Gone (45 page)

They returned to Jake’s vehicle and drove to Lowney’s store. The store was in darkness and Lowney’s car was nowhere in sight. Jake drove back to Lowney’s house.

“Where are you, you son of a bitch?” Jake murmured. He wanted to get inside and had to quell the urge to break down the door and charge in. He had to make sure the search, and the subsequent arrest, were legal. He turned to Stan. “Call the judge.”

While Stan arranged for the warrant, Jake called the Columbia field office. He needed help to conduct a search for Lowney and an evidence team to be dispatched to go over Lowney’s residence and business. His next call was to Petty. He needed to let the sheriff know that an operation was going down in his town.

The sheriff answered with a groggy, “ ‘Lo.”

“Oz. Jake Sutton. A team of agents are enroute to Farley. We’re picking up Earl Lowney for questioning in the Sara McCowan murder.”

“What? Hold on there, Jake, I was asleep. Not sure I heard you right. Did you say, Sara McCowan?”

“That’s right.”

“But Rich Dannon is up for that.”

“New evidence has come to light. We need to talk with Lowney.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m at Lowney’s residence awaiting a team from the Columbia office.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

With that done, there was nothing to do but wait. Stan fiddled with the nicotine patch on his arm and popped a wad of chewing gum.

By the time the warrant came through, agents had arrived at Lowney’s residence, as had Petty and his deputies. Jake had agents at Lowney’s store. Petty and his people secured the perimeter around Lowney’s residence and Jake led Stan and the team into the house. Two agents went upstairs with Stan while Jake and another descended to the basement. It was one open room and it didn’t take long to determine that Lowney wasn’t in the basement.

Dusty work boots stood side by side against one cement wall. Jake turned them over. Dirt was caked into the soles.

The lid of the washing machine was open. An unwashed shirt and pair of pants were the only items inside. As with the work boots, the clothes were dusty. There was a faint musty odor to them.

Jake left the basement and went upstairs. Stan greeted him.

“All clear. Lowney isn’t in the house,” Stan said.

Jake exhaled a frustrated breath.

Footsteps thudded against the wood floor as the evidence team began their tasks. Lowney had a desktop computer in one of the rooms. Jake powered it up. There was a password on the system. Jake’s knowledge of computers was basic and he would have to pass the computer to the techs at the Bureau to get in.

Stan poked his head into the room. “Jake, you’re going to want to see this.”

Jake looked up from the monitor and followed Stan into Lowney’s bedroom. One of the female investigators was holding a cardboard shoe box.

“Got this from Lowney’s closet,” the investigator said.

She passed the box to Jake. Inside was a stash of trinkets. Among them was the ring that had been missing from Sara, and a gold bracelet with the name “Beth” engraved on it.

“It’s Lowney, then,” Stan said.

Jake examined the items. A hairbrush. A compact. A pen engraved with the name Rita Johnson. A watch with a crack in the crystal. He knew that watch. His chest tightened.

“He has Clare,” Jake said.

An image of Sara’s tortured and emaciated body sprang to Jake’s mind. He rubbed his hands down his face.

“Jake . . . Jake?”

After a moment, he glanced at Stan who’d spoken.

“We found DVDs, videotapes, and photos,” Stan said. “We popped one into Lowney’s VCR. The same nature as was found in Rich Dannon’s cabin. Recordings of women being tortured.”

“Clare?” Jake asked, his voice hoarse.

Stan shook his head, then added. “Not in the one we saw.”

Jake closed his eyes briefly, then followed Stan to a room with a recliner couch that housed a sophisticated entertainment center. State-of-the-art DVD and photographic equipment for best viewing of what were better than a hundred tapes and DVDs stored in a closet. Jake fingered Lowney’s collection. All were labeled and dated with the earliest one going back fifteen years. Lowney had been abducting women since he’d been in his twenties—or—to be accurate—he’d been recording his victims for that long.

“Do you want us to send this collection to the office?” Stan asked.

A technical analyst would go over the tapes when they reached the Bureau office. By that time, it could be too late for Clare and Beth and anyone else Lowney had in his hideaway.

Jake shook his head. “I want to see what’s on them now.”

Stan stuck a tape into the VCR, then took a seat on the couch and pressed play.

Jake stood, tense and straight as the tape began. The screen filled with the image of a brunette, staked out on a stained blanket. Lengths of chain at her wrists and ankles shackled her to four posts.

Behind her, providing background, and reflecting the light, was a white screen. She was dressed similarly to Sara McCowan, in a leather skirt variation that barely covered her bottom. The narrow bands of some kind of cut-off top or bra criss-crossed her front.

Jake studied the video. He was looking for something to identify the woman’s surroundings, but all that could be seen other than her was the white screen. There was nothing of the background in the shot to be able to identify it. Doubtful Lowney had ever anticipated these tapes would be viewed for the purpose of trying to determine his surroundings. The bright white of the screen eliminated any distraction from the main attraction—the woman—and was likely the reason Lowney had chosen that background. The fact that the screen also served to conceal the details of the location appeared incidental.

The woman was brightly illuminated, though the source of the light couldn’t be seen. The camera zoomed in, panning her body, slowly, taking time to pass over all of her. Her complexion was sallow. Her cheekbones, sunken. Her ribs, left bare by the cut-off top that ended above her midriff, protruded and Jake was reminded of Coroner Devoe’s belief that the cause of Sara’s death had been by starvation.

“Marissa.” Lowney’s voice, soft as a caress.

The woman made a keening animal sound.

“Smile for the camera, Marissa.”

The camera moved in for a close-up of her face. She wore thick makeup. Her eyes were huge, opaque with fear. She was crying. Mascara ran in rivulets down her bruised cheeks. Her lower lip was split and bleeding. Welts marked her flesh.

Lowney stepped into the frame. He was holding a lit cigarette. The woman—Marissa—began to make low, guttural sounds of terror as she began jerking the manacles, trying to shrink back from him and huddle into herself.

Lowney broke into a wide grin. “Cigarettes are such a filthy habit, aren’t they?”

He reached Marissa and removed her bra. Giggling now, he touched the cigarette to the tip of her breast.

Marissa screamed.

Lowney moved the cigarette to her other breast.

The screen went black as the tape ended.

“Sweet Jesus,” Stan muttered.

Jake’s rage felt like a living thing inside him. But the rage ebbed, overcome by fear that left him shaking. He was terrified that Lowney was making one of those tapes of Clare.

He left the room to splash cold water on his face, then returned and fed another tape into the machine.

This one was filmed in the same manner as the other, focused on the woman in them and the torture inflicted on her with only the white screen visible in the background. There was nothing to determine just where she was being held.

Jake was watching the screen intently for a visual clue. Lowney’s voice was by turns excited, exuberant like a child at Christmas, and then petulant, condemning, shouting expletives at his victims.

The man was ranting when Jake heard another sound. It was low, barely audible. A rumbling. At first Jake thought the noise was coming from the camera equipment or from the DVD player they were running. But, no. It went on for a short while and then was gone, and Lowney’s ranting returned in full volume.

Jake moved away from the wall he’d been standing against. “Play that back, Stan.”

Stan complied.

“Listen to that.”

Stan shook his head. “I can’t make it out.”

Neither could Jake. He sighed in frustration.

Jake took a seat beside Stan. The tape resumed. Lowney went on ranting. The bastard hadn’t returned to the house or been picked up elsewhere.
Where are you?

A member of the evidence team knocked on the open door. Stan hit pause, silencing Lowney.

“We’re finished here,” the female agent said. “Good night.”

Jake nodded. Stan started the tape again.

With the evidence team gone, only Jake and Stan remained inside, and the house grew quiet but for the screams and moans of agony emanating from the tape. Two tapes later, Jake heard the rumbling again. It grew louder. Not rumbling—chugging.

Jake leaned forward. “Listen. Hear that?” He was on his feet, moving quickly to the television. “Chug—a—chug—a.” he said. “A train. There’s only one train that runs through Farley.”

“The freight train?” Stan said. “Sure.”

Jake tapped the television screen. “It only runs through Edgar Road. Where the old mine is.”

Was it possible that Lowney was there? Jake thought. The mine would have been dug before the mining commission of South Carolina had been formed. Still, there had to be a plan of the mine.

Jake wheeled away from the screen and toward Stan. “Wake up whoever you have to. Get me a blueprint of that mine.”