Shield of Justice (27 page)

“I have contact with her, Watts,” Rebecca relayed into her own tiny microphone. “We’re about a half mile in along the trail. Nothing yet.”

“He’s passing,” Catherine continued, a touch of relief in her voice.

A male cyclist passed Rebecca from behind. She noted his general description, but he was the wrong age and didn’t appear suspicious. She relayed their general location to Watts again, knowing that he would direct the other officers staked out in the park in tandem with them as much as possible.

“A woman with a dog approaching. Cute dog,” Catherine noted.

That, Rebecca knew, would be Valerie Thompson and Cleo. Cleo was a narc dog. They had decided to risk putting one officer on Catherine’s direct route if they could, and the tiny Yorkshire terrier seemed like the perfect cover.

Val shook her head almost imperceptibly as she passed Rebecca a minute later. “Nothing,” she whispered with disappointment.

Rebecca hadn’t expected much. Obviously, he wasn’t going to reveal himself. What she couldn’t figure out was how he intended to get away, especially with Catherine. Could he be so psychotic that he didn’t believe they would be following him? He had set this up so well, and this glaring flaw perplexed her.

“There are some fallen trees up ahead,” Catherine reported. “I’m going to have to leave the path for a little ways to go around them.”

“No!” Rebecca ordered frantically, although only Watts could hear her. She broke into a run, one hand pressing the small earphone against her ear, straining to hear Catherine’s voice.

If Catherine was off the trail, not only was she more vulnerable, but also she was easier to lose. Seconds later, Rebecca heard Catherine’s cry transmitted with agonizing sharpness and then recognized the harsh voice that froze her heart.

“Where is the wire? Tell me!”

Rebecca heard the rending of cloth followed by total silence as Catherine’s transmitter went dead.

“Jesus, Watts! He’s got her! Move, move!” Rebecca screamed into her mike as she raced along the trail. She saw the downed trees ahead and slowed as she approached, gun in hand. Carefully, she stepped off the path toward the water, scanning right and left for some sign of Catherine and her attacker. It was evident from several trampled bushes where he had waited for Catherine’s approach.
They can’t be far ahead!

Rebecca’s eye caught a faint flash of color in the grass. She reached down for the object, stifling a moan as her fingers closed over one of the cream-colored buttons from Catherine’s blouse. Moving automatically, the tiny connection to Catherine clenched in her hand, she continued to search; her vision narrowed as her panic began to rise. Through the trees, not fifteen yards away, she could see the ever-present panoply of boats on the river, while the setting sun cast deep purple shadows across the water. Life went on normally around her, while her own reality collapsed into the sensation of a tiny button pressed into her palm. She heard footsteps behind her and turned, her gun poised. It was Watts, red faced and sweating.

“What happened?” he asked breathlessly.

“He was waiting here, just like we knew he would be. I was only a minute behind, but they’re gone. He’s got her,” Rebecca recounted in a flat, empty voice.

Watts would almost rather she panicked. Her eyes were eerie—wild and feverish. She looked like a loose grenade with the pin pulled, ready to go off at any second. “They can’t get out of the park, Sarge,” he said as steadily as he could. “That’s one thing we did right.”

“What if he doesn’t take her out of the park? What if he just rapes her and murders her, fifty yards from us, just like the others?” Her voice had an edge to it now, a desperate note of anguish.

“Too dangerous. We’ve got people all over here now. And besides, this guy is not stupid. He got her here for a reason, and it wasn’t just to hump her.”

Rebecca lunged at him. “Shut your fucking mouth!” She had her hands on his throat before she realized what she was doing. His lack of resistance as well as the absence of anger in his eyes penetrated her pain-filled mind. Just as quickly, she let him go.

“God…I lost it,” she said, stepping back, shocked. She stared at her hands, then at him, her mind clearing. “I’m sorry, Watts.”

He regarded her impassively, waving away her apology. Then he relaxed somewhat when he saw that color had returned to her face and her expression had again become sharp and intent. “Your call, Sarge. What next?”

“They’re not here, Watts,” she said, turning in a full circle and seeing nothing in the way of a trail to follow. “Which means they went somewhere, right?”

Watts nodded in puzzled agreement.

“So where the hell did they go? For that matter, how does he
always
disappear so easily? They didn’t go up that path because two of them would have left quite a trail and we’ve got people up ahead. And they didn’t go back past me. So, Watts, where did they go?”

They both turned at the same time—toward the river.

“Son of a bitch,” Watts said, hurrying after Rebecca, who was pushing quickly through the shrubs and bushes. “Are we dumb fucks or what? It’s been right in front of our noses the whole time. The goddamned water!”

Their eyes scanned the crew teams and solitary rowers on the river. It was a sight so familiar it had failed to register in anyone’s mind.

“Janet Ryan stopped to watch the regatta,” Rebecca exclaimed, “and I bet if we checked the dates of the other attacks, we’d find there was a regatta each time. Perfect cover.” She rounded on Watts, her voice sharp with purpose.

“He’s got to be headed for the boathouses. He can’t stay on the water with her.” She started back along toward the path they had just descended. “Get the car and meet me there. And for God’s sake, keep this quiet. I don’t want Catherine to end up a hostage with the SWAT team breathing down our necks. He won’t be expecting anyone to come after him. He thinks he’s outsmarted us. But if we get there quickly, we can catch him off guard and take him.”

“I’ll keep a lid on it for as long as I can, Sarge,” Watts said, his tone cautious. “That means I’m your only backup, and it could get pretty hairy when we find him.”

She met his eyes. His never wavered.

“That’s good enough,” she said, and then she ran. She’d find them, and if he’d laid one finger on Catherine, she’d kill him where he stood.

The first thing Catherine noticed was the pounding pain in her jaw. The second was the rhythmic sound of water rushing past. She tried to turn and found herself wedged uncomfortably into a narrow space at the front of a boat, face up, something pressing uncomfortably into the small of her back. Much more disturbing than her physical discomfort, however, was the man seated above her, rowing quickly and efficiently through the deepening dusk.

“We’re almost there, Catherine,” he reported softly in a surprisingly affable tone. “May I call you Catherine?”

She tried to focus on his face in the near darkness. She wanted to put a face to the voice; she needed that connection to quiet the rising panic that was making it hard for her to breathe. She needed to be able to think; she needed her senses and her intuition. If she froze now, she had a feeling that she would die. She very much did not want to die.

“Yes. I’m Catherine. What may I call you?” she asked, her voice sounding odd to her own ears. She ran her tongue experimentally over the inside of her mouth. Swollen, but nothing broken, all teeth intact.

“Raymond.”

Her heart raced at this small triumph. “Where are we going, Raymond?”

“To a private place, where no one will disturb us.”

“All right. Will you tell me why?” Catherine made no attempt to sit up. She couldn’t go anywhere, and it was pointless to antagonize him.

Abruptly aware of the cold wind on her chest, she realized her blouse was open. She remembered him tearing it to pull off the tiny microphone wires that had been taped there, and she hadn’t been wearing a bra to make the wire fit easier. He had not touched her breasts; she remembered that now. Then he had struck her. She tentatively reached up to pull the damaged material closed.

“What’s the matter? Does your jaw hurt?” His voice was harsh now. “I didn’t want to hit you, but I couldn’t let you make any noise. You shouldn’t have told them about us, Catherine.”

“My jaw does hurt. I’m cold, Raymond,” she replied, hoping to make him feel responsible for her. The more human she became for him, the less likely he was to harm her.

“You’ll be warm soon.”

She couldn’t judge how long she had been in the boat, but she could tell that they were moving quickly. She closed her eyes and worked to calm the racing of her heart and quell the thin scream rising in the back of her mind. She wondered if Rebecca would find her in time.

*

There were fifteen boathouses on the river—some privately owned by universities, some city property, and some closed and boarded up, no longer in use. Rebecca was betting that he would take Catherine to one of the half dozen unoccupied structures. He couldn’t risk bringing Catherine into the park, even at a distance from the abduction point. He had to know that there were police everywhere. But he could bring her here, unnoticed, and then leave alone at his leisure. The police couldn’t possibly stop every single male in the park, not with a regatta just ending. There were thousands of people around. But if she bet wrong, it could mean Catherine’s life.

It seemed to take forever for her to reach the first building. Watts, puffing from his jog from the car, joined her in the shadows cast by the first boathouse in a block-long row of them. She would need to check the entire perimeter of each one, possibly even the interiors, and she had to do it quietly. She was racing against the clock.

“Let’s start with the ones that are dark, Watts. You take the street side, and I’ll take the river side. When I move to the next house, I’ll signal you.”

“Right, Sarge,” he grunted.

She melted quickly into the darkness, praying that she would be in time.

*

“I can’t turn on the lights, Catherine, but we have candles. Candles will be nicer, don’t you think?”

He held her facing away from him with her right arm twisted behind her back and his other hand fisted in the hair at the base of her neck. He was strong, and the intense pressure on her elbow brought her up on her toes in an effort to lessen the pain. She might have been able to startle him with a kick to his shins, but she was quite sure he would break her arm if she tried. Overpowering him was out of the question; she was going to have to talk her way out of this.

“I have to tie your hands, Catherine. You can’t be trusted, and I don’t want you to spoil anything.” He pushed her to the floor, and, before she could roll away, he pulled both wrists together behind her back. He wrapped them tightly with some kind of cord and hauled her to her feet by pulling on her bound arms.

She gasped with the acute pain in her hands and shoulders but forced herself to meet his gaze. He was an average-looking man, sandy hair, of medium height, with a slender build. It was the voice that captured Catherine’s attention, and what she heard in it chilled her blood. There was a dreamy quality, almost as if he were reciting well-practiced lines. She had heard that tone before, and she knew what it meant. He was listening to other voices in his head. She needed him to listen to her.

“What might I spoil, Raymond?” she asked as he dragged her to a long bench that ran along one wall. “What are we doing here?”

“I brought you here to show you the truth. I don’t want you to move while I’m fucking you. You have to pay attention to what I’m doing.” He shoved her down on the bench and pulled a large zippered bag from underneath. Then he moved quickly and lit several candles, which he placed around them in a semicircle on the floor. “Just me. I want you to see.”

“What? What is it you want me to see?” Catherine urged softly, desperately casting about for some way to interrupt his thinking. She was aware that her breasts were exposed, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was obviously playing out a script already written in his mind, and if she couldn’t distract him from it, she had no hope. Right now she was just a symbol to him, and she needed to be real. She needed to break the pattern.

“Raymond,” she said again, “what do you want me to understand? You brought me here to tell me. I’m listening. I want to know.”

“I want to show you how well I can fuck,” he said through his teeth, suddenly sounding angry and defensive. “I want you to see how special it is with me. More than with any of the others.”

“What others, Raymond? Who?”
Specifics, I need specifics. Reality is in the details.

“Don’t you think I know you’ve had others? You’re a whore. You should have been happy it was me. You shouldn’t have complained. You’ll be happy now.”

He was kneeling a few feet away, rapidly emptying the contents of a sports bag onto the floor. There were several pairs of women’s shorts, more rope, and an automatic handgun.

“Raymond,” she insisted steadily, trying not to look at the gun, trying not to think about what he might actually do to her as she lay helpless on the dirty floor. “I’m Dr. Rawlings. You called me, remember? Why did you call me, Raymond? Remember you wanted to talk?”

“What?” he stared at her as if he couldn’t quite make out her words. He hesitated, still crouched over the items he had arrayed in front of him, his expression perplexed. Cocking his head, he listened in the silence. “So you can explain to them. Why would anyone complain when it’s so good with me? So special. You can tell them all they were wrong to punish me. They’ll believe you.”