All the Dark Places(80)

I walk in the other direction, as far as I can away from the toilet and sink, until I reach the end of my chain tether. There doesn’t seem to be anything else down here. Through the gloom, I look for the stairs, but don’t see any, only an open door high up where the stairs should be. The end of a ladder protrudes from the floor above. I’m trapped. Even if I can get the handcuff off, I can’t get out.

My stomach pitches. I feel sick and collapse back down to the floor. I’m woozy. Like before. Like when I was six years old. Then I remember when the man grabbed me, he stuck me in my arm with something. I wonder what it was and hope it isn’t something terrible. I rub my face with stiff cold fingers. What am I going to do?

This place is old, but not as old as the farmhouse was, at least as much as I can remember. There was no bathroom there, and the floor was dirt. Indie and I had peed our pants. That I remember, and that had made him angry, but we were just little girls. This place is different. I have a bathroom, such as it is, and that almost makes me laugh. The caller said he wanted me back in the cellar. So here I am. A new cellar but trapped just the same.





CHAPTER 62


Rita


CHASE IS OFF THIS MORNING, BUT JOE AND AGENT METZ MEET ME AT the station. I’ve got hazelnut muffins that André made, and Joe brought coffees. Work sometimes feels awfully civil even when we’re dealing with the worst of humanity. It’s a strange balance that ultimately unnerves some people and sends them skittering for work outside of law enforcement, like my ex-husband, Ed. Four and a half years on the force, and he was done.

We sit in the conference room, where we can spread out. I’ve drawn a red line through Dr. Bradley’s name on the Robb suspect list. Don’t know that everyone agrees with me, but I’m making a statement by eliminating him. We need to do a deeper dive on the four remaining suspects. We’re still hopeful that there’s DNA somewhere that will point the finger at one of them, but until then, all we have is old-fashioned police work.

My phone vibrates, dances across the table, drawing my concentration from the notes I was rereading. I don’t recognize the number but answer anyway. “Detective Myers.”

“Is this Detective Myers?” a weak voice asks. Didn’t I just say that?

“Speaking. How can I help you?”

“This is Gladys Murray, Detective.”

“Yes.” The old lady who lives next door to the Bradleys.

“I think something might be wrong here.” I put my phone on speaker, glance at Joe, whose dark eyes meet mine.

“What’s happened?”

“Well, Percy went to our front door and started scratching a while ago, and he never does that. When I opened the door, Sadie was standing there.”

“Who’s Sadie?”

“Mrs. Bradley’s dog. She had her leash on, and I thought she got away from Mrs. Bradley. She walks her by the house a couple times a day, but it was really early, not when she usually goes by. Anyway, Percy and I took Sadie over to the house. Mrs. Bradley’s car’s in the driveway. I rang the bell several times, knocked, but no one answered. She seems to take good care of her dog, Detective. I don’t think she’d let her loose like that on purpose. You suppose something’s not right?”

“We’re on the way, Mrs. Murray.” Joe and Agent Metz start to gather their things.

“I’ve got Sadie here with me.”

“That’s great. We’ll be there shortly.” I disconnect the call. Throw my phone in my satchel.

Joe drives, and I call Corrine Alworth on the way over.

“You don’t know where she is?” I ask.

“She should be home,” Mrs. Alworth says. “The neighbor found her dog wandering?”

“That’s what she said, and no one answered the door when she knocked.”

Mrs. Alworth blows out a ragged breath. “I talked to her yesterday. She was going to a party at her friend’s house, then she was staying home for the night. Where could she be?” Her frustration and fear burst through in her words.

“Whose party?”

“Kim Pearson’s.”

“Who else was there?”

“Her regular group, I think.”

“Okay. We’re on our way to her house now to check it out. Call if you hear from her.” Now I’m starting to sweat. Did we take the harassing phone calls seriously enough, especially with all that’s gone on? Shit. I direct Joe to turn at the light, and we’re heading down the Bradleys’ street.

I try Mrs. Bradley’s cell and landline again, but no answer again.

Mrs. Murray, flanked by the two dogs, stands on her porch, leans over the rail to watch us as we knock on Mrs. Bradley’s door. Agent Metz and Joe circle the house, but soon return to the front.

“Anything?” I ask.

“Looks locked up, undisturbed,” Joe says.

“Christ.” We turn and look up the street as if Mrs. Bradley might come walking down the road. Maybe she will, but my gut tells me otherwise. There’s an emptiness at the house, as though it’s been abandoned. We walk over to talk to Mrs. Murray, and she verifies that Mrs. Bradley walks her dog no earlier than nine a.m., and it’s barely seven-thirty. We also see that the dog is gentle, easily handled; it’s not likely she would’ve pulled away from Mrs. Bradley and run off.