Ten Times Guilty (28 page)

“I can’t believe that.”

“Oh, I was. I got fat. Seemed like I couldn’t ever get enough food. Mom said I was going to be shaped like my grandmother: small, but full-figured. Jim said, ‘If her figure gets any fuller, she won’t be able to get through the door!’” Tracy continued, the words tumbling over each other in her haste to get them out. It was so difficult to remember all this, all the details she had tried so hard to forget. But somehow she knew she must. It was like a mountain she had to climb before she could go on with her life.

“One time Mom and I were watching a variety show on TV,” she went on. “Jim was in the kitchen. I usually kept quiet when he was home, stayed in my safe place, but I forgot myself long enough to sing along with one of the popular tunes. First thing I knew, Jim came in and said,  ‘Shut up, nobody wants to hear you.’  He could have said anything, even like, ‘Shut up, I want to hear the TV.’  But no, he had to make it sound like no one wanted to hear me.

“Another time, Mom and I watched a talk show, and the issue was on discipline in the school system. Mom asked me something about it and I was telling her. I didn’t notice Jim had come in. He cut me off. ‘What makes you think anyone wants to listen to you? No one wants to hear a bratty girl trying to talk grown up. If you keep your mouth shut, no one will know how stupid you really are.’  And he went back into the kitchen.”

“My God,” Suzy whispered, “I’m amazed you can talk at all.”

“And then, when I began to mature, you know, physically….” Tracy’s voiced trailed into nothingness.

“Were you sexually abused?”

“No, he didn’t touch me like that. But he started talking, making remarks about my body, about girls on TV, and about sex in general. Always when Mom was in another room. I didn’t know what to do, so I married the first boy who was nice to me and left home at sixteen. Mom wrote that Jim ran off with another woman. And Mom...well, she died shortly afterward of a stroke.”

“And after all that,” Suzy said, “there you were, working, raising that boy of yours without help, and even planning on going to school. Listen to me, honey, that’s strength, and you’ve got it. In spades. And then, to have all this happen to you. Most women would be in the cracker factory by now. You think you’re a coward, but you’re the strongest, bravest person I know, and I have nothing but admiration for you.” Suzy folded her arms and sat back as if daring Tracy to disagree.

Tracy tried to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. “I’m not deserving of that kind of praise. Oh, Suzy, I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Oh posh! Honey, you’ve got all you need locked inside. You just have to let it out.”

***

“I been on the streets since I was fourteen,” Holly said that evening. Wearing her usual black outfit, she slouched at the table, her chair pulled slightly away from the table, her legs propped up on the chair next to her. “Man, I seen parts of Denver that’s not even on the map, I’ll tell you! Make a good living, too,” she eyed a challenge to the women sitting at the table. “Won’t find me begging no man for money, I make my own. And I bet it’s a lot more than most men make.”

“Yeah,” Karen said, her gaze taking in Holly’s attire. “I bet you do.”

“Men like this look. I get the most money when I wear my spike collar, pile on the chains and wear my whip coiled around my shoulder. Boots, too.” She grinned. “Can’t forget the boots.”

“Uh,” Wendy cleared her throat, “do you really, uh, whip them? Or is it just part of the costume?” She blushed, but kept her eyes on Holly.

“Depends on what they want.”

“But they really want to be whipped?”

“Well, not really with the whip,” Holly said. “Makes marks, so I use a belt with lots of padding. Most of them are married or have big, important jobs and can’t go around with marks all over them. You’d be surprised at how high up these men are. The ones who want whipped, they’re dressed the best and pay the most.”

“But don’t you ever want a home, a family?” Tracy asked.

“Not me. I wouldn’t even think about ‘settling down’ with a man. Can’t trust none of them. They either beat you to death or they’re lying and cheating on you. Even the straight ones I get, they’re all married. Little woman at home, thinking she’s nice and secure with her man. All the time, he’s out screwing anything he can get his dick in. Nope, not for me.” She folded her arms tightly against her chest.

“You don’t have to use gutter language here,” Suzy reminded her gently. “You don’t have anything to prove with us.”

Holly sighed heavily. “Yes, Suzy, I hear you.”

“And you’re wrong about men. True, there are and always will be the type you’ve seen, but never forget, there’s also another type. The man who loves his family and works hard to take care of them. I wish every one of you could have the same kind of relationship with a spouse that I had. That, and your children are the things that make life worth living.”

Tracy glanced at Suzy and saw the same tender look on her face she’d seen in the hospital. Her husband must have been a pretty special man.

“You know what this lady does?” Holly addressed the group in general. “Every once in awhile, she goes out on the streets and hauls me in here, just so I can rest, she says. Says I need to get some sleep and decent food so I won’t be tempted to do drugs. Only person I ever seen that really gives a damn.” Sudden tears made her eyes glisten and she almost slapped them away. “Damn things, makes people like Suzy think I’m crying, that I give a shit about anything.”

The women at the table were silent.

“Maybe underneath all that leather, you really don’t care about anything,” Suzy said, “but I think you do. Regardless, just remember I care about you.”

“Me too,” Tracy said, her heart going out to the teenager. 

“We can be your family now,” Karen said.

Tracy saw that Holly was trying to stem the sudden flood of tears.

Suzy started talking about drugs, probably, Tracy thought, to give Holly a chance to ‘save face’ and compose herself.

“So far, I been clean,” Holly rejoined the conversation, “and I aim to stay that way. Can’t get nowhere all shot up.”

“I guess you can get them pretty easy,” Gail said.

“I can get anything easy. Just a matter of money. So keep in mind, ladies, you ever need anything you don’t want to buy in a store, just look me up. I’ll get it for you.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

The next day Reese knocked at the door of the safe house. He had the results of the DNA test. He flashed his shield at the woman who answered the door and smiled to put her at ease.

“I’m working with Tracy Michaels,” he told her, “and I need to talk to her.”

“She’s upstairs. I’ll get her.”

While waiting inside, Reese reflected that the place hadn’t changed since he was here over a year ago. Just the faces.

Always new faces.

A few moments later Tracy appeared with Ritchie in her arms.

Cute kid, Reese thought. Big brown eyes like his mother. However, Tracy’s eyes were wide. And wary.

“Hello, Sergeant Sanders,” she said. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to see you.”

“Call me Reese. I need to talk to you.”

The older woman who answered the door, walked down the stairs and held out her arms for Ritchie. “I’ll take him to the back yard.”

Tracy thanked her, then, after they had left, asked Reese, “What’s wrong?”

Hell. Reese wished Tracy didn’t look so frightened. He knew from talking to Suzy that she was doing okay. Maybe she was starting to put the nightmare aside and go on with her life. He hated to confront her again, but it was necessary.

Tracy didn’t sit down and Reese felt awkward. But he couldn’t sit, not while she was standing. He leaned against the doorframe and tried to put her at ease.

“Are you comfortable here?”

She nodded, her eyes never leaving his face.

“I might as well get right to it. I’ve been investigating Karlton Wolfe.”

Tracy went white.

“The DNA coding came back from your samples. It’s a match to the other women. The same man attacked all of you, including my sister. I need you to identify him.”

“Oh, God.”

She went so death-white that Reese was afraid she was going to buckle. He helped her to a chair and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. Damn, he didn’t want to do this. If he could get Karlton Wolfe some other way, he wouldn’t hesitate.

There was no other way.

“Drink,” he told her. “You’ll feel better.”

She took a sip, then tried to set the glass down. She had to use both hands.

Reese couldn’t let her anguish affect him. He pushed on. “Even without the DNA, all the evidence points to him. In cross-checking his history, I found job orders in the vicinity of the other assaults. You know how bad I want him?”

Tracy was silent, her face pale as she stared at Reese.

“Help me get him, Tracy.” Reese took her hand. “Help me get him off the streets. Say the word and I’ll put out an APB. We’ll get him.”

“I want to help you, but I can’t.” Tracy pulled her hand away. “Don’t you understand? No matter how long, he said, no matter where I go, he’ll find me. I believe him.”

“You haven’t heard from him here, have you?”

She shook her head. “That’s the only hope I have, that I’ll have some time to think, to plan, and I can’t, no, won’t jeopardize that small feeling of safety.”

***

Karr sipped coffee as he watched the Goldens’ home. The mailman had made his delivery long ago, but there was still no sign of Tracy. He began to get a sinking sensation. He hadn’t seen her since the quick glimpse the other day when she grabbed the mail. Was it possible? Had she managed to escape without him knowing?

No, she had to be there. He hadn’t seen her leave, and as close as he’d been watching, he would’ve known. The only time he’d left his post was to grab fast food from a drive-up window, and to stop at a service station for a quick shave. He didn’t want to look suspicious in case someone noticed him parked there.

He stuffed some salty fries into his mouth. The only activity he’d noted was the hen party someone had. All those dames converging on the house at once, why it was a madhouse. Taking a sip of coffee to wash the fries down, he thought of that evening. Damn, it had been hard to see what was going on. He’d had to move several times to get a clear view.

Suddenly, he froze. The little bitch couldn’t have gotten out then, could she? She wasn’t that swift. Unless she had some help.

Swallowing, he thought about her hospital stay. She could have met someone there, and they could’ve taken her.

Shit! But who, and where would they have gone?

Before he came all unglued, he’d better make sure. Starting the engine, he pulled in the driveway of the vacant house next to his target, then casually looked around just like a prospective buyer.

As if he wanted to ask a neighbor a question, he strolled over to the Goldens’ house and knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again and waited, placing his ear to the door. Silence. Damn. It couldn’t be. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then tried the doorknob. It was locked. He pulled his driver’s license from his wallet and slipped it through the crack and jiggled the knob until it sprung. Quickly, he eased the door open and slipped through.

Not only did he not find Tracy, but after a careful search, he couldn’t find any traces of her. Or, the dead giveaway, any of the baby’s stuff. He then crept up the stairs and tried her door. Still nothing. After a careful search with no sign of Tracy or the kid, he knew she had gone.

Where the hell was she?

Back in the van, he started the engine and drove aimlessly, trying to figure out what happened. All that hard work, sitting for hours, watching boring people do boring stuff. And for what? The angrier he got, the faster he went, until he almost ran over a pedestrian in a crosswalk. He slowed. Not that he gave a damn about running over some jerk, but someone might get his license number. Couldn’t let that happen.

All right, calm down and think. Where would the little bitch go?

Passing the capitol, then the Denver Mint, he thought of the time he’d taught Rosa a lesson in talking back. She’d disappeared for a couple of days. When she got home, he taught her another lesson on holding out on him. She finally blabbed about a safe house, and, with a little more persuasion, pointed it out to him.

He smiled. Wouldn’t hurt to check it out.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Tracy sat on the park bench and watched Ritchie play with two other children in the sandbox. The three of them were laughing, grabbing sand and dribbling it through their fingers. Sand matted Ritchie’s hair and covered his clothes, but she didn’t care. He was having fun and finding life a joy.

She almost hadn’t ventured out today. After Reese left, all she wanted to do was run upstairs with Ritchie and hide from the world. Then she looked at her son and knew she had to make some sort of life for him.