All the Dark Places(79)

“And you were there why?”

He shrugs. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drive by. I’ve been doing that on occasion,” he adds quietly.

“So who is he?”

“You want to talk to him with me?”

“Sure.” I glance at Joe.

“I’ll let you two handle it, unless you need me.”

“We’ve got it,” I say.

The man is thirty-something, shaved head, skinny jeans, and a leather jacket. He slouches in his chair as though we’re a big pain in his ass.

I introduce myself and we sit. “And you are?”

“Brian Fleck.”

Chase says, “I found Mr. Fleck standing across the street from the Bradley residence. Then I saw him on her porch, looking in the windows.”

“I told you I was trying to contact Mrs. Bradley.”

“For what purpose?” I ask.

“Look, I didn’t do anything illegal, okay? I agreed to come in and talk so we can clear this up.”

“All right. Good deal. So answer the question.”

He sits up and purses his lips. “I would like to ask Mrs. Bradley if she’d be interested in collaborating on a book.”

“You’re a writer then?”

He sets his backpack on the floor and fishes out his wallet, hands me a business card. It’s decorated with red splotches that are supposed to look like blood. He apparently writes for a crime e-magazine.

“Yes. I write articles on current crimes and old interesting cases. But I think Mrs. Bradley’s story warrants a book, and I thought I’d be a good candidate to write it.”

“Okay.” I glance at Chase.

“He said he’s been in the area for a couple of weeks.”

“Have you called Mrs. Bradley?” I ask.

“I tried a couple of times, but she hasn’t answered. That’s why I’ve been trying to catch her at home.”

Chase huffs out a breath. “Haven’t been harassing her, have you?”

“No, of course not.”

“She might not see it that way,” I say.

He leans toward us, the eager reporter. “Someone’s going to write a book about her, and I think I’m the best person to do that. I feel for the woman. She’s been through hell—”

“You got that right,” Chase says.

“She could make some big-time money on this too.” He slouches back in his chair. “She might need it, now that she’s a widow.”

“Okay.”

“Look, I haven’t done anything illegal. I’m trying to do the decent thing by talking to you guys. I don’t want to be bothered again for doing my job.”

“Then don’t bother Mrs. Bradley,” Chase says, voice slightly raised. I nudge him with my knee.

“Just don’t push her, Mr. Fleck,” I say. “Stay within the letter of the law. If she wants to talk to you, she will. If not, leave her alone, and we’ll leave you alone. But if your attention turns to harassment, that’s a different beast.”

He stands, slings his backpack over his shoulder. “Fair enough.”

Chase heads home, and I walk into the conference room where Joe works, bent over his laptop. I scoop my freshly dyed hair over my shoulders and take a deep breath. Joe being here, us working together again, has brought some of those old feelings to the surface. But damn, I like my life the way it is. I sigh. Maybe I’m just being a coward. In any case, I can’t think about my personal life right now. Lauren walks by, and I tap her shoulder. “Want to head over to Mac’s with Joe and me?”





CHAPTER 61


Molly


THE SMELL OF DECAY WAKES ME FROM A DEEP SLUMBER. I FEEL wretched, hungover. Then I remember the alley and the man. I shudder. Where am I? There’s little light, and I’m shaking, freezing, my nose running. On my right wrist, there’s a handcuff attached to a chain. I follow the metal with my left hand. The chain is anchored around a pipe that runs along a cement wall. I struggle to my feet and pull like a wild animal caught in a trap, but I can’t get away. Tears slip down my cheeks, and I clear my raw throat to scream, but my voice only echoes, bounces off the walls. I feel faint. My legs are like rubber, so I slide back down to the floor and take a couple of deep, fetid breaths.

There’s dim light coming from a small window high on the wall across the room. It must be morning. My clothes are undisturbed, so I wasn’t raped. I shut my eyes and swallow grateful tears. So why am I here? My caller’s words come back to me.

I won’t be happy until you’re back in that cellar for good.

That’s where I am, in a cellar. The mustiness and mold, water dripping somewhere in the distance. I’m shivering, and there are a couple of thick blankets on the floor next to me, as though my captor was somewhat afraid I’d freeze to death.

A wave of nausea flutters through my stomach, and I swallow down bile. Where is Sadie? I hope she’s okay. Thoughts of something bad happening to my dog send more tears down my cheeks.

I sniff, clear my throat, and try to do an inventory. I don’t have anything with me. No keys, no wallet, no phone. There’s an old toilet and sink near where I’m chained. I pull myself up on the sink and turn the faucet handle. It screeches, but nothing comes out, and in the dim light I see rusty stains in the basin. The toilet bowl has water in it, but it’s dark, as though it’s been there twenty years.