Hide (Detective D.D. Warren, #2)(50)

"Very"

"Never brought a knife, used a ligature, played around with a garrote?"

"No."

"You said he tied you up. Rope, handcuffs, other?"

"Rope."

"One kind of rope, different kinds of ropes? Favorite knots?"

"I don't know. Rope. He had a whole coil of it. It was thick, maybe half an inch. White. Dirty. Strong. He would pound stakes into the wooden ground, then tie my limbs to the stakes. I will confess that at the time I didn't notice the knots." Her voice remained remote.

"Did he ever bring trash bags to the scene?"

"Trash bags? What do you mean? Like a Hefty bag?"

"Like any kind of trash bag."

Catherine shook her head. "Richard favored plastic grocery bags. He'd have supplies and/or food in them. You'd be proud of Richard, he was a conscientious camper, carried in, carried out. A regular Boy Scout, that one."

[page]"Mrs. Gagnon, do you know why Mr. Umbrio kidnapped you?"

"Yes."

D.D. momentarily faltered, as if not expecting this answer, though she was the one who asked the question. "You do?"

"Yes. I was wearing a corduroy skirt with knee-high socks. Turns out, Richard had a fetish for Catholic schoolgirls. Took one look, decided I was it. No one else was around, so lucky me."

D.D and Bobby exchanged glances. Bobby had been taking furious notes while D.D. asked the questions. Cataloging the details of Catherine's attack to compare to the victims found at Boston State Mental, I would suspect. But this bothered them. Now both stared at Catherine.

"Catherine," D.D. asked quietly, "had you met Richard before that afternoon?"

"No."

"Had he by any chance noticed you? Mentioned following you home from school before or watching you on the school playground, that sort of thing?"

"No."

"So, that afternoon, when his car turned down the street. That's the first time you and Richard met?"

"Like I said, lucky me."

D.D.'s frown deepened. "After you got into his car, what happened?"

"The door was jammed, locked, I don't know. It wouldn't open."

"Did you scream, did you struggle?"

"I don't remember."

"You don't remember?"

"No. I remember getting into his car. I remember growing… confused, uneasy I think I tried the door handle and then… I don't remember. Police and therapists have asked me for years. I still don't remember. I would guess I screamed. I would guess I fought. But maybe I did nothing. Maybe my lack of memory is my cover for shame." Her lips curved slightly, but the self-conscious smile never reached her eyes.

"What do you remember?" D.D.'s voice was gentler now. It seemed to put the steel back in Catherine's spine.

"Waking up in the dark."

"Was he there?"

"Ready to rock and roll."

"In the pit?"

"Yep."

"So he'd already prepared the pit, before he'd spotted you and decided to make his move?"

Bobby and D.D. exchanged that look again.

Bobby spoke up this time. "According to what you said earlier, Umbrio grabbed you on impulse, based on your outfit. So how could he have known to be so prepared?"

Catherine looked at him. "The pit wasn't new. He'd found it one day exploring in the woods. Turned it into a sort of secret hideaway for himself, where he could stash his weenie-whacking magazines and get away from his parents. And, of course, maintain his own personal sex slave." She shrugged again.

"But do I think he grabbed me on impulse? No. He saidthat, but I never believed him. He had rope, material for gagging my mouth, covering my eyes. What normal kind of person has that kind of stuff lying around in his car? Richard was a bondage freak. Every single f*cking porn magazine he had was pretty much Bind That Bitch or Smack Her Ass. You're the experts, you tell me, but I would guess the idea of his own little rape kitten had been growing in his mind for some time. He had the physical size to do as he pleased. And he had the perfect location. All he lacked was the unwilling subject. So one afternoon in October, he went shopping."

"Shopping—your word or his?" D.D. asked sharply.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

Catherine arched a brow. "I don't remember."

"Catherine"—Bobby spoke up, earning an annoyed frown from D.D., who clearly planned on running the show—"how experienced do you think Umbrio was when he abducted you? Were you number one, number three, number twelve?"

"That's asking for speculation," Carson interjected.

"I understand."

Bobby kept staring at Catherine. She had placed her hands on the table. Now she flexed and curled her fingers as she considered his words.

"You mean sexually? Was he a virgin?"

"Yes."

For a moment, she didn't answer. "I was twelve," she said at last. "Not experienced enough myself to be any judge of those things. However…"

"However," Bobby prompted when she didn't continue.

"As a woman looking back? He was overeager in the beginning. Climaxed before he ever penetrated, then grew flustered and beat the shit out of me to cover his own embarrassment. That happened frequently those first few days. He would arrive with elaborate plans for what he wanted to do, but be so overexcited he'd ejaculate before we ever got going. With time, however, he settled down. Grew less eager, but more imaginative." Her lips twisted. "He learned to be cruel.