The pep talk she gave herself made her feel better, a little less helpless.
The truck began to slow and finally came to a stop.
****
Jason had blown stoplights and ignored speed limits to get back over to the neighborhood where both Marcie Walker’s parents lived and, according to a records search, Norman Lasiter lived.
Jason guessed the suspect lives in the same house he grew up in, just blocks from the people whose daughter he murdered. Somehow, I should have figured it out.
As he turned down Rio Grande street, he slowed to a crawl. He didn’t want to alert their killer by flying down the road but everything in him wanted to do just that. To go barrelling into the driveway, rush the house and if drawn on, put this animal down. He knew it was too risky. He controlled himself and moved down the street slowly until he got to 119,121,123. When he got to 125, his heart sank. The garage door was open and the black truck was nowhere to be seen.
Jason wheeled into the drive and called the lieutenant, informing him that he was there at the house and the truck was on the move. He got out and went into the garage, up the steps and slowly opened the door. Pausing, he drew his gun and listened for any sound. None came.
“Police!”
He waited. Nothing.
“Norman Lasiter, this is the police!”
Still nothing. He fought the nausea that came with smelling the house and checked the living room. From there he made his way into the kitchen. The filth and smell were overpowering. Having cleared the main house, he started down the hall towards the bedrooms.
The door to the first was open and the room was a mess, like everything else. The second door was closed, and when he opened it, he found what was apparently Norman’s mother’s room. The bed was made and it was the only room so far that wasn’t a disaster. In fact, it looked like it hadn’t been touched since the last time she was there.
Jason opened the third bedroom door, flipped on the light switch and stopped. There was writing all over the wall and it took him several tries before he could make sense of it.
I will never call you bloodstain again.
Each time he saw a different handwriting, he would read it out loud.
I will never call you bloodstain again.
He realized that he had said it three or four times before it dawned on him what he was doing. This is what Stephanie Morris was talking about.
At the far end, in green marker, was a handwriting he recognized. It was Vanessa’s and his knees nearly buckled just from thinking of her there, forced to write something over and over, that she probably didn’t understand. He saw the closet at the far end, just as Stephanie had described, but it had a lock on it.
The mattress caught his eye. His mind began to picture Vanessa on it. He turned and walked out. He still had a job to do and focusing on anything else wasn’t going to help.
Moving back into the living room, he began looking for any clue that might tell him where Norman Lasiter might have taken Vanessa. The lieutenant was already on his way to the state forest that had been Norman’s previous drop site. Jason doubted that he would go back there, but he didn’t have a clue where he would go.
He scanned the room. No computer. No open books or maps. He checked by the phone for notes and found none. He went into the kitchen, checking for notes stuck on the fridge. He came up empty.
Jason walked back into the living room and scanned again.
There has to be something. Wait, what’s that?
On the far wall was a white spot, unusual in the dirt that surrounded it. There must have been something there until recently. He looked on all the tables and furniture for a frame the size of the white spot and found one.
Jason picked up the photo of two boys. One was obviously Norman, the Port Wine stain told him that, but he didn’t know who the other boy was.
Why is this off the wall?
Did he go to this boys house?
Did it have anything to do with where Vanessa was?
He examined the picture closer and something in the background caught his eye. He flipped on his flashlight and wiped the dust off the photo with his sleeve.
Arnold Park.
The picture was taken at Arnold Park.
Is that where he took her?
I know where that is!
It was all he had, so he ran with it. As he went back to his car, he called the lieutenant.
Chapter 18
The hatch door to the truck topper swung open. Vanessa could see trees behind Norman but there weren’t any streetlights. The tailgate dropped and Norman grabbed her feet, pulling her towards him. Her skin complained as it was pulled across the bed of the truck.
She watched as Norman reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folding knife. He opened it and cut the ties on her feet. She felt instant relief to have her feet separated, but blood oozed from the lines that were left from the ties.
He pulled her, by both feet now, making her sit on the tailgate. Vanessa looked at her surroundings. She recognized where she was. Arnold Park on the south side of town. They were parked on the long road that does a winding loop from the entrance of the park to the back and then around to the entrance again. Vanessa had driven it many times on patrol, both at night and during the day. She was strengthened by the knowledge that this was familiar ground.
Norman pulled his gun out and bent over to pick up a bag that was laying on the ground. Vanessa saw her chance. As he straightened up with the bag, she kicked out with both feet at Norman’s groin. She could tell she was on target by the “umph” that was followed by a groan. Norman fell to the ground and she took off running.
Vanessa was a fit person but running with your hands tied, and when you haven’t had food or water for almost 24 hours, was more than her body could deliver. Even with the adrenaline coursing through her, it was only a short distance before she was winded and slowing.
The footsteps behind her got louder and louder until she knew he was right behind her. A blow to the back off her head sent her reeling into the grass. When she gathered her whit’s about her, Norman was standing over her in a rage.
“You will pay for that, Marcie.”
The duct tape on her mouth had come loose.
“I’m NOT Marcie!”
He didn’t appear to hear her. He slipped behind her and she felt herself being lifted by her arms. He placed the gun to her head and forced her to walk back towards the truck. When they got there, he opened the passenger door. Grabbing an oily rag sitting on the seat, he turned, ripped the tape off her mouth, and stuffed the rag in. She choked.
Taking her by the arms, he led her to the back of the truck where he picked up the bag he’d dropped. She then felt herself being steered towards the trees next to the road.
Vanessa struggled to get loose but it was no use. She didn’t have enough energy left and he wasn’t going to be caught off guard again.
They were only ten yards or so into the trees when he jerked her around to face him and pushed her to the ground, her back against a large tree.
****
Jason shut his lights off just before getting to the park entrance. As he went through the small gate, he turned off his engine. The car coasted to a stop on the grass and he climbed out the window. He didn’t want to alert Norman to his presence with motor noise or door closings.
When he was on the ground, he stood very still, listening. He didn’t hear anything that didn’t belong. That wasn’t to say it was quiet. Crickets and frogs played a non-stop symphony, something he usually enjoyed, but tonight they just interfered with what he wanted to hear.