The Last Straw, page 20
Millie glanced at the time. “I slept through the 1 a.m. visitation. But we can go in at two.”
“Can I go in, too?” Ray asked.
Millie nodded.
“Two family members at a time, and we have to be very quiet. There are some very sick people in ICU.”
Ray nodded. “I just want to look at her and let her know we’re here. You never know how much they can hear.”
“You’re right,” Millie said. “I was so horrified when I first saw her, that it was all I could do to say her name. I’m so glad you’re here. If you’re hungry, the food in the vending machines isn’t awful. We have to wait until six thirty before the cafeteria opens.”
“I’m fine for now,” Ray said. “I missed you. I just want to hold you.”
And so they settled in to wait, keeping an eye on the clock until they could see Rachel again.
* * *
Rachel knew nothing. She didn’t know she’d been rescued, or had surgery, or that Millie and Ray were so near. The blessed peace of clean and soft were lost on her. The fluids and food she was getting intravenously were what she’d needed days ago. Fever warred with the antibiotics being pumped into her, and right now it was still winning.
She was safe, and didn’t know.
She had prayed to be rescued or to die.
She needed to wake up so she’d know her prayers had been answered. Maybe that would be the turning point, knowing she didn’t have to fight her way out of that hell now to survive.
She didn’t know there were nurses with her. She didn’t know when Ray and Millie came in, or when her surgeon came in to check on her again before morning.
She heard nothing.
Saw nothing.
Knew nothing.
She just was.
Waiting to be Rachel again.
* * *
Mildred Pete was a nervous wreck. She’d spent the night moving from room to room with the lights out, scared half out of her mind that Farrell Kitt would come looking to silence her.
She still couldn’t believe she’d had the nerve to challenge him, but her heart hurt for Junior Kitt. He was a sweet little boy, who was now going to grow up with a big strike against him for being his father’s son.
She also felt bad for Judy Kitt. It was obvious she’d known nothing about what her husband had done until it was too late. Everyone in Paulette had known that Judy Kitt took herself and her kids to the Baptist Church in town, while Farrell had become wrapped up in Jeremiah Raver’s cult. That was what they’d called it, and time had proven them all right in their beliefs.
Mildred was torn about turning Farrell in. But she also knew that if she didn’t, someone else would. She was almost sixty. She’d been planning to retire at the end of this school year. Having that money for a nest egg in her later years would be a blessing.
But she didn’t want people in Paulette to know she was the one who turned him in. And the only way to keep that a secret was to have that money deposited in a bank in another city.
So by the time the sun came up, she was in the kitchen having breakfast. As soon as she started a load of clothes to washing, she took off to Baton Rouge, to open an account in one of the banks. She had been saving Christmas money in a sock in her underwear drawer. Nearly five hundred dollars.
It was Saturday. That meant no school, but it also meant the banks would close at noon. It would take almost an hour to get there, but by the time she reached Baton Rouge, the bank lobby would be open. And when she left, she’d have a new checking account—one where the bounty money could be sent.
She had the email all ready to send to that woman. All she had to do was send the routing number of her bank with it, then sit back and wait for whatever came next.
* * *
It was after 8 a.m. when Wyrick woke up. She rolled over to check the time and then stretched, reveling in the leisure of a slow morning, before getting up to shower and dress.
She sent a text to Millie Chriss, telling her that they were staying on the case until the man who took Rachel was behind bars, and then went down to find something to eat.
She started her cup of coffee to brewing, and poked around in the refrigerator and then the pantry.
What she wanted was pancakes and bacon, but she didn’t know how to make pancakes, and frying bacon was dangerous. Food should not hurt. So she opted for a bowl of cereal. She decided to put some fruit on it, and was eyeing the bowl of cherry tomatoes, then decided that was more adventure than she was ready for, and picked a container of blackberries instead.
She was eating a blackberry and pouring cereal in her bowl when Charlie walked in. She waved her spoon and kept chewing.
Charlie grinned. “Good morning to you, too.”
He made himself coffee and toast, then got butter and jelly from the fridge and joined her at the table.
“Called Detective Floyd yet?” Wyrick asked and then poked another spoonful of cereal into her mouth.
Charlie shook his head. “I wanted to wait until we were both in on the call, in case he asked for details.”
She nodded, and while they were eating Wyrick got a text. It was from Millie. She read it aloud.
“Millie says Rachel is stable. Her fever is down a couple of degrees. The doctor is happy with her progress, and Millie’s husband arrived last night.”
“Good news,” Charlie said.
Wyrick nodded, finished her cereal and carried the bowl to the sink, then sat back down at the table and started reading the morning news on her phone.
She would have rather watched Charlie eat, because everything he did was sexy, right down to licking butter off his thumb.
As soon as he carried his dishes to the sink, he refilled his coffee and came back to the table.
“Are you ready to talk to the cops?”
“Yes,” she said and laid down her phone.
Charlie made the call, then put it on speaker and waited for the detective to answer. It rang a couple of times and Wyrick frowned.
“It’s Saturday. Maybe he’s off?”
“Not with a kidnapper on the loose,” Charlie said. But just when he thought it was going to go to voice mail, Floyd answered.
“Hey, Charlie. Sorry. I was dropping my son off at his grandma’s for the day. What’s up?”
“Wyrick uncovered more information last night. She thought you might already know it, but just in case you didn’t, she wanted to pass it on. I have the call on speaker and she’s right here, so I’m going to let her explain.”
“With Rachel Dean still unconscious, any help in this case is appreciated,” Floyd said. “Good morning, Wyrick. I’m listening.”
“Okay...here’s where I went with research last night, and you are officially welcome to shoot it all down. Only I would advise you not to, but that’s just me.”
They heard Floyd chuckle. “Ma’am, after witnessing you in action the past few days, I’m not shooting down anything you have to say.”
Wyrick continued, “Since Rachel Dean was found on site, I went with the premise that the kidnapper likely lives on site, too. Her presence there made it easy for him to come and go at his leisure. So by a process of elimination of the names of people who’ve lived at Detter House since the first woman went missing, there are only two men who’ve lived there long enough to have had access to all four women. A man named J.J. Burch, who’s been there fourteen years, and a man named Lou Nunez, who’s been there twelve years.”
“Wow. No. We hadn’t begun to dip back that far. How on earth did you get access to records that old—?”
“Don’t ask,” Charlie said.
There was a moment of silence, and then Floyd chuckled again.
“Okay. Message received, and, lady, you sure don’t mess around.”
“There’s no time,” Wyrick said. “You will need to interview both of them and fast, or the guilty party will likely disappear.”
“They’re all already gone,” Floyd said. “Allen Carson moved them to the Ritz-Carlton on his dime yesterday, because most of them were trying to break their leases. He gave us two days to get finished with our investigation and evidence gathering, and then he’s going to begin demolition of the passage and the tunnel, and remodeling the rooms with the hidden doors. I understand his point. It’s all about damage control.”
Wyrick frowned. “This isn’t good. I’m not going to tell you how to do your job, but having heard this, I would bet money the man you’re looking for is already gone, and I don’t want him to be gone because we need to find the other three women he took. I know they’re not alive. I’m not living in that fantasy. But they’re lost, and lost is a hell of a place to be. You have family. You have people who know and love you. But there are a lot of people in this world who don’t. And I can say, with a level of expertise, that it is a terrible thing to be so alone in the world that, if you went missing, there wouldn’t be one person to sound the alarm.”
Floyd was silent a moment, then they could hear him clearing his throat.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m calling my partner. We’ll head out to the Ritz this morning.”
Charlie added one final comment. “Keep us in the loop, because Wyrick is not going to let this go. And if you can’t find him, then that means we’ll be looking for the bastard on our own.”
“Understood,” Floyd said. “I’ll check in with you later today. Thanks for the heads-up, Wyrick.”
“One more thing,” Wyrick added. “If one of those two men is already in the wind, get a search warrant for his apartment and let me have access. If he’s left anything behind that will help us, I will find it.”
Floyd hesitated. “I don’t know if—”
Charlie frowned. “Look, Floyd. We’re not trying to step on anyone’s toes. We don’t want credit for any of it. No one has to even know we’re there, and whatever we find is yours to follow up on.”
“Yeah, okay. Whatever it takes, I’ll make it right with the lieutenant. I’ll call you later.”
Fifteen
Sonny Burch was home, standing on the back porch of the old farmhouse he’d grown up in, watching the sun come up in a blaze of oranges and pinks, wondering how many more sunrises he would see.
This wasn’t how he had expected life to turn out, but he never had been good at planning ahead. He’d been more of a “live in the moment” kind of guy, and now he was paying the price.
He’d given himself a once-over in the mirror last night as he’d undressed for bed, and was not happy about how he looked. His chest looked like he’d been mauled, and his dick was three shades of purple and hanging a little too limp for comfort.
He’d called his leasing company, put his manager in charge and told him that he was going to be gone for a while. They knew what to do. He wasn’t worried about the future of his business. But he was worried about himself.
The sun was up now. The light show was over.
He turned toward the field at the back of the house, remembering the horses that used to run there and the cattle that had grazed in the back pasture, and sighed.
Time changes everything.
Nothing lasts forever—except memories.
Then he looked toward the bench beneath a trio of trees that were just inside the yard fence, and stepped off the porch. It was time to pay a visit to the girls. Each held a special place in his heart, even though, in the end, the relationships had not worked out.
* * *
It was close to 10 a.m. when Floyd and Mills arrived at the Ritz-Carlton. They went straight to the registration desk and flashed their badges.
“I’m Detective Floyd, and this is my partner, Detective Mills. We need the room numbers of a couple of your guests who just came in from Detter House.”
“Yes, sir,” the clerk said. “What are their names?”
“J.J. Burch and Lou Nunez,” Floyd said.
The clerk immediately turned and typed in their names.
“Mr. Nunez is registered in room 466. But we don’t have a J.J. Burch.”
Floyd glanced at Mills and frowned. “Do you have Wayne Dyer’s phone number?”
“No,” Mills said.
“What room is Wayne Dyer in?” Floyd asked.
The clerk typed in the name.
“Mr. Dyer is in room 402.” Then he pointed to a bank of phones near the desk. “You can call the rooms from any of those phones.”
“Thanks,” Floyd said and headed for the phone bank, then called Wayne first.
Wayne was in bed, kicked back watching TV, when his room phone rang. He muted his show, then leaned over and answered.
“Hello.”
“Mr. Dyer, this is Detective Floyd.”
“Oh, yes, sir. How can I help you?” Wayne asked.
“We wanted to speak to one of the residents you moved here, but he doesn’t appear to have registered. His name is J.J. Burch. Do you happen to have a different location for him?”
“Who? I don’t know a... Oh, wait! You’re talking about Sonny. He doesn’t go by J.J. No, he’s not registered here. He called the office when he was leaving to let me know he was going to stay with family in the city. He said it would be more comfortable, and closer to his work.”
“Ah...okay. By any chance would you have Sonny’s cell phone number?” Floyd asked.
“I think I brought a list of the residents’ names and contact info with me. Just a moment, please. Let me go check.”
He laid down the phone and ran to get his briefcase, then shuffled through some papers before he found it. He slid back onto the side of the bed. “Yes, I do. Got a pen and paper?” he asked.
“Yes, go ahead,” Floyd said and took down the number.
“There’s a separate number for his office. I’ll give you that one, too,” Wayne said.
Floyd wrote it down. “Thanks, Mr. Dyer. Oh...since you have the list in front of you, do you have a contact number for Lou Nunez, too...just in case he’s not on the premises?”
“Of course,” Wayne said and gave him Nunez’s number. “He’s a stockbroker, but I don’t know if they work on Saturdays. If you don’t mind, I have a question for you. Do you have an update on Rachel Dean? We’ve all been praying for her.”
“All I know is that she came through surgery. She’s in the ICU and still unconscious.”
Wayne sighed. “Lord bless her heart. This whole thing is just so horrifying and ugly. You have to catch the man who did this to her. He’s a monster.”
“We’re doing our best,” Floyd said. “Thanks for the help.”
As soon as he disconnected, he called Lou Nunez’s room, but he didn’t answer.
“This was a bust,” Mills said as they left the hotel and walked back to their car. “And who’s Sonny?”
“J.J. goes by Sonny,” Floyd said and got in, then pulled out his notebook with the numbers Wayne had given them and called Nunez first, then put it on speaker so Mills could hear, too.
* * *
Lou Nunez was at the office with a client when his cell phone rang. He glanced at caller ID and then frowned.
“I’m sorry, but I need to take this. If you’ll excuse me for a few minutes, I shouldn’t be long.”
The client nodded and Lou got up and went into the outer office to answer.
“Hello, this is Nunez.”
“Mr. Nunez, this is Detective Floyd, Dallas PD. Do you have a few moments to answer some questions?”
“Well, sure, I guess. Does this have anything to do with Rachel being kidnapped? Because if it does, I’ll do anything I can to help. We all really like her. She is a little workaholic, but a delight to be around. What do you need to know?”
Floyd had to admit the man was forthcoming, but he could also be a damn good liar.
“How many years have you been a resident of Detter House?” Floyd asked.
“Oh, goodness. Maybe eleven, no, this year is twelve years. I don’t have any relatives in the state, but the amenities at Detter House are perfect for fostering a social atmosphere, which keeps me from feeling lonely.”
“Are you married?” Floyd asked.
“Not now. I moved to Detter House after my divorce. What does—?”
“Are you aware of any other women going missing since you’ve been living there?”
“Lord, no. Look at all the turmoil Rachel’s absence caused! We would have all known, you know?”
“Where were you yesterday morning?” Floyd asked.
“I was at work. You can check with my employer. I didn’t find out about that Wyrick woman being abducted or that Rachel Dean had been found until I got the phone call from Wayne Dyer that we were going to be moved to the Ritz.”
“Okay, I think that’s it for now. Thank you.”
“Sure,” Lou said. “Would it be out of line to ask about Rachel’s welfare?”
“No. She’s had surgery and is in the ICU. I don’t believe she’s regained consciousness,” Floyd said.
“God. This is just so tragic. I keep praying she’ll pull through,” Lou said. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“Of course,” Floyd said and ended the call.
“He didn’t come across as guarded or evasive,” Mills said.
Floyd nodded. “Okay, let’s see what Sonny Burch has to say for himself.” He made the call, waited for it to start ringing and within seconds it went to voice mail.
“Yes, Mr. Burch. This is Detective Floyd of the Dallas PD. Please call me at this number at your earliest convenience.” And then he hung up.
“Voice mail?” Mills asked.
Floyd nodded. “He has it turned off because it went directly to voice mail. I’m calling his office,” he said and made that call next.
Within seconds a perky little voice was on the line.
