He’d taken Lori and sent her badge to Jess – at the chief of police’s office – by special delivery.
Dread joined the pain and frustration expanding in her chest.
The son of a bitch had started one of his games
here
. . . just for her.
Take a breath and concentrate, Jess.
Burnett ended the call. “The carrier confirmed that a tower in this area was the last location Detective Wells’ cell pinged.” He slid his phone back into the holster at his waist. “Looks like you called this one right out of the gate, Jess. Your instincts may have saved valuable time.”
Jess absorbed the information. She was on the right track. Wells rushed away from her apartment to come here. That confirmation didn’t make Jess feel one bit better about what they would find inside. The chances of Detective Wells’ mother and sister having survived an up close encounter with the Player were vague to nonexistent.
The valuable time she may have saved would prove meaningless in the Player’s grand scheme.
He never left evidence or witnesses or bodies at the scene of an abduction. At least not as far as the Bureau’s research had determined. If anyone was alive in that house, a whole new precedent would be set. He’d already changed his game by targeting Jess rather than a close family member of the victim with that damned package.
That could mean other steps in his sadistic methods had changed.
Please don’t let them be dead.
Jess wanted in that house. . . now. She wanted everyone inside alive. And she wanted to find Detective Wells. . . before he was finished with her.
“What’s taking so long?”
Burnett assessed her with a long, worried look.
“I know. I know,” she said before he could point out the obvious.
No matter that Spears would undoubtedly be long gone from the Wells home, standard operating procedure dictated that they use caution entering the scene. BPD’s Tactical Unit had used the street that ran along behind Overton to approach the house. When the unit was in place, they could move in.
Jess checked the time. Two more minutes, maybe.
The seconds ticked off like hours.
“Let’s gear up.” Burnett opened his door and climbed out.
Anticipation sent her pulse into a rapid fire rhythm as Jess did the same. Her legs were rubbery with fear. She battled it back, had to find and stay in that neutral place. The one that allowed her to function with the highest measure of objectively. . . no emotions and distractions allowed.
Harper was already out and pulling on his Kevlar vest. Burnett passed one to Jess. Despite holding an administrative position, she had to give him credit; the man maintained a preparedness level that surprised her. He carried a veritable “what if” arsenal in his high-end Mercedes. From fire power to evidence collection to tools and first aid supplies.
Old habits died hard, she supposed.
She pulled on the vest and slung her bag over her right shoulder. Not that she could actually say anything about anyone’s enthusiasm in the readiness department. She lugged around a considerable investigator’s arsenal in her bag, including her Glock .40 caliber handgun, which contributed greatly to her lack of good posture.
She and Lori had laughed about the difficulties of being prepared while still looking chic as a female investigator.
Men didn’t have that problem.
Jess listened while Burnett confirmed their communication links were operational, then she followed him and Harper up the steep bank between the Wells’ home and that of the nearest neighbor, using the thick hedges for cover. Members of the tactical unit were now in position and checking the windows in preparation to make an entrance.
The tactical commander gave the order to go through the door. Anticipation roared through Jess.
Finally.
The damned stilettoes slowed her progress. When she’d dressed this morning she had done so with saying goodbyes and driving away in mind. A new job offer with BPD and
this
were nowhere near her radar.
Why couldn’t Spears have followed her until she was out of town, maybe confronted her at a gas station between here and Virginia? Or just have waited for her there?
Because he knew
this
would deliver the most devastating blow.
He thrived on the fear of his victims and he knew this move would prompt that all-too human emotion in both the victim and in Jess.
She could not let him win.
By the time she reached the steps of the split-level home’s front porch, weapon drawn, the tactical team had entered the house.
And Jess understood with complete certainty that she had spent far too much time behind a desk and computer screen. She was seriously out of breath and her calves were aching. Damned shoes.
An eternity elapsed one tiny fragment at a time before the next announcement echoed across the com link.
All clear. Two vics. . . alive.
Relief trembling through her, Jess shoved her weapon back into her bag and rushed through the open front door.
Thank God.
Harper immediately went to Detective Wells’ mother to remove her bindings. The unit commander freed the sister, Terri.
Jess took a mental step back and again attempted to clean away the emotions. She checked the front door. No sign of forced entry which meant the door had been unlocked for Spears and had remained so after his departure. Otherwise a battering ram would have been used by the tactical team.
The large L-shaped living room that flowed into the dining room appeared in order. Two of the dining chairs had been dragged into the middle of the living room and used, along with duct tape, to secure the mother and daughter.
“He took my sister!” the younger woman shouted as soon as she was free. She swiped at her face with the backs of her hands. “He took Lori! You have to find her!” Sobbing, she rushed to her mother.
They hugged, understandably hysterical.
Burnett leaned close to Jess. “I’ll take the sister.”
“The kitchen,” Jess suggested. The sooner they got these two separated, the less likely they were to get duplicated details. Witnesses were far more likely to recall events from their memories if that recollection was not muddled by listening as another retold those same events.
“Mrs. Wells,” Jess said over Harper, who was crouched down in front of the lady attempting to calm her with gentle assurances, “if you’re up to it,” Jess directed a pull-it-together look at Harper, “we have some questions for you.”
“Let’s move to the sofa,” Harper suggested, “where you’ll be more comfortable?”
The mother looked to be late fifties. She was still dressed in her robe and house slippers. The sister had apparently been already dressed and ready to head to work when their unexpected visitor arrived. Harper mentioned that she had a summer job at a local bookstore. The mother worked part time at a daycare center. Both had the same dark hair as Lori, but not the green eyes. Both were distressed at being pulled apart as Burnett ushered the daughter into the kitchen.
When Harper had settled Mrs. Wells on the sofa, Jess turned to him, “Why don’t you get Mrs. Wells a glass of water? And, sergeant. . .”
Harper met Jess’s gaze.
“Take your time.”
Harper didn’t argue, though the protest flashed in his eyes.
Jess sat her bag on the floor and shrugged out of her vest. Most witnesses found police gear intimidating. This was Lori’s mother. . . even if she possessed some familiarity with how police work was conducted, her daughter was missing and she was terrified.
Jess perched on the edge of the sofa and reached for the other woman’s hand. “My name is Jess Harris. I’m going to do everything I can to help find your daughter. I know this is an awful time.” She gave the woman’s trembling hand a squeeze. “But we need your help to figure out how to proceed. Okay?”
Mrs. Wells nodded, then drew in a shuddering breath.
“Let’s start at the beginning,” Jess prompted gently.
“I was fixing breakfast when he knocked at the door.” Mrs. Wells tugged at the lapels of her robe, dragging it tighter around her. “I thought maybe it was Lori dropping by before work.” A trembling smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “She does that sometimes. Especially if she knows I’m making pancakes.”
Jess gave her a reassuring smile. She understood. Pancakes trumped a bagel any day of the week.
There was a peep hole in the door but Mrs. Wells hadn’t checked. Jess didn’t have to confirm that deduction. The woman would feel guilty enough when the full ramifications of her actions had time to set in. No need to add to her burden.
Spears had wanted in. He would have gotten in one way or another.
“You opened the door,” Jess suggested, “but it wasn’t Lori.”
Mrs. Wells nodded, the tears welling again. “He. . . he barged in. He had a gun in his hand. He told me to sit down.” She knotted her fingers into the fabric at her throat. “Terri was still in her room. I prayed she would overhear him and call the police, but she didn’t.” Mrs. Wells gestured toward the hallway on the other side of the room “She came flying in here and he grabbed her. . . oh God.” Her body quaked with remembered terror. “He stuck that gun to her head.”
Mrs. Wells fell apart then and Jess waited patiently for her to collect herself. This was a parent’s worst nightmare come true.
“He told me to call Lori and tell her that her sister hadn’t come home last night. . . and that one of her friends was missing, too.” Again she struggled to compose herself. “Lori said she was on her way.” Tears flowed down her cheeks. “He used that tape then. Bound us up so we couldn’t move. He put the tape over Terri’s mouth.” Her lips trembled. “But he had questions for me while he waited for Lori to get here.”
“What kind of questions?” A chill seeped into Jess’s bones.
Harper waited a few feet away. Jess gave him a nod and he placed the glass of water on the table next to the shaken woman.
“He. . . he wanted to know any nicknames she had as a child.” Her chest shook with a big breath. “Her father called her Lori Doodle. At first I refused to answer him but he poked that gun in Terri’s face and threatened to make me sorry if I didn’t hurry up and answer.”
Harper offered the poor woman a handkerchief. She swabbed her eyes and cheeks.
“Did he have other questions?” Jess asked, encouraging her to go on.
She moistened her lips. “He wanted to know why she’s afraid of heights.” Mrs. Wells shook her head. “I didn’t know what he was talking about.”
Unfortunately, Jess did. “
Is
Lori afraid of heights?”
Mrs. Wells shook her head again, more adamantly. “No.” She laughed, an agonizing, fragile sound. “Why that girl climbed every tree in this yard when she was a kid. That man was a liar. He came in here saying that Lori was terrified of heights back when he knew her.” She moved her head side to side. “I don’t believe he ever knew my Lori.”
Jess tried without success to slow the pounding in her chest. “Did you set him straight, Mrs. Wells?”
She nodded firmly. “I told him that if he ever knew her he would know that Lori isn’t afraid of a thing in this world except water. After she nearly drowned when she was ten she even stopped taking a bath. Only showers. Never a bath.”
Jess held still, waited for the rest.
“He laughed and said something like
oh yes, that’s right
.” Her face creased with fear and misery. “Then he taped up my mouth and waited for Lori to get here.”
The endless possibilities of water sources and how each could be used for torture whirled in Jess’s head. She blinked away the too vivid images. “Mrs. Wells, can you describe the man who did this?”
Harper pulled out his cell and prepared to take notes. Seemed everyone but Jess had moved on from paper and pencil. She liked to take and study her notes the old-fashioned way. Really she just loved the smell of a freshly sharpened pencil and clean, crisp paper.
That such a trivial thought crossed her mind was irrefutable proof that she was on shaky ground.
Spears had her right where he wanted her. . . terrified.
“He was tall, at least six feet.” Her hand shaking, Mrs. Wells gulped a drink of water. “Blondish brown hair.” She shook her head. “Mostly blond, I guess.” She frowned. “I think he had blue eyes.”
Eric Spears’ image formed in Jess’s mind as the lady spoke. “Any distinguishing facial features? Scars? Birth marks?” Spears had none of those. As certain as Jess was that it was him, she couldn’t assume anything.
Mrs. Wells considered her memories for several seconds. “No. He was. . .”
Jess waited, knowing full well what she would say next but determined not to put any words in her mouth or to prompt her in a particular direction.
“He was well dressed. Like some fancy lawyer or something.” Her eyes fixed on Jess’s. “He was a good looking man. Not the sort you expect to do something so horrible.” Her voice faltered on the last.
Her own hand far from steady, Jess reached into her bag and withdrew her cell phone. She brought up the one image she carried of the man whose birth certificate, passport and social security number flagged him as Eric Spears – the one she knew without doubt was the Player – and showed it to Mrs. Wells. “Is this the man?”
Her breath caught. “Yes.” She nodded. “That’s him.”
Jess lowered the phone to her lap. “What happened next?”
Harper grew more and more agitated with each question. He hovered not three feet away. His ability to be objective was as skewed as Jess’s.
“He waited at the door until Lori got here. When she opened it, he hid behind it.” Mrs. Wells shrugged. “I guess she was so stunned when she saw us all bound up that way she just sort of stood there, staring.” The poor woman inhaled a shaky breath. “He walked up behind her and told her to hand over her gun and her cell phone.”
She paused, her face a mask of stark fear, obviously remembering that disturbing moment.
“Lori refused at first, but he warned her that if she didn’t do exactly what he told her that he would kill me and Terri and then her. I wanted to beg him to take me instead, but the tape. . .” She shook her head. “He ignored all the sounds I was making.”