Linda Castillo - Sworn to Silence

“I don’t know.” She punched numbers into her cell phone.

John looked around for something to break the lock with. Finding an old umbrella, he rammed the metal tip into the lock.

“What are you doing?” she screamed.

He hammered away at the lock until the top drawer rolled open. He saw files near the front. At the rear he found several Tupperware containers and a shoebox. He started with the files. Bank statements. Utility bills. Meaningless forms and warranties. Finding nothing of interest, he pulled out the shoebox and found photos. He knew immediately they were police file photos. Hundreds of them. Dead bodies. Homicides. Suicides. Horrific accidents. The one thing they had in common was that all were violent.

John reached for one of the Tupperware containers, opened it. He found a pair of women’s panties. He went to the next, found a black bra. A sheer kapp, the kind worn by an Amish woman. Souvenirs, he realized. “Christ.” The one thing he hadn’t found was something that would lead him to Kate.

He started toward the door, nearly running over Lora, who stood in the doorway. “I called Nathan’s office,” she said. “They don’t know anything about him being missing. I told them what you were doing. They’re on their way.”

“If Detrick was in trouble, where would he go?”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

Before he could stop himself John grabbed her shoulders, put her hard against the wall. “If I don’t find him, he’s going to kill someone! Now where the fuck is he?”

“Kill someone?” She stared at him, her mouth agape and quivering. “You’re crazy! Nate wouldn’t hurt anyone! He’s a police officer! He wouldn’t do that!”

“He already has!” John shouted. “Is there someplace private he goes to be alone?”

“H-he never mentioned a place!”

“Does he have a cabin? Anything like that?”

“I don’t know!”

Struggling for control, he released her and stumbled back. For several seconds they stared at each other, then John turned and took the stairs two at a time to the ground floor. He went through the door and ran to the Tahoe. By the time he climbed behind the wheel he was shaking. Snatching up the phone, he called Glock. “Detrick’s our man.”

“How do you—”

“I just left his house. I went through his office. He’s got souvenirs.”

“Jesus, Tomasetti.”

“Where are you?”

“North side of Painters Mill. I’ve checked two farms on the list, but I’m batting zero.”

“They could be anywhere.” John grabbed the list of abandoned properties off the console. “We gotta find her, Glock. She’s in trouble.” Starting the engine, he pulled onto the street. “Where do I look?”

“There’s an abandoned motel off of Route 62 out of Millersburg. I’m heading that way now. You’re closer to Killbuck. There’s a house there that’s on this list.”

John squinted down at his list, frustrated because he wasn’t familiar with the area. “Goddamnit, we need more manpower.”

“Pickles and Skid are out looking. We’ll find her.”

John ended the call and made the turn onto State Route 754. The township of Killbuck was ahead, the abandoned house just beyond. The snow made for agonizingly slow travel. Visibility had dwindled, making it difficult to see the road. Even the telephone poles and road signs were invisible. In a few hours travel would be impossible.

He squinted through the windshield at the swirling maelstrom beyond. “Where are you, Kate?” he whispered.

The only answer was the steady beat of the wipers and the echo of his own fear.

CHAPTER 35

I watch him remove my boots. Around me, the old house creaks and moans against the storm raging outside. Even with the heater turned on high, the room is cold. My legs and arms shake uncontrollably. I can no longer tell if it’s from the cold or from the endless stream of terror coursing through me. I recall my last conversation with John, and I wonder if he believed me about Detrick. I wonder of he’s looking for me. If anyone’s looking for me. Or if I’ll end up like the others.

Detrick sets my boots aside and looks at me. Even in the dim light, I see the hunger burning bright and hot in his eyes. I’m so repulsed my stomach threatens to rebel.

“You’re shaking,” he says. “I like that. I like it a lot.”

I look at him dead-on, trying to conjure anger, anything but this fear that’s beating me down. “It was you that night in the woods, wasn’t it?”

“I’d dropped her panties. Fell right out of my pocket.” He grins. “Close call, wasn’t it?”

“Why do you it?”

He looks amused by the question. “My mommy wasn’t mean to me and my daddy didn’t rape me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I just want to know why.”

“I like it. I always have. It’s pretty much textbook with me. Started with animals when I was a kid. I killed a kitten when I was eight, gave me a boner like I’d never had before.”

As he speaks, I take a mental inventory of my physical condition. My toes are numb with cold. My ankles are stiff from the rope. My hands are still bound, but my legs are free. I can fight. I can run.

“I want to rip you open,” he says. “I want to hear you scream and grunt. I want to see your eyes bug out.” He grips his penis through his trousers and massages himself. “See what I mean? It’s like fuckin’ Pavlov’s dogs. I think of cutting you, and then I gotta do it. I got to hurt you, and then I gotta get off. My cock ain’t gonna quit until it’s done.”

I suppress a shudder. “If I die tonight, the cops are going to be all over this. They’ll figure it out. They’ll know Jonas Hershberger isn’t the killer.”

“Keep talking, Kate. I like the sound of your voice.”

My breaths rush between my teeth. Too fast. Too shallow. I’m scared. So damn scared.

Kneeling, he moves toward me. I recoil, but he snags my hair in his fist and yanks me toward him. “I’m going to take off your pants. You’re going to lay there like a good little bitch and let me. Or I’ll hit you with the stun gun. You got that?”

He pushes me onto my back. My elbows and hands grind into the floor beneath me, but I don’t fight him. Not yet. Let him get distracted. Let him think I’m going to be easy.

I cringe when he moves my coat aside and unfastens my jeans. His hands are rough. For the first time they tremble. His breathing is elevated. Despite the cold, I see a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“I’m going to hurt you. It’s going to be bad, Kate. Worse than anything you could ever imagine. You’re going to scream.”

He yanks my jeans down my hips, past my knees, then rips them from my ankles. The air is brutally cold against my bare legs. I sit up, trying to cover myself. The blow catches me off guard. Open-handed across my cheek. Hard enough to make me see stars. I fall back, then turn onto my side to keep the weight off my arms.

Snarling something I don’t understand, he yanks me up by my hair. Pain screeches across my scalp. The second blow is like a stick of dynamite going off in my head. I fall back, and lay still, my cheekbone aching.

Above me, Detrick unfastens his pants and jams them down to his knees. He’s looking down at me, his mouth pulled into a perpetual snarl. “You’re going to be the best one yet,” he whispers.

His erect penis bobs in front of him, purple-red and bulbous. Reaching into the breast pocket of his shirt, he removes a condom, rips it open. His hands shake as he covers himself. The sight of his clean-shaven groin shocks me, though it shouldn’t. I was right; that’s why the lab techs never found hairs. I see the lubricant glistening on the condom, and I think of the other women who suffered the same fate I face now.

Terror sits like a cold stone in my chest. Nausea seesaws in my gut. The rape will be bad, but I know it’s not the worst thing that will happen to me tonight. I try to think like a cop. I need to go on the offensive. Find his vulnerable point. But at this moment, I feel as if I’m fourteen years old again and paralyzed with terror.

Stuffing the condom wrapper into his shirt pocket, he kneels in front of me. He’s going to hit me again; I see it in his eyes. Wild thoughts rampage my brain. A thousand screams of outrage clog my throat. His pants sag at his ankles. A vulnerability. My legs are free. My quads are the strongest muscles I have. I have an instant to react.

I draw both legs back and kick him in the chest as hard as I can. An animalistic bellow bursts from his mouth. He reels backward, lands hard on his backside. His back strikes the kerosene heater, knocking it over. Hope flares inside me when kerosene and flames spill onto the hardwood floor.

Then I’m on my feet. I kick his coat into the flames. Two yards away, Detrick jumps to his feet. His face is a mask of fury as he yanks up his pants. His eyes flick from me to the fire. A hysterical laugh bubbles up when I realize he doesn’t know which is the bigger threat.

He lunges at me. I turn to run. I try to recall where I last saw the Kimber. On the floor? The mantel? No time to find it. I streak to the front door, turn, twist the knob with my bound hands.

A scream tears from my throat when his hands slam down on my shoulders. He yanks me back, throws me to the ground. All I can think is that I should have hurled myself through the window.

I kick at him wildly, legs pumping, not aiming. I land several blows. He screams a curse. Punches at my legs with his fists. But the pain doesn’t register. If I stop kicking, I’m going to die.

I fight like I’ve never fought before. Vaguely, I’m aware of the fire a few feet away. I smell smoke and kerosene. His coat burns next to the heater. The floor is catching, flames leaping three feet into the air. Hope soars at the thought of a passerby noticing the light.

All hope evaporates when he comes down on top of me. The first blow glances off my chin. I try to twist, roll away. But his weight crushes me. I kick with my right leg, but the angle is bad. A second blow slams into my left temple. My head bounces against the floor. White light explodes behind my eyes. He hits me again and I hear my cheekbone crack. Pain zings up my sinuses. Darkness crowds my vision, and I struggle to stay conscious.

Stay conscious! Fight him!

My brain chants the words like a mantra. I try to head-butt him, but he’s ready this time. Hissing a curse, he drives his fist into my solar plexus. The breath rushes from my lungs. I hear myself retch. I try to suck in a breath, but my lungs seize.

The next thing I know his hand is around my throat. He’s incredibly strong. I open my mouth for air, but my airway is crushed. Panic descends in a rush. I buck and writhe beneath him. Stars fly in my peripheral vision. I feel my tongue protrude. My eyes bulge. I wonder if this is what it’s like to die.

Dark fingers encroach on my vision. Vaguely, I’m aware of him speaking, but I don’t understand. Consciousness ebbs. All I can think is that I want to live. I want to live! And then the darkness reaches out and pulls me into the abyss.

John would have missed the house if it hadn’t been for the yellow glow in the window. At first he thought he was imagining things. That maybe the dash lights were playing tricks on him. Then he saw it again. A flicker of yellow through the seemingly impenetrable wall of snow.

Headlights? Flashlight? Or fire?

Cutting the headlights, he stopped the Tahoe in the middle of the road. He tugged the Sig from his shoulder holster, pulled back the slide to chamber a bullet. Snow and wind bombarded him when he opened the door. Visibility was down to a few yards. He fought his way toward the house. Thirty feet in, he caught another glimpse of light. He nearly ran into the vehicle sitting in the driveway. Detrick’s Suburban, he realized. Immediately behind it, Kate’s Mustang was attached with some type of tow mechanism.