A second set of photographs portrayed a fourth victim who had been discovered in the basement. A chain that ended in an open manacle lay near his body. A close-up of the victim’s face showed a jagged piece of glass protruding from the man’s left eye and several bullet holes in his face.
There was an audiocassette of Dana Cutler’s statement in the file and a transcript of the tape. Before listening to the tape, Evans read through the police reports. A squad of D.C. narcotics detectives had responded to a call from Dana that directed them to a house in a rural area near the Maryland shore. The narcotics officers had lost contact with her three days before when the meth cook she was traveling with gave them the slip. The reporting officer noted that Dana spoke in a monotone and could barely be heard. She refused to discuss what had happened when asked and restricted her conversation to directions that would bring the police to her.
When the police arrived at the house they found Dana sitting in the rec room near the phone staring into space. She was naked and covered in gore. A blood-soaked ax lay at her feet next to two.357 Magnum handguns. The dead men all had lengthy police records and had been arrested for or charged with multiple assaults, rapes, and murders. A report written after talking to the physician who had treated Dana at the hospital informed Evans that she had suffered several savage beatings over every part of her body and had been raped repeatedly. She had been transferred to a psychiatric hospital as soon as her physical problems had been treated.
Evans put the cassette in a tape recorder and pressed the play button. He had to turn the volume up because Dana spoke in a voice that was barely audible and she slurred her words, giving the impression that she was drugged or exhausted. The interview was conducted by Detective Aubrey Carmichael, who asked Dana what had happened after she arrived at the meth lab.
“They hit me,” Dana answered.
“Hit you how?” Aubrey asked.
“On the head. I don’t remember much. When I came to I was chained by the leg to the wall in the basement.”
“What happened after you woke up?”
“They beat me and they raped me. I was naked. They kept me naked.”
Evans heard sobs on the tape. Aubrey offered Dana water. There was no sound on the tape for a while. Then the conversation resumed.
“How did you escape?” the detective asked.
“Brady was drinking beer while he waited to rape me.”
“Brady is the cook?”
“Yes. He put the bottle down. It was empty. He forgot to take it with him. He came down later to rape me again. He was alone. He…he was in me. His eyes were closed. When he opened them I…”
“It’s okay. We can fill in the details when you’re better.”
“I won’t be better. Not ever.”
Evans lost contact with his surroundings as he listened to Dana Cutler describe her walk up the cellar steps with Brady’s Magnum in one hand and an ax in the other. She had taken the other gang members by surprise while they were playing pool and shot them in their legs and shoulders, disabling them. Then she’d taken the ax to each of them. Dana’s account was sketchy because she didn’t remember a lot of what she’d done.
Reports from the mental hospital characterized her as suffering post-traumatic stress disorder and extreme depression. Dana experienced recurring nightmares and flashbacks. She had become an outpatient almost a year after being admitted.
“Jesus Christ,” Evans muttered when he finished the file. He could not begin to imagine what Dana had felt during her ordeal and he felt an overwhelming need to find her and protect her.
Chapter Thirty-six
“We have problems,” Charles Hawkins told President Farrington.
“I don’t want to hear about any problems now, Chuck. I’ve got to go on television in ten minutes and try to save my campaign.”
“You need to hear this. Cutler escaped again.”
Farrington gaped at his friend. “What’s wrong with you? She’s one woman.”
“She’s very resourceful.”
“You’ve got to eliminate her. She can blow the story I’m going to tell the American people to pieces. I need Cutler dead.”
“Calm down. We’ll get her.”
Farrington fumed silently for a moment. Then he noticed that Hawkins looked like he had more to say.
“Out with it. What else happened?”
“Two of our men were killed, a cop was killed, too, and an FBI agent was wounded.”
“She was involved in the shoot-out in West Virginia?”
Hawkins nodded.
“That’s been the lead on every news show. With a dead cop and a wounded FBI agent the investigation will be massive.”
“Don’t worry. I’m on top of it.”
“You’d better be.” Farrington shook his head. “A dead cop and a wounded FBI agent. How could this happen?”
“Look, it’s too bad about the cop and the agent, but they’re collateral damage. The important thing is that there’s nothing pointing toward the White House and there won’t be. Our men can’t be traced. They don’t carry ID on a mission, and their prints have been erased from the system.”
“Is there any more bad news?”
“There is one other minor problem. Marsha Erickson was told to call Dale Perry if there was ever any trouble. She didn’t know he was dead and she called him. Mort Rickstein handled the call. She told him that Brad Miller, an associate with the Reed, Briggs firm in Oregon, tried to pump her for information about you and Laurie Erickson.”
“What did she tell Miller?” Farrington asked, alarmed.
“Nothing. She refused to talk to him just like we told her to do if anyone ever asked about her daughter. And we don’t have to worry about the associate. Mort is a friend of Susan Tuchman. She’s been supervising this kid. She promised to read him the riot act.”
Farrington smiled. “Poor bastard. If Sue is on his case we won’t have to worry.”
“Too true, but I am concerned about Erickson. She’s a lush. She won’t be able to deal with the pressure if her daughter’s case gets reopened.”
A bead of sweat marred Farrington’s makeup, which had been carefully applied just before Hawkins had come in and banished the makeup artist.
“My God! If anyone links Laurie’s murder to Charlotte’s…”
“They won’t. I’ll take care of it like I always do. So don’t worry. Concentrate on your speech. While you’re winning over the public I’ll be taking care of the loose ends.”
Hawkins spent a few more minutes calming his friend. Then he left him and used a secure White House line to make a call.
“Hey,” he said to the man who answered. “Remember that potential problem we discussed? Why don’t you take care of it? And do not fuck up this time.”
When Christopher Farrington stared into the lens of the television camera he felt certain that he looked humble and contrite because his press secretary, Clem Hutchins, had secretly flown in one of the best acting coaches in New York to train him to look humble and contrite on cue. Standing at Farrington’s shoulder was Claire Meadows Farrington, obviously with child and the very model of the loving and supportive wife.
“My fellow Americans, several days ago a Washington, D.C., newspaper published a story that implied that I’d had an extramarital affair with a young woman named Charlotte Walsh. What made this story so sad was the tragic fact that Miss Walsh’s life was snuffed out by a degenerate criminal, who, fortunately, has been captured, due to the brilliant work of an FBI task force.
“I could stonewall the newspaper’s allegations but that would mean stonewalling you, the American public, the very people I am asking to trust me with shepherding our country through the next four years. How can I ask you to trust me with your vote if I’m not willing to discuss these accusations with you openly and honestly?”