Silent Witness, page 21
part #2 of Cass Leary Series
“Time to go,” he said. He had an oddly bright smile on his face as he came to me.
Panic set in and I crab-crawled backward away from him. Christopher reached down; grabbing me under the armpits, he yanked me to my feet. He picked me up easily, throwing me over his shoulder, fireman-style. I screamed and tried to kick, but my strength left me.
He bounded up the stairs with me. Upside down, my stomach churned. If I had anything in it, I would have thrown up down his back. The room was a dizzying blur as he charged through the kitchen, up from the basement. Christopher deposited me into a chair at the kitchen table.
“She sits and smiles,” Christopher said. “She makes the dinner and everyone is happy. Nobody yells. Father doesn’t make her cry.”
What the actual fuck?
He’d set four places at the kitchen table. Perfectly neat with cheap China bowls atop matching dinner plates. Two forks, a spoon, a table knife. My heart raced. If I could get free. If I could grab one of the knives. They weren’t sharp, but if I could gather the strength to stab him hard enough …
With renewed urgency, I tried to work the piece of metal against my bindings.
Humming, Christopher went to the kitchen. He had a large silver stewpot on the stove. Using hot pads, he brought it to the table. My stomach growled loudly, betraying me as he used a ladle to scoop out the broth into all four bowls.
It was some kind of stew. Bits of meat floated at the top. It smelled wrong, but my stomach didn’t care.
“It’s been such a long day. They’re all tired. How was school? What did you learn?”
“What?” I asked. I took in my surroundings. Other than the kitchen table, I saw no other furniture in the house. I could see part of the living room. It had beige shag carpet and a wooden front door with three little diamond cut-out windows. Was this Christopher’s house? There was one hallway to the right of the living room.
“Shh!” He put a finger to his lips. “Grown-ups are talking. Mother doesn’t speak unless Father asks her a question. He works so hard all day. He doesn’t need to hear her nag. She always nags. Dinner needs to be on the table when he walks in, or else.”
“Of course,” I said.
The steam from the stew spiraled up, filling my nostrils. I was so damn hungry, I was about to put my face in it. Christopher wasn’t watching me. His eyes glazed over, playing whatever distorted childhood memory he was in right now. I used it. Working the bindings. It got easier now, sitting upright in that chair. If I had five solid minutes …
Christopher stuck a finger in the stewpot. He drew it away quickly, waving it in the air. He’d burned himself. Then he slammed his fist against the table hard enough to make the plates jump.
“She’s supposed to take it off the heat so it’s just warm enough when Father sits down!”
Should I apologize? Was I Mother in this creepy fantasy? Then Christopher charged away from the table and down the hall.
My pinkies cramped and ached from trying to work the metal at such an odd angle. I pulled my wrists in opposite directions. The tape held. God, I didn’t care. I didn’t care if I sliced myself down to the bone if I could just get loose. I worked harder. Christopher rummaged through something down the hall.
I wedged the metal between my palms and pushed for all I was worth. I felt something pop. The tape snapped. Pain speared down my spine. But the tape broke. I grabbed the knife. Scanning the kitchen, I looked for Christopher’s gun. Could I be lucky enough that he’d left it behind?
My legs were still bound with duct tape. I reached down and started to cut through it with the kitchen knife. I almost had it. I couldn’t overpower Christopher. But if I had the element of surprise.
“Always whining.” Christopher’s voice reached me from down the hall. “Sister’s so ungrateful. She gets everything.”
This was my chance.
Then Christopher came back. Except he wasn’t alone.
He carried Jessa over his shoulder just like he’d carried me. And she wasn’t moving.
Chapter 41
“Jessa!” I screamed, dropping the knife to the floor. I put my hands behind me so he wouldn’t see what I’d done.
Christopher put Jessa in the chair beside me at the table. Oh God. Thank God! She was okay. Her eyes widened and filled with tears when she saw me. He’d taken the tape off her mouth but her hands were still bound in front of her with duct tape.
“It’s okay,” I whispered. “You’re okay.” I blinked hard, trying to stop my own tears.
She stared straight ahead, her face blank. Only a tiny, frantic pulse in her neck betrayed the terror I knew Jessa must feel.
I had to keep it together for the both of us. I’d acted way too soon. If Christopher figured out I’d freed my hands, he could use Jessa to threaten me. I couldn’t let Jessa see my hands were free either. Any tiny reaction from her and I’d lose my advantage.
“Always something.” Christopher stirred the pot. “It’s not hot enough. There’s not enough salt. He asks for one simple thing.”
Christopher dropped the ladle and slammed his palms against the table. He hovered over me, just inches away from my face. I kept my hands clasped behind me, praying he wouldn’t see the broken tape on the floor.
“You get to live in this house. What do you do all day?”
He was his father, perhaps. Was I the housewife in this twisted memory of his?
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Let me just heat it up a little longer. It’ll just take a second.”
“Too late!” he yelled. “Not the point.” He picked up the ladle and threw it across the room. Jessa jumped but kept silent. For the moment, it almost seemed like he’d forgotten she was there.
A phone rang from deeper in the house. My heart raced. That was my ringtone. I kept stock still. Christopher glared hard at me.
“No calls during dinner!” He smacked the table again and headed toward the sound of the ringing.
God. My phone. Surely by now someone had figured out we were missing. It was a beacon of hope. The police could track me that way. I shot a quick look at Jessa.
“You’re being very brave,” I whispered. “Just do what he says for now, okay? I’m going to figure out how to get us away from him. Can you stay calm for me like you are for just a little while longer?”
I realized she’d been taking care of herself already for God knew how long. He’d gone after her while I lay unconscious in that van. He must have thrown her in back right along with me. Had she thought I was dead? This poor, sweet little girl had already seen so much. Still, she sat with her back straight. She wasn’t panicking.
Jessa slowly lifted her eyes and focused on me. All at once, the last couple of weeks of progress washed away. She looked hollowed out like the day I first saw her in the hospital in Toledo.
“Jessa, did he hurt you? Did Christopher hurt you?”
I tried to get a better look at her. She didn’t appear to have any bruises or cuts, at least where I could see. God, if he’d done anything to her …
Jessa squeezed her eyes shut then shook her head.
“Okay,” I said. “Just don’t say anything, okay?” I hated that I was telling her that. More than anything, I wanted to hear the sweet sound of her voice. But there was no telling what might set Christopher off.
Christopher had my phone in his hand. It had stopped ringing and he stared at the screen. He paced near the front door. “No calls during dinner!” he screamed, then threw the phone hard at the wall. He’d used enough force to make a dent in the drywall. The screen shattered. Jessa jumped, then stared straight ahead.
I stared at the table knife in front of Christopher’s place setting. If I made a move for it, Christopher would know I’d freed my hands. It was no match for the gun he held so close to Jessa. There was no way I could act fast enough to save us both. But if I could at least save Jessa. She was worth dying for.
“People are going to come for me,” I said to Christopher, trying to pierce through his delusion. “You know that, right? I told you back at my house. You killed a cop. People will have seen your van. You can’t get away with it this time. But if you let us go, I can tell them that. They’ll go easier on you.”
He snarled like a dog. “Shut up. You don’t talk unless I ask you a question.”
“I’m a lawyer, Christopher. But you already know that. You came to court to watch me that day. I can help you. Let Jessa go and I’ll make them listen.”
“Lawyers lie,” he said. I couldn’t tell if he was here or in that loop from his past.
“I don’t,” I said. “You were in the courtroom. You heard what they said about me. It’s all true. I have very powerful friends, Christopher. People who care what happens to me. I can get you out of this. But you have to do something for me.”
“We’re a family,” he said. “Everybody stays.”
Shit. I was losing him again. Christopher pointed the gun at me. With his other hand, he smacked the side of his head as if he were trying to drive voices out of it. I couldn’t decide if we were better off with him in the past or the here and now. Which would make him less likely to pull that trigger?
“Dinner’s going to get cold,” he said. “You talk too much.”
He pointed the gun at Jessa. My heart leaped. Silent tears fell from Jessa’s eyes.
“Christopher,” I said. “Look at me.”
He did, but he kept the gun trained on her. “Who left you?” I said. “Was it your mother? Do you want me to help you find her? Your father?”
“So perfect,” he said, his lips curled in a snarl. “They sit there in their pretty house eating their pretty dinner. And I burn!”
He lifted his shirt. I sat back hard in my chair. He had dozens of tiny, circular burn marks all over his chest, his stomach, all the way up to his neck. They were the exact shape of cigarette butts. God, he’d been tortured.
“Every night. Perfect dinner. Smiles. They don’t know I can see them. I screamed once from my window. They kept right on eating.”
Who? Was he talking about neighbors? I took a chance.
“They didn’t know,” I said. “If they’d known they would have helped you.”
“They knew!” he screamed. Jessa jumped in her seat.
“Little house on the cul-de-sac. Pretty pictures. They don’t like to know what it’s really like.”
“I told you,” I said. “Nobody’s perfect. Everyone has things that hurt them. They have pain. It’s not what you see in the pictures. You’re not alone, Christopher. I see you. I won’t let them hurt you anymore.”
He smiled, but his eyes were cold and dead.
He bolted up from the table and went to the kitchen sink, taking the gun with him. He hummed that damn lullaby again. I turned to Jessa.
With the water running and his humming, I felt fairly certain he couldn’t hear me. “I’m going to get you out of here,” I said. “When I say, I want you to run. Just like you did before. Only this time, he won’t be able to follow.”
Jessa’s eyes flicked to Christopher then back to me. Her bottom lip quivered and she slowly shook her head.
“He knows how to stop you,” she whispered. “He always knows. He keeps coming back.”
My heart broke for her for the thousandth time. If it took the last breath in my body, I would find a way to make sure she was safe.
Christopher shut off the water and came back to the table. “Time to eat,” he said, smiling. “Then it’s time to go.”
Adrenaline poured through my veins. He was right. It was time to go.
Chapter 42
Christopher came to the head of the table. He pulled the gun out of his back pocket, pointing it at Jessa as he took his seat.
“Enjoy your dinner,” he said.
“I ... uh …” My hands were free but he still didn’t know that. If I could get him to come close to me, leave the gun behind.
“I can’t,” I said. “I can’t use my hands.”
He slammed his fist against the table again. “Ungrateful! You have everything you could ever want. You don’t work. I come home and this house is filthy. Children crying. You know I need peace.”
I looked hard at Jessa. Her face had changed. Her jaw dropped. She was looking down at my hands. She finally noticed the loop of tape on the ground.
“It’s okay,” I said, matching the sing-song quality of Christopher’s voice. “We won’t say another word unless you ask us to. We know how hard you work.”
Jessa clamped her mouth shut. God bless that sweet, sweet, beautiful, smart child. Six years old. She’d seen the worst horrors the world could bring. But she was still fighting the only way she knew how.
“That’s better,” Christopher said. “Now eat this meal!”
Did he want us to just stick our heads in the bowls like dogs? Jessa leaned forward, clearly thinking the same thing.
Christopher let out a sigh and threw his napkin to the table. He rose. Pushing himself away from his seat, he nearly toppled the table. The soup sloshed in my bowl, dripping over the side.
“You’ll clean that up!” he yelled. My ears rang from it.
I gripped the edges of my chair as Christopher came around. He picked up the gun and pointed it at me.
“I said, you’ll clean that up!” He grabbed my arm, jerking me forward. He pulled so hard I couldn’t keep my hands clasped behind me. In one terrifying instant, Christopher saw the tape on the ground. His eyes widened.
“You made the mess!” Jessa yelled, drawing Christopher’s attention. She picked up her bowl with her bound hands and threw it across the table. It was just a moment. A split second. Dear God, he raised the gun to point it at her.
I grabbed my bowl and threw it in Christopher’s face. He reared back, temporarily blinded as the hot soup scalded his face.
“Run!” I yelled to Jessa. Instead, she dove beneath the table.
Christopher pulled at me. But his movements were clunky and erratic. He swung the gun wildly. He got one shot off. It ricocheted against the wall. Jessa screamed. I dodged Christopher’s next blow.
It was so heavy. So unwieldy, but it was the only weapon I had. I grabbed the stew pot and threw it at Christopher. Some of the soup spilled over my arms, scalding me too. But I knocked Christopher backward. The gun fell out of his hands and thumped loudly on the ground.
I pressed my advantage and lunged at Christopher. If I could disable him long enough for Jessa to get away again.
“Go!” I screamed. “Out the door! Now!”
I kicked, scratched, bit, flailed for all I was worth as Christopher and I toppled over. He was badly burned, his face already a mass of red welts. But he opened one angry eye. He got his hands on my shoulders and shoved me backward. I slid across the slippery floor, landing up against the wall.
I kicked out, hoping to trip him as Christopher advanced on me. I found the small knife that I’d thrown to the ground. I held it in front of me, ready to impale Christopher on it.
Then a single, deafening shot rang out.
Time froze.
I scrambled to my feet. Jessa sat against the wall, shaking as she held the gun in front of her. Her shot went wide, just grazing the side of Christopher’s already burned face. He gave her an eerie grin.
“Sister is so ungrateful!”
As he made a move for her, I vaulted forward, burying the kitchen knife deep in his belly.
This time, when I yelled for Jessa to run, she did. She dropped the gun and scrambled for the front door.
Chapter 43
Someone I cared about told me this was the man he’d want on the case if a person he loved was murdered. Now I understood why. Detective Brett Carey stood like a stone mountain at the end of my hospital bed.
“You’ll all get your statements,” he said. “And you’ll all come through me. If I find out even one of you talks to that kid without me knowing about it, I’ll fucking end you.”
A detective from Whitefish Bay had just arrived. Two agents from the Ann Arbor field office of the F.B.I. waited just down the hall. Carey turned back to me. His eyes were red-rimmed and full of concern as he shut the door behind him.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I couldn’t help it. This got a smile out of me. “No, you’re not. You were doing your job. And my sister wasn’t doing anything to help herself. As long as you do the right thing now and get her down here, I’m willing to call us square.”
“Working on it,” he said. I reached out, trying to shake his hand. My IV pulled at my arm. I was okay. Just second-degree burns on my arm, the self-inflicted cut on my hand, and a little dehydration. I wasn’t even being admitted.
“His name is Christopher Fielding,” he said. “Up until a year ago, he lived near Albuquerque. His first two murders took place there.”
The police had the family photos he’d displayed. Fourteen murders. There were three other cases in Florida he may also have been responsible for.
“What the hell was he doing in Ann Arbor?” I asked.
“It may take months before we can piece it all together. What we have so far? He worked for Titan Security originally in Little Rock. That’s how he got access to most of these homes. In every case, the homeowners had installed a Titan system within the last two years. Anyway, he got laid off but relocated here six months ago.”
“Is he talking?” I asked.
Carey shook his head. “No. You hit an artery. He lost a hell of a lot of blood and the burns on his face ... some of them are third degree. Doctors are certain he’ll pull through though.”
“I need to be with Jessa now.”
I swung my legs over the bed. They weren’t planning to admit me overnight. Not Jessa either.
“She’s asking for you,” Carey said.
My heart thundered. “She’s still talking?”
Brett Carey’s smile cracked wide. “She won’t shut up. It’s like music. Dr. Spencer’s with her. She was able to give a brief, official statement identifying Fielding as the man who killed her parents.”
