J.D. Barker - The Fifth to Die - A gripping, page-turner of a crime thriller

The metal prongs of the stun gun bit into her neck, two cold metal teeth followed by a pain so intense, it sliced at every inch of her, a blade cutting from her toes to her fingertips. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and her legs gave out from under her. Lili’s scream died away in an instant as silence enveloped her.

She awoke on the floor, lying atop the quilt. The man was tugging her panties down. He had removed all her other clothes. Lili tried to reach for the edge of the quilt to cover herself, but her arm wouldn’t work. She stared at her fingers, still twitching.

“I didn’t want to shock you. I don’t want to hurt you. Please don’t make me hurt you again,” the man said. “You can have the clothes back when we’re done. It’s better this way, you’ll see.”

Lili understood what would come next, and she tried to mentally prepare herself.

The man wrapped one arm around her back and the other under her knees and lifted her from the ground. Although he appeared sick, he was surprisingly strong. He lifted her over the freezer filled with warm water and gently lowered her inside. Lili was five-two. Her toes brushed the far side as her legs drifted out, flattening. He held her up at the shoulders, keeping her face above the water.

“Warm, isn’t it? Nice.”

The warm water was oddly comforting; it felt like slipping beneath the surface of a pool, allowing the water to hold you as you drift along. Lili noticed the feeling returning to her fingers, her arms, the warmth massaging her limbs back to life.

“Close your eyes, relax,” he said in a soothing tone, his lisp barely catching. Calm. “Take in a deep breath, a nice, long breath.”

Lili did as he said, not because he told her to, but because she wanted to. She allowed her lips to part and pulled in the basement air, allowed it to fill her lungs, a breath like those she learned in yoga class, a cleansing breath, deep and full.

“Now let it out slowly, feel the air leave your body,” he said in a whisper. “Feel every bit of it.”

Lili released the —

The man pushed at her shoulders and plunged her into the water with such force, her head banged on the bottom of the tank. Her legs kicked and her arms flailed. Her fingers caught at the top edge for one brief second before the smooth plastic slipped from her grasp.

Lili could hold her breath for a long time, almost two minutes the last time someone timed her. But that only worked when she filled her lungs with fresh air first, when she was prepared. She hadn’t filled her lungs, she’d emptied them, just as the man asked, and when he pushed her beneath the surface she inhaled instead, her body’s attempt at grasping for air. Instead of air, she gulped down water and immediately coughed, expelling it even before her head hit the bottom, expelling the water only to inhale more. The water filled her throat, her lungs, resulting in a pain so severe, Lili thought she might implode. When she stopped kicking, when she stopped flailing, the pain went away, and for one brief second Lili thought she would be okay, she thought her body had somehow found a way to survive on water, and she went still. She saw the man looking down at her from above with those gray, bloodshot eyes, his mouth agape. He was distorted through the water, but she could see him. Then everything went black, and she saw nothing at all.

12

Clair

Day 2 • 9:13 a.m.

Clair and Sophie Rodriguez pulled up to Lili Davies’s house on South King Drive and parked Clair’s green Honda Civic behind two news vans. Both had their satellite antennae raised, but there was no sign of the reporters or the camera operators.

A light snow filled the air, leaving the sky a hazy white.

“It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here,” Clair said, rubbing her hands together.

“I never understood that expression,” Sophie replied, eyeing the vans.

“Witches get no love.”

“Oh, I know that feeling.”

Clair glanced over at her. “What happened to that guy you were dating, James, John, Joe —”

“Jessie. Jessie Grabber.”

Clair chuckled. “Really, that’s his name? Grabber?”

Sophie rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry. It’s a bit high school to make fun of a name, but come on, Grabber? No sneak attack down at Lover’s Lane with a name like Grabber.”

“Well, he was anything but. I think that was part of the problem. I was hoping for a little something, but he was nothing but a gentleman. All the way on through date number four I got nothing but a peck on the cheek. A girl’s got needs.”

“Like witches.”

Sophie nodded. “Like witches.”

“I’m still not warm.” Clair frowned.

“Me either.”

“Witch tit.”

“Witch tit.” Sophie shivered.

Clair shuffled in her seat, looking up and down the street, then pointed at the graystone beside them. “That’s Lili Davies’s house, right?”

“Yes, 748.”

“And her school is where?”

Sophie pointed out her window. “Four blocks east of here. You can nearly see it.”

The snow shifted from tiny flakes to something a little larger than Clair’s favorite breakfast cereal, and her body gave an involuntary quiver. She zipped her jacket all the way up, wrapped a heavy-knit purple scarf around her neck, and donned a fluffy pink cap. When she turned back to Sophie, the woman had done the same. “You look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.”

Sophie smirked. “You look like Willy Wonka’s long-lost sister.”

“Perfect. Let’s do this.” Clair tugged at the door handle and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The snow was about two inches deep and still coming down, flying at her at an angle. She jogged in place for a second as Sophie rounded the car, her breath leaving a white plume in the air. The two women started walking east on Sixty-Ninth Street, hunched against the snow.

They crossed Vernon Avenue, and Clair stopped, staring ahead. “If I wanted to grab a girl, that seems like a good spot.”

She stared at the dark tunnels one block up where the Skyway crossed over Sixty-Ninth Street, three lanes of traffic running in each direction. At approximately fifteen feet per lane, that meant she was looking at a space about one hundred feet wide with only a small break at the median in the middle. Although three lights burned under each section, they offered little to break up the gloom.

Clair looked up at the sky, searching for the sun. “What time is sunrise?”

Sophie tilted her head, a line appearing between her brows. “About seven or so.”

“So our girl made this walk about two hours earlier in the day, a little after the sun poked out. If it came out at all. This stretch is fairly deserted now, but that may be different closer to school time. Still, though, someone could easily park around here, maybe feign a breakdown, then grab her when she walked by. The tunnel would be my bet; everything else is fairly wide open.”

They had reached the start of the underpass. Sophie pressed a hand to the concrete. “This is a good neighborhood. There’s not a bit of graffiti on these walls and no sign of homeless activity. I can’t imagine someone could stand around very long without getting noticed.”

They followed the sidewalk under the Skyway, their footfalls echoing off the walls. When they came out the other side, Sophie pointed. “There’s her school.”

Wilcox Academy was a private school housed in what appeared to be a repurposed factory or warehouse building. The red brick façade was immaculate. It could have been built a year ago. The parking lot beside it was posted FACULTY ONLY and was full. A public lot sat across the street, most likely utilized by the students.

Clair pulled open the large glass door, and both women stepped inside, a wave of heat wafting out. “This makes me want to hop back in the car and drive straight to Florida.”