Savage Cinderella (23 page)

"We need evidence, John," the big man said.
"I'll bet Brinn was not his first victim—or his last. If we can
search his place, we’ll find the evidence we need for an arrest to
stick. Combined with Briana's testimony, we can put this guy away
for good or put a needle in his arm—either way works for me."

"I'll have a warrant on your desk in an hour,
and I want you to coordinate directly with the police in
Charleston. I don’t want any screwups, understand?"

The commissioner nodded. "Stockman supposedly
has an old slaughterhouse out near Clemson, by the lake. It sounds
like the place Briana described. The Columbia cops are already on
it. The place is under surveillance as we speak. Word came down
that he just returned to the house after being away for a few days.
The locals say he’s been traveling a lot lately." He smiled, "What
do you want to bet the traffic cams will show he crossed state
lines to pay his little visit to your place? My men are working on
a few angles from this end, but we need hard evidence.” Paulsen
rose from behind the cluttered desk. “If you can get that warrant
in the next thirty minutes, you can join me for the ride up. I'm
going to handle this one personally."

In Custody

When Brinn’s father had the warrant in hand
to arrest Roy Stockman, she insisted on going with him. “I can
identify him for you. I’ll be able to tell you if it’s the same
house.”

“
It’s not a good idea,
Sweetheart. Besides, it’s against police procedure. We don’t want
to jeopardize this case,” he argued.

“
You don’t understand. I
need to do this. I have to see him for myself. And maybe I can
help.” Brinn argued persistently for another few minutes before her
father let out a heavy breath.

“
It’s against my better
judgment, and I’ll have to clear it with the investigator in
charge, but if you’re sure...”

An hour later, Brinn, her father, and
Commissioner Paulsen were strapped into a helicopter and bound for
the next state. Police Chief Celia McCafferty agreed with the
unusual request, given the circumstances and the fact that they had
a warrant in hand giving them authority to search the premises of
Roy Stockman, suspected of kidnapping, sexual assault, and
attempted murder.

Two hours after that, Brinn arrived just in
time to watch the man be taken from his house in handcuffs and
loaded into a cruiser bound for jail.

Brinn looked on from a hundred yards away and
knew it was him. The way he walked and moved, the set of his
shoulders, the hard angles of his face. If there was any doubt left
in her mind, it disappeared when he turned and met her gaze. His
eyes hardened, his mouth thinned, and then his lips curved into an
ugly smile. Brinn’s blood froze in her veins. Her father wrapped a
protective arm around her.

“
Are you all right,
Sweetheart?”

“
I will be.” Brinn’s
insides quivered and her hands shook, but she knew she would have
no future until she faced her past. She met his gaze with a look of
defiance that came from the depths of her soul and infused into it
as much malice as she could contain. It was done. Over. He couldn’t
hurt her anymore. A wave of relief so strong it almost buckled her
knees swept over her as he was shoved into a cruiser. She watched
as the car pulled away. Stockman’s eyes bored into her out the back
window. When the car was out of sight, she fell into her father’s
arms, tears streaming.

“
You need to wait here with
the police officers.” Her father held her tight for another second
before Brinn pulled away.

“
I need to go in there.”
Her watery eyes focused on the house and a sudden surge of bile
crept up her throat. She swiped at the tears and
swallowed.

“
Brinn, are you sure?” He
asked with concern.

“
Yes,” she said, not
convinced at all. She needed to know if what had happened to her
was real and not some horrible dream her mind had concocted. She
needed to see where her nightmares began and ended before she could
ever let them go.

The run-down farmhouse hadn’t changed much
and the thought of going inside made her feel sick. She looked to
the hills in the distance and had the urge to run as fast and as
far as she could to escape the memories that clawed their way to
the surface.

Her father took her hand. “Then let’s do this
together.”

His hand was strong in hers but she smelled
the fear and felt his trepidation. This would be no easier for him
than it was for her. Hand in hand they walked up the dusty
driveway, climbed the creaking porch, and entered the dilapidated
house. The forensics team was already several minutes ahead of
them, the house a hive of activity. The smell of smoke and unwashed
flesh forced her back.

“
You don’t have to do this,
Brinn.” Her father squeezed her hand gently.

“
I have to, Daddy. I need
to take my life back. This is the only way.” Terrified, Brinn let
go of his hand, covered her mouth and nose, and followed the police
chief inside.

“
Make sure you search the
slaughterhouse. And check for a root cellar.” Brinn heard the
police chief order as she led the way into the small kitchen. Chief
Celia McCafferty, a sturdy, efficient woman with short blonde hair
and steel gray eyes, turned to Brinn. “Is this where you were held
captive?” Her tone was sympathetic and Brinn appreciated the strong
female presence.

“
Yes.” She looked down the
hallway and pointed. “My room was the first one down there. The
bathroom was directly across the hall, and his room was at the end.
There is an upstairs, but I was never allowed up there.” Brinn
looked around the kitchen and a new wave of horror found its way to
her insides. “The place has been cleaned,” she said. There was a
full trash bucket overflowing with rotting garbage and the smell of
smoke was thick in the air, but Brinn noticed the clean dishes in
the drainer and the neat stack of magazines on the end table. “He
has a girl here.” Brinn darted a glance at the chief, whose eyes
widened in realization.

“
We’ve found something,
Chief.” An investigator called from outside the house.

Brinn and her father followed behind Chief
McCafferty and Commissioner Paulsen. As they rounded the corner of
the house, Brinn saw an officer carrying the body of a small girl
up out of a dark cellar hole. The hinged wooden doors lay open, a
broken lock on the ground. The smell of human waste permeated the
air. “She’s alive. Call for an ambulance!”

Brinn tried to go to the girl—to tell her she
was safe, to help her understand, but a team of uniformed officers
blocked her way and surrounded the barely conscious form wrapped in
a tattered blanket. The girl was filthy, her dress torn, her dark
hair matted. She cried weakly, disoriented by the bright sunlight
and stunned by the attention of the police. She clung to the
officer who carried her to safety. A bustle of efficiency took over
the scene until the ambulance arrived.

"I'll follow them to the hospital and then
head to the station to make sure there are no mistakes in booking.
I’ll contact the parents as soon as we ID the girl. I’m sure
someone is looking for her." Chief McCafferty smiled up at John
Hathaway, her thin arched brow lifting. "I've never seen an arrest
warrant fly across my desk so fast, Mr. Hathaway. I could use a man
like you in our D.A.'s office. Could I persuade you to defect?"

"I'm afraid not, Chief. I'm planning on being
very busy convicting that monster."

“
Without the information
your daughter reported, things would have turned out very
differently for that child.” She looked after the ambulance as it
pulled onto the main road and then smiled at Brinn. “You did a
brave thing today, Miss Hathaway. Your courage just saved a
life.”

Brinn smiled sadly, knowing that if she’d
only been braver years ago, she might have saved several more
lives. How many girls had he taken, tortured, and killed? How many
lives were lost because she had hidden in the hills?

A Promise is a Promise

Brinn hugged her father as tears streamed
down her cheeks. It seemed she cried about everything lately. It
was as if she had stored the tears up for so long that the dam had
finally broken and there was no stopping the flood. “You did it,
Daddy. He’s behind bars where he can’t hurt anyone else.”

Her voice sounded strained and hoarse from
holding her emotions in check on the way back from the farmhouse.
After walking like a ghost from room to room with memories flooding
her mind as she stared at the stained mattress and barred windows
in her old room, she would have liked to have seen the place burnt
to the ground.

Although they were back at home, Brinn could
still remember the anguish on her father’s face when he’d seen the
chains. Her father held her for a long moment and then stepped
back, holding her face in his hands. "We did it, Sweetheart.
Without the help of you and your friends, the police might never
have found him. Because of you, that little girl was saved.” His
smile faded as he continued. “Stockman is still in South Carolina,
but he'll be transferred to Atlanta as soon as all the paperwork is
done. After finding Carrie Weston, and with what the police found
upstairs at the house, they have a solid case against him.”

Brinn had overheard the police talking about
finding evidence of several other victims in the second floor rooms
of the old farmhouse. Photos, old clothes, hair ribbons, each small
grouping of items placed in its own shoe box labeled with names and
dates. Stockman had kept souvenirs, mementos of his conquests.
Brinn shuddered and tried not to imagine the fate that had befallen
those other girls. Her father’s voice interrupted the gruesome
images that sprang to her mind.

“
Even so, there’s a lot of
pressure from my office for you to testify. Obviously, I can't
handle the case myself, but I have my best prosecutor working on
it, and she thinks we can get the maximum penalty if we can have
you identify him and then give testimony at his trial."

Brinn was silent for a long time. She turned
to face her mother and Justin, resisting the urge to pace. "What do
you think, Mama?"

Her mother shook her head, "It has to be your
decision. You know you’ll have to recount details of your story to
a courtroom full of people, and the defense attorney will not be
kind." Her mother eyed her father across the room, a distinctly
chilly glare covering the distance.

Brinn looked to Justin, who responded with a
shrug, "Your mom is right. It’s up to you. It won't be easy, Brinn,
but I know you, and you won't feel right about your decision unless
you do everything in your power to fight on your own terms. And you
won't be alone. This is your chance to end this." Justin placed his
hands on her shoulders, his sheer proximity infusing her with
confidence. “Just know that whatever you decide, we will all
support you.”

She hugged him and whispered in his ear. "You
make me believe I can do anything.” He held her tightly for another
moment. She turned back to her father. “I’ll do whatever I have to.
I want this over and done with. Just let me know when you need me
to come to the police station to identify him."

∞∞∞

Two days later, Brinn stood in a tiny square
room behind a one-way mirror, flanked by the prosecuting attorney
and a female, plainclothes detective named Walker. Sweat trickled
down her temple and her spine felt like a rigid pole. Her limbs
shook and her throat dried up instantly as six men were marched
into the room, handcuffed and in single file. Brinn recognized the
man almost immediately, but the force of her recognition hit her
square in the stomach when he faced forward and stared with those
cold, empty, dark eyes straight through the glass at her. All the
other faces in the lineup disappeared. Brinn clutched the table for
support.

"Do you recognize any of these men?" It was
Karen Sutton, the Assistant D.A. from her father’s office, asking
the question. The woman’s voice sounded distant.

"He can’t see me, can he?" Brinn glared
through the glass. He was older but had the same wiry frame and
narrow face that she remembered. A sick pain thundered through her
flesh, reminding her of the nightmares she'd had for years.
Stockman’s face suspended, immortal in the recesses of her mind,
affirming that even sleep was no escape.

Her nights were tormented more than ever by
dreams and memories. Now, her worst nightmare was standing no more
than ten feet away. The bile that rose in her throat burned. He
knew she was there behind the mirror. She could see it in his
eyes—that confident, cruel look that sent a wave of terror through
her chest.

"He absolutely cannot see you, Brinn." The
detective reassured. The woman wrapped an arm around her shoulders,
supporting her as her limbs wobbled and threatened to give way.

“
He knows that I’m here. I
can feel it.”

“
Which one is
he?”

Brinn raised her hand and pointed a shaky
finger. "That's him, the third one in.” Her breath came in shallow
gulps. “He’s the man who took me."

"You’re absolutely certain?" Karen asked.

"Yes."

"Okay, Brinn. We have your statement and
you’ll have the opportunity to testify when he goes to trial.
Someone will contact you when we have more details." Detective
Walker led her out and down a hallway, followed closely by the tall
blonde attorney who was already making conversation with someone on
her cell phone.