Sandman (27 page)

“Thank you. Has anyone touched anything?”

“I don’t think so, sir.”

“Good. Secure the scene and keep everyone out. I need to think.”

The officer disappeared, then after a moment Thomas left the bedroom. He couldn’t look at the blood anymore. He wandered into the living room, his eyes darting around. They settled on the coffee table where one lone shot glass sat.

Just then, Shadowhawk came bursting through the front door, panting. Thomas jerked his head up.

“What have you got?” she asked, anxiously.

“Nothing, yet. It was obviously someone she knew.” He pointed down at the table. “The rest you can see for yourself. Check out the bedroom.” He put his hands on his hips and looked around.

She made a beeline for the bedroom.

A few minutes later she was back by his side. She laid a hand on his shoulder. “She’s still alive.”

“I hope you’re right. I was a fool, I jumped the gun. Because of that, I just may have gotten her killed.” His eyes came back to the glass on the table, and he shook his head.

The screen door slammed and Officer Kowalski walked in.

“Detectives, I think I’ve got something.” He had his notebook in his hand. “The woman across the street, is one Mrs. Mary Kline, widowed. She has MS and is confined to a wheel chair. She doesn’t get out much, so she spends a lot of time in front of the window.

“Anyway, she saw a large dark car pull up in front of the house around six-thirty. A guy got out, walked up to the door and was let in. About an hour later, he came around from the side of the house and put what looked like a rolled-up carpet into his trunk and pulled away.”

“Did she get a look at the guy?” Thomas asked.

“As a matter of fact she did. She said she saw him under the porch light as he was waiting for the door to open; he turned around and looked at the street. Then when the door opened he turned back around. “Let me see,” He consulted his notes. “Here we go. He’s about five-nine or five-ten, Caucasian, late twenties to early thirties, with long curly dark hair, and a possible beard, or at least whiskers. From a distance she said he looked a bit like Jesus Christ.”

“Roberts,” Thomas said to no one in particular.

“What about the car? Did she give you anything more on that?” Shadowhawk asked.

“Yes, ma’am, she did. The car was a dark color. She couldn’t tell the actual color because the street doesn’t have many lights. She did know the make, though, said her husband owned a car just like it in the seventies.”

“Well, what the hell is it?” Thomas felt like he was pulling teeth.

“A Ford LTD. Said she’s seen it on the street quite a few times lately, but that this was the first time it parked in front of the victim’s home.”

“Son of a bitch!” Thomas took off running.

Shadowhawk followed him, and jumped into the passenger side of his car as he started the engine.

He dialed dispatch while he consulted his notes. “Put out an APB on a Dark, Gray, Ford LTD. License plate number Alpha, Romeo, Tango, three, eight, niner. The owner is a one Jordan Roberts; consider him armed and dangerous. He’s wanted for murder and kidnapping. And tell anyone who approaches the vehicle to be extremely cautious. The victim may be in the trunk.”

“Where are we going?” Shadowhawk asked.

“Laguna Niguel. I want to see if we can get a handle on Roberts.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You don’t think he’ll take her back to the apartment, do you?”

“No, but maybe his wife has a clue. If not, we’re going to take that place apart until we find some answers. Shit!” Thomas hit the steering wheel with his fist. “I never should have pulled the surveillance from that guy.”

***

Thomas pounded on the apartment door and yelled, “Police, open up!” After no one stirred inside, Shadowhawk lifted her leg to break the lock, but Thomas stopped her. He wrapped his hand around the doorknob and turned. It was unlocked. They looked at each other, then pulled out their guns before carefully stepping inside.

The apartment looked the same, utter chaos. They stood outside the only door that was closed, the bedroom. Shadowhawk took position on one side, with Thomas on the other just inside the bathroom doorway. Silently he turned the knob and threw the door open.

Cautiously he peered in and stopped.

“Shit.” He put his gun away and walked into the room.

“Fuck me. I think we can safely say this is our guy,” she said, looking around.

“It looks like a fuckin’ Jackson Pollock painting in here.”

They were silent a moment as they took in the scene. The walls were splattered with blood. Splashes of red reached as high as the ceiling. The bed was a literal pool of blood. The naked body of a mutilated woman lay in the center. Her extremities stretched out and tied to the bedposts.

The mass was almost unrecognizable as being human, let alone a woman, yet there was no mistaking the butterfly tattoo on the woman’s left ankle. It belonged to Sharon Roberts.

“Would you call this a crime of passion?” Shadowhawk asked sarcastically, breaking the silence.

“I would definitely call it personal.”

FORTY-THREE

Meagan’s eyes fluttered open. When they finally focused, she was staring at a wood slatted ceiling. This wasn’t home. The room was dimly lit, the edges cast in shadows. She tried to shift her extremities, but they wouldn’t budge. Quickly she lifted her head, excruciating pain slammed into her. She closed her eyes and eased her head back down. The throbbing continued.

The cobwebs blanketing her mind began to dissipate, dissolving like wet cotton candy. She jerked her body back and forth trying to move something, anything. Panic ensued.

What’s wrong with me? What’s going on?

Okay, stay calm. Assess the situation.

Slowly Meagan lifted her head again. She was lying on a table, her arms and legs were stretched out, her hands and feet were tied with a white cord. Probably to the legs of the table underneath, she couldn’t tell from her vantage point. She wiggled her fingers and toes. Tiny needles attacked as if they were asleep. There was a faint smell of manure, and the distant sound of buzzing flies. A slight chill in the air.

“Ah, my Sleeping Beauty awakes!”

She knew the voice coming from the shadows, but she couldn’t quite place it. The knowledge was right on the tip of her tongue. Suddenly, a face appeared above her, and with it total recall. She let out a gut-wrenching scream.

Jay. Her ex-fiancé. Jordan Roberts.

The man with whom she’d loved and shared a bed with for more than three years
was
the Sandman. She bucked and pulled, trying to get free while staring up into his cold black eyes. Her heart hammered in her chest so hard it threatened to jump right out. She thought she knew terror, but she’d been horribly wrong. True terror was staring at the face of evil and knowing she wouldn’t live another day.

“It’s so
nice
of you to join me. I’m sorry it won’t be for long.” He stroked her hair; she jerked away. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you more seductive. Something about a totally submissive woman really turns me on. I’m getting hard as we speak.” He smirked.

“You
sick
bastard, let me go!” Meagan jerked and writhed on the table.

He laughed. “You can wiggle all you want, you won’t get free. I’ve had a lot of practice. I finally have you right where I want you. Completely under my control.”

Meagan cringed.

He raised a large hunting knife, waved it before her face. Light reflected off the serrated edge momentarily blinding her. He grabbed the waistband of her sweatpants.

“What are you doing?” Her body trembled.

“Just liberating you from these cumbersome clothes. Sure, I could have taken them off when you were passed out, but where’s the fun in that?” He let out a high-pitched giggle.

This was no longer Jordan or Jay, or anyone she knew.

That man was gone. The Sandman had taken his place.

The sharp edge of the knife sliced easily down the length of her pant leg as if slicing butter. The tip nicked her leg. She jumped and let out a yelp, sending the blade deeper into her thigh. She screamed, her body lurched.

“Stop that. Look what you made me do!” He stared at the wound. “Shit, that looks bad. You’d better not die too soon and ruin all my fun.”

He went back to cutting her pants away, then tugged them out from under her body and tossed them aside. He ran a hand up her leg, stopping just short of her panties.

“You’ve always had the most amazing legs.”

Next he sliced her tee shirt up the front.

She had to get out of here. She ignored him and focused on a means of escape. Then she felt the knife between her breasts, and turned her head in time to see her bra sliced right up the middle, popping it open.

“Oh yeah, let’s get those bad boys out.” He pulled the cups aside until her breasts sprang free.

“Just look at those perky little devils.” He laid the knife down, cupped her breasts pushing them together, and pinched her nipples. Hard. She let out a shriek and clenched her eyes shut.

Meagan struggled to get her hands free while concentrating on keeping her body still. She didn’t want to tip him off. The rope cut deeper into her wrists the more she worked her hands around. It felt as if she were pulling the skin off like a glove. She gritted her teeth against the pain.

Meagan took a few deep breaths, cleared her mind of her surroundings, and imagined she was at the ocean. She focused on the rhythm, the waves crawling up the sand, then receding in an even tempo, back and forth, back and forth. Then she set about loosening her hands.

A sharp pain made her gasp. Her eyes flew open and glanced down. Blood pooled around her nipple. He traced the cut with his tongue.

Meagan stared at the ceiling willing her mind to ignore the hideous things happening to her body, but her fear was all-encompassing. It was useless to try to will it away as if it were a stitch in her side while running.

She couldn’t pull her eyes away no matter how she tried. They were glued to the sharp tip of the blade. The knife ran the length of her stomach like a felt-tipped pen. A thin red line bloomed in its wake.

“You’ll never get away with this!” She tried to distract him.

The Sandman’s head shot up, a glazed look in his eyes. He pulled the knife away and slithered to the head of the table. A slow smile crept along his face and he bent down next to her ear. “Ah, but I already have,” he whispered. “I’ve been getting away with it for years.”

Meagan shivered.

He walked around the table while he talked. “You dumped me. I loved you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and you just threw me away. Discarded me like some old shoe. That night I got stinking drunk. I sat in a bar and tossed back tequila shots ’til my eyes were crossed.

“Then some cheap, sleazy cunt with long blonde hair like yours came over and sat next to me. She started to buy
me
drinks. She rubbed up against me like a cat in heat. I couldn’t believe it. What made her think I would dip my wick into her diseased cesspool? But I took her up on it, all right. I let her drive me to her place, then I taught her a lesson. Ha! They still haven’t found her body.” He stood at her feet, staring trancelike off in the distance.

“My hair is auburn,” Meagan said, just above a whisper.

“What?” He looked at her, his face scrunched up as if confused.

“You said she had long blonde hair like mine. But my hair’s red.”

He stomped to the head of the table. “That’s what I said!” He slapped her hard across the face. “Don’t you
ever
contradict me!”

Meagan tasted blood. The room started spinning. She was losing all time and place. Blood flowed from the gash in her leg, onto the table, then the floor. If she didn’t get away soon, she would bleed to death.

What was I doing again? Oh, yeah, freeing my hands. But I’m so tired. All I want to do is go to sleep. That’s it! I’m having a nightmare and when I wake up I’ll be home in my own bed, safe and sound.

She closed her eyes. Snip. A quick nick on her left hip made her eyes shoot open, her head flew up. Snip. This time the knife slid through the right side of her panties, taking a sliver of skin with it. He gripped her panties with both hands and ripped them from her body. Her head dropped down on the table with a thud.

It was just too heavy.

Weak and listless, she watched his naked body climb up on the table.

Will Thomas be sad when I’m dead?

Blackness edged her vision.

The Sandman was talking and waving the knife around, but she no longer heard a word he said.

She nodded off.

A slap on her cheek made her eyes jerk open.

The knife danced before her face. The glinting light burned her eyes.

Her heavy lids closed.

She heard the slap, more than felt it. She knew he wanted her to open her eyes, but she just didn’t care.

The darkness finally won.

FORTY-FOUR

Thomas and Shadowhawk slapped on latex gloves and frantically searched the apartment. After witnessing the way Roberts’s mind had snapped in the last week, Thomas had no idea how much time they had to reach Meagan alive. At this point, he didn’t give a shit about protecting the integrity of the crime scene.

Shadowhawk was pulling down shoeboxes from the top of the walk-in closet. “Looks like there’s a trap door in the ceiling. Give me a boost, will ya?” Thomas joined her, grabbed the top of her thighs and hoisted her up. She lifted a panel and slid it aside, then flashed her penlight around.

“What do you see?” Thomas yelled up to her.

“It’s more like a crawl space than an actual attic.”

“Is there anything stored up there?”

“I see some boxes. I’m going up.” She stuck the penlight between her teeth, then pulled herself up through the hole.

Before too long he was getting antsy. “Well?”

When she didn’t answer, he tried again.