Carol Ericson - The Bridge

“That woman had a bump on the back of her head, too. He could’ve hit her and stuffed her in a trunk before he did...other things.”

A frisson of fear tickled her spine, but Elise preferred to concentrate on the anger boiling her blood. “It sure sounds like it could be related. Why is the SFPD hiding these murders? Women have a right to know if they’re being hunted down in the streets.”

“Stop.” Detective Brody crossed his two index fingers, one over the other. “You’ve both made a lot of leaps here. We’re not hiding anything. That murder had a couple of columns in the paper. Maybe you skipped the front page that day.”

Elise sucked in her bottom lip. She didn’t even get the newspaper. She got most of her news from the internet, and she had to admit she didn’t search for murder stories.

“Miss?” The locksmith poked his head around the corner of the hallway. “The garage door’s done. I’m going to start on the front door.”

“Perfect.” Elise opened the door for Jacoby. “I suppose you’re not going to find anything from the evidence you collected. He wouldn’t go to all the trouble of letting himself into my house to scrawl messages and then leave a nice set of his fingerprints.”

“You’re probably right, but I’ll let Sean here know if I find anything out of the ordinary. He’s the man.”

He swung his bag from one shoulder to the other and saluted as he walked to the sidewalk.

Elise stepped away from the door, leaving it open for the locksmith. “What now?”

“I’ll wait for him to finish with your locks, and then I have to go back to the station to write up my report.”

“Do you want to tell me about that other woman? The one dumped by the Presidio?”

“Not really. You don’t want to hear the gory details.”

“How do you know?” Tugging at the hem of her dress, she sat on the arm of the couch. “I’m tougher than I look, you know.”

“I have no doubt about that. Anyone who can escape a killer by wading into the San Francisco Bay is hard as nails.”

“I would’ve done anything to escape him.” She folded her arms across her chest. “So why do you think I can’t handle the details of a murder?”

He rubbed his eye with his knuckle. “Because it’s ugly and sordid. Why invite that into your world when it doesn’t have to be there? There are some images that you can never erase from you mind.”

She gripped her upper arms, digging her nails into her flesh. He should know. Maybe she didn’t want to hear the particulars.

Voices at the door had Elise raising her eyebrows at Brody. He headed across the room first, blocking her view.

The locksmith rose. “This guy’s looking for Ms. Duran. Says he found her stuff.”

Elise’s steps quickened. “Really? My purse?”

A man dressed in running shorts and a sweaty T-shirt held up her small black bag from last night. “I found this on the street, a few blocks up. I looked inside, found your license and knew the address was back this way.”

She moved forward, hands extended. “Thank you.”

“Wait.” Brody handed her a white handkerchief. “In case he left prints.”

As she poked around in the purse, Brody asked, “What time did you find it?”

“Just now. Maybe five minutes ago.” The runner was already backing down the porch.

“Can I get your name and address?”

“Hey, man, I didn’t steal the purse.”

Brody held up a hand with his badge cupped in the palm. “I’m not accusing you of anything, just in case we have further questions.”

Hopping from one foot to the other, the man gave Brody his name and address and then took off at a sprint.

The locksmith pointed his drill at the runner’s retreating form. “Nervous, huh?”

Brody took her arm and steered her back to the kitchen. “Anything missing?”

“Let’s see.” She held up her hand and counted off from the first finger. “My money, my keys, my lipstick.”

“Your lipstick?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the bathroom.

“Different shade, but now that makes two of my lipsticks he’s stolen.”

“Even if he hadn’t kept your keys, you would’ve still had to change your locks since he got a look at your license.”

“I know.” She slipped her cell phone from the bag. “At least he left me my phone.”

She glanced at the display and noticed two text messages blinking. “Do you want something to eat or drink while we’re waiting for the locks?”

“Just some water, please.”

She placed the phone and handkerchief on the kitchen counter and went to the refrigerator to fill a glass with water from the dispenser. She clinked the glass in front of him and swept her phone from the tile.

She opened the first message, which Courtney had sent earlier this morning. One word—breakfast? If Courtney thought she had a lot to tell Elise about last night, Elise definitely had her beat.

She clicked on the next message from an unknown number. Someone had sent her a picture. A wisp of apprehension brushed the back of her neck as she touched the picture to expand it.

The eyes of the girl in the picture mesmerized her, and she felt darkness closing in around her.

Chapter Four

Elise dropped the phone. The corner hit the counter and bounced once before landing facedown. Her body convulsed, and then she began to sway.

“Elise?” He caught her with one arm, supporting her against his chest. He barely felt the pressure from her tiny frame. Was she having some kind of delayed shock or reaction to the hypothermia?

He started to lead her out of the kitchen, but she dug her heels in the floor.

“The phone.” The rasp in her voice made it sound as if she were choking.

“Sit first. I’ll get the phone in a second.” He swept her up in his arms and carried her to the couch. Her dress had hiked up nearly around her waist, exposing an expanse of smooth thigh and a pair of wrinkled black panties.

He settled her on the couch and dragged a colorful afghan across her lap. “What’s on the phone?”

He charged back into the kitchen. Had her abductor sent her a message, too? Good. The better to track him down.

Her teeth chattered. “I-it’s a p-picture.”

Sean snapped on a rubber glove and touched the screen, bringing it to life. He swore at the image—a young woman, bound, her eyes wide and terrified above her gag.

“Do you know her?”

“Wh-what?”

Sean sat beside Elise and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pressing her close against his body. Gradually, her trembling subsided.

He rubbed her arm. “Do you know the woman in the picture?”

She shook her head, and her hair, still stiff from the salt water, scratched his cheek.

“The number. Do you recognize the telephone number?”

“No.” She took a deep breath that caused a shudder to run through her body. “It came up as unknown. He sent that to me, that vile, horrible...” Her words broke off in a sob.

“Shh.” He wrapped his other arm around her so that he enfolded her in a hug, and still the ripples coursed through her.

She tilted her head back and stared into his face. “She’s in the trunk of a car, isn’t she? Just like me.”

“It looks like it. He’s an idiot. He’s allowed his hubris to get the better of him. We’re going to blow up this picture, trace the phone number. He’s just given us a bunch of evidence we didn’t have before.”

“And the girl? Do you think she’s dead?”

Of course she was dead. “I don’t know, Elise. It doesn’t look good.”

“That could’ve been me. That was me, only he didn’t tie me up. Maybe he perfected his technique after I got away.”

“We have no idea when this picture was taken. I don’t think he went out after you escaped this morning and found another woman.”