Hello, Darkness (13 page)

“Finish here first.”

He made no move to leave. To her mortification tears came to her eyes. “Go out and close the door.”

He frowned down at her impatiently. “Oh, please. This sudden modesty is absurd. Hurry up before I change my mind and make you wet yourself again.”

When she was finished, she asked again for a drink of water.

“Certainly, Janey. As soon as you change your bed. You’ve left it so nasty. Dreadfully nasty.”

She was dying of thirst, so she submissively exchanged the damp sheets for fresh ones. By the time she had completed the task to his satisfaction, she was exhausted and had broken out in a cold sweat.

He made her sit in the armchair, where he could watch her while he stepped into the kitchen and uncapped a plastic bottle of water. She’d hoped for a glass. She could have broken it and shoved a shard of glass into his throat. If she could’ve found the strength. She was abnormally weak even for someone who’d been lying in bed for hours. Had he drugged her last night? Was he doing so again now? Had he put something in her water?

Actually she didn’t care. She was so thirsty, she drank the water greedily.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes.”

He made a pimiento cheese sandwich, then hand-fed it to her, pinching off small pieces one at a time and placing them in her mouth. She thought about biting his fingers, but that would still leave one of his hands free. She hadn’t forgotten the slap that had made her vision blur and her ears ring. She didn’t want to invite another.

Causing him even momentary pain would give her enormous satisfaction. She would love to sink her teeth into his flesh, draw blood. But in her present condition, it would be impossible to follow that up with a full-fledged attempt to overpower him. The satisfaction she would derive from it would be all too brief and would cost her dearly. Until she could achieve more than just getting him angry and retaliatory, she had best conserve her strength and try to devise a foolproof plan of escape.

When she’d finished the sandwich, he said, “I like you this way, Janey.” He stroked her head and used his fingers to comb the tangles out of her hair. “Your submission is very arousing.” He touched her nipples lightly. “It makes you so desirable.”

He turned away from her only long enough to get his camera. The despised camera. It was the camera that had so intrigued her and made her think he was special. A special pervert, maybe. She hated the sight of that camera now and would like nothing better than to grind it into his face until both his facial bones and the camera had broken apart.

But she was too frightened to resist as he posed her for a series of obscene pictures.

“Get on the bed.”

She considered begging, pleading, promising him money, swearing she’d never tell anyone about this, if only he would let her go. But maybe she would have more bargaining power if she did him one more time.

So she lay down on the bed and did exactly what he told her to do. When he was finished, she didn’t even have the energy to raise her head. He had drugged her. She was sure of it now.

She watched in dread as he opened the nightstand drawer and removed a roll of duct tape. “No,” she whimpered. “Please.”

“I hate having to do this, Janey, but you’re a whore. Your love isn’t pure. You’re dishonest. You can’t be trusted even to remain quiet.”

“I will. I swear.”

That was all he allowed her to say before clamping a strip of tape over her mouth. This time he also used the tape to secure her wrists and ankles to the bed frame, winding it so tightly there was absolutely no give.

He showered before he dressed. Standing beside the bed, he calmly threaded his belt through the loops of his trousers. “Are you crying, Janey? Why? You used to be the ultimate party girl.”

He stuffed the soiled bed linens into a laundry bag and picked up his keys. He was almost to the door when he snapped his fingers and turned back. “I almost forgot. I have a surprise for you.”

He took an audiocassette from the pocket of his jacket and placed it in the player that was built into his sound system. “I recorded this last night. I think you’ll find it interesting.” He pressed the Play button, then blew her a kiss and left. He locked the door from the outside.

There were thirty seconds of silence on the tape, then a ringing telephone. It rang several times before Janey heard a familiar voice say, “This is Paris.”

“Hello, Paris. This is Valentino.”

His name is Valentino?

That was her first thought, because she instantly recognized his voice. It wasn’t his normal speaking voice, but the other one, the one he sometimes used when they were in bed. She had thought it was amusing, the way he could lower the pitch of his natural voice, make it whispery, make it sound as though it went with doing something naughty—as it usually had.

Now, hearing that voice in stereo only gave her chills.

Listening as he told Paris Gibson their story from his perspective, Janey breathed rapidly through her nose, watching the machine in fascination, listening to the recording with an anxiety that soon escalated into terror. When he told Paris Gibson his plans for her, she began screaming into the hollow chamber of her taped mouth.

But of course no one could hear her.

Toni Armstrong arrived at her husband’s dental office just before closing. One of the other dentists in the practice paused on his way out to speak with her. He apologized for not yet having had her and Brad over for dinner. They exchanged promises to get a date on the calendar soon.

Seemingly Brad had no trouble keeping up appearances. She would do the same for as long as she could.

When she walked into the office, the receptionist was surprised to see her. “I got a baby-sitter and thought I’d treat Brad to an unscheduled dinner out,” she explained.

“Oh, golly, Mrs. Armstrong, Dr. Armstrong left a couple of hours ago.”

At least to the other woman, her dismay would look like disappointment. “Oh, well, so much for my surprise evening. Did he tell you where he was going?”

“No, but I’m sure he has his cell phone.”

“I’ll give him a call. Will I be keeping you if I use his office?”

“Not at all. Take your time. I’ve got some filing to do before I leave.”

Since Brad was the newest partner, his was the smallest office, but Toni had done her best to make it attractive. Degrees and diplomas in matching frames formed an attractive arrangement on the wall. Family photographs were tucked among the dental health books on the shelves behind his desk. His desktop was neat.

She hoped the setting was as benign as it appeared.

Sitting down in his desk chair, she commenced her search. All his drawers were locked, but she had anticipated that and had come prepared. A bent bobby pin opened them with minimum effort.

Truthfully, she
had
secured a baby-sitter for tonight. She had taken care with her hair and makeup and had dressed up in the hope of surprising Brad with an evening out—to make amends for this morning.

Throughout the day, their quarrel had haunted her. Brad had left the house angry. She had been hurt as well as angry. Housecleaning, menu planning, and the myriad other chores that filled her days had kept her busy. But nothing could take her mind off their argument and the possibility, however slight, that she might have been wrong.

What if Brad hadn’t been lying about where he’d been last night?

Maybe she had gone looking for trouble where none existed. If he had been telling her the truth, how frustrating it must have been for him to try to make himself believed, knowing that she would think the worst.

Chances were slim that he had attended a seminar and gone for a beer afterward, but in order to hold her family together, she was desperate enough to act on that chance.

So this afternoon, she had hoped to intercept him at the office with a pleasant surprise, an olive branch of a dinner reservation at an Italian restaurant he’d been wanting to try. By spending an evening alone with him, away from the house and kids, with a bottle of wine and lovemaking later on, she had hoped to win his forgiveness for misjudging him and be able to put the ugly episode behind them.

But he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. He had left work early without an explanation and without informing anyone of his destination. It was a familiar pattern, a recognizable signal, that made her heartsick and justified her picking the locks on her husband’s desk drawers.

A few moments later, her suspicion was validated. Inside the lower drawer of his credenza was a treasure trove of pornography.

The printed material ranged from relatively mild to extremely graphic. Some of the crudest pictures, both in subject matter and composition, surely had been taken by amateur photographers.

Brad was an addict. Like all addicts, he was susceptible to bingeing. And it was during a binge that an addict was capable of doing something he or she wouldn’t ordinarily do, like sexually harassing a coworker or fondling a patient who was a minor.

And God only knew what else.

Chapter Twelve

T
here was a wet swimsuit on the utility room floor when Dean passed through it on his way into the house. He found Gavin semi-reclined on the sofa in the den. He was desultorily punching the TV remote, changing stations every ten seconds. He was wearing only a towel around his waist and his hair was wet.

“Hi, Gavin.”

“Hi.”

“Have you been in the pool?”

Without taking his eyes off the television screen, he replied, “No. I just like to sit around in a towel.”

“When you take the wet towel to the utility room, you can also pick up the swimsuit you left on the floor.”

Gavin punched through another few stations.

Dean said, “Shower, then we’ll go eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Shower, then we’ll go eat,” he repeated.

“And if I don’t, are you going to hit me again?”

The look Dean shot him apparently conveyed his shrinking patience. Gavin threw down the remote and stalked from the room. Just before moving through the door, he whipped off the towel, baring his ass to Dean, literally as well as figuratively. In spite of himself, Dean gave Gavin two points for the symbolic gesture.

Without asking Gavin’s preference, he drove to a chain restaurant that was one of their staples. Gavin sulked, responding in monosyllables to Dean’s attempts at conversation.

When their order arrived, Dean asked him if his burger was cooked the way he liked it.

“It’s fine.”

“I apologize for not having more dinners at home.”

“Doesn’t matter. Your cooking sucks.”

Dean smiled. “I can’t argue that. You probably miss your mom’s homemade pasta sauce and pot roast.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“But all you ever seem to want is burgers or pizza anyway.”

Immediately on the defensive, Gavin said, “Something wrong with that?”

“No. I had the same diet when I was your age.”

Gavin snorted as though to say he didn’t realize they had burgers and pizza that far back in ancient history.

Dean tried again. “I saw an old friend today. Do you remember Paris Gibson?”

Gavin looked at him scornfully. “Do you think I’m retarded?”

“It was a long time ago and you were just a boy. I wasn’t sure you would remember her.”

“’Course I do. Her and Jack. They were gonna get married, but he got killed.”

“He didn’t get killed. He survived the accident. He didn’t die until a few months ago.”

“Huh. She’s on the radio here now.”

Dean was surprised. “So you knew that?”

“Everybody knows that. She’s popular.”

“Yeah, I understand she has quite a following. She told me today she’s trying to cultivate a younger audience. Do you ever listen to her program?”

“I have. Not every night. Sometimes.” Gavin dipped a french fry into a glob of ketchup. “Did you call her up, or what?”

“Uh, no. She had a crank call last night from a listener.”

“Seriously?”

“Hmm,” Dean said around a bite of his grilled chicken. “She reported it to the police. I was consulted. She and the detective wanted my take on it.”

“Detective? Was it that bad?”

“Pretty bad.”

He signaled the waitress and asked her to bring Gavin another Coke. For someone who wasn’t hungry, he had wolfed down his cheeseburger in record time. “And bring us an order of queso and chips, too, please.” Gavin would never ask for more, but Dean knew he was probably still hungry.

“I also saw a friend of yours today,” he remarked casually.

“I don’t have any friends here. All my friends are in Houston. Where I used to live. In my own house. Until my mother married that jerk.”

Here we go,
Dean thought. “She had been single for a long time, Gavin.”

“Yeah, ’cause you divorced her.”

“Funny. Last night you said she divorced me. Actually, you’re right on both accounts. We agreed to divorce because we knew it would be best.”

“Whatever,” Gavin said with a bored sigh and turned his head to gaze out the window.

“Don’t you think your mother has a right to be happy?”

“Who could be happy with him?”

Dean wasn’t overly impressed with Pat’s choice either. Her husband was rather bland, so lackluster that one had to work at having a conversation with him. But he seemed besotted with Pat and she with him.

“So what if he doesn’t have a dynamic personality, can’t you just be glad that your mother has found someone she cares about, who also cares for her?”

“I’m glad, I’m glad. I’m ecstatic, okay? Can we drop it now?”

Dean could have reminded him that he’d been the one to bring up the topic, but he let it pass. The waitress came with their additional order.

“Anything else?”

She had addressed Gavin, not him, and for the first time, Dean tried to see his son through a young woman’s eyes. Parental bliss notwithstanding, Gavin was a good-looking kid. His brown hair had the wavy texture of his mother’s and he must secretly like it because—thank God—he hadn’t had it sculpted into a bizarre style or had it dyed a color that glowed in the dark.

His eyes were whiskey colored and slightly brooding. You couldn’t tell it now when he was slouching, but he was already over six feet tall, and had the strong, lean build and supple grace of a natural athlete.

Dean smiled at the waitress. “We’re fine now, thanks.” As she moved away, he said, “She’s cute.”

Gavin glanced at her indifferently. “She’s okay.”

“Cuter than the young woman I met today.” Regarding Gavin closely, he said, “Melissa Hatcher.”

Unmistakably, the name registered. Dean was sure of it. But Gavin played dumb. “Who?”

“She said she knew you.”

“She doesn’t.”

“Then why would she say she did?”

“How should I know? She got the name wrong, or mixed me up with someone else.” He was fiddling with the drinking straw in his glass of Coke, avoiding eye contact.

“I introduced myself to her and after we had talked for a while, she said, ‘You’re Gavin’s dad.’ She knew you.”

“Maybe she’d been warned off me ’cause you’re a cop.”

“You mean, who wants to be friends with a cop’s kid?”

He looked at Dean resentfully. “Something like that.”

“Janey Kemp?”

This time Gavin couldn’t as easily hide his reaction. His expression became guarded instantly. “Who?”

“Janey Kemp. From what I’ve heard about her, she wouldn’t want to be friends with a cop’s kid. Do you know her?”

“I’ve heard of her.”

“What have you heard?”

Gavin scooped up a bite of queso and through a mouthful said, “You know. Stuff.”

“Like what? That she’s wild? Easy?”

“It’s been said.”

“Have you ever met her?”

“I may’ve bumped into her a couple of times.”

“Where?”

“Jeez, what is this? The Spanish Inquisition?”

“No, I’m saving the thumbscrews for later. Right now I’m just curious to know where you’ve bumped into Janey Kemp and her friend Melissa. It must have been enough times that my name meant something to her. Even before that, she recognized me because you and I favor each other.”

Gavin squirmed in his seat, shrugged his shoulders. “They hang out with all those rich, snooty kids. I’ve seen them around, is all. At the movies. The mall. You know.”

“The lake?”

“Which one? Town or Travis?”

“You tell me.”

“I’ve seen ’em a few times, okay? I don’t remember where.”

Dean laughed. “Gavin, don’t bullshit me. If I were your age, and I had met Melissa Hatcher, and she was dressed anything like she was today, I would remember it in minute detail.” He pushed his plate aside and leaned forward. “Tell me what you know about the Sex Club.”

Gavin kept his expression blank, but again his eyes gave him away. “The what?”

“Last night, when you disobeyed and went out, did you go to Lake Travis?”

“Maybe I did. So what?”

“I know that kids congregate in specified spots around the lake. Did you see Janey Kemp among the crowd last night? And before you give me some bullshit answer, you should know that she’s been missing for over twenty-four hours.”

“Missing?”

“She didn’t come home after going out last night. No one’s heard from her. Late this afternoon, just before I left headquarters, patrol officers discovered her car. It was parked near a lake-side picnic area in a clump of cedar trees. No sign of Janey. Apparently she met someone last night and left with that person. Did you see her? Was she with someone?”

Gavin lowered his eyes to his ravaged plate and stared at it for several moments. “I didn’t see her.”

“Gavin,” he said, lowering his voice, “I know the ironclad rule against ratting on your friends. The same rule applied when I was growing up. But this isn’t a matter of loyalty or betrayal. It’s much more serious.

“Please don’t try to protect Janey or anyone else by holding back information. Drinking, drugs, whatever else was going on last night, I’m not interested in right now. If Janey left with the wrong guy, her life could be in jeopardy. With that in mind, are you absolutely certain you didn’t see her?”