Bone Cold (32 page)

Wednesday, February 7
12:45 p.m.

A
nna hung up the phone, grabbed her purse and ran for the door. She didn't consider not complying with Kurt's demands, even though she knew he intended to kill her. She was trading her own life for Jaye's. It was a trade she was willing to make.

This was her nightmare, not Jaye's.

She had come full circle.

Anna glanced at her watch. She didn't have much time. Kurt had given her a mere twenty minutes to arrive at her first stop—a pay phone at the Shell service station just off the I-10 West expressway in Metairie. If she was late, he'd warned, Jaye would pay the price.

A finger. Her right pinkie first. He had arranged ten stops, all tightly timed. One for each of her friend's fingers.

She wouldn't be late, Anna vowed. She would not.

Anna exited her apartment. When she paused to lock the door, a hysterical laugh bubbled to her lips. What
did it matter if she was robbed? She would most likely be dead in a matter of hours anyway.

Leaving the door unlocked, she raced for the stairs, running down them, aware of every moment that passed. At the bottom of the stairs she ran headlong into Bill. Her friend caught her arms to steady her.

“Hey, Anna, where's the fire?”

“Let me go!” She wrenched herself free. “I've got to go!”

“Wait!” Bill grabbed her arms again, expression alarmed. “My God, Anna, what's wrong? What's happen—”

“Please…Jaye needs me. I can't be late… He'll hurt her if I don't…he'll kill her!”

The blood drained from her friend's face. “I'm calling the police.”

This time it was she who held him fast. “No! Please, you mustn't. He'll kill her. Promise me you won't.”

“I can't. I—”

“I'll be all right. Please, for Jaye.”

He looked terrified. “Okay, Anna. I promise I—”

“Thank you.” She stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Tell Dalton I said goodbye.”

Wednesday, February 7
12:50 p.m.

Q
uentin stared down at Louise Walker's face, frozen in death. She appeared to have been smothered. Judging by her fixed lividity and the stage of rigor mortis, she had been dead six to eight hours. That meant she had been murdered sometime the night before. The nurses hadn't discovered she'd passed until after breakfast, assuming at first that the woman had simply decided to sleep in. When they realized she was gone, they'd thought she'd died in her sleep, the victim of a quiet heart attack.

The blood and other debris under her fingernails suggested otherwise.

“He likely used one of her bed pillows,” Quentin murmured, straightening. “She tried to claw herself free. Judging by the amount of matter under her fingernails, he's going to be pretty torn up.”

He swung to face the first officer. “Make sure the evidence collection guys get scrapings from both hands. I want them taken here and back at the lab.”

Quentin turned to the two nurses, huddling just inside
the doorway. One had been on duty the night before, the other was the one who had discovered Louise dead this morning. “Have you notified her son?” he asked.

The morning-shift nurse answered. “We tried. We…I called and left messages at his home and office.”

Quentin nodded. He didn't expect Ben Walker would be returning any of those calls, but he didn't say that. Right now, a crime scene crew was at the doctor's place, sifting through the destruction, looking for evidence.

“Who could have done this?” the night nurse cried. “How did they get in and why…her? She was just a sweet old lady.”

Why her? Somebody was cleaning up loose ends. Louise Walker had been one of those ends.

“We'll find that out, I promise you. Did Mrs. Walker have any unexpected visitors last night?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Was there anyone suspicious in the facility? Anyone you didn't recognize from previous visits?”

The night nurse shook her head again. “No, no one like that. It was a quiet night.”

Quentin frowned. “No visitors at all?”

The nurse hesitated. “Her son was in, of course. But no one else.”

The hair on the back of Quentin's neck prickled. “Ben Walker was in? What time?”

“It was late. Well past visiting hours, but I let him in anyway. He was here for several hours and left after his mother had fallen asleep.”

That would mean Ben Walker had been the last person to see his mother alive. Son-of-a-bitch.

The blood began to pound in his head. He thought
suddenly of the photo of Anna and Ben at the Café du Monde. “Are you certain it was her son?”

The nurse flushed. “Yes, of cour…well, I think so. He was acting strangely, not like himself, but I figured he'd had a bad day. Nobody's perky all the time.”

Quentin frowned, surprised by her answer. Confused by it. He had thrown out the question, expecting her to vehemently insist the man had been Ben Walker.

But she hadn't. So either Adam looked enough liked Ben to be mistaken for him or they were one and the same person.

He struggled to put the pieces together, to make them fit. What had Louise Walker said the other night? She had called Adam “The bad one. The devil himself.”

“I'd like to see the guest registry now please.”

While the one nurse hurried to get it, Quentin continued to question the other nurse. “Do you know, did Louise Walker have another son?”

The woman frowned. “Not that I know of. She never mentioned one and the only pictures of her family I ever saw were of her Ben.”

The nurse returned. She handed him the registry, open to the previous evening. Quentin found Ben's name, then flipped back in the book until he found the doctor's name again.

The signatures didn't match.

Mother of God, that was it.

Quentin started toward the door, eyes on the other officer. “Get Captain O'Shay on the phone now, fill her in. And I need Detectives Johnson and Walden down here, ASAP. I'll be available by cell and beeper.”

The officer frowned. “But where should I tell them you've—”

“Anna North's apartment. This guy's taking care of
loose ends before starting the main event. And my guess is Louise Walker was his last one.”

 

Six minutes later, Quentin screeched to a stop in front of Anna's apartment building. In those six minutes, he had tried to call her a dozen times. He had tried her apartment and The Perfect Rose; he had gotten a recording at both numbers.

He refused to speculate as to what that might mean. If he did, he might lose it. And he couldn't afford that, not now.

He jumped out of the Bronco and headed for her apartment at a dead run, weapon out.

“Detective!”

Quentin swung in the direction of the call. Alphonse Badeaux was hurrying across the street, frantically waving his arms. Mr. Bingle loped along beside him.

Quentin holstered his gun, then waved him back. “Alphonse, I don't have time—”

“It's about Miss Anna! I'm afraid something bad's happened to her.” He cleared the sidewalk. “That man was here this morning! I saw him and didn't…I should have done something. I should have warned her.”

“What man? Who was here?”

He struggled to catch his breath. “The one who looks like Doc Walker.”

Quentin focused his full attention on the other man. “What do you mean ‘looks like Doc Walker'?”

“He's been here before. At first I thought it was Anna's friend, the doctor. But today I got a good look at him. He'd gone into the building so I moseyed over for a chat, you know. Was going to tell him that Miss Anna had gone to the Farmer's Market.

“Met him on the steps. Right there.” He pointed. “He
just looked at me. Made me feel real cold. Chilled to the bone, you know what I mean?”

Quentin swallowed hard. He did know. And he couldn't contemplate that Anna might be with him.

Quentin glanced at Anna's apartment, then back at the old man, impatience pulling at him. “Go on.”

“He had these…gouges on the back of his hands. Real nasty-looking. You know, like someone or something had—”

“Clawed him?”

The man nodded. “Something's not right with that one. His eyes…they were flat.”

“But it wasn't Ben Walker?” he asked. “You're sure?”

The man's expression clouded. “I wouldn't be but…it couldn't have been him. Bingle liked the doc, but this one…he wouldn't come near him. Growled, real deep, and hung back. Like that man was a devil or somethin' else. Somethin' real bad.”

After advising Alphonse to go home and stay inside, Quentin entered Anna's building. He made his way up the stairs to her apartment, weapon out and ready. His heart stopped when he saw her door was cracked open.

“Anna!” he called, nudging the door the rest of the way open with the barrel of his gun. “Anna, it's Quentin.”

A shuffling sound came from the kitchen and Quentin pivoted in the direction. “Come out where I can see you with your hands up! I have a weapon and I will use it.”

Dalton and Bill appeared in the kitchen doorway, hands above their heads. “Don't shoot!” they cried in unison. “It's only us.”

“Where is she? Where's Anna?”

“We tried to call—”

“They said you were out. We didn't know what to do!”

“I saw her earlier today, I was distracted…” Dalton wrung his hands. “Bill and I had argued, but still, she seemed fine…and now she's…gone. Bill tried to stop her, but he couldn't.”

“Gone?” Quentin repeated, going cold with dread. He holstered his gun. “Gone where?”

“I don't know!” Bill cried. “She was talking crazy…she said Jaye was in danger. That he would hurt Jaye if she didn't go. That he would kill her. She had to do exactly what he said, she made me promise not to call you.”

“He did anyway,” Dalton inserted. “I convinced him he had to.”

He was too late. Dear God, he was too late.

“She left her apartment unlocked.” Bill's voice shook. “We shouldn't have come in but…”

Dalton took over. “There's something you've…he left her another finger, Detective Malone. But this one, it looks real.”

It was.

Quentin studied the severed appendage, mouth dry, heart fast. It was a woman's pinkie, most probably it had belonged to Jessica Jackson. It was in a partial state of decomposition, decomposition that had been slowed by immersion in formaldehyde.

He brought the heels of his hands to his eyes. Bill had described Anna as nearly hysterical. She had to go, she'd said. She had to do exactly as “he” said or Jaye would be killed.

The bastard was using Jaye as a way to lure Anna into
his trap. He had known that to save Jaye, Anna would do anything he asked.

It had all been one big game.

Quentin dropped his hands. What did he do now? How did he find her? He had talked to his captain; evidence teams had been sent to the nursing home, Ben Walker's home and office and were on the way here. He had called in the last number registered on Anna's caller ID and was awaiting word on that.

He fisted his fingers. It wasn't enough. Every minute that passed brought her closer to a madman.

His cell phone rang. He snapped it open. It was Johnson. “What do you have?”

“Phone number's registered to one Adam Furst.”

“Got an address?”

They did. It was the Madisonville apartment that he and Anna had visited. “No good. Been there. He vacated weeks ago.”

“I've got more, Malone. Talked to the Atlanta PD. Seems early last year in separate incidents, two women turned up dead after nights out on the town. Both were raped, then smothered. No arrests, no suspects.”

“And both were redheads.”

“You got it. And guess who lived in Atlanta during that time?”

“Dr. Benjamin Walker.”

“Bingo.”

Quentin frowned.
Who were they dealing with? One person or look-alikes?
“Johnson, check something out for me. That photo of Ben Walker and Anna North at the Café du Monde, see if you can get somebody in the know to verify its authenticity for me.”

“Sure. What're you thinking?”

“That it would have been difficult for Ben to have
photographed himself with Anna. We might be dealing with a look-alike.”

“A good-twin, bad-twin scenario?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“I'll get right on it. Here's Captain O'Shay.”

His aunt came on the line. She sounded excited. “Call just came in for you. A kid, she was sobbing. Said it was an emergency. Said you had to help. That ‘he' was going to hurt Anna and Jaye. Made me promise to get this message to you.”

Quentin tightened his grip on the phone, fighting the panic that had him by the throat. “She give you a name?”

“Name was Minnie. Sound familiar?”

She knew it did. “Where was she?”

“A service station and marina. She didn't know where, but she gave us the pay phone number. She's in Manchac, Malone.”

“Manchac, Louisiana? The fishing village up toward Hammond?”

“The very one.”

He looked at his watch, mentally calculating Anna's arrival time and what his own would be. He swore and started for the door. “Any idea what the land-speed record is to Manchac from the French Quarter?”

“No clue. But break it anyway, Malone.”

Wednesday, February 7
3:15 p.m.

A
fter stopping at a half-dozen locations to receive further instructions from Kurt, Anna arrived at her final destination—a fishing camp located in Manchac, a small community an hour north of New Orleans. Situated on Lake Maurepas and surrounded by swamps, the area was home to shrimpers, fishermen and a number of rustic hunting and fishing camps.

As directed, Anna had parked her car at the end of the unmarked dirt road about a mile past the only sign of civilization for miles, Smiley's service station and full-service marina. Also as instructed, she had left the keys in it and started up the road on foot.

Up ahead, through the dense cover of cypress and oak trees, she could just glimpse a building.

A quiver of uncertainty moved through her.
This was it. The end of the line.

After twenty-three years, she was about to come face-to-face with her past.

Anna glanced behind her and saw that her car was no
longer visible. She let out a long breath, allowing herself her first moment of pure terror since telling Bill goodbye. And her last, she promised herself. Anna rubbed her damp palms against her thighs. Kurt wanted her to be afraid. He wanted her terrified and begging for mercy. She was here to save Jaye, but she would not give him the pleasure of watching her fall apart.

She scanned her surroundings. The road had been carved out of the swamp. Other than by water, it provided the only way in or out. She suspected that up ahead lay more of the same. Step off the road and within moments she would be knee deep in snakes, alligators and God only knew what else.

She shuddered and rubbed her arms. Was she doing the right thing? He had wanted her alone and helpless, with no avenue for escape. He had promised to free Jaye, but what guarantee did she have that he would keep his word?

She understood suddenly some of the agony of indecision her parents must have suffered. Their response to Kurt's demands hadn't been about the money, she realized. It had been about not knowing which way offered their daughter the greater chance of survival.

The truth of that took her breath. She felt a small, wounded part of herself begin to heal. The truth was, she had always wondered if the money had been more important to them than she.

Anna swallowed her hesitation. She had lived the consequences of noncompliance. Timmy had died. She believed Kurt when he said he would take each of Jaye's fingers, then her life.

This avenue offered Jaye her best chance of survival.

She had to take it.

Heart pounding, Anna made her way up the driveway. Shells crunched beneath her feet, insects buzzed in her ears and a bird screamed overhead. Too soon the structure appeared before her. Like most of the camps built in and along the south Louisiana swamps and bayous, this one had been built on pilings to accommodate the ebb and flow of water. It was crude, little more than a shanty, with a makeshift front porch and screens for windows.

Taking a deep breath, Anna climbed the rickety front steps and crossed to the door. Unlatched, she pushed it cautiously open. The room was empty save for a large cardboard box at its center.

A coffin-shaped box.
Dear God, no.
Anna brought a hand to her mouth to hold back her whimper of fear. She took one halting step forward, then another.

She reached the box. Whispering a prayer, Anna worked open one of the top flaps, then another. She peered inside.

A cry spilled off her lips. Jaye was folded up inside the box, gagged, hands and feet bound. “Jaye,” she whispered. Her friend didn't move. Anna bent and touched her. She was warm, her skin soft, pliant. Her chest moved in and out with her shallow breathing.

She was alive. Thank God.

The girl shifted suddenly, the movement slight. It was accompanied by a muffled sound, like a moan.

“Jaye,” Anna said again, shaking her. “Wake up. Please. We've got to go.”

Her friend opened her eyes. For one moment, she stared at Anna, her gaze dark with terror. A moment later the fear disappeared and her eyes filled with tears.

Anna's lips lifted, her own eyes brimming. “I've
got to get you out of here,” she said softly, voice thick. “Come on, we can do it together.”

Anna managed to get Jaye to her feet. She freed her hands, then feet. Jaye ripped off her gag, then fell sobbing into Anna's arms.

“I didn't think I'd ever see you again!” she cried. “It was so awful. I was so scared.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Anna held her friend close. She stroked her hair and back, hungry to reassure herself that she was unharmed. “I was so frightened for you. I knew you didn't run away. I knew it.”

“Are the police here? Did they get—”

“No police. Just me.”

Jaye's eyes widened. “But they…got him. Right? They—”

“No.” Anna caught her friend's hands, squeezing them tightly. “He told me he would kill you if I didn't come. He said he would kill you if I contacted the police.”

“No.” A moan slipped past Jaye's lips. “He's not going to let us escape. He hates you, Anna. I don't know why, but—”

“I do. It's the man who kidnapped me twenty-three years ago. He intends to finish what he started.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I'm so sorry I got you into this. But I'm going to get you out, I promise.”

She tugged on Jaye's hand. “My car's about a mile up the road. There's a service station just beyond that. We can make it, Jaye. We can.”

“Not without Minnie. I can't leave her.”

“Where is she?”

“I don't know. I thought… We haven't spoken since the night he moved us.”

“Let's look. If she's here, we'll find her.”

But they didn't. A search of the cabin's other two
rooms revealed no sign that the other girl had ever been there.

Jaye started to cry. “What's he done with her? I can't go without her, Anna. I won't!”

From somewhere behind the cabin came the sound of an outboard motor. Anna caught Jaye's shoulders, forcing her to look her in the eyes. “She wasn't a part of this, Jaye. Not really. He wanted me. He needed you to get to me. But Minnie's been with him a long time. He's hidden her somewhere, but she's safe. If we can get to the police, they'll find her. Please,” she finished, tightening her grip, the sound of the motor drawing closer, “we have to go. We can't help her if we don't get the police.”

The rumble of the motor stopped abruptly. A moment later, Anna heard the sound of feet pounding on the dock. She grabbed Jaye's hand and they sprinted for the door. They ran through it and down the stairs.

Jaye was having trouble keeping up. She stumbled once, then again. Anna caught her arm, steadying her.

A high, thin scream broke the silence. Jaye stopped and swung back toward the cabin. “Minnie? Minnie!”

“Run, Jaye!” a girl shouted. “Don't stop! Run for the road, the police will come. I called them, I—”

The girl's words ended abruptly, as if she had been forcibly silenced. A cry of denial ripped past Jaye's lips and she started for the cabin.

Anna grabbed her arm, stopping her. “Jaye, no! You can't—”

“I can't leave her!” Her friend wrenched her arm free. “I won't!”

She started to run. Anna caught her easily. “I'll go back. Not you, Jaye. Go for the road—”

“But I promised I wouldn't leave her!” Tears streamed
down her friend's cheeks. “We promised each other we wouldn't let him—”

“I'll go. I won't let him hurt her.” She shook her friend. “It's me he wants, not you. Get the police, Jaye. It's the only way.”

Jaye hesitated a moment more, then nodded. Anna hugged her, eyes flooding with tears. “I love you, Jaye. Be careful. Promise.”

She hugged her back. “I promise. You, too.”

Anna had to force herself to let go, to take a step back. “Go,” she said, giving Jaye a gentle nudge. “Get the police.”

They parted. Anna took one last glance over her shoulder, then hurried toward the cabin. A prayer played repeatedly in her head. That Jaye escaped. For Minnie's safety. That she could find the strength to do this.

Dear God, she was afraid.

Heart in her throat, she climbed the stairs, her every instinct warning her to flee. To join Jaye at the road.

She couldn't do that. She couldn't leave Minnie alone. She had promised Jaye; she knew what it was to be alone and at the mercy of a madman.

Anna reached the door and pushed it open. She stepped inside. She saw that the room was empty and took another step in.

The door snapped shut behind her.

“Hello, Harlow. Welcome to your nightmare.”

She whirled around. A sound of shock, of disbelief, slipped past her lips. She had expected to see Kurt standing behind her.

Instead, she came face-to-face with Ben. And he had a gun.

She shook her head. It couldn't be. Not Ben. Not sweet, funny Ben.

He trained the gun on her chest. “I see by your expression that you expected someone else. Someone named Kurt.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but found she couldn't and closed it again.

“I suppose a formal introduction is in order.” He smiled, the curving of his lips obscene. “Adam Furst, at your service.”

She fought to get a grip on her fear, on her disbelief. She found her voice, though it trembled when she spoke. “All along…everything…it was you, Ben?”

“Ben? That wimp? That…
nothing?
” He made a sound of disgust. “‘I love you, Anna,'” he mocked the other man. “‘Please don't tell me it's over.' He makes me sick.”

Anna wetted her lips, dropping her gaze to the gun, then returning it to his. She could see the difference in the two men, now that she looked closely. Adam's features were harder than Ben's, his eyes colder. He held himself differently as well. This was an aggressive man. An angry one.

“You and Ben, you're…twins?”

His mouth thinned with fury. “Stupid bitch, don't make that mistake again. I'm no part of Ben. We're nothing alike. Nothing!”

She took a step backward. “Where's Minnie? What have you done with her?”

At the mention of the girl, his expression changed from one of fury to self-satisfaction. “Our little Minnie's a pain in my ass most of the time, but she certainly came in handy. Did you like her letters?”

“You made her write them.”

“Yes.”

“You sent the tapes to my family and friends. You kidnapped Jaye. You…killed those other women.”

“Yes and yes. Ingenious, I know.”

He was so proud of himself.
“Not ingenious. Sick.” She curved her hands into fists. “You're sick and evil. I feel sorry for you.”

Furious color flooded his face. Whatever button she had pushed was a hot one. Fear shot through her, and she took another step back.

“He said that. The bastard. He's dead now.”

“So kill me.” She forced the fear out of her voice. “Get it over with.”

The breath shuddered past his lips. “A quick death? I don't think so, Harlow. That wouldn't be good enough for you.”

“You want me to suffer. To be afraid.”

“That's right.” He took a step toward her, expression twisted with hate. “And I want you to keep suffering. Before it's over, I want you to wish you were dead. The way I wished it.”

The door behind him eased open.
The police. Jaye had gotten through.
Anna struggled to keep her gaze trained on him; if she didn't, if she let the hope show on her face, she would give them away.

“But why?” she asked, inching backward again. “Why do you hate me so much? What have I ever done to you?”

“Bitch! Betrayer!” The words exploded from him. “You have no idea what real fear is. Real fear is lying in bed at night and waiting for him to come. Because you know he will. He always does. But for what? That's the question. Sometimes it's to inflict physical pain. Other times it's for sex. Sometimes he simply comes for your tears. For your pleas for mercy. It's a game, you see. Our
pain and humiliation is his pleasure. The greater ours, the greater his.”

Anna brought a hand to her mouth, sickened by what this man had been forced to endure, most probably as a young child. “I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I am. But I don't know what this has to do with—”

“I took that for him,” he went on as if she hadn't spoken. “For all of them. Because of you. You and that old bitch—”

Behind him, the door flew open.

Not the police, Anna realized, a cry ripping past her lips. Jaye. She hadn't run, she hadn't gone for help.

The girl leaped at Adam's back, attaching herself to him, digging her nails into his shoulders. He howled and stumbled, the gun slipped from his grasp. It hit the floor.

Anna dived for it; he kicked it beyond her grasp. He swung sideways, freeing himself of Jaye. She careened backward, slamming into the wall, her head snapping back against it.

“Jaye!” Anna cried, swinging toward her friend. “No!”

“I'm oka— The gun!”

Anna scrambled for it. Too late, Adam got it first. He curved his hands around the grip, rolled then leaped to his feet, the weapon aimed at Anna.

Jaye launched herself at him once more. “What have you done with Minnie!” she screamed. “If you've hurt her, I'll—”

This time, she didn't get ahold of him. He caught her easily, pinning her to his chest. She fought like a tiger, kicking and cursing him. “If you've hurt her, I'll kill you! I swear I will.”

Adam laughed. “I see that,” he murmured. “I'm really scared.”

“Minnie!” she screamed. “Minnie, where are you!”

Suddenly, Adam released Jaye. A violent shudder racked his body; he looked away, then back. Anna caught her breath. His face was changed, softer-looking, more open and younger. He curled his arms around his middle, hunching into himself, as if trying to make himself as small as possible.