Triptych

Angie stared at the gun on the couch.

“The whores are good for that. You can do anything to them, right? I mean, that’s what you pay for.” He had turned his back to her, his hands pressed into the mantel. Angie kept her eyes on the Glock, hoping the weapon wasn’t some kind of trick her mind had played on her. “All I wanted was to blow off a little steam with Aleesha before the game. And then she gets all uppity with me, chases me out of the apartment and into the stairway like I’m some kind of punk. I don’t pay for that shit. She kept pushing me and pushing me, and then she learned the lesson. Michael Ormewood does not pay.”

Angie pressed her face to the floor, willing herself to endure this.

“Yeah, I let her get my temper up.” She heard his footsteps, could feel him standing inches from her face. “But, nobody really cares when a whore dies, right? Nobody cares about you.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. She had let him get into her head, let him have control, just like he wanted.

Angie said, “All that John had to do was tell them.” She took a chance, adding, “You’re his cousin.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Michael tsked. “You actually think John would’ve had the chance to open his mouth in a courtroom?” He shook his head, telling her, “I’ve been playing with him all along, just tugging his strings whenever I wanted to.” He chuckled to himself. “Sure, I almost shit in my pants when I opened that toolbox, saw what he put in there, but that’s nothing compared to the shock I had pla

“It wouldn’t have worked,” she said, knowing that it probably would have.

“ ‘Hero cop catches serial killer in the act.” My DNA all over the room from holding the poor little dead thing in my arms. Cops busting in, seeing Joh

“They would’ve found out.”

“From who? All his friends? His loving family? His devoted, dead mother?”

“People would remember you.”

“Nobody remembers me,” Michael snapped, and she could tell she’d cut close to the bone. “John’s the one who always stood out. I was just in the background-always in the background. Nobody ever noticed me, and you know what? Now, the only thing they’re going to remember their precious Joh

“But John’s not a killer, is he?” When he didn’t answer, she looked up.

Michael was standing in front of a closed door that she assumed led to a closet. He reached up, feeling along the sill at the top, and pulled down a key.

She saw the dead bolt. Her heart stopped mid-beat. “What are you doing?”

“Enough talking,” he said, slipping the key into the lock.

Angle’s leg muscles trembled as she forced herself to stand. She backed away from him, pushing toward the couch.

Michael read her mind. He scooped up the gun. “Move.” He used the muzzle to nudge her toward the closet. “Go on.”

Angie took small steps, the closet coming into view. It wasn’t a closet at all. Stairs led down to what must be a cellar.

“You fucked it all up,” Michael told her. “That little girl and me, we were having a real good time.”

The stairs got closer. If he put her in that cellar, Angie knew she would be dead.

“Move.”

She stopped walking and he bumped into her from behind. “Don’t do this.”

His breath was hot in her ear. “I’m go

“No!” She dug her bare feet into the floor, pushed back against him. Her soles skidded across the wood. She tried to twist away, but he grabbed her by the waist, lifting her, closing the distance in two steps. She screamed “No!” bracing her feet against the doorjamb, fighting as hard as she could.

“Stop it!” he yelled, jerking her up again. Her legs swung wild as he threw her down the stairs. Angie careened against the walls as she fell. She landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, weeping from pain.

The overhead light flicked on, a single bulb illuminating what must have been a root cellar at one point. Jasmine was in a corner, curled up into a lifeless ball. Angie tried to go to the girl, but something held her back. She looked down, saw the shard of glass that impaled her upper arm. More glass stuck up like shark’s teeth where broken bottles had been cemented into the bottom stair.

The glass made a sucking noise as she tried to move.

“Think about it,” Michael called from the open doorway above. “Think about what’s going to happen to you.”

The light went out. The door closed. The bolt slid home.

She was going to die.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Will kept his cell phone to his ear as he drove, praying that Amanda would be in her office. He had brought John with him because he needed to hear his story, wanted to know what kind of animal he would be dealing with when he reached Te

Caroline finally answered the phone, saying, “Amanda Wagner’s office.”

“I need Amanda now. It’s urgent.”

She put him on hold. Will kept his eyes on the road, speeding up Interstate 75 in the HOV lane thirty miles over the posted speed limit.

“Will?” Amanda said. “What’s going on?”

“I’m on my way to Te

“I don’t recall signing off on a vacation request.”

“I think Michael Ormewood is the killer.”

“All right,” Amanda drawled. “Break it down for me, Will.”

Will told her John’s story, how Michael had tried to lean on the parole officer, how John’s sister had told him about the cabin in Te

“You checked Polaski’s house?”

“I had a cruiser go by. She’s not there. Her car’s not in the driveway.”

Amanda was silent. Will had introduced her to Angie once-not by choice. She had taken him to the hospital when Amanda had shot him with the nail gun. Inconceivably, the two women had gotten along.

Finally, she spoke. “So, what you’re saying is, based on some unanswered phone calls and a few spots on a driveway, you’re taking a convicted felon over state lines to look for an Atlanta police detective who may or may not have snatched another detective in broad daylight?”

“You need to search his house.”

“This is the house in DeKalb County’s jurisdiction? How do you propose I get a warrant, Dr. Trent? Not that your mysterious oil stains in the drive aren’t compelling, but I doubt there’s a judge alive who would sign off on it.”

“Amanda,” Will said, trying to control his voice. “You are a nasty, horrible person, but you have always had my back every time I worked a case. Don’t do this to me now.”

“Well, Will,” she countered. “You are a high-functioning dyslexic who reads on a second-grade level, but let’s not throw stones.”

Will felt all the saliva in his mouth dry up. When had she found out?

Amanda said, “I don’t have many friends in Te

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he admitted. “You’re right. This could be nothing. I could get there and it could be just a waste of time, but I can’t stand around not doing anything, Amanda.”