Brian Freeman - Goodbye to the Dead (Jonathan Stride Book 7)

‘The ring was in his house,’ she insisted. ‘That’s where I got it.’

‘What about the other jewelry I talked about? The earrings, necklace, brooch. Did you see any of those other pieces in the house?’

She shook her head. ‘I only had the ring.’

‘And the gun?’

‘I never saw a gun! I didn’t!’

Stride believed her. There were still secrets in Cat’s eyes, but he didn’t think she was lying about the gun. ‘This is important, Cat. Did Al ever say anything about this woman who was killed? Kelly Hauswirth?’

‘No!’

‘Did you ever have reason to think that he could be involved in criminal activity?’

‘No, no, that’s not him! He’s not a bad person.’

‘Cat, listen,’ Stride told her. ‘We think someone was trying to kidnap Kelly Hauswirth when she was killed. Possibly to sell her as a human slave. That’s as terrifying and cruel as it sounds. Someone in Duluth was making that happen, and whoever it is had access to that gun.’

‘He would never do anything like that.’

‘There’s another girl missing right now, Cat,’ he went on. ‘Her name is Erin. We need to find her. So please, think. Is there anything Al said — anything he did — that would help us find this girl? Do you know where she might be?’

Cat wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him. ‘No. I swear, Stride, there’s nothing. I don’t know anything about a missing girl.’

It was morning, but Erin had no way of knowing what morning it was. Her world was black.

Every movement of her body brought pain now. Her skin was blistered where she’d struggled fruitlessly against her bonds. Cuts had scabbed over and broken again on her face. Her muscles, once so supple and strong from her visits to the gym, had balled into knots, like shoelaces tied so tightly they couldn’t be undone. She knew she had a urinary tract infection. Peeing brought a knifing sting.

Twice a day, the voice came back. The door would be unlocked and locked again, but the darkness was unrelenting. She was given food and a chance to relieve herself, with a knife at her throat and her limbs tied. Most days, she couldn’t hold it until then, so she found herself doused with a bucket of cold water to fight the smell. Even in the heat, she shivered so hard that she thought her bones would break.

She’d screamed once when the gag was removed. As she did, she found herself choked, every atom of air cut off until her limbs twitched, while the voice hissed obscenities in her ear. She didn’t scream again. She became docile, learning the routine, living by it.

Eventually, the animals at the zoo understand there is no way out.

One time, she’d murmured: ‘Why?’

She got no answer.

Another time — maybe it was yesterday, whatever yesterday was — she’d said: ‘When?’

Because she knew this was the beginning, not the end.

This time the voice told her: ‘Soon.’

Above her head, a summer rain began. It was still summer; the heat and drenching humidity told her that. She could smell the freshness of the rain from outside, and she could hear its drumbeat assaulting the roof. A squall, loud and sustained. She couldn’t see lightning through her blindness, but a growl of thunder made her prison tremble. It sounded like a devil’s throaty laughter.

Hammering raindrops squeezed through the roof. Drips leaked on her face, and she grabbed for them with her dry, swollen tongue. She heard a toneless plink-plink, too, water making music on metal. The change in pitch among the falling water told her there was something large inside the room with her, and she knew instinctively what it was. Her car was hidden with her. Her Barney-purple Nissan Versa. No one would find it. No one would find her .

In the beginning, she’d prayed for Matt to find her. Mattie_1987. Her confidant, her friend, her lover. When he arrived at the bar and found she wasn’t there, he’d spread the alarm throughout Duluth and call the police. He’d pass her photo from hand to hand. Strange how long it had taken the truth to sink into her brain. Even when it was obvious, she’d refused to believe it. There was no Matt. He was a figment of her imagination. An online fantasy. She’d been lured and trapped here by the voice.

What bothered her more than anything was how easy it had been to be tricked. She felt like the perfect fool. Growing up, she’d thought girls were naive to fall for scams. She couldn’t understand how women could believe the same tired lines from guys in bars. And now she’d allowed herself to fall in love with a lie. To be drawn into something far worse than a one-night stand.

More thunder. The devil chuckled at the joke. No one’s coming for you, Erin.

She had tried to escape, but the steel of handcuffs and chains was insurmountable. She’d screamed and struggled, achieving nothing. She’d cried. Wept. Prayed. God didn’t answer and left her in hell. When the gag came off twice a day, she’d beg for mercy and bargain with the voice. Let me go. Please. I’ll do anything. What do you want?

That was all buried somewhere in the past. Her tears had dried long ago. She’d realized that the darkness was a grieving process; struggling, protesting, challenging — and finally accepting the reality. Her life was over. What was left to her wasn’t life at all. She’d felt herself going dead inside as the darkness continued, until she felt nothing at all.

Erin had a choice. Early on, she’d known that the choice was available to her. The last choice. When she explored the tiny universe allowed by her chains, she discovered that she was affixed to a heavy steel table. It was immovable. Bags of sand or concrete had been laid on top of it. The table was weighted, as heavy as her car, imprisoning her where she was.

However, the metal corner of the table above her head came to a sharp point. It was jagged, hooked, like the end of a dentist’s pick. The jab of metal was useless against the steel holding her in place, but that wasn’t what she needed it for. God had given her a way out of this hell, if she had the courage to use it.

The rain kept on, as hard as ever, but the thunder quieted. It was as if the devil knew what she was going to do.

Erin twisted her body, pushing herself onto her knees in the dirt, until she could nudge her chin over the smooth cold tabletop. She smelled the concrete dust, but she took a breath anyway, savoring it. Funny how you took life for granted. Breathe in, breathe out. She slid her face leftward, hunting for the prickly corner, like the needle of a cactus. It bit into her neck. Her salvation. Metal couldn’t penetrate metal, but it could penetrate flesh.

Home squirmed into her brain. Her apartment in Grand Forks. Good days. Swimming in the river. Red wine on Saturday nights. She couldn’t let those thoughts control her. Home didn’t exist. That life — her life — didn’t exist anymore. She pressed against the point of the table, which bit harder. Her body wanted to jerk away, but she didn’t let it.

The little claw took hold of her neck. Erin slung her head in a single sharp pivot. The pick held, and ripped, and tore. Pain awakened her, but pain was a friend. Rain leaked onto her body, warming her skin, but she knew with a wild sense of freedom that the rain had stopped.

This was blood.

This was escape.

Bernd Frisch didn’t smile at the coast guard officer. Smiling was what guilty people did. He wasn’t concerned by the search of the boat or the extra security. His fake Dutch passport would come through the computer databases as clean as spring rain. The entire crew had cleared customs inspections over and over, and today would be no different.

He answered questions. Politely. Offering nothing but facts. Where the ship had been. Where they had docked. What they loaded and unloaded. The voyage of the Ingersstrom was routine.