show me to his office.”

“Oh. Well. I guess you could take a look. I just don’t see how that will help.” Pressing her hand to her stomach, she started down the hall. “Are the rest of the deputies out looking for him?”

“Every available man.”

“How long has he been missing?”

“About two hours now. We can’t get him on the radio or cell.”

“Oh, no. My goodness. That’s not good.”

He followed her down a hall, the walls of which were adorned with dozens of framed photos. Detrick’s kids, he thought, and wondered how a father, a cop, could lead such a dark double life.

She entered a room and turned on the light. A study, John thought, taking in the desk topped with a banker’s lamp. Beyond, a floor-to-ceiling bookcase was filled with books and knickknacks that weren’t quite pretty enough for the rest of the house. Several law enforcement plaques adorned the walls.

“What exactly do you need to see?” Lora asked.

Ignoring her, John went directly to the desk. Locked. He’d reached the point of no return. He gave the housekeeper a hard look. “Where’s the key?”

“I don’t understand why you need to go through his desk. This doesn’t make sense. Why are you doing this?”

Picking up a letter opener, he knelt behind the desk and rammed the point into the lock, breaking it.

“What are you doing?” she cried.

He rifled the drawers. Within minutes, he’d searched the entire desk, but found nothing. “Where else would he keep personal papers and things?”

“What’s really going on here?” she asked. “Who are you?”

“We’re trying to ascertain his whereabouts.” John put his hands on his hips and looked around. “Where does he keep his personal effects?”

“I think you should leave.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“I’m calling the police.”

“The police are out looking for Detrick, ma’am.”

That stopped her, but John knew it wouldn’t last. “I need to know where he keeps his personal effects.”

When she didn’t answer, he crossed to her, grabbed her arms and shook her. “Where, goddamnit!” he shouted.

She gaped at him, her mouth quivering. “He keeps some things in the attic.”

Leaving her, he took the steps two at a time to the second level. All he could think about now was Kate. The time they’d spent together. The note of utter certainty in her voice when she’d told him about Detrick.

He found the attic door at the end of the hall. He heard the housekeeper behind him. “I want you to stop right now and tell me what’s going on!” she cried.

John went up a narrow stairwell, opened the door and hit the light switch. A bare bulb dangled from a rafter, illuminating a small attic crowded with boxes, an old metal file cabinet, a half dozen folding chairs, a collapsed patio table umbrella.

“I’m calling Deputy Jerry Hunnaker right now,” Lora said.

John looked up to see her standing at the door with a phone in her hand. “You do what you have to do.” Spotting a beat-up file cabinet, he crossed to it and yanked on the drawer, but it was locked. “Where’s the key?”