Don’t Look Now, page 30
Spencer rose, reached for his own phone, and dialed. “I need a call traced. Ready for the number?”
As he recited the number, she said calmly, “I need you to stay on the line, Casey. We need to keep talking so the police can find you.”
“I don’t know where I am.”
“The phone signal will lead us to you,” Jordan said.
Spencer pulled on his pants, boots, and shirt, all the while talking softly on his phone.
“Casey, do you know who took you?”
“No. I never saw his face.” Her voice broke and she started to weep.
Jordan rose and glided her fingers over the chair near her bed, where she had left her clothes. She had dressed enough in the dark over the years, cradling a phone as she received pertinent information on an incoming police call. “Casey, we’re headed your way now. Don’t hang up. I’ll keep talking to you.”
“I don’t think I have much battery time left.”
“We’re on our way.”
Spencer took her by the arm and picked up her cane. The time to practice navigation skills was not now. Speed was the driving factor.
The two hurried out the door and toward the driveway. His firm, steady grip gave her the confidence to rush across terrain that normally now made her cautious. He opened his car door, she climbed in, and as she fastened her seat belt, he closed it.
“Casey, are you still there?” Jordan asked.
“Yes.”
Spencer angled behind the wheel and fired up the engine. In direct, clear tones he spoke to dispatch, urging them to rush the signal’s triangulation.
“I’m sorry,” Casey said through tears. “He hit you so hard. I thought you were dead.”
“Don’t cry. I’m alive and well. I’ve met your mother and your sister, Cloe.”
“Mom and Cloe?” She cried harder. “I want my mom.”
“We’re going to get you to her as fast as we can,” Jordan said.
Spencer pulled into the street and made his way toward the main road. When he received the phone’s location, he pressed the gas and flipped on his lights.
“We’ve got your position,” Jordan said.
“Be careful,” Casey said. “He’s a liar. He promised me over and over that he would let me go. But he never did.”
“Is that what he did in the house where I found you?”
Casey drew in a ragged breath. “He said he was setting me free. Said I was going home. And then he tied me up and made me put the plastic over my head.” Her voice broke. “He likes seeing me struggle to breathe. It excites him.”
“Is there anything you can tell me about him? His height, muscle tone, the sound of his voice.”
“He felt massive when he was on top of me. His chest and hands were smooth.”
Rawlings’s body was at the medical examiner’s office, and she would have Spencer check both descriptors, but Jordan did not connect Casey’s description to Rawlings.
“He shut the lights off after that day he hit you.”
“What do you mean?” She heard the vehicle accelerate as the car wove in and out of traffic.
“I can’t see anything,” Casey said.
“Why did he turn off the lights?”
“I don’t know.”
The killer had already hinted that he knew Jordan’s vision was impaired. “Okay.”
“We’re less than a minute out.” Spencer slowed the car and took a hard right. The new road was rougher, and she guessed narrower, as many of the side roads on the fringe of the county could be.
“What does your room feel like, Casey?” Jordan asked.
“The walls feel like cinder block. There’s a toilet in the room and a sink, but nothing else. No windows.”
“Seconds out,” Spencer said.
“Almost there, Casey,” Jordan said.
The wail of police sirens mingled with the odd flashes of lights as the other cops joined them. Spencer slowed and pulled sharply to the left before bringing the car to a stop.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“It’s another old house,” Spencer said. “One story, looks as if it were built in the nineteen forties. There are no other vehicles in the area. It’s within three miles of where we found you unconscious.”
“He has a favorite area,” Jordan said.
“We’re all creatures of habit,” Spencer said.
Jordan unlatched her seat belt and reached for her car door handle.
“Stay in the car,” Spencer ordered. “Keep talking to Casey.”
“I want to be there when you find her.”
“No. Your vision impairment makes you a liability. I wish it didn’t, but it does. The goal is to get Casey out of the house alive. Stay put. We haven’t confirmed that we’re even talking to Casey.”
She had dismissed all thoughts of a fraud when she’d heard the name Max. From then on, she’d been so focused on keeping the woman on the line her thoughts had narrowed, edging out the possibility that this was a fraud or a trap. “Understood.”
He was out of the car, and seconds after he slammed his door, he opened the SUV’s back hatch. Like many cops, he kept his tactical gear in the back for cases just like this. He slammed the hatch closed.
“My battery is—” Casey’s last words ended, and the line went silent.
More cars rolled onto the site, surrounding Spencer’s vehicle. Jordan gripped the phone and listened to the cops assembling. In her mind’s eye, she pictured the grouping of officers dressed in black, ready to breach the house. She imagined their tactical discussions and the gear checks.
Too anxious to sit, she opened her car door and slid out, careful not to close it for fear she would attract attention.
She shifted her face toward the palpable energy swirling among the officers, as it did before a raid. A silence settled. A breeze caught a wind chime somewhere in the distance.
And then footsteps thundered upstairs, and a crash signaled that the front door had been breached. Gripping her phone, she took a step toward the house.
“Detective Poe.” The male voice sounded young. “Ranger Spencer issued orders for you not to leave the car.”
“Who is this?”
“Deputy Menendez,” he said.
“Have we met before?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Look,” she said, masking the tension humming under her voice. “I have been a part of this case since the beginning.”
“I’ve heard.”
“I need to know Casey is all right.”
The shouts of the cops reverberated from the house. Jordan stepped forward, but her path closed as the deputy stepped in front of her. “Can’t let you do that.”
“Are you going to arrest me?”
“Ranger Spencer said to put you in cuffs if I have to. You and Ms. Andrews are safer if you stay here with me.”
She flexed her fingers. The logic did little to quell her agitation. Casey’s fate was in the hands of one of the best lawmen in Texas, but Jordan desperately craved the action. She missed it. Missed her job. Missed her life.
The house’s front door opened, and Spencer called out, “We have her.”
Emotion banded around her chest. “How is she?”
Spencer’s footsteps grew louder as he approached. “Alive. Well. We have her out of the house.”
“Can I talk to her?” Jordan asked.
“Paramedics are with her now.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s been in total darkness for over a week, she’s malnourished, and she’s been sexually assaulted multiple times. They’re getting her on a stretcher and an IV in her. She’s also in drug withdrawal.”
“Drugs?”
“He’s been injecting her since the night he took her.”
“Did she say why?”
“She doesn’t know.”
Jordan folded her arms over her chest. “He didn’t have to leave her the phone,” she said. “He could have let her die in that basement.”
“I don’t begin to understand Rawlings’s motivation on this one. Hopefully, Casey can shed some light. She was with him for ten days.”
The wheels of the paramedics’ stretcher rumbled, and she knew the rescue team was on the move with Casey. “Can I see her?”
“It’ll have to be quick. Her eyes are covered and protected from the sun, so she can’t see you.” Spencer offered her his arm and guided her across the dried, brittle terrain. She wanted to run but knew a root or rock was waiting to trip her up.
When they approached the rescue squad, she was struck by the strong scent of body odor and urine. She conjured memories of Casey and stripped away weight and skin tone. The young woman’s features drew inward, her hair lost its luster, and her eyes hollowed.
“Casey,” Spencer said. “This is Detective Poe.”
Casey reached out a hand. “Detective.”
Jordan took her hand in both of hers, feeling the torn fingernails gritty with dirt and grime. “You made it.”
“Yeah.” Casey’s voice sounded rusty, like a wheel that had not turned in too long. “Is he really dead?”
“Yes,” Jordan said. “Mr. Rawlings shot himself.”
“It doesn’t seem right that he would just die after what he did. It’s not fair.”
Thin fingers gripped Jordan’s hand tighter. The woman’s physical nightmare was over, but there remained months, if not years, of work to help her move past what had happened. “Let the doctors take care of you. I’ll visit you at the hospital as soon as I can.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course.”
The paramedics counted to three, lifted the stretcher, and pushed it into the rescue squad’s back bay. She did not remember when they had loaded her up in one over a week ago. Her head pounded as her graying vision quickly narrowed.
Spencer laid his palm on Jordan’s shoulder. “She’s in good hands.”
“I know.”
“Let’s get back to my car. The officers are still going through the house and the outbuilding.”
“Why didn’t he kill her? Why leave her a phone, knowing we might find her? I don’t understand this man.”
“In time we might piece together his motives.”
Or they might not. Death had silenced Rawlings, and unless they found written notes or recordings, she would never be fully convinced that he was the killer.
Back in Spencer’s SUV, she relaxed against the seat, feeling energy escape her body. Finding Casey had kept her going. It had motivated her to get out of bed in the morning. Now, she had found the woman, alive, and the killer was dead.
So now what? Now how did she find a reason to face the darkness?
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Saturday, April 24
10:30 p.m.
The hospital sounds drifted around Jordan as she sat in the waiting room down the hallway from Casey’s room. She had drunk too much coffee, filled up on vending machine candy, and practiced with her phone in the three hours since Spencer had brought her to the hospital. He had promised to return when he could. She understood that he had a job to do. Once she talked to Casey, maybe more of her questions would be answered.
“Jordan.” Rogan’s voice drifted from the waiting-room door.
“Rogan.” She was so drained and spent, his familiar voice was welcome.
He crossed the room and sat in the seat beside her. “I just heard.”
The words How are you doing? lingered in the space between them. “That frown line on your brow must be getting deep.”
“It’s hard not to worry about you,” he said. “You keep charging forward when you should slow down. You need to give your body time to heal.”
“That’s what I’ll be doing very soon,” she said. “Casey has been found, and the killer is dead.”
“Dead?”
“It’ll be released to the news today.” She did not tell him more, knowing despite all the information the police had, they were still in a very active investigation.
“Good. Now that you don’t have this case dogging you, you can rest.”
“What am I going to do with my life?” she asked.
“You’ll find another purpose.”
“No one needs a detective who cannot see well.”
“There’s a chance some of your vision will improve.”
“You and I both know it won’t return to what it was.”
“Then you’ll reinvent yourself,” Rogan said.
“Everyone keeps saying that. Sounds easy, doesn’t it?”
“I know it’s not,” he said. “But if anyone can, it’ll be you.”
“Let’s hope.”
“Detective Poe.” The voice belonged to the charge nurse on the three-to-eleven shift.
“Sandra?” Jordan said, looking up. “Can I see Casey?”
“Yes, but just for a few minutes.”
Jordan reached for her cane and rose. Rogan did as well.
“I’ll only allow one visitor, Dr. Malone,” Sandra said.
“I understand, Sandra. I’m just here to give the detective a few good words.”
“If you’ll follow me,” Sandra said.
Jordan opened her cane, and moving slowly, she noted the change of carpeting in the visitors’ lounge to tile floor in the central hallway. The lights seemed brighter, and the noises of machines grew louder.
“She’s in room 309,” Sandra said.
“Thanks. I wasn’t sure.”
“There’s braille on the room placards and in the elevators.”
“Haven’t learned braille yet. One mountain at a time, Sandra. Has Casey’s mother been to see her?”
“She’s come and gone. She was very upset, so we thought it best she didn’t stay too long. Casey needs to stay calm until we can evaluate her.”
“Sure. I get that.” The nurses had said the same to Jordan, but she had hated the quiet and the calm. She wanted her family and friends around her.
“Let me guide you to the chair by her bed. Don’t want you tripping.”
“That would be appreciated.”
Sandra guided her across the room to a chair. “Casey, Detective Poe is here.”
Casey drew in a deep breath as if she had just woken up.
“She’s had a sedative,” Sandra said.
It would take time to peel back the layers of Casey’s ordeal. Jordan stretched her fingers forward, brushing the smooth cotton of the bedsheets. “Casey.”
“Detective. I’ve been asking for you,” Casey said.
“I know you’ve had a lot of people in and out of here today. I won’t stay long.”
“It’s okay.” Tubes shifted, and the mattress creaked as Casey adjusted her body. “Can you press the button to raise me up?”
Jordan felt for the control panel she had never mastered when she had been here. “You’ll have to press the up button. I can’t see it.”
“It’s dim in here,” Casey said. “I can turn up a light.”
“I’m afraid that won’t help.” Jordan held out the control.
Casey took the device, and soon the bed was rising. “Why can’t you see it?”
“My vision is messed up.” The descriptor still did not fit.
“How can you . . .” Casey shifted her body against the mattress, and Jordan could feel her scrutiny intensify.
She did not flinch or look away. “You saw him hit me on the back of the head.”
“Yes.”
“Long story short, the blood supply was cut to my ocular nerve. It caused damage.”
“Will it get better?”
“I don’t know.” She smoothed her palms over her legs. “Tell me what you saw that night.”
“I saw you rushing into the room, then your face and the knife. I just wanted air. And then I saw him racing toward you. I tried to scream, but my throat was so dry. And then it was too late. You were on the floor.”
“And then?”
“He grabbed me by the arms. Said he’d kill me if I made a sound. He dragged me out of the room and threw me in the bed of his truck, covered me with a tarp. We drove around for hours.”
“He’s been operating in a ten-mile radius,” she said.
“In the darkness it’s impossible to tell,” Casey said.
“It’s very disorienting.”
“He came back more times than I can remember.” A sigh shuddered over her lips. “Each time he had a bag and told me to put it on my head.”
“The nurses told me you were sexually assaulted.”
“I lost track of how many times.” She began to cry.
Jordan sat silent, waiting. Fear and shame were powerful demons that could make life damn near impossible.
Casey sniffed, cleared her throat. “I was so afraid each time that this would be the time I suffocated. The more I struggled, the more excited he became. The last time, he told me he wasn’t coming back, and if I could find the phone, I could call you.”
“He must have decided then he was going to kill himself.”
“The last time, he called me by a different name.”
“What was the name?”
“Avery.”
Jordan stiffened. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know Avery?” Jordan asked carefully.
“No.”
Jordan moved to the edge of her seat, staring into the darkness and willing her eyes to work. But the shadows did not dissipate. Christ, what she would not trade right now to have her sight back for just a few hours.
She fumbled in her pocket for her phone. She needed to call Avery immediately. “Thank you, Casey. I’ll come back.”
“I’m so sorry, Detective Poe.” She began to weep.
“It’s not your fault. All the blame lies with him.”
Using her cane, she made her way past the curtains pulled in front of the door and pushed them back. In the hallway, the air lightened, and the sound of the nurses’ voices at their station anchored her location. “Call Avery.”
Her phone dialed and quickly rang one, two, three, and four times. The call went to voicemail. “Avery, this is Jordan. Call me. Now.”
If Avery was working late at the café, she could still be behind the register or busing tables. “Call Austin City Café.”
The phone rang, and a young man picked up on the second ring. “Austin City Café.”
