Mortal Sin (44 page)

Hans asked, “What happened that changed him?”

“That’s the thing—nothing. He was always a—what did you say, Mr. Rogan? A sick, sadistic bastard. I just didn’t see it. For all his attention and thoughtfulness, he never let me out of his sight. I didn’t have any friends who weren’t also his friends, and the few friends we did have, I couldn’t see without him. I didn’t understand this at first.

“We moved to Wilmington after we graduated because he got a job teaching at the high school. I was so bored all day. There was only so much cooking and cleaning and baking I could do. I asked him if I could join a book club. I know what you’re thinking—why did I have to ask? But that’s how it was. He’d replaced my father in many ways. I always asked Daddy, but Daddy always said yes. He wanted me to go to college, to learn new things, to be able to take care of myself. Peter—he wanted to take care of me. He didn’t want me to have a life separate from him. That doesn’t sound right. It was more extreme. He wouldn’t
allow
it.

“I begged. It took me months of proving to him that the book club wouldn’t come between us. He met all the women, he probably did background checks of God-knows-what to make sure they were acceptable. Finally, I could participate. It was one night a week, Mondays.”

Sean asked, “He followed you, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Marie said. “I didn’t know, but he’d sit outside whoever’s house we were meeting at and watch. I tried to get him to go out with the other women’s husbands—they always went to watch Monday Night Football or something at a bar. I really liked these people, but Peter refused. When I found out he was watching me, we got into our first fight. Two years after we were married, and we had never fought. Because I was so agreeable to everything, even his ridiculous rules. I just wanted to make my husband happy … but I realized Peter was nothing like my father, nothing like I thought he was.

“It took me months before I told the girls how Peter had started to scare me. And I only told them because of what he did …” her voice trailed off.

“What did he do, Marie?” Hans prompted after a moment.

“He read my copy of
Sleeping with the Enemy
by Nancy Price. There was a movie with Julia Roberts, but the book was so much better. And … Peter just … snapped. He pushed me down on the bed and tore the pages out one by one. One by one—methodically. Then he tore each page into tiny pieces. It took hours. I didn’t move, I couldn’t—there was something in his eyes … and I was terrified.

“I asked my club to meet me for lunch the next day when Peter was working and they convinced me to leave him. I told them everything, it all came rushing out—like
I wasn’t allowed to wear makeup outside the house unless he was with me. I could only wear dresses. About his obsession …”

When she didn’t continue, Hans asked, “What obsession?”

“Peter was my first. I was a virgin, and he liked that. My parents raised me to save myself for my husband, and Peter respected that. He never even tried before our wedding night.

“But after that night, he had me shower before we had sex. And after. And when we had sex, it was very mechanical—like he was a robot going through the motions. There was no affection. One time early in our marriage, I’d had wine with dinner. I rarely drink—two glasses made me tipsy. I tried to do something different in bed, something I’d read about—and he called me a whore.” Her voice cracked and emotion filled her voice. “He told me he’d tell my Daddy how dirty I was if I ever did anything like that again. I was so ashamed, so humiliated …”

Hans said, “Marie, you know that Peter is deeply disturbed. He enjoyed psychologically torturing women.”

“I don’t understand. You said that he’d kidnapped someone. But maybe she went willingly. He’s very persuasive.”

“She was kidnapped,” Sean said. “Do you know that he was in prison for rape?”

“Peter?” She sounded shocked.

Hans said, “Statutory rape. High school girls he taught.”

“Oh God, that’s so awful. I didn’t know. I cut all ties with everyone, even my book club.”

“Why did you change your name?” Dillon asked. “Did he threaten you?”

“I told him I wanted a divorce. My friends wouldn’t let me do it alone, they came with me, and he let me leave. I thought it was too easy, but that maybe he understood—but fortunately my friend Becca didn’t believe it. Her brother was a cop, and he let me stay with him. Separate bedrooms, there was nothing going on … then, anyway.

“I got a job as a secretary at the police station because of Jimmy, and felt safe for the first time in years. I didn’t hear from Peter for months. I had my attorney serve him the divorce papers. Peter walked into the police station the day after that with an envelope. He handed it to me, and said, ‘You are my wife. You will always be my wife, even though you are a filthy whore. Come home now, accept your punishment, and I will forgive you.’ ” She took a breath. “I didn’t go. He stared at me long enough to have six cops surround him. They escorted him out, and Jimmy told me I needed a restraining order.

“I opened the envelope. Inside, the divorce papers had been torn into tiny pieces. And there was a photograph of Jimmy giving me a hug. Peter had been spying on me. This had been the day my dad died—he’d been in a hospice for two years with cancer, and the director called me and said he’d died in his sleep. There was nothing sexual about that hug! Jimmy was just a nice guy!”

“Marie,” Hans said, “you don’t have to justify anything, understand? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I panicked. I said no restraining order was going to stop him. I don’t know why I was so scared, because Peter had never physically hurt me. But I knew he would kill me. I just knew.

“Jimmy helped me legally change my name and I moved to Arizona. I was so lonely. I had no family and had a hard time making friends. I called Jimmy after six months and he flew out, and that’s when we realized we cared about each other. He got a job in Austin as a police detective, and we got married a year later. I have two beautiful children, and I don’t want them hurt. Please, please—”

“Marie, Peter will never know. But we need to know where he’s keeping Lucy.”

“I don’t know. I’m telling the truth—I haven’t spoken to him since I left Wilmington.”

“We know that,” Sean said, “but he has no property under his name in Maryland, Delaware, or Virginia. We’re searching other states. We’ve tried his parents’ names, his grandparents—there’s nothing. He has to be somewhere. Maybe a friend? A cousin? A vacation house?”

“I don’t know …”

Dillon said, “It would be a place he felt safe, where he’d go or talk about when he was under stress. A place that reminded him of what was important to him. Very private. Secluded.”

“Like his great-grandmother’s farmhouse?”

“Yes,” Dillon said, leaning forward. “Where is it?”

“Warrenton. I was only there once—he took me when we graduated from college, on our way to Wilmington. We stayed a couple of days. No one lived there. It was in a trust because of some family dispute before Peter was even born. It was old and creepy, but Peter loved it. He said he was saving money to renovate the place and this was where we’d raise our family. I humored him because I didn’t think we’d ever live there.”

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know. In Warrenton, that’s all I remember.”

Sean asked, “What’s the trust’s name?”

“I don’t know.”

“His great-grandmother? Was she a Miller?”

“No, she was Adeline Harker.”

Sean started typing on his computer.

Hans said, “Marie, thank you. If you’re still concerned about your safety, have your husband call me. I’ll explain what’s going on. I give you my word: your ex-husband will never find you.”

“I hope you find her.”

“We will, thanks to you.”

Hans disconnected the call. Sean worked on the property search while Kate called Noah.

“Bristow Road!” Sean exclaimed. “The Harker Family Trust. It’s less than half a mile from the Airlie Airport. Let’s go.”

“Sean—” Dillon began.

“This is where she is,” Sean said. “I know it. It’s close enough, secluded—I’m going.”

“We all are, but you can’t fly in this weather.”

“Why the hell not? I can’t drive there faster than I can fly. It’s not snowing right now, but the roads are shit, and it takes an hour in good conditions. We can be there on the ground in thirty-five minutes.”

He rose and grabbed his wallet and jacket, then opened the closet and grabbed a duffle bag.

“What’s that?” Dillon asked.

Sean looked perplexed. “My go-bag.” He left the room.

Hans raised his eyebrows and said sarcastically, “Oh, no, he’s nothing like Jack.”

*     *     *

Noah hung up the phone and said to Abigail, “Kate and Hans just got off the phone with Miller’s ex-wife.”

“How’d they find her?”

“I didn’t ask, but I’m sure the Rogans had something to do with cutting corners.” He wasn’t complaining about it, however. Lucy’s life was in immediate danger.

He stared at the report he’d just received from the Wilmington Police Department. Three missing women. Miller had been a suspect after he’d been arrested for statutory rape, but they had no evidence, no proof. The only thread of evidence was one witness statement describing a car that matched Miller’s at the time. But the car was a common make, and there was no apparent motive. A brief interview with Miller proved fruitless.

But if Miller had anything to do with the missing women, he was definitely more dangerous and more experienced than they’d thought.

“What’s that?” Abigail asked.

“I’ll tell you in the car.”

They walked out of FBI headquarters. “Where’s Miller?”

“Warrenton. I hope they’re right—Miller’s family has property there held in a blind trust.”

“It’s going to take over an hour to get there.”

“Kate is flying with Hans, Rogan, and Dillon. I’m going to call our tactical unit in the Northern Virginia office. They’re closer, but it’ll take them a few minutes to mobilize.”

Noah pulled out onto the road. It wasn’t snowing, but visibility was poor. “I can’t believe Sean is flying in this.”

“You’d do the same thing,” Abigail said.

“I don’t think you know me that well.”

Abigail smirked. “I think I do. You don’t work with a guy for a week—even someone as closed-mouth as you—and not figure him out.”

Noah shook his head and talked to the Northern Virginia Resident Agency. They were located in Manassas, much closer to the target site.

“They’ll mobilize in fifteen minutes and send a team out to the site, but their ETA is one hour, ten minutes because of the roads.” He quickly sent Hans and Kate a message, along with the name and number of the lead tactical agent.

He then filled Abigail in on the missing women in Wilmington.

“You really think Miller was involved in their disappearance?”

“I don’t know, but it’s suspicious.”

“You know what I think?”

“Don’t keep me guessing.”

“I think he has been playing this game for a long time. Only three women? I’ll bet there’re more, all over the area. Were they a similar type?”

“Blond, under thirty, shy.”

“Sounds like his ex-wife,” Abigail said.

“Lucy doesn’t fit the profile.”

“But Lucy was trying to send him back to prison.”

Sean landed at Airlie Airport forty-two minutes later, just before noon. The roads going to the airport were worse than he’d anticipated, and every minute of the trip ate at him, another minute that Lucy was in that sadistic S.O.B.’s hands.

“What’s Noah’s ETA?” he asked Hans.

“He’s forty-five minutes out. The tactical squad is on their way. ETA eighteen minutes.”

Dillon asked, “How are we going to drive there? We can’t walk a half mile—”

Sean shook his head. “Trust me.”

He steered the plane around to the hangars. There was no one there, it was a private airport and he’d have to sweet-talk his way out of fines, but he didn’t care. He found what he was looking for.

He picked the lock of an older-model Ford that was parked next to a hangar.

“You’re not—”

“We’re bringing it back,” Sean said. He looked under the steering wheel, pushed in the panel, and pulled out the wiring. In less than a minute he had the truck running. “Let’s go get Lucy.”

Sean, Kate, Dillon, and Hans approached the Harker property from the north, where they were obscured by a large, empty barn. Sean could see the farmhouse fifty yards away. It had once been white, but was now severely weathered. It would have been quaint, with a wraparound porch and a swing next to the front door, if that pig Miller wasn’t holding Lucy captive inside.

At least, they assumed he was inside. A garage on the opposite side of the property could be where Lucy was being held. And they needed to search the barn.

“SWAT is thirteen minutes out,” Kate said. “We have a lifeline helicopter on standby at Airlie, and they can touch down here five minutes after contact. Sean, you and I are going to search the barn. Hans, call the SWAT team leader and give him the layout and our location. Keep the line open.”

She motioned toward Sean. They both had their guns drawn and walked around the perimeter of the barn to the main entrance. The wide door was ajar.

A deep impression in the snow leading from the house to the barn, or vice versa, was fresh. It looked like something heavy had been dragged through the snow—frozen grass was partly revealed in the gulley. Kate got
his attention and motioned toward the door, then put three fingers up. He nodded.

One. Two. On three they silently entered the barn simultaneously through the opening; Sean high, Kate low, guns raised and sweeping from side to side as they quickly assessed potential danger.

They didn’t see anyone, nor did they hear anything. But over and above the unpleasant scent of moldy hay and animal, there was another foul smell that was fresher.

They went from stall to stall methodically.

Kate stifled a scream and Sean rushed over. He saw the headless torso on the ground, and a rat scurrying away from the open wound that had been the woman’s head.