Leonard mimicked her, whispering back, “Your mother?”
Rebecca didn’t answer. Jack’s eyes watched the wheels of the tape recorder spin around and around, his interest piqued.
“What happened here, Rebecca? What frightened you—”
Another long silence. Then:
“She’s hurt.”
“Who? Who’s hurt, Rebecca?”
“She’s not breathing!”
“Who’s hurt, Rebecca? What does she look like?”
“P…pretty. Black hair. There’s blood. I see blood.”
“Whose blood? Can you describe her?”
“I don’t want to look!”
“Please Rebecca, nothing can hurt you, you’re safe with me. Do you know her?”
“She has no clothes on.” Rebecca began to hyperventilate.
“Stay calm.”
“She can’t breathe! She can’t breathe! Stop it!”
“Rebecca, who are you shouting at?”
“I want to go home!” Rebecca sobbed.
“They’re just images, memories, let my voice guide you, protect you.”
“No, she’s not dead, don’t!” Jack could hear Rebecca kicking and flailing about, Leonard struggling to calm her. “No, please, no! Stop!”
“Who is harming the girl, Rebecca? Can you see a face?” Leonard’s responses started to sound desperate, he was losing control, and had to shout above Rebecca’s shrieking.
“Please don’t!” Rebecca started choking. There was a violent crash, like something was knocked off a table and shattered. Leonard’s voice got very close to the mic, distorted: “Rebecca, it’s okay, you’re safe, you’re safe!”
Jack anxiously hung on every word, the hair on his neck stood straight.
“Help. Help!” Rebecca was making herself hoarse.
“Concentrate on my voice Rebecca!” Leonard’s voice trembled. “On the count of three, I’m going to bring you out. One, two—”
Rebecca let out a blood curdling SHRIEK.
Jack smacked the stop button.
His office fell silent. He’d unknowingly been grasping the arms of his chair so tightly his nails dug right through the fabric. He unclenched his fists — then the rest of his body, with one loud, long exhale.
He looked over his shoulder at his office door, wondering if anyone had overheard the chaos on that tape. There was no group of people pooled in his doorway — as he half expected there to be.
He could hear his own breathing, feel his heart racing. It was like listening to someone actually being murdered. Something only a real killer would have been privy to. A person would have to be cold blooded to not be affected by it.
Jack rubbed the back of his neck, massaging it in thought. He stood up and reviewed a few of the details Rebecca provided before it all went bad:
Burnt tree, a river…the train.
Jack looked up at his map on the wall. He took a fresh blue thumbtack and pressed it home, right where the tracks of the local freight trains crossed the river, deep in a wooded industrial area.
Rebecca’s case file included her home address and phone number. Jack had taken the time to look up where they lived, it was only a few miles from the area Rebecca had spoken of. Coincidence? Jack didn’t dare get his hopes up. If there was an award for most cynical detective, Jack would be the odds on favorite. A glass half empty kind of guy. So it was with a full container of salt that Jack decided to pick up the phone and call Laura Lowell to ask if he could speak with her about her daughter.
Leonard would not approve, might even get hostile, but that was no longer his concern. A human life hung in the balance. Or, at the very least, the successful recovery of a body and closure for Carl Rosa. Perhaps even enough of a lead to catch a killer. But he was getting ahead of himself. First thing’s first.
He dialed Laura’s number. The phone rang several times, but no answer and no machine. Jack hung up and reached for his coat.
He walked down the hall to the Captain’s office. Jack knew he’d gone to the well one too many times, but he had to try. He knocked before he entered. Captain Lafave looked up from his paperwork; Jack was about to ask for something he wasn’t going to say yes to, and by the defensive way Lafave leaned back in his chair, folding his arms in front of him, he was thinking the same thing.
“No,” Lafave started, shaking his head.
“I want to do another sweep. Different area this time, down by the river. Near the tracks.”
Lafave blinked. “Based on what?”
Shit. Think fast. “…Just a gut feeling.” Harrington entered, not expecting to see Jack.
“I’m sorry, I’m not authorizing any more goose chases. As it is, they’re cutting back on overtime, reducing shifts.”
Harrington stood mute, not taking sides.
“What about outside volunteers, the community?” Jack said.
“Tough to rally the troops for these types,” Harrington said. “They only come out for blondes.”
Jack rolled his eyes, he knew Harrington didn’t mean it and was just trying to lighten the mood. He turned back to Lafave, “Captain—”
“I’m sorry, Jack. Unless you have credible evidence to go on? Other than just your gut?”
Harrington made a hand gesture that simulated football uprights, waiting.
“No.” Jack said. Harrington imitated the kick sailing wide of the uprights, the sound of a crowd groaning.
“Hey, do you work here?” Lafave shouted at Harrington.
“You wanted the report by three P.M., it’s 2:59.” Harrington placed a folder on Lafave’s desk, tapped it with his index finger and exited the room.
Jack stared at Lafave until he was sure he’d conveyed his frustration, then followed Harrington out the door.
“Look, Jack, I have a lot of respect for you; you’ve earned it. If you really feel that strongly about this, I’ll sign off on it. But it’s the last time I’m putting my neck out for you.”
Jack nodded his appreciation and closed the door quickly. He didn’t want to give the captain any time to reconsider.
CHAPTER 14
Rebecca sat on the lawn, her bike upside down, examining the pedals. Sabotage for sure, she thought. She used a wrench to try and bend the chain guard back into shape, inserting it with precision between the wheel and the metal. Satisfied, she tightened the nut that holds the wheel in place, her nose wrinkled as her cheeks turned red from the effort.
She righted the bike onto its wheels and climbed on. She pedaled only a few feet before the chain popped from its gear. Off she went, face first.
She rolled onto her side and slowly got up, wiping at a grass stain on the knee of her jeans. She crouched next to the bike to examine the flaw in her repair.
“You’ll hurt yourself,” Jack said behind her. She turned to see him walking up the sidewalk.
“Remember me? We spoke at school?”
“Of course. I’m nine, not ninety.” She wiped her cheek with her hand, leaving behind a dark streak of grease and turned back to her work. She banged on the chain guard a few times with the wrench.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“I think the chain got stretched.”
Jack knelt down. “Here, let me see.” He spun the wheel, poking and prodding. “I had one like this when I was a kid.”