Searching for Secrets (21 page)

Kirk fought to hold back his temper. Freddy would love it if a cop hit him. He'd be able to bring it up every time they pulled him in for questioning. And there would undoubtedly be plenty more chances to do that. "I'm not here to talk about the police lab. I want to know what you did with Christa Heckertt."

"Officer Reynolds, if you want to accuse me of some other trumped-up charge, you just go ahead. I don't know where the bi...lady is and I don't see why I should care."

Kirk felt as if he would explode. "I'll tell you why you care. Because if anything happens to her, I'll be all over your lazy ass for the rest of your born days." Even as he uttered the words Kirk thought he sounded like a detective in a Grade B moving.

"I just may have to talk to my lawyer about police harassment," Freddy said, defiance in every word.

"You and I are having a polite conversation, Freddy. I just want you to know I'm on to you." Kirk turned and walked back to the car.

"No hard feelings, now," Freddy called after him. "You have a nice Halloween." He opened the restaurant door and turned to look over his shoulder. "Trick or treat." His laugh was deep and long.

CHRISTA COULD NOT FIGURE out why her back and shoulders hurt so much when she first woke up. And she was so cold. Perhaps the covers had come off during the night. She opened her eyes. Oh, no. She was still in the cellar.

Pencil-thin rays of light came through between the boards that covered the stairs. So, it was daylight. It was cold. Her throat was so dry she thought she couldn't possibly force another breath of air from her nose to her lungs. But, she had to. She struggled to get into a better sitting position, and was immediately aware that the rope on her wrists felt looser. Of course, she was much colder, and dehydrated. And more motivated than ever to get loose.

The rope around her right hand could not be budged, but if she could get the rope he had wound around her shoulder above the cast, to loosen, there was a chance she could free her left hand. Methodically, Christa wriggled her left shoulder back and forth. Pretend the rope is the strap for one of your sundresses. They're always falling off your shoulders. Slowly, the rope moved from her shoulder to the top of her arm. After several minutes more, the rope moved no further.

Christa leaned her head against the beam in frustration. She felt fear rising from deep inside her. No one would look for her here. She would die, if not of cold of dehydration, in a couple of days. She shut her eyes and willed herself to stay calm. An image of Fast Freddy came to her and she shivered. Would he come to look for her before she could free herself?

She wished she knew how he had found her so easily. That day in the parking garage, he or someone he sent was right there to steal the pink polyethylene foam bag. He knew her address at Mahaska Springs, and her number was unlisted. Slowly, her thoughts turned to Mr. Watkins, who knew her phone number. It made no sense, Freddy and Mr. Watkins? But, nothing else made sense either. She put the uncomfortable thought aside.

Think of something that makes you happy, she told herself. Kirk's face came to her mind, and she smiled slowly. Her smile faded as she envisioned him leaving the fast-food restaurant with Chas Johnson's roommate. She saw the image of Amy, her small hand placed trustingly in her Uncle Kirk's, walking down the hall at Buckingham Elementary.

Amy trusted Kirk. But Christa couldn't. Or could she? It occurred to her she had never asked what he was doing with the young woman, only assumed. A logical assumption, she thought, feeling herself flush with anger. Christa opened her eyes. She wasn't going to let negative emotions color her thoughts now. She needed all her resolve to get out of this cellar.

As she sat up straight again, Christa realized her reclining position had pulled on the rope and as she sat up it relaxed. In slow motion she wriggled her shoulder more, finally forcing the rope to slide down the arm of her parka toward the cast. Now what? She thought for a moment. She had to get herself into a squatting position, so she could ease the rope that had been on her shoulder down toward her hand. That would loosen the rope on at least her left hand. And, it might let her get her head close to her hands so she could get the damn gag off.

Twice over the next hour Christa almost dissolved in tears. Every muscle ached, and the pain in her knees was sharp from staying in a squatting position for so long. But, she almost had the rope on her left hand loose enough to free it. Success! She wiggled the cast more until the rope around her fingers loosened. It took a few minutes, but she could eventually pull her left arm out of all of the folds of rope.

She tore at the gag and drew hoarse gasps of air into her raw throat. The gag was wet with the saliva she hadn't been able to send down her throat, and the parched tissue welcomed the moisture now that she could swallow. Exhausted, she stretched her legs out in front of her and rested, still leaning against the beam. After a few moments, she began work on the knots that secured her right hand to the beam. Finally, she was free.

Gingerly, Christa stood. She was light-headed from lack of food and water, but she told herself she would be out of the cellar soon and could remedy that. Or, so she thought before trying to push through the boards that covered the cellar opening. Freddy must have set an old tree trunk atop it. She opened her mouth to scream, then thought better of it. Freddy could have posted someone to watch or listen for her escape attempt. Better to be above ground before she tried to rouse anyone else.

Temporarily stymied, she sat on the second step from the top and peered through one of the small vacant spaces between the boards. She could see gray sky and had brief glimpses of orange and yellow hues from the autumn leaves. The wind blew softly, and the leaves moved across the narrow sphere of her line of vision.

The smell of burning leaves reached her, and she suddenly remembered it was Halloween. It was hard to imagine that only a week ago she had been planning Halloween decorations for her classroom and pondering what to wear to the school party. She shut out the thought and peered at the area near the top step where the ends of the boards met the earth. The boards weren't nailed down. All she had to do was get whatever was on top of them to roll off. If she could get even one board lifted, she could reach out and push.

She walked back down the steps and readjusted her eyes to the dark cellar. There had to be something down here she could use. She looked at the ceiling, noting the long strands of galvanized steel pipe, part of the old house's plumbing system. The cellar had been dug less than six feet, so she if she could figure out a way to detach a piece, she would be able to pull it down.

Christa reached up and ran her right hand along the pipe. The pieces of pipe were tightly welded together. She walked through the cellar, following the maze of rusty plumbing, until she came to the far edge. Here, the pipe traveled down the wall and hung loose. Obviously, it had been connected to something in the past; maybe an old sink used to wash vegetables before canning. She shook the pipe and was surprised to find how loose it was. It wasn't welded to the fitting where it joined the horizontal pipes that ran along the ceiling. Elation mounting, Christa realized she could unscrew the vertical pipe.

Difficult as it was with only one good hand, she finally unscrewed the pipe and had something to act as a lever to roll the tree stump off the boards. She hurried back up the steps and wedged the pipe under the edge of the boards. But, there was nowhere to move it. She chided the part of her that taught fourth-grade science. She needed a fulcrum for her lever. Again she cast her eyes around the old cellar. Of course, her cast. Christa almost chuckled to herself.

She set her left arm, replete with cast, across the top step, which was only inches from where the boards met the earth, and propped the steel pipe on the cast. Carefully, she moved one end of the pipe under one of the unnailed boards and began to jiggle it. It was harder than she thought. She moved the pipe as much as she could, and was rewarded with groans from the wood above as the chunk of tree trunk moved an inch or so.

Christa put all her weight on the pipe. Pain shot through her arm, but the tree trunk rolled again. Relieved of its heavy load, the board flew up several inches and landed again in place. Christa dropped her pipe and lifted the board up and shoved it to one side. She gulped in the fresh air and blinked in the bright sunlight. She could see the old tree trunk now. She would see that it became kindling within the week, even if she had to pay to have it cut up and hauled to somebody's fireplace.

Heavy though it was, Christa was finally able to shove the tree off a few other boards. She pulled herself out of the cellar and stood surveying the area around her. No one was there.

Christa hurried down the path and crossed the narrow bridge that ran above the quick-flowing creek. Freed of her dark prison, she reveled in every sight and smell. Cautiously she approached her apartment. She didn't have a key, but maybe Freddy had left whatever window he initially came through open for her. She crept closer and looked in each window. No one else was there; she hadn't really expected Freddy to be there, but she was taking no chances.

Brandy's meow made Christa jump. The cat pounced on the kitchen window ledge and peered at her owner. She repeated her plaintive noises and rubbed against the window. "At least you had dry food and water." Christa tapped lightly on the window and Brandy rubbed her head again on the pane.

The kitchen window was locked, but the entry to her den was not. Freddy had used a razor to cut neatly through the screen; from a distance the slit was imperceptible. He had somehow popped the lock, so Christa raised the sash and looked in. More acrobatics. She put her right hand on one side of the window ledge and leaned her left shoulder into the other. Slowly she pulled herself in until she could tumble onto her desk and then the carpet.

"Come on Brandy." Christa walked out of the room and shut the door. She stared at it for a moment, then took one of her dining room chairs and sat it in front of the den door and piled it high with pots and pans. If someone came in through that window and tried to get into the rest of the apartment, at least she would hear them.

Christa drank two large glasses of water, and opened the frig. Never had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich sounded so good. She carried it to the phone, munching on it as she left a message for Sandra saying she wouldn’t be at that day’s Halloween party. How she longed for a day when decorating her classroom could be a top priority!

She hurried to the bathroom, stripped quickly and hopped into the warm shower. Christa thought about her options as the spray massaged her sore shoulders and ran down her long hair. She had to get in touch with Kirk, but she wasn't sure she wanted to call him at the station. Somebody must have screwed up, accidentally or on purpose, or Freddy would not have been out on bail so quickly.

She looked at the cast. It was filthy. Too bad she couldn't dunk it under the hot water. As she toweled off, she decided to call Kirk at the station and if he wasn't there she would leave the false name he gave her when they checked into the hotel. If he wasn't there, she would go look for him. Christa dressed quickly in the last clean jersey pants and matching pullover she had. The deep purple made the pale green of her cast look even more sickly. But, at least the top covered the cast. She didn't want anyone to be able to easily recognize her. Freddy might have someone watching her apartment.

"I KNOW HE'S EXPECTING MY CALL," Christa said, using the soft drawl she had employed on her two earlier calls to the station.

"No doubt he is, Ms. Swanson, but all I can do is wait for Officer Reynolds to call in. As I told you, he's on leave." Christa detected the impatience in the desk sergeant's voice. So it was her third call in an hour. What did he care?

"All right then, I sure do appreciate your time. You have my full name now, don't you officer? That's Kathleen Swanson."

"Right in front of me. I'll be sure and give him the number."

Christa hung up the pay phone. The look in the manager's eyes told her she had worn out her welcome in the small family-style restaurant. She felt certain that Kirk would recognize the alias he had assigned to her when they checked into the hotel. She would wait another 10 minutes. If she didn't hear from Kirk by then, she would have to figure out something else.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

KIRK EASED THE RENTAL car into the parking space at the small strip mall. Freddy had been busy all morning. He had bought at least five rolls of packing tape at a discount store, and now appeared headed for a small commercial mailing business. Boxes. Must be some delivery.

So far he'd been lucky that Freddy hadn't seen him sitting in the car as the drug dealer ran his errands. No sense relying on luck. Kirk pulled the visor of his baseball cap further over his eyes and got out of the car. From the window of the convenience store Kirk would be able to see the sidewalk in front of the mailing business; it would be a good place to wait for a few minutes.

He stood at the magazine rack and flipped through the sports magazine, taking in none of the stories. All of the long-haired women looked like Christa. Where in the hell could she be? Kirk looked out the window in time to see Freddy trying to load the two packs of boxes into his car. The light green sporty sedan was not cooperating. Flattened out and packaged in groups of four or five, the boxes wouldn't fit. Good, Kirk thought. Anything to make it hard for him.