Adoption Page 11

  As usual, Christopher left the room for a few minutes allowing Peggy to undress and position herself on the table. Although she felt very safe with Christopher, she always wore a pair of cotton bikini briefs and a sports bra during her massage sessions. It wasn’t that she was modest but rather that there should be no uneasiness for either she or Christopher during the session. She realized some clients preferred being naked during their massages, but for Peggy, this was a time to relax and heal – to clear her mind.

  Christopher stood in the hallway outside the massage room thinking about Chief Kosciak’s wife lying on the table a few feet away on the other side of the wall. This was one of those situations where he would have to exercise self-control rather than give in to his inner impulses. How easy it would be to begin his retribution against Ron Kosciak right here, right now, by not letting Peggy get off of the table alive. How easy it would be to snap her feminine neck and give her muscles a permanent rest from her daily pain. “Just reach under her shoulders as she lies on her back with her eyes closed waiting for your fingers to work their magic.” he thought. “Push your hands back under her shoulders a few times and repeat this movement to relax her. Then, quickly, quietly, effortlessly, move your fingers upward and begin to lightly massage the back of her neck with your thumbs positioned right over her windpipe. Roll your left hand up and over to the forehead leaving your right hand behind her head gently holding and supporting the nape of her neck. Place your left hand over her forehead and quietly, reassuringly, tell her to relax. Relax. Relax. Now, snap her fucking head and listen to the last gasp of life as her body goes limp on the table.”

  Standing in the hallway with these thoughts running through his head, his hands and arms moved in unison to his inner impulses playing out his desires as a mime moves without words on a city street.

  “Christopher, are you out there?” Peggy’s words broke through bringing his thoughts back to reality.

  “Yes, Peggy. I’ll be right in. Just relax for a moment and enjoy the music.”

  Peggy would live for another day. Today was her VERY lucky day. She would not be as fortunate the next time they met. Instead of giving into his vengeful feelings, he concentrated on being in control and having the patience to think things through - planning is always the route to success – Control. Control. Control. If he killed her today, it would only be a matter of time before her husband traced her to “Soft Touch Massage”. He knew exactly where she was right now and the time frame would be difficult to explain away. He would be a suspect – a prime suspect. Actually, Peggy’s being here today would take him out of the spotlight. She would talk about her massage with her hubby in every soothing detail. Ron, being the macho chief of police, would listen and put it out of his mind within minutes, and therefore would put Christopher out of his mind as well. After all, he was just Christopher Bradford the masseur: the man with the magic fingers. These thoughts repeated in his mind as he turned and entered the room to relieve Peggy of her discomforts, along with some of her money.

  29

  It felt good to walk around her prison room. It was unsettling to know this room was not her real bedroom, but at the same time, because it was a twin to her bedroom at home, she felt somewhat relaxed because of the familiarity. Looking into the mirror on the wall behind the dresser, Marty stared into her own eyes wondering why she was chosen for the adoption. What was it that made her stand out in the crowd? When did he begin to stalk her and how long had he studied her daily life before the day of the kidnapping?

  “I’m glad my brain is finally clearing.” She thought. “I don’t know what he used to drug me, but it sure as hell has a nasty kick. You look like hell, Marty. You haven’t looked this bad since your last kidney stone! Christ. How the heck am I going to get out of here? No windows. Doors are locked. But, I do have the comforts of home. Yeah. Real comfortable…locked in a cellar in the middle of God only knows where, hands still tied up, with a freakin’ psycho-asshole waiting to live out his distorted fantasies with me as his new play toy! Jesus, help me out here. I need some divine intervention.”

  Marty guessed that a couple of hours had passed since he left her alone with her newly granted mobility. Because he had cut off the plastic ties around her ankles, Marty knew she was gaining at least a little bit of trust with her feigned interest and subjugation to his demands. Moving over to the night stand beside the bed, she bent over and pulled open the single large drawer. Empty. She then went back to the dresser and began to open each of those drawers, finding various articles of clothing: socks, nylons, panties, bras and, oddly, she came across her diary in the back of the bottom left drawer. Opening the diary, she realized that this was, in fact, her real diary. She heard herself take a quick, deep breath of surprise. Why would he take her diary? What significance did it play in his game of cat and mouse? Not wanting him to know she found the diary, Marty put it back into the drawer, positioning it exactly the way she had found it. To successfully outwit him, she would have to seem totally unthinking and, continue talking to him about understanding his motives and thanking him for rescuing her from unloving and cruel parents.

  “Keep earning a little more trust every time he comes into the room.” She thought. “Be cooperative without seeming overanxious. If he suspects that you are baiting him and leading him on, he will probably kill you right then and there.”

  While Marty talked to herself, she continued to look around her room for any item that might help her escape. It wasn’t until the third or fourth time she looked at it that the lacrosse stick caught her attention. In fact, she was beginning to look away from it leaning up against the wall in the corner of the room before its image ignited a spark of curiosity making her turn her head back and look at it once again. “Why would he leave my lacrosse stick in the room?” she asked herself with an unsettled feeling. “He must know I am an excellent player. He must also know I could use the stick to put his lights out when he enters the room. One good whack on the side of the head and he would topple over like a china closet in an earthquake. No. He’s not stupid. Don’t underestimate him. It’s too easy. There has to be a catch somewhere. I just have to figure out what it is. Don’t jump at the obvious. Think, Marty, think!”

  Marty walked over to the lacrosse stick to inspect it and make sure it was the real McCoy. It was an exact duplicate of her stick without the nicks and chips from playing many games at the school. “So, why would he leave a weapon like this in the room?” she thought again. Knowing the importance of having this stick, something with which she could defend herself, gave Marty a small feeling of confidence if things should go badly in the near future. However, for some reason, unknown to her, she did not touch the stick, but left it standing in the corner of the room. A feeling, a hunch.

  Marty wondered why it was taking him so long to bring breakfast. She knew by the growling of her stomach that she was long past being hungry. She was ravenous. What she wanted most of all was a hot cup of coffee from the coffee shop. “The coffee shop - of course!” she said out loud. That was where she remembered seeing him. Almost every morning he would watch her as she sat by the window. He always stood over against the far wall away from everyone else, but always scanning the room with those dark, intent eyes. That was why she noticed him in the first place. In trying to be inconspicuous, he actually made himself stand out more. Marty wondered if anyone else in the coffee shop noticed him staring at her. Perhaps someone would listen to the news reports about her disappearance and put two and two together realizing that his behavior in the coffee shop was out of the ordinary. Maybe they would call the police and report him. By giving the police his description, police artists would be able to generate a composite sketch which they could show on the television news casts. There was still a chance that, by some miracle, the authorities were already on their way to rescuing her. She walked over to her bed once again and sat down waiting for him to return. She had hope. Not much hope, but at least it wa
s better than no hope.

  Marty closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. As she exhaled, she thought about her parents going out of their minds with worry. They would know by now that she was in danger and most likely fighting for her life. In fact, they would have discussed the possibility that she was already dead – the fear every parent has in the back of their minds as their children grow and mature to an age where they start to go off by themselves without parental protection.

  The door at the end of the hall made the familiar clicking sound as he entered from upstairs. The closing of the door meant that he was in the hallway walking toward her room. Marty was beyond being scared at this point. Her fear was beginning to turn into something quite different. As he walked into her room holding a breakfast tray with scrambled eggs, toast, bacon and a large cup of hot coffee, she sat on the edge of her bed not as his prey but as an adversary getting ready to do battle.

  Marty began to stand beside the bed to thank him for bringing breakfast for her when he said, “I see you found your diary.”

  Without thinking, she took a step backward losing balance, almost falling onto the bed while staring at him. The surprise on her face was very evident as he began to speak.

  “Oh. Don’t worry. I just thought you might like to write some additional entries while you are staying here with me. A diary is a very personal and valuable book. Most young women who have them cherish them and protect their written secrets. I knew your diary would help you make the transition to your new home and family easier. Think of it as a welcoming present.”

  Marty was still stunned knowing that he was aware of what she was doing while he was out of the room. She felt exposed again. Violated again. But, most of all, she reacted the way he expected her to react. She was playing into his hands. If she were going to get out of this “family,” she would have to step up her game. However, the realization that he was watching her had taken the air out of her lungs. Right at this moment, she was like a sail boat in a wind storm with torn sails. As she sat gathering her thoughts, he began to speak.

  “By the way, I know where you are and what you are doing every second I am away from this room. That is why I felt comfortable leaving the Lacrosse stick in the corner over there. Don’t get any ideas about hitting me over the head when I come into the room. I’ll see you waiting for me no matter where you are. I have an oblique angle lens which captures every square foot of this room on my screen upstairs. I can see everything that goes on in here.”

  Whatever confidence Marty was feeling a few moments earlier vanished immediately. She thumped down onto the side of the bed waiting as he pulled the tray table in front of her.

  “Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you to think I might want to write in my diary. You’re right as usual. I do value my diary. It is a very important and personal part of my life. Thanks for helping me to protect it and keep it safe. I certainly have a lot to write about now with my adoption and all. Is it all right if I write about my new life here with you and the other kids?”

  She spoke without really being aware of what she was saying. A part of her mind was working independently of her present situation trying to maintain control and gain any speck of trust that would help lead to her escape. While the independent part of Marty kept a vigilant watch, the other part was still reeling from the reality of her situation and the knowledge that he was in complete control of her life at this point in the game. Although temporarily stunned, she was beginning to evolve from kidnapping victim to mental chess player. “With each setback comes more knowledge about your opponent,” she thought. “With more knowledge gained about your opponent, the weaker your opponent becomes. Take a deep, mental breath of air, close your eyes, exhale slowly and make the next move – “WINNER TAKE ALL.”

  30

  Doc Cavanaugh could not remember the last time he was this exhausted. Taking only two or three hour naps during the course of five post mortems was taking its toll as he woke up once again to the sound of the alarm clock next to the cot in his office at the hospital. As his swollen and sore bare feet touched the cold, tile floor, he actually smiled as the coolness spread over the bottom of each foot sending a soothing feeling through them and up each leg. Doc exhaled into the stillness of the office, letting the moment linger as long as he could.

  Jerry Bickford was still sound asleep in a second cot brought in after post number three was completed about six hours ago. Doc appreciated Jerry’s offer to assist on all five of the exams. He certainly did not have to stay, but Doc would owe him big time for his help and would gladly pay the tab on this debt as soon as the opportunity arose.

  He and Jerry had not found any new revelations during the latestpost mortems performed on each of the victims. All were branded on the left side of the neck. Three puncture sites for the injected chemicals were found inside the design of each brand. None of the girls were sexually molested and all were facially mutilated with the removal of their eyes and lips or their ears. However, since these were all classified as Medical Legal cases due to their being homicides, filling out the mounds of paperwork would take almost as long as the exams themselves. Doc did not look forward to the next twenty-four hours he would spend behind his desk with pen in hand filling in the non-ending lines and blocks of information required by medical law in these types of cases.

  The attention to detail the killer of these young women exhibited, actually impressed Doc. Both he and Jerry scoured each body for any minute portion of a fingerprint that might have been left behind. They even checked the back side of the eyelids for print patterns as well as the surfaces of every tooth in each girl’s mouth. A hundred or more swabs were used to take samples from every cavity on each body looking for foreign materials. There were none to be found. They combed out each girl’s hair - both scalp and pubic - looking for hair particles that did not match the victim. There were none to be found. Finger nails and toe nails were scraped for any tissue residue that might have been scratched from the killer during their struggle. It was a long shot that also did not pay any return on their investment. Each of the young women was as clean as Christine’s car was when the police found it after her disappearance eight weeks ago. Other than gravel, insects and other flora found in and around the embankment of a pond, there was nothing else to give them a clue about this killer.

  Jerry Bickford heard Doc’s release of satisfaction when the cool flooring began to soothe his aching feet. Opening his eyes just enough to watch Cavanaugh relish these few minutes of ecstasy without Doc realizing he was being watched, made Jerry chuckle to himself as Doc’s facial expressions changed comically with his rising level of enjoyment and relief. When Doc finally stood up next to his cot, Jerry pretended to wake up and shake out the cobwebs.

  “Hey, Jerry.” Doc said, looking down at his assistant. “How about you and I walk over to the greasy spoon diner to get something to eat? I think the special is beef and bean burritos. It might even be two for one day. I’m hungry enough to eat a half dozen. I’ll buy since you’re working on my nickel.”

  “Actually, Doc. That sounds like a great idea. I’m starving too, although I think I’ll pass on eating six.

  Joe’s Diner was not really a greasy spoon. The restaurant served very good food. The menu offered a wide variety of appetizers as well as some good old-fashioned, home cooked meals. Specials ranged from meat loaf, mashed potatoes and green beans smothered in beef gravy, to fried steak with all of the “fixins”. One of the house favorites was the “Belly-Bustin”, two pounder, Swiss, bacon burger with Joe’s secret sauce. This culinary beauty was served with both fries and onion rings. The burger was served on one plate with the fries and rings being served on a second plate. Anyone who could down one of these monster burgers plus the rings and fries, ate for free. Only one person in the six years this burger had been on the menu, earned a place on “The Wall of Fame” for finishing the entire meal. One would think that this person would be a t
hree hundred pound lumber jack, but the gourmet busting champion was a twenty-three year old college girl, weighing in at about one hundred-thirty pounds, standing all of five foot four inches tall. The story goes, that her friends did have to physically carry her out of the diner back to her room at the college dorm, and that she did not eat for a week after her Olympian efforts. She did however, spend many hours in the bathroom groaning and moaning the night of the event.

  Doc and Jerry shimmied into a window booth with a heavily padded vinyl seat. They ordered and then sat discussing the examinations while they ate. Jerry happened to glance over at the customers sitting on stools eating and drinking at the counter. He thought he recognized the man standing near the last one next to the cash register. It had been at least five or six years since he and the guy at the counter took the same firearms course at the police station in Worcester, but Jerry remembered Christopher because he had addressed him as Chris when they first met and was promptly told his name was Christopher. So, for the remainder of the course, Jerry addressed him only as Christopher. They got along well enough during the three days of instructions and testing, and each earned their respective firearms license. Then they said their good-byes and life went on. After all these years there stood Christopher not more than twenty feet away. Jerry told Doc he saw an old friend, excusing himself for a few minutes.