Mommy, May I? (25 page)

When he spoke, his voice sounded strange, as if he were speaking through a device that changed it, made it deeper. “Open your eyes, Princess Ligeia. I’m not that bad.”

Frankie shut them even tighter, more terrified than ever to face the demon.

He raised his voice an octave, and it sounded like he spoke through clenched teeth. “I said,
open your eyes!
I don’t like to be mean, but if I have to, I will.”

Frankie did as she was told. The creep didn’t look like a kidnapper or a killer. He was tall, at least six feet. He had brown eyes and a crooked nose, possibly broken in a fight. His gelled back hair was dirty blonde. He wore jeans and a white polo T-shirt. As twisted as the thought was, the man was good looking by most women’s standards.

“Why are you doing this?” Frankie sobbed. “If it’s money, my parents will pay it. Please let me go home. They’ll give you whatever you want.” When he ran his fingers through her hair, she wanted to kick him and smash his face in.

“You’re so very pretty. You know that?” Frankie didn’t answer. “I bet you do.” He scratched the crook of his nose. “No, pretty girl, it’s not their money I want. What I want is worth much more to me.”

He looked over at the pictures of the model. “I’ve been lonely for so long now. It’ll be really nice to have someone to come home to. Do you like movies? I got us all kinds. I got all
her
favorites. She’s very pleased that you’re here.” He pointed to one of the pictures on the wall. “And so is Mother. I also bought some clothes you can model for me, and lots of CDs—all your favorites. I want you to feel welcome here.” He stroked her face.

How did he know what she liked? Frankie had to go to the bathroom badly, but didn’t want to move, fearful of where he might touch her next.

“Don’t be frightened. We’re going to have a good time.”

“I like movies,” Frankie whispered.

“Good girl. Then I’ll let you pick the first one.”

She hesitated before speaking again. “Can I go to the bathroom first?”

He studied her for some time. She knew he was wondering if she’d try to escape. “Will you be a good girl?”

“Yes.” She tried to keep her voice from shaking. She realized that a man like this would enjoy her fear. He reached into his pocket and took out a ring of keys. He found the one he was looking for and unlocked her handcuffs, then her shackles.

They had to go into another room which didn’t have the black foam encasing it. It was decorated to the hilt, kind of what a haunted house might look like from an era long past. Two windows looked onto a remote wooden area. There was a fire in the fireplace, and an antique red velvet sofa in the center of the room. A small dining room stood to the right of the front door, with an intricately carved table, along with two Gothic chairs with tall backs, like something from an old Hollywood horror flick.

The bathroom was at the other end of the house, next to his bedroom. Frankie quickly peered inside. There was a large four-poster bed with gold-colored curtains, more blown-up photographs of that girl. And more masks.

“I’ll be right outside this door,” he said.

It took her a minute before she could actually relax enough to pee. As tears clouded her vision, she wished she would wake up and find this to be just a horrible nightmare. She tried to balance her emotions, knowing that he would take further advantage of her if he sensed how frightened she was. At this very moment, Frankie was grateful Leeza had raised her. For if it hadn’t been for Leeza’s cruelty, Frankie wouldn’t be as strong mentally or as manipulative as she was. Trust would be the key. The answer was to get him to trust her. The longer he did so, the longer she would stay alive. And if she stayed alive, she might be able to escape.

Frankie mustered all her courage before flushing the toilet, taking a deep breath, and leaving the bathroom. It was time to become friends with this psycho. It might be her only chance for survival.

The ringing phone jolted Tyler awake. His vivid dream about Jane Doe vaporized into the night air, as his eyes opened. The clock on the nightstand read three A.M. At this hour, any call had to be something bad. He picked it up. “Yeah?”

“Sorry to wake you.” It was Loretta. “We’ve got a situation. Patrick Kiley’s fifteen-year-old daughter Frances Kiley has been reported missing. Doesn’t look good. Santa Barbara doesn’t have their own profiler, so they called me for one. I’ve pulled some recent reports, and a couple of girls have gone missing in the same area in the last two years. This thing is going to be huge by morning. There’s already a team of Santa Barbara agents on this, and if you want to take any of your own CASKU team on up, I’ll give the go-ahead.”

“Shit,” he muttered. “Kiley, as in . . .”

“As in the daughter of the mogul and the model, Helena Shea, who was recently detained by the LAPD for the murder of the girl’s step-mother. This one’s gonna be sticky. I’ve arranged for a plane to get you up there. How soon can you be at LAX?”

“One hour.”

“Listen, Ty, the police will be hounding those folks, and with the media hoopla already in full swing, you’ll have to tread softly.”

“Why me?”

“‘Cause, honey, you’re the best.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“Know you will. Good luck. Keep me posted.”

Tyler hung up the phone and tried to pull his thoughts together. He went into the kitchen, turning on the coffeemaker. Quickly showered and dressed. He poured his bitter brew, and started to head for the door, when he felt a strange need to call Claire Travers. He tried hard to shake it but couldn’t. He had no reason to call her, did he? For God’s sake, she was a tabloid reporter, and the fact that the press hadn’t yet heard about the girl’s disappearance gave him a leg up, at least for a few hours. Claire was only supplying him with whatever information she had on the porn star Bridgett Core. But the feeling wouldn’t dissipate, and Tyler had learned not to ignore his feelings.

“Okay, okay,” he said aloud. He flipped open his cell, pulled the number she’d given him up, and dialed her.

“Crazy,” he muttered.
I could lose my job for this.

“Hello?” came her soft, muffled voice after the fourth ring.

“Claire, it’s me, Tyler Savoy.”

“Tyler? What . . .?”

“Don’t ask. I’m not certain why I’m doing this, but something tells me that you can help me.”

“What is it?”

“Can you meet me in Santa Barbara in the morning?”

“Sure, I’m due up there anyhow to follow up on the Helena Shea story. But why are you going? Is it about the case?”

Tyler took a deep breath before confiding in this virtual stranger. “
Please
keep this confidential until it breaks in the morning, Claire, but Frances Kiley has gone missing.”

Police tromped in and out of Patrick’s house; search crews with dogs combed the perimeters; friends, neighbors, and family phoned once more; and a rescue helicopter circled the surrounding area, illuminating the cliff-side. It had started raining in the middle of the night, making the search more difficult. Worst of all, the media masses were back for more blood, speculating about all the activity.

A lanky police detective with beady eyes stood in the family room with Helena and Patrick. “We’ve got an agent coming in from the FBI. He’s with the division we call CASKU.”

“CASKU?” Helena asked.

“The Child Abduction and Serial Killer Unit.”

“What?” Patrick said in amazement. “What do we need him for? She hasn’t been . . . I mean she isn’t dead,” he insisted.

“Mr. Kiley, your child has been missing for more than two hours. Since we haven’t turned up anything on the cliffs or in the sea, foul play could very well be involved. Finding her backpack also indicates something is probably amiss. We’re required, at this point, to ask these investigators to assist us. I don’t want to add to your alarm, but we do also have search parties looking for her body out at sea.”

The detective quickly apologized and left. Another officer showed up—this one older, shorter, and barrel-chested, and not any more sensitive than the others. He asked the same questions they’d already answered a dozen times. Helena felt ready to collapse, swimming in a surreal nightmare, which suddenly became much worse when she heard Detective David Collier’s voice.

“Okay, people, what have we got here?” he bellowed. The officers from SBPD all looked at him as if he were some bizarre apparition.

Helena’s lawyer, James verbalized all of their thoughts. “What are you doing here, Collier? This is way out of your jurisdiction.”

“I think this disappearance is some type of ploy, and it’s all tied into my murder investigation. Special circumstances are indicated, prompting me to be here, and a judge has granted me permission.” Collier handed James a subpoena, cleared first by a Los Angeles judge and another in Santa Barbara.

“This is bogus,” said James. “There is no way in hell you got this signed by two judges in the middle of the night. I’ll tell you something else, Detective, when I find out how you pulled this little stunt, and when I find that this piece of paper is bullshit, I’ll have your badge! You’ll never work on another police force in this country. Hell, you won’t be able to get a job doing mall security.”

Helena watched James’s face turn purple.

“Be my guest,” Collier chortled. “Now I need to speak with Ms. Shea then Mr. Kiley.”

“No, you don’t,” James shot back.

“It’s all right. We have nothing to hide,” Helena said, thinking that maybe this hothead detective could help. All she cared about at present was getting Frankie back.

“Great. Is there somewhere we could go?” Collier asked.

Patrick pointed to the library, the one room in his home not filled with police. “You don’t have to do this, Helena,” James told her.

“I know.”

“In fact, I don’t believe he has a legal right to be here.”

“I haven’t—we haven’t done anything wrong.” She glanced at Patrick. “Maybe if he realizes this by questioning us, he can turn things around and help find Frankie and whoever really did kill Leeza.”

“Don’t count on it, sweetheart. This guy is after your blood. I’m going in there with you.”

“Fine.”

Patrick watched as the three entered the library, closing the doors behind them. As Helena and James sat down, Detective Collier paced back and forth.

“Come on, Collier, quit the dog-and-pony show. What the hell do you want?” James asked.

“I’ll tell you what I want, Counselor. I want to see justice served. I’ve got a dead woman, a burn victim, and now a missing child. What’s the link in all three cases? Your client and her lover.”

“We are
not
lovers.”

“Whatever.”

“Collier, can’t you see you’re digging yourself into a hole that you’ll never get out of?” James said.

“No, Counselor, what I see are some similarities to another case, where a child wound up dead but the small-town police force did such a shoddy job pursuing it that an arrest won’t ever be made. That’s not going to happen here. I guarantee foul play is involved, and your client is in on it. After all, Ms. Shea, what did your daughter know about Ms. Kiley’s murder? Maybe she overheard you talking with your lover, her father. Maybe she knew what you two did. I’ll bet she even knows who you hired to do this! Or did she know that you started the fire that nearly killed your so-called friend? Why don’t you come clean, make it easy on yourself. I can almost guarantee we can make a deal with the district attorney.”

“I did not kill Leeza Kiley!” Helena screamed. “And I would never harm my daughter or anyone for that matter! Get the hell out of here!”

“Your client seems to have an anger-management problem, Counselor. I’ve taken note of that before. A jury won’t think too much of her with that temper. I’ll bet a couple of dozen people outside this room heard that little outburst.”

James rose abruptly from his chair, “You’re harassing my client, Detective!”

At that moment, the library doors opened abruptly. A tall man with dark hair and chiseled facial features walked in and said, “Jesus Christ, I might’ve known.” The man confronted the detective. “Collier, you’re way out of line.”

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in. I don’t have to go anywhere, Savoy. I’m conducting an investigation here, and you’re interrupting an interview.”

“More like an interrogation. I’m FBI, Collier. I outrank you. I’m going to have to ask you to head on back down the coast to your own jurisdiction. CASKU is working this case. Your case is about one hundred fifty miles south.”

“Screw you, Savoy!” Collier stormed out of the room.

The agent turned to face James and Helena. “Talk about temper. As you witnessed, Detective Collier and I are not exactly close. He usually sends his goodbyes to me in the impolite form of a profane action with his middle finger. At least he was a little more creative this time.”

Helena smiled for the first time in days. Whoever this man was, she immediately liked him. She stood as he stuck out his hand.