Where the Blame Lies(14)

“She was hydrated though.”

“Josie Stratton drank rainwater from a crack in the wall when it was available. Perhaps your new victim had access to water that didn’t come from the perp.” Maybe. Zach would have the criminalists look at the walls of the basement, determine if there were cracks. If so, and the victim stayed hydrated that way, it was possible that the suspect had unintentionally left her there because of being detained elsewhere. At this point, countless possibilities loomed.

His head was starting to hurt. Murphy dropped the file back into the box and pushed it toward Zach. “Look through this. Maybe there’s something in there I’m not remembering that will help with this new case.”

“Thanks, Murphy.”

“No problem.” Murphy paused and then stood slowly. Zach stood as well. “She calls every year, you know?”

“Josie?”

Murphy nodded, frowning. “Yeah. But . . . come to think of it, she didn’t this year. She used to always call on the anniversary of her escape, ask if we had any new leads about her son.” He ran a hand over his thinning hair. “Killed me to give her the same damn answer every time, but we just never could find a shred of information on what Landish did with the infant.” He shook his head, pressing his lips together. “Anyway, she would have called in February but she didn’t. I guess everyone gives up at some point.” He sighed, tapping his fingers on the table. “Truthfully, I’m glad she has.”

“Why?” Zach asked.

Murphy looked him square in the eye. “Why? Because kid’s gotta be dead. A sick fuck like that? I can’t see him dropping the baby off on some nice old lady’s doorstep. Plus, if he had, someone would have let us know. It was national news. Hell, international. Nah, he threw that kid in some garbage dump, treated him about as well as he treated his mother. And Josie Stratton not calling this year? I gotta hope maybe it means she’s moving on.”

“Do you know where she’s living now?”

“Last time I talked to her she had just moved to Oxford, Ohio, near an aunt. The address is in the file there.”

Zach thanked Murphy again, took the box, and walked back to his desk. Just as he was sitting down, his cell rang. Jimmy.

“Tell me you have something,” he said.

“Yes, siree. Pretty sure I have an ID. The woman on our missing persons list who disappeared after leaving her job at the bar in Hyde Park? Aria Glazer? She had gotten a tattoo on her ankle six months before she disappeared. Her roommate was at work, but I talked to her briefly. She’d forgotten about it at the time of Aria’s disappearance, said she was distraught, and the question of tattoos didn’t come up.” Zach was sure the detectives who’d interviewed the roommate had asked about identifying marks, but maybe she didn’t consider the tattoo. Sometimes you had to be really specific with people.

“A daisy,” Zach said.

“Bingo. We need to get dental records.”

That’ll be a fun request, Zach thought, cringing inwardly at the thought of calling her parents. They’d know immediately why the records were needed. But if this was Aria Glazer, her parents would get some closure, and he might have somewhere to go with this case. Some information that would help find the animal who’d done this, so he could prevent him from doing it again.





CHAPTER SEVEN


Before



Marshall stayed away for three days. On the third day, Josie heard him descending the stairs and burst into relieved sobs. But when he came in the door, she sensed a difference to his mood, something off that she couldn’t put her finger on, especially with his face covered the way it was. She was tempted to tell him she already knew who he was, that the mask wasn’t necessary, but it was the only ace she had up her sleeve, the only thing that gave her a smidgeon of hope that he’d eventually let her go, believing she wouldn’t be able to identify him.

He fed her and gave her water, and she relaxed back against the wall, the awful hunger pains sated, her thirst quenched. He watched her for a moment, and then reached for something else in his bag, her blood freezing in her veins when she saw what he had in his hand: a knife.

He tapped it on his palm for a moment, his head tilted as though in thought. “I think we b-both need a reminder about who y-you are, Josie. Something that is p-permanent.”

Her body stilled and she watched him like a mouse would watch the cat who held it in its clutches. Waiting for the first bite, the strike of claws.

He pulled her shorts down and she let out a terror-filled wail, clenching her legs together and drawing herself against the wall. OhGodohGodohGod. “Please, no!” she cried.

“Give me your thigh, J-Josie,” he gritted. “The more you m-move, the more this will hurt.”

Her thigh? “What?” Her breath came out in harsh pants, her mind a red haze of fear. Her thigh. He was going to use that knife on her thigh. It was better than what she’d first thought he was going to do and so, though she couldn’t stop the wracking shudders moving through her, she stretched out her leg, offering him her thigh.

“Smart girl,” he crooned, a note of sarcasm in his voice.

He brought the knife to her thigh and pressed. Josie tipped her head back against the wall and screamed as he dragged it over her skin. The blade felt like fire, and she could feel her blood flowing from the wounds. Her screams turned to shrieks as it went on and on and on, horror ratcheting through her. When it stopped, she was shuddering, her thigh throbbing, throat raw, eyes swollen from crying.