Maximum Guilt (Hidden Guilt Book 2) (9 page)

“No, silly. You see a girl and you assume she’s your nanny?”

“I didn’t mean to offend you. My wife mentioned that the new nanny might be stopping by. Can I help you with something? I’m kind of in a rush here.”

“No need to rush, Carl. We got all night. Your clients and girlfriend are going to be waiting a long time.”

She did one last glance back and forth to make sure no one was watching. Brittany had her Taser in hand and knew how to use it. She hit him with the taser and he dropped helplessly to the ground. After he stopped convulsing and lay limp, she injected him with a sedative. It wouldn’t put him out but it would make him easily manageable. She removed two pairs of handcuffs from her bag and secured his wrists and legs. She looked around again to be sure she hadn’t been seen and drug him into the house and closed the door behind her.

After about five minutes passed, Carl started to come to. Brittany could see Carl trying to process everything and figure out what happened. His eyes opened and closed slowly. A little foam had built up in the corner of his mouth.

“Who the fuck are you? And what are you doing?”

“Carl, Carl, Carl. Slow down, baby. We’re gonna get to all of that, don’t worry.  Let’s talk about some other things first. You okay with that?”

“Listen, bitch. You don’t know who you’re messing with.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I know
exactly
who I’m messin’ with. You think I showed up on your doorstep when your wife and kids are out of town by accident?”

“Okay, so you know who I am. That just proves how stupid you are!”

“Well, I was smart enough to land you and your pathetic brother. Let’s quit playing around and cut right to the chase, Carl.”

“You killed my brother?”

He pulled and tugged at his restraints but it was no use.

“I’ll make you pay for this!”

“Umm . . . I don’t think so, Carl. I don’t see you making it out of this one, bud. Let’s play a game. Do you remember much about your bachelor party?”

“Of course I remember my own bachelor party. What about it?”

“I mean, I’m sure you remember the event, but what about the details? Did you guys have dancers?”

“What kind of lame-ass bachelor party would it have been without dancers?”

“Ahhh! Okay. Well guess what, Carl? Surprise! I was one of your dancers—the one you and your brother raped!”

Carl sat up as much as he could and Brittany could tell by the expression on his face that he couldn’t believe it. 

“Wait, what?”

“Rape, Carl. Forcibly entering a woman’s vagina when you weren’t invited.”

“I understand what rape is, I just—”

“You just what? Don’t remember? You and your brother and all of your guests were totally fucked up.”

“So what now? This some kind of payback?”

“Justice, Carl.”

Brittany walked over to her bag, reached in, and grabbed her snips and a hammer.

“Have you had anything to drink today, Carl?”

“What the fuck are you going to do with those?”

“Have you had anything to drink today, Carl? A shot? A beer?”

“No! Why does that matter?”

“It doesn’t, really, but I’m glad you haven’t. I want you to feel every bit of this pain.”

Brittany took his right hand and spread his fingers on the floor. She took the hammer and smashed each finger one by one as Carl squirmed and screamed in agony. She never stopped she didn’t even flinch as she methodically mangled  each finger on his right hand.

She grinned as he whimpered like a wounded animal. The high she’d felt when she’d killed his brother a few days before returned. She felt no remorse.

Then the doorbell rang.

“What the fuck?”

“Help! Help!” Carl began to yell.

“Shut up!” Brittany had forgotten to put the tennis ball into his mouth. She snatched it from her bag, shoved it in his mouth, and slapped a piece of duct tape across his lips.

The doorbell rang again.

She eased over to the curtains to see who it was. Some kid. Looked to be seven or eight.
He’s probably selling something,
she thought. She peeked out again and noticed a car idling in the driveway. She figured she needed to get rid of him before the parents came to help. She ran to a mirror in the living room and made sure she looked presentable before heading toward the door.

“Hello. Can I help you?” Brittany said, the door slightly ajar.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Timmy. I live a few houses down. I’m selling these cookies for school. Are Mr. and Mrs. Blake home? They usually buy some.”

“Well, they’re out of town, Timmy, and I’m house-sitting. Can you come back in a few days? They should be back by then.”

“Yes, ma’am. My dad thought he saw Mr. Blake here about an hour ago, but I guess he didn’t. Thanks anyway.”

“No problem, Timmy. Bye now.”

Brittany locked the door and watched through the curtains until the car backed out and headed down the street. When the taillights disappeared from view, she breathed a sigh of relief and returned to the business at hand.

“This is what I meant, Carl. I don’t have all day to sit here and play with you. Be a good boy and put those hands back up here.”

Brittany looked down at Carl’s mangled right hand.
Serves him right
,
the piece of shit
.

“What’s it going to be, hammer or saw?”

Carl blanched and turned his head away.

“So you’re letting me pick again? Aww . . . isn’t that sweet of you. I think I want a little more practice with this ole’ hammer.”

Carl squirmed and flailed, as much as he could but it was no use. Brittany flattened out his left hand and beat away. Pieces of finger flew and splattered the walls. Blood gushed everywhere. She made sure to give each finger the attention it deserved. The more she pummeled him, the more pleasure it gave her. Brittany never imagined such violence would bring her sexual excitement, but it had. Every swing brought her closer and closer to an orgasm.

“You will never put these hands on anyone else!”

Carl was numb, in too much pain to move. He was on the verge of blacking out. His hands looked like they’d been run through a meat grinder. His blood freckled Brittany’s face.

Brittany slapped his face. “Wake up Carl, it’s not over until I say it is!”

“Okay, you win. Please stop,” Carl pleaded.

“I win? This isn’t a game, Carl. You’re a piece of shit with no respect for women. You think we’re your little sex toys, like the only reason we exist is to pleasure you.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ve been very selfish and rude to women in general. I can change.”

Brittany stepped back. He actually seemed sincere.

“I’m glad you’re going out with a little bit of dignity, Carl.”

Brittany walked over to her bag again, grabbed her gun, and screwed the silencer into place.

“Hey! I said I’m sorry! That’s not enough? What else do you fucking want from me?”

“I’m afraid it won’t be enough this time. No charming your way out of this one. Let me replay the line you gave me. It’s stuck in my head all these years.
Just relax baby and let it happen
.”

Without another word, Brittany stepped back, pointed her gun at Carl’s head, and pulled the trigger.

She wanted to leave her BF trademark on the wall, but she remembered what her sister had told her about Detective Porter and the importance of sticking to the script. She opted to leave
Widowmaker
on the wall as her calling card instead. That should be enough to do the trick.

Chapter 16

I needed to call home and check in on Hilary and Miranda. The drive to Morgan City wasn’t long, and I’d already eaten into that time by talking with Carl Blake. I still couldn’t believe how much of a prick he’d been when I was trying to help him and his family.

“Hey, Sonny and Cher, keep it down a bit, will you? I need to phone home and check in on the girls.”

“Funny guy, here. We prefer Bonnie and Clyde, if we have to be named,” Lafitte said with a chuckle.

It was good to see those two getting along. Who knew what would spring up from their relationship.

“Hey, dad,” Hilary said with more excitement that I’d anticipated.

“Good morning, honey. How are you? How’s your mother?”

“I’m okay, Dad. Mom’s still asleep. She mentioned going back to work, do you think it’s too soon?”

“Did she? Well, she knows herself better than anyone. She’s seeing a doctor, so I’m sure the two of them will make the right choice. I’m glad to hear she’s doing so well. How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay, but I’m worried. I’m afraid I might never see Karen again. I’m really scared.”

My eyes began to water, and I could tell De Luca and Lafitte were zeroing in on me.

“I’m fine,” I whispered to them, holding the phone away from my face.

“Hil, we’re doing everything we can and then some. We’re going to find her, trust me. Have I ever let you down? I don’t plan on starting now. Kiss your mother for me and let her know I called.”

“I love you, Dad.”

“Love you, too, Hil. Bye.”

The biggest fear in the world for any parent is having to bury one of their own. Despite my tough exterior, I harbored the same fear. I didn’t want to find Karen’s naked, decayed little body in some field. The thought terrified me.

“David, according to my map we’re about five minutes away,” Lafitte said.

When we arrived the place was overrun by local law enforcement. I was hoping that having Lafitte with me would continue to get me access to all the information the local guys had and, more importantly, any potential witnesses.

“That’s Jim Collins. He’s no doubt in charge here,” Lafitte said as we passed by, looking for somewhere to park.

“That’s where I need to start then,” I said.

We stepped down from my truck and stretched our legs a little. Headed my direction, to my surprise, was Jim Collins.

“Listen, I know who you are, and I know why you’re here,” Collins said as he extended his hand.

“Listen, Jim, I’m not here to step on your toes or get in anyone’s way.”

“Hell, you won’t be in our way. Way I see it, this only happened here in our little town because of you. Me and my team will take any help you can give us. We’re small-time here, Porter. We ain’t some fancy-schmancy, big-time HPD detectives. This here is the most action we’ve had in quite some time. Like I said, only reason I reckon any of this here foolery is goin’ down is on account of you and that maniac you’re chasing.”

“I’m not going to disagree with much, if any, of that, Jim. Sounds pretty spot-on to me. I’ll offer any assistance I can.”

Jim yelled across the way for one of his officers to come over.

“Porter, this here’s Officer Blasberg. He pretty much knows everything that’s happened here thus far. He’ll be able to brief you and tackle anything else you might need.”

“Thank you, Jim,” I said, turning my attention to Blasberg.

“Before I say anything else, I just want to let you know how much of an honor it is to work with you,” the officer said. “I’ve read all of your books. I think I’m a better cop ’cuz of ’em, too.”

“Thanks. That’s nice to hear. I appreciate the kind words. Now, what can you tell me about what happened here?”

We headed up the driveway. This definitely had the markings of Stacy: secluded house way off the road; quick, easy access where no one would see her come or go.

“Well, sir, craziest damn thing I’ve seen in my three years here. This is one psycho perp you got on your hands, sir. Vic’s name is Jon Rogers. Thirty-seven years old, no wife, no girlfriend far as we can tell. Sketchy guy, too. Been arrested multiple times for having sex with underage girls. We’ve gone through his computer, for the most part. Visited a lotta kiddie porn sites. Got a bunch of pics saved. Looks like last night he and Miss Stacy chatted back and forth on this hookup site, and he led her right over. Any particular reason she’d choose him, sir?”

“Yes. He’s a rapist, plain and simple.”

We walked into the house, and what I saw next stopped me dead in my tracks. This guy sure as hell didn’t end up having the night he’d hoped for. Rogers lay stark-naked on the floor—what was left of him, anyway. As I looked around the living room, I saw pieces of his body taped off everywhere. His face had been chewed to hell.
Rats, maybe
? Made sense. Nutria. River rats. Louisiana was famous for them.

“Jesus Christ, Porter,” De Luca said, her face a spooky shade of green.

“You sure picked a crazy bitch to piss off, David,” Lafitte said.

“Thanks for reminding me.”

“Wait, am I missing something here? Do you know who did this, sir?”

“Yes, I do. All too well. She’s kidnapped one of my daughters, and she’s pregnant, too. And yes, it’s mine.”

Blasberg’s jaw-dropped, his face paled.

“It’s okay, son. Relax. It’s a long story—one I don’t have time to tell right now. What else do you know about what happened here?”

“Well . . . sorry; this is all happening really fast. The bites you see? Rats. The ME hasn’t given an official cause of death, so it’s hard to tell if he was alive or already dead when she let the rats free.”

I walked over to the torso of Jon Rogers and knelt down beside him. Jesus Christ was right! Just when I thought she was all out of tricks. I took a pen out of my shirt pocket and poked the body.

“He was alive.”

“Wait, how do you know that?” Blasberg said.

“If Porter says he was alive, he was alive, kid,” De Luca said.

“Blasberg, you’ve done good work here. Take my card. Call me the minute the coroner completes the autopsy. You hear? And any news breaks, you be sure to let me know.”

“Yes, sir. You can count on me, sir.”

“Before we head out, is there anything else we need to know about this crime scene? Any notes or messages left behind?”

“No, sir. Nothing like that has been recovered.”

That was strange. In the past she’d always left something behind. How many men would Stacy kill before I stopped her? Would I ever stop her? I was beginning to wonder. And where was Karen? I couldn’t help by feel solely responsible once again for her abduction. God if I could just go back and change that one day,
the day I’d met Lisa Crease
all of our lives would be better for it.

Chapter 17

We left Blasberg and headed for my truck. I hoped one day soon I’d be able to get the image of Jon Rogers’s limbless, rat-bitten torso out of my head. We were halfway down the drive when I saw Collins approaching.

“Blasberg give you everything you needed here? Quite the mess you’ve left us.”

Collins was right, but I wasn’t in the mood for his shit. Instead of wasting time arguing with him, I bit my tongue.

“Yes, he did.”

“Before you leave, I think the three of you need to see something. Just came across my phone. Damnedest thing, too.”

“What?” I said, alarm bells ringing in my head.

I snatched Collins’s phone away from him and stared at the screen. Stacy had videoed the moment she released the rats on Jon Rogers’s body and uploaded it to YouTube. This was her calling card, which explained why she hadn’t left a note here at the scene.

I hit play on the video that already had one million views.

“Jon, one last treat to finish you off. I think my furry little friends here are going to like all this blood.”

The video panned to a close-up of Stacy looking directly into the camera.

“Hi, David. Don’t worry, the baby is fine and so is Karen. Jon and I were about to have some fun, but then I decided I’d be the only one having fun tonight. Tell Carl I said hello the next time you talk to him. Love you, boo.”

Then the camera panned back to a barely moving Jon. Rats tore into him like starved savages.

I handed Collins his phone.

“Thanks. Get in, guys. Let’s go.”

I rolled the window down as we started to drive away.

“Collins, tell Blasberg I said thanks again. Tell him I said he’s going to have your job one day.”

I rolled the window up, and before De Luca or Lafitte could get a word in, I was already phoning Carl Blake.

“Porter, who are you calling? And where are we going?” De Luca said.

“Heading to New Orleans. Stacy’s clearly headed east. Maybe she’ll kill again before she gets there. Guess we’ll find out soon enough. Oh, and I’m calling Carl Blake.”

“Why Carl Blake? What’s he got to do with this?” Lafitte said.

“No answer. Damn!” I said as I hung up the phone. “I don’t think he’s got anything to do with this. Hell, I’m just hoping the prick is still alive. You know our BF—aka the Widowmaker? How much you wanna bet she’s paid a visit to him already? Why in the hell else would Stacy tell me to tell Carl hi in her little video?”

“Brittany kills John Blake
and
Carl Blake? What the hell did they do to her?” Lafitte said.

“I don’t know. Haven’t been able to put my finger on it. Maybe they went to the club one night and took her to a private room. Maybe things got out of hand, and this is her payback. We don’t even know that Carl Blake is dead. It’s just speculation on my part.”

“Yes, we do,” De Luca said, holding her phone in front of David as he drove.

There, on the front page of the digital addition of the
Houston Chronicle,
was the headline,
Local Politician Carl Blake Found Murdered in Home.

“Well, well, well. We need to regroup,” I said as I pulled off to the side of the road.

I knew neither of them would like what I was about to say.

“Hear me out on this one. Lafitte, I drug you into this thing so I could navigate Louisiana a little faster and cut through some red tape. De Luca, we know why you came, but things are different now. We can’t track Brittany Foy and Stacy across two states. I need you two to head back to Houston, visit these crime scenes, and track Brittany down. I’ll push east and keep pushing until I find Stacy.”

“No! Absolutely not,” De Luca said, crossing her arms across her chest like a pouty child.

“Listen, I’m not suggesting here; it’s what we need to do. I’ve been through some rough shit on my own. Louisiana ain’t got nothing I can’t handle. There are things the two of you will see with your eyes and feel with your presence that we simply can’t get from a set of pictures. Carl Blake’s case is fresh; the crime scene is fresh. Start there and let’s see if we can’t catch Miss Foy with her pants down. She’s clearly begging for attention, so let’s give her some.”

“Can’t the boys in blue handle this?” Lafitte said.

“I don’t doubt they can handle it. But I don’t have three years to wait. And they don’t have all the information we do.”