18th Abduction (Women's Murder Club) (17 page)

Anna stopped in the doorway and, without answering, walked back to the side chair and sat down.

Joe swiveled the computer screen so she could see the enlarged photo of the soldiers grouped around the monument at the center of Djoba’s main street. Beyond the monument, scattered bodies lined the road.

Anna looked at the photo, searched from the left side to the right. Her eyes stopped on the image of Petrović, then swung back to the other end of the row.

She reached out a shaking finger.

“That’s him. The man in the Escalade.”

Joe said, “You’re sure?”

Tears sprang from her eyes.

“I’m sure,” she said. “That’s him. I can still smell his stinking breath. He’s a twisted bastard. But I don’t know his name.”

Joe said, “Okay, Anna, okay. I’ll get an ID on him. Not
today, but we have access to the identity papers of these troops. I’m sorry for what I said before. I’m scared for you, understand? Let me walk you to your car.”

“I can find it,” she said.

It was a struggle, but he didn’t say “Stay away from Petrović” as he walked with Anna to the elevator. His office was on the thirteenth floor, and it took long, uncomfortable moments for the elevator car to travel up from the ground floor. During that time Anna stared at the elevator doors and Joe stared at Anna’s profile.

He pictured the cruel episodes in her life as if they had happened to a relative or a dear friend, and it pained him. He was taking this case too personally, and that worried him. Still. He would tell Steinmetz he was assigning a 24/7 tail on Petrović.

The elevator ground upward and lurched to a stop. The doors slid open. Anna stepped in, turned around, and punched the button for the ground floor. She looked up at Joe as he told her he’d call her when he had new information. She thanked him and the doors closed.

Joe walked back to his office and took a good look again at his screen capture.

He paid most attention to the soldier Anna had identified as the man who had confronted her on Fell Street. As she had told him, the man was a regular soldier, not an officer, and he was in uniform—fatigues, the dark-colored beret, smooth-shaven. He had been adjusting his beret, and in this frame his face was blurred.

Joe cued up the thirty-second video of the men posing in front of the monument and cut screenshots every second.
He reviewed his work and found the clearest image of the man Anna had pointed to in the second row.

He printed out the still shot for his file and drew a circle around the unidentified soldier.

And funny thing, the more he looked at this man, the more certain he became that the soldier in the photo was a younger version of the gray-haired man he’d seen with “Tony” in the steak house last week.

This man had been saying something to Petrović. Like, “Yes, I just heard. I’ll take care of her.” Something like that.

Joe had been shocked to see Petrović come out of the kitchen and had focused on him. He hadn’t been listening closely to Grayhair at that time. But in retrospect, the odd phrase had a terrible ring. It could have meant anything; that a payment was due to the hostess or the linen company—or something darker.

Petrović had said to Joe at the time, “Where’s your girlfriend? The one with the bike.”

When Petrović’s sidekick had said, “I’ll take care of her,” had he been referring to Anna?

Petrović had seen Anna on the bike. And he’d seen Anna with Joe when he’d taken Petrović’s photo coming down the steps of the yellow house. But did Petrović also know Anna from raping and burning her in Djoba?

Despite the genocidal rape and crimes against humanity in Bosnia, as far as Joe knew, Petrović hadn’t committed any crime in the USA. But maybe Escalade Man had, and if so, he might have a police record.

Hai Nguyen was likely out for lunch, but Joe attached the
video and the clearest screen capture to an email, marking it
URGENT.

He wrote, “Hai. Serbian soldier in the second row from the bottom, third in from the left. Djoba, Bosnia. I need his name.” He sent the email.

Joe went to the break room for coffee, thinking about that nameless soldier raping Anna. He knew her movements here in San Francisco and had the balls to try to intimidate her. He recognized her. How could he not? Maybe he had ID’d her to Petrović.

And there was Anna, a defiant, unarmed civilian stalking a killer who just might like to put her away for good.

Adele assumed that it was morning because Marko had woken her by pulling her out of the bed by her hair.

“Please. You’re
hurting
me.”

She didn’t actually know what time it was, what day, how long she and Susan had been trapped in this gilded cage. No clocks, no outdoor light, no sense of the rhythms of the day and night. It was maddening, but it wasn’t the worst of their treatment.

Despite the promise of freedom for good behavior, they had been punished repeatedly. Punched. Raped. Criticized and threatened and locked in their rooms without time or sound or hope.

Now she and Susan were in the glossy, peach-colored dressing room, pearly as the interior of a conch shell and lit with the softest of makeup lights. They sat in vanity chairs facing the large, beveled mirror.

Susan was fair, strawberry blond, tall. Adele was dark-haired,
wiry, athletic. They each had been given a wardrobe and a box of cosmetics suited to their hair color and complexion.

Today they were similarly dressed in silk dressing gowns over their matching baby doll pajamas. They’d been instructed to look beautiful. But they’d never been a fraction as terrified in their lives.

The dressing room was situated between their two bedrooms. Beyond the bedroom suite was a large sitting room, thickly carpeted, luxuriously appointed with down-stuffed upholstered furniture, a marble fireplace, and a grand piano.

There were high ceilings and tall windows that were heavily draped. The room’s soft lighting came from torchiere lamps and the sconces on the walls between the bookshelves. The ceilings were decorated with ornate moldings and a chandelier hanging from a gilded plaster medallion.

Adele would never forget the glittering crystal and the fancy plasterwork on the ceiling. She’d stared at it as the men had taken turns on her.

Susan was brushing her hair. She asked, “Adele? Are you all right?”

Adele said, “I can’t take it. I want to kill myself. I wish I could.”

Susan put down the brush and grabbed both of Adele’s hands in hers.

“Del. Listen to me. You can’t let them break you.”

Adele pulled away from her friend and said, “Look.”

She lifted the silk nightgown and showed Susan the large bruises on her breasts, the ones coloring her inner thighs.
Lifting her hair, she touched the raw place where Marko had pulled out a big clump.

Adele said, “He would kill me just for what I’m thinking. You know I’m right.”

She pressed tissues against her eyes. She sobbed for a moment, then blew her nose. “How do you do it?” she asked her friend.

“I tell myself that I’m pulling off the greatest scam,” Susan said softly. “I tell myself that they can hurt my body and my ego, but they can’t crush me. I won’t let them. Adele, can you tell this to yourself? You
must.
”

Adele sighed deeply.

She said, “Sometimes I feel strong. I feel an obligation to live long enough to tell the cops what Tony did to Carly.”

“Yes,” said Susan. “That’s right. We have to do what it takes so we can speak for Carly.”

“Do you really believe we’re getting out?” Adele asked. “They know we will tell. They’re going to kill us no matter what we do. You know that, don’t you?”

“We have to outsmart them, Adele. Wait for an opportunity.”

Adele normally didn’t wear makeup, but she’d watched Susan, taken tips on how to apply eyeliner, and now attempted to draw a line across her eyelid near the lashes. Her hand shook so badly, Susan took the brush away and cleaned Adele’s eyes with a damp cloth.

Then she held Adele’s face in her hands.

“Be still,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

She talked to Adele about how to please the beasts in order to live another day. She suggested phrases, flattering
sex talk, demonstrated moaning and gentle touching. “Use your own words,” she said.

Adele saw that her friend was trying to be brave for her. She asked her, “Susan. What are you thinking? Please tell me the truth, for real.”

Susan put down the eyeliner brush.

She said to Adele, “I’m trying to keep it together. But I can’t stop thinking about whether we’ll get out of here. Thinking that my parents are going crazy with fear. I’m wondering if people are looking for us, and how long we’ve been missing, and when we’re going to get out of here. If.”

She was thinking about that last night of freedom, when they’d left the Bridge, planning to make the short walk back to school. She pitied Carly, wept for her, but she still blamed Carly for getting them into this hell. And she blamed herself for going along with her.

Susan knew Tony, and she knew Marko. They were her drug dealers. But she’d never told her friends that. She couldn’t tell them that she was hooked. She knew Carly was no squeaky-clean rich girl, but Carly didn’t mess with drugs. And Adele? Susan didn’t even know why she hung around with them.

But oh, God. Carly wasn’t the only one to blame for getting them here.

The Monday night when they were leaving the Bridge, Tony and Marko had pulled up to them in the Escalade. Tony had leaned out of the driver-side window and asked Carly for a favor.

“Carly, darling, I was hoping to see you. A big-time restaurant reviewer is coming tomorrow for dinner at my place. Please, Carly,” he said. “All of you girls. I need you to look around with women’s eyes. I have questions about the paintings I bought. I am suddenly unsure of my taste in these things, but there is enough time to exchange them before dinner tomorrow.”

Adele begged off. Susan also didn’t want to go.

She said, “Tony, I’m sure the paintings are fine. The reviewer only cares about the food.”

Tony was persuasive.

He said, “Yes, the food, but also ambiance. I know it’s late, but listen, my chef has made his signature chocolate dessert for you. And the whipped cream on top is a consultant’s fee. You name it. A hundred? Two hundred each. Cash for your time. One hour only. Please?”

Carly said, “Okay, Tony. Sounds like fun,” and her two friends acquiesced. The three of them got into the back seat of the big blue Caddy. Marko leaned over the back seat and served the women cold champagne in crystal flutes.

Susan fell asleep, and when she woke up, she was in a strange room. It took forever to stretch out her hand, to shift her eyes. It was as if she were swimming underwater.

She noticed that the bed was so soft, it seemed to embrace her. But this room was a dark and windowless cell. Her things were gone, her clothes, her phone. She was a prisoner.
She was dressed in a transparent nightgown, and from the soreness between her legs, she realized she had been used for sex.

That first night in captivity, Susan crawled to the foot of the bed, where she could reach the doorknob, but the door was locked. She started to scream.

Tony opened the door, pushed her back onto the bed, and told her that she belonged to him now. And he laid down the rules—all of them cruel, arbitrary, cast in stone—with one promise. Follow the rules and she’d be fine. If not, they would kill her. And not quickly.

He slapped, pinched, and punched her to make his point, and then he took her with force. When he was done, he slapped her bottom, kissed her forehead, and said, “Good night, sweetheart. See you in the morning.”

He left, locking the door behind him.

Susan looked at her friend now. “Adele.”

Adele looked at her, reflecting her fear.

“I’m sorry. So sorry that you’re here. And sorry for me.”

Susan sat with Adele in front of the makeup mirror, thinking back on all that had happened to them, knowing in her heart that Carly had been completely taken in by Tony.

The morning after their abduction, when they were dragged from their beds and brought to the lounge, Carly went wild and fought for her life. She called Tony vile names, threw things at him, and ran to the door. Anyone could see that her attempt to escape was not only hopeless but infuriating the men.

Tony grabbed Carly by the shoulder and punched her in the belly. She crumpled and he dropped her. She gagged and threw up on the rug.

Susan tried to help her, but Tony flung her against the wall. Her head hit the plaster, and she slid down to the floor. She watched as Tony began choking Carly with his large hands, letting her breathe, then choking her again. He let up and Carly gasped and breathed out a long, terrible wheeze.

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking at Susan.

Tony pulled Carly to her feet, dragged her up over his shoulder, and carried her out of the apartment.

Days later Tony showed them the pictures of Carly’s lifeless body, pale and stiff, wearing one of his shirts. She looked like a wax exhibit in a house of horrors.

Tony had meant for Susan and Adele to be so terrified, they’d obey and wouldn’t try to escape. But they knew more now than they had known during those first days.

Susan had played the piano for the beasts several times after the evening meal, and the music relaxed them. It gave her the idea for a fantastic plan. When the time was right, she and Adele would escape.

Sometime soon, maybe tonight while she was playing, Adele would pour the liquor and keep the glasses full. When the beasts were drowsy on food and alcohol, Adele could smuggle the fireplace pokers into the bedrooms and hide them under the mattresses while Susan played on.

Now, in the dressing room, getting ready for breakfast, Susan brushed color onto Adele’s cheeks and painted her mouth with lipstick.

Then she said, “Tell me, Adele. Tell me our plan.”

Adele said, “We’ll get them drunk. When they’re asleep in our beds, we will use the pokers to bash in their heads.”

Susan kissed her friend’s cheek.

“You got it.”

Susan had never even killed a mouse before, but she could picture raising the poker high and bringing it down on Tony’s head.

Could Adele do the same with Marko? She heard footsteps coming toward the dressing room.

The door opened.

Marko said, “Breakfast is served in the lounge, ladies. Now.”

Susan said, “Give us a minute, would you, Marko? We’re not quite ready.”

“I said now. Tony is in the house and he wants you. Comb your hair, Adele. Move.”

The door closed, and Susan said, “We’ll get out. We’ll find a way.”

Adele was shivering, and Susan knew that she was remembering the assault last night in the lounge in front of everyone, the beating, the rape by one, two, and then a third man.

Adele said, “Susan, the only way out is to kill them or kill myself.

“Honest to God. I don’t care which.”