The Sarah Roberts Series Vol. 7-9 Read online

  When chloroform was first discovered in the early 1800s, they used it as an anesthetic while women gave birth. He knew how powerful it could be and used properly, how beneficial it was.

  He was kind enough to use it during the process of removing their tongues.

  No one should be awake for that.

  He started the engine and drove home, so happy with his success that he even listened to the radio and tried to sing along.

  He hadn’t done that since he was a teenager and idealistic.

  Oh, how the world had changed.

  Chapter 14

  Sarah got up from her chair and moved to the side of the interrogation room. “What the hell are you talking about?” she asked. “How many bodies again? And explain the letter, too.”

  “Okay,” Lyson said. “I’ll start at the beginning.”

  “Please do.”

  “But first, let’s move to a more comfortable office.”

  “And coffee?” Sarah asked. “I’ll need coffee for this. Or something stronger. Got whiskey?”

  “Coffee.”

  “Fine.”

  Sarah headed for the door at the same time Lyson did. The husky man had already opened it and disappeared down the hall.

  “Am I still being charged with anything?” Sarah asked.

  Lyson stopped at the door. He smiled down at her. “Don’t be mad at me.”

  “Don’t fuck around and I won’t be mad.”

  “There’s a camera in the lobby of the massage parlor and one in the kitchen. They aren’t supposed to record audio, but the woman running the joint did anyway. I watched the whole thing go down ten minutes before I entered this room. You did what I would’ve done. There won’t be any charges.”

  “Okay, I’m not mad about that. I’m relieved, actually. Because you saw the conduct of those idiots who arrested me. What happens to those asshole cops who called me slut and whore? Do I get them alone in a room for five minutes?”

  “No. As much as I’d love to watch that, all three have been suspended with pay and are going in for sensitivity training. But the gun in your pants wasn’t cool.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I’m not leaving it behind. It means a lot. Which reminds me, when do I get it back?”

  “When you leave today.”

  “Fine. But don’t let me see any of those three assholes. I’m warning you, I won’t be able to control my temper. When I look at them, I don’t see police officers, only pigs with dirty mouths who need them washed out with the heel of my foot.”

  “Usually it’s the other way around.”

  “What?”

  “You know, the cop and pig comment.”

  “You said it, not me.” She shrugged.

  Lyson led the way out to the stairs. Minutes later, they entered a conference room with a long table and a dozen chairs.

  “I remember this room,” Sarah said. “Detective Waller announced his retirement to us in here last summer.”

  “I heard about that.”

  She took a seat while Lyson walked to the side table where he turned on a Mr. Coffee machine. Without her cell phone, she had no idea if Aaron had been trying to get a hold of her. He was probably still at the dojo, but if he had called, he would be worried by now. Then he would leave work in an attempt to locate her. She hated the idea of checking in. It was foreign to her, something she’d never had to do before, but that was part of being in a relationship.

  “I’ve got to call Aaron.”

  Lyson looked at her over his shoulder. “Phone’s over there.” He gestured to a small table by the window.

  Sarah slid her chair over and picked the phone up. She dialed the dojo and got one of Aaron’s teachers, Daniel.

  “Hi. Aaron around?”

  “Hey, Sarah. No, he left half an hour ago. Something about you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. He couldn’t reach you.”

  “Shit.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah. Just call him on his cell and tell him I’m fine.”

  “Can he call your cell?”

  “It’s at home.”

  “And you’re not … okay. I’ll tell him.”

  “Thanks, Daniel.”

  “No problem. Ciao.”

  Sarah hung up and slid the chair back to the table as Lyson set the coffees down.

  “Didn’t know what you took in your coffee. Cream and sugar’s over there.”

  “It’s fine like this.”

  The door opened and Justin, the husky guy from the interrogation room stepped inside. He took a chair opposite Sarah.

  She nodded at him. He nodded back.

  “I won’t promise anything,” she said. “I told you last night that I don’t work with anybody and generally I don’t trust the police.”

  “I know, and after what happened today, I understand. But you’re already connected to this case.”

  That perked her up. “How so?”

  “I’ll get to that.”

  “No, you will not. Tell me now how I’m connected or I un-connect myself and walk out that door. Good luck finding me after that.”

  “Damn, you’re direct,” Lyson said.

  Justin sat forward on his chair. “The crisis center,” he said.

  “What about it?”

  “You were there yesterday.”

  “And?”

  “We’ve identified the bodies—”

  “Already? That was fast.”

  “Each body had ID just outside the cage they died in. Their killer wanted us to know who they were right away.”

  “And you’re sure it all matches?” Sarah asked.

  “No, but the medical examiner …” Justin stopped and flipped a couple of pages back in the file he held. “Martin Rankin will do his best to confirm they match the ID left behind.”

  She blew on her coffee and took a sip. A moment of silence fell over them. Sarah broke it with another question.

  “You were saying how I was connected.”

  “According to the IDs found at the scenes, all six women have missing persons files that are cold cases. Over the last few days we’ve examined as much as we can about the women’s lives, looking for something in common. We need to determine how all six could’ve met their murderer or were they picked up randomly.”

  “Okay, and did you find anything yet?”

  “All six were with abusive boyfriends. Only one was married.”

  Sarah looked at Lyson. “Does he always take this long to tell a story?” She turned to Justin before Lyson could respond. “Hurry and tell me how I’m connected.”

  “They had all visited the same crisis center you were at yesterday within days of the missing persons report being filed. You were there yesterday, but those injuries you have are healed.”

  Lyson cut in. “The broken nose happened in Vegas. I suspected as much but now I know because I called down there. Also, Aaron isn’t into abusing women. Not from the case that hit the courts a while back when he was charged with attempted murder. The man he beat was one of his students who had beaten up his own daughter. Aaron lost his sister and almost died trying to find justice for her. He’s no abuser.” Lyson tapped a pen on the table. “So, tell us, why did you show up at the crisis center yesterday and lie about someone abusing you?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Chapter 15

  Special Agent Penn Kierian tapped on the car window. Clint started and turned the radio down.

  “Anything happening?” Kierian asked.

  “No. Aaron left for work at his usual time. He showed up ten minutes ago, but I haven’t seen Sarah all day.”

  “What? Why would he come home? It’s the middle of the day?”

  “I have no idea. Didn’t think about it. Sarah’s our target.”

  Kierian looked up and down the street. The weather had broken and today was bright and sunny even though the sun was already going down. More people were out and about today, the street busier.

>   “Hey,” Clint said. “You think this surveillance of Sarah will end soon and we can go home? I mean, what are we doing this for anyway?”

  “You know why we’re doing this. Don’t ask such stupid questions. We go home and we take Sarah with us once she performs one of her tricks. The closer we study her, the sooner we see the psychic stuff.”

  Clint opened the car door and got out to stand beside Kierian. “What’s bothering you?”

  “After those cops talked to her last night, I don’t know. I just have a funny feeling something’s going on.”

  “Like what?” Clint started picking at something in his teeth.

  “Never mind. Are you sure Sarah is in the apartment?”

  “I didn’t see her leave. That’s all I’m sure of.”

  Kierian pulled out his cell phone and started dialing.

  “Who you calling?” Clint asked.

  “Aaron.”

  “Aaron? Why?”

  Kierian didn’t answer as the phone in Aaron’s apartment began ringing.

  “Sarah?” Aaron answered.

  “Is she at home?” Kierian asked, but he already knew the answer.

  “Who’s calling?”

  He ended the call. “Shit. She’s gone and Aaron came home looking for her.”

  “How did you get all that?”

  “Because of the way he answered the phone. He had hoped it would be her.”

  Clint spun in a slow circle. “Where could she be?”

  “I have no idea, but we’re tasked to follow one girl and fucking that up—” he stopped. “Oh no …”

  “What?” Clint asked.

  “She’s probably with those cops again.” He pushed Clint out of the way and hopped in the driver’s seat. “Get in. We’re going downtown.”

  He started the engine and hit the gas as soon as Clint dropped in the other side of the car.

  “Call our boss. If she’s downtown, have someone of authority pull those men off Sarah. If you have to, talk to the Chief of Police again.”

  “What if they don’t have her? We’re going to look like idiots.”

  “Just make the call. You fucked this up, now fix it.”

  Clint dialed and held the phone to his ear. “And if they don’t have her?” he asked again.

  “Make the call!” Kierian shouted as he ran a red light using his horn as a warning.

  Chapter 16

  He followed the taxi to the strip club on The Queensway in Mississauga and watched Janice enter the front door for her evening shift. Since the day of the taking was upon him, his urges were loose and he anticipated having her in the cage. It was his time again and the reset was upon them.

  Steering his Range Rover toward the back of the building, he parked close to the door where the girls came outside for smoke breaks. Ontario’s strict laws on smoking made sure the ladies had to smoke outside, even in winter. They had a little picnic table by the door, cleared of snow where the girls chatted and used a large coffee can as their ashtray.

  It was late afternoon, early evening. He had spent the day dealing with the bodies of his other six victims, helping with the investigation, making points and guessing right. At least as far as his colleagues understood. He looked brilliant. But now he had the rest of the evening off. He would report to work for two more days, filing everything properly in case it went to court one day, even though he knew it never would.

  It will never go to court if I’m dead.

  Then he would leave his last letter requesting Alan Lyson and that pesky intruder, Sarah Roberts, to meet him at the warehouse alone at 23:55hrs on February 29th. If they didn’t come alone, he wouldn’t be there and they would never solve this case. When his explosives detonated at midnight, he would have his moment.

  He settled back into his seat for the long wait. Since Janice had just reported for work, she wouldn’t take a smoke break right away.

  He decided to go in and have a drink.

  Without thinking any more about it, he left his vehicle and headed for the front door of the club. The music thumped and pounded even before he opened the door. As he stepped inside the club, a woman’s voice sang through the speakers about putting a ring on it. A bouncer greeted him with a nod. Getting seen in a place like this, especially the night one of the club’s girls was about to go missing, was not in his playbook. But since this was his last play, it didn’t matter.

  He entered the main area. Purple lights were suspended above the stage in the otherwise darkened club. Small tables were scattered about the carpeted floor. Beer-drinking men randomly sat among them. Women in various states of undress walked around chatting with the men, no doubt asking if they wanted a dance. A couple of women sat and drank with potential customers. One dancer walked a man toward the VIP sign in the back, pulling him along by the hand.

  None of the girls were Janice.

  He moved farther into club and sat at a table at least two away from anyone else. A waitress came by and said something, but he couldn’t hear her over the music.

  “A Bud please,” he shouted back and the waitress walked away.

  Before he got his drink, a dancer wearing a see-through bra and a very small lace thong approached him from the other side of the cavernous room. She took the seat beside him and smiled.

  She was wiry thin and her eyes were rimmed with the effects of drug use. What the officers on the street called a ‘meth diet.’ He wanted to tell her that he didn’t offer her a seat. He wanted to tell her to fuck off, that he didn’t pay for pussy. He had a litany of words rise to his tongue, but in the end he remained silent.

  “You wanna a dance, Honey?” she yelled over the music.

  The Budweiser dropped in over his shoulder. He heard the waitress ask for the money because she was so close to his ear. He paid and she walked away.

  The dancer didn’t move. He took a long swig of his beer and set it back down on the table, surveying the crowd, looking for his subject.

  “So how about it?” the woman asked again, edging closer, her knee touching his.

  He pulled his knee away and glared at her. She gave him a dirty look and got up.

  Next time, don’t sit unless you’re invited.

  He drank his beer, worried that he still couldn’t see his subject.

  His sister had told him about her. At the crisis center, this woman had explained that she was being a bitch to her boyfriend and he’d hit her. They lived together, but she wanted to know if the crisis center could arrange for a new apartment. When Jennifer had asked what made her think she deserved such violence, she had talked about all the men she had had sex with from the club where she worked. In the VIP lounge, for the right price, she had started doing anything the customer wanted. It was frowned upon, but the money was too good to stop. Then she started enjoying her job more.

  Her boyfriend had suspicions. He’d sent a friend in to offer her five hundred dollars. They had sex in the back booth and she went home to a violent and upset boyfriend. It was time for her to leave him, and that was why she had gone to the crisis center.

  Because of her income, even though most of it wasn’t declared, and her overall situation, the center couldn’t help her with housing but offered counseling and other options to ease her out of the life she was living. She refused, yelled at Jennifer that she didn’t know what her life was like and stormed out.

  Jennifer doesn’t know what life is like?

  He chuckled and sipped his beer.

  He recently found out from Jennifer that the crisis center had helped 1,144 rape victims last year alone, 320 of those under the age of eighteen and half of those under thirteen. Crisis centers did a good thing wherever they were. Jennifer knew what life was all about and how tragic life could be. She lived it every day when the shell-shocked faces of the raped entered her office.

  Jennifer had told him about it over the phone two weeks ago and that was when he decided this woman needed to learn what the consequences of her actions meant. He was prepare
d to make her accountable.