‘Not here,’ he said.
Donna followed his gaze to a wall lined with dumpsters.
‘I’m sure we can pick somewhere prettier than this,’ she said. ‘You’ve got a nice car here we could get comfortable in.’
‘Sweetheart, never in my life have I considered comfort in any decision I’ve ever made.’
And I sure as hell have never connected it with fucking.
‘So, we’re going to do this outside,’ he said, ‘then I’ll drive you on back to your friends.’ He smiled.
Donna relaxed a little. They got out of the car and she walked toward the wall. Harris still hadn’t gotten hard when he turned her around and pushed her up against it, when he pressed himself against her. There was a moment of stillness.
‘I’m kidding,’ he said. ‘We’re not going to do it here. My office is inside.’
He could feel her reaction – confusion, relief, the desperate optimism that made her want to believe that the person her every cell was telling her was so very wrong, was really OK, that the evil she was sensing was not real. He had an office!
He unlocked the door and pushed her inside an empty, cavernous warehouse.
‘Hey,’ said Donna, half-turning, ‘you never asked how much I charge.’
Harris laughed as he slammed the door behind them. He grabbed her by the wrist and flung her to the ground. ‘Oh, honey, you’re the one paying.’
‘Wh—’
‘With your life.’ He laughed, a short crazy laugh as if this had been such an obvious thing for her to have not considered.
Donna screamed, and it echoed around the vast, black space. ‘No!’ she said. ‘No – please.’
He was holding a knife with a long blade that was catching the scant moonlight from the row of windows at the top of the room.
‘Take off your clothes,’ he said. ‘All of them.’
‘Please don’t do this,’ said Donna.
‘Don’t say please to me.’ He walked a step closer, patient, and dead-eyed.
She did as he asked, and stood trembling, naked, trying to cover herself.
He looked her up and down, stopped with his eyes locked on hers.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll be fair, I’ll be fair – I’m gonna give you a chance to get away.’
She stared at him. He nodded.
‘Go ahead,’ he said. ‘Go ahead.’
She frowned, but within seconds, she bolted into the gloom. He gave her time, then followed her. She cried out as her feet struck glass, but she kept running, left and right, wildly panicked, thrilling him. He gained on her, with little effort, reaching out to her, grabbing her hair, but pulling the wig from her head. He recoiled, threw it to one side, but barely broke his stride. He grabbed her arm this time, yanked her toward him, flung her to the ground. He tied her wrists with cable ties behind her back.
He knelt down in front of her, pushing her limp legs open. ‘I’m doing you a favor,’ he hissed. ‘Is this the life you want for yourself? What do you think those milked-dry titties are gonna do for a man like me? Flat little saving-up-for-fake-ones kind of titties? Your stretch marks. All of that tells me you’ve got kids at home and you’re out streetwalking. You’re nothing but a rodent bitch looking for someone to prey on her bony ass. Well, you got me. You got me. And how do you like it?’
He grabbed her thigh hard, burying his fingertips into it, and with his other hand, pushed the blade inside her, over and over.
Donna screamed and screamed, but had no power against his weight. He pressed the side of her face hard against the damp, stinking concrete.
‘You asked me how I like my women,’ he said. ‘Face down in the dirt and dying!’
He laughed hysterically. Donna was disoriented, struggling to breathe, trying to get her head from under his hand, which he released only to punch her jaw hard. He heard a crack. After that, it was just moaning.
Face down in the dirt and dying.
He felt something sink inside him.
Face down in the dirt and dying. Dirt: not here, not on a cold concrete floor.
It’s not enough, is it? It’s not enough. You need to fly again. You need to fly. Nothing else matters now. You need to fly. You need to fly.
Ren sat at her desk with a Danish in front of her that she had taken one bite out of.
Why did I bring this in here? It is just looking like fatness to me. How could I ever have eaten so many of these?
She opened up a document and wrote the date of the night that Jonathan Briar was lying about.
Why was he lying?
Ren looked up the Irish Hound bar on Google Maps. It was the last stop on Hope and Jonathan’s night out.
His ‘cab’ answer was the least convincing.
Would they have gotten a cab for such a short trip if Hope Coulson was as hammered as I believe she was? Wouldn’t they have gone for some fresh air in their lungs?
Ren called the Irish Hound for the video from that night. They had aready erased it.
Shit.
She went back to the map and marked out three separate routes they could have taken home … if they had walked. From that, she put together a list of businesses and homes that they may have passed, and who may have captured them on CCTV cameras.
Her phone rang. She looked down and saw the flashing name of Glenn Buddy, DPD.
She picked up. ‘Hey, Glenn. Before you say anything, I didn’t get a chance to ask you last time – how’s Brenda doing?’
Glenn was close friends with Cliff and Brenda James. Cliff was Ren’s adored big-bear JeffCo colleague who Janine had replaced. His wife, Brenda, was undergoing cancer treatment and had been given just months to live. Cliff had gone back to work at JeffCo Sheriff’s Department to be closer to home.
‘It’s not good,’ said Glenn. ‘But they’re holding up, they’re holding up.’
‘I haven’t spoken to Cliff in weeks,’ said Ren. ‘I’m afraid to bother him.’
‘I know, I know – time is precious, but I’m sure he’d appreciate a call. You cheer him up, Ren.’
‘I don’t know about that.’
‘You do. Now, I’m about to not cheer you up. We’ve got reports of a missing prostitute. Name’s Donna Darisse. We brought her in a few times. Real nice lady. She’s a cancer survivor.’
The word survivor sounded stark when side by side with Brenda James’s prognosis.
‘She’s got a six-year-old girl,’ said Glenn. ‘It was Donna’s first day back on the job after treatment. The daughter’s friend’s mom called it in this morning – Donna never came back to pick her up after a play date at six p.m. yesterday. That was totally out of character for her. But the friend’s mom figured she had to work late – she thought Donna was a waitress – and that her battery had died. She took her to school this morning, then nothing. The school hasn’t heard from her either. The friend’s mom knew that Donna would never do something like that.’