Relatively rainey, p.2
Relatively Rainey, page 2
part #5 of Rainey Bell Thriller Series
#
7:10 AM, Saturday, September 20, 2014
Chancery Court Subdivision,
Durham County, NC.
Kent Barker turned the last bend in the running trail, legs and lungs on fire. With the end in sight, he dug deeper, sprinting as fast as his fifty-one-year-old legs would allow. Crossing his imaginary finish line, Kent alternated between walking off the lactic acid surging through his near cramping muscles and grabbing his knees, gasping for air.
“Nice sprint,” a sheriff’s deputy said from the edge of the woods.
He and two other deputies appeared to be searching the strip of land behind Kent’s house that separated the running trail from the yards in the neighborhood.
“Thanks,” Kent replied, between gasps. “What’s going on?”
The deputy approached, asking, “Do you live around here?”
“Yeah,” Kent said, finally able to stand erect. “I live right there.” He pointed to the back of his home.
The deputy pulled out a pad and pen. “Could I have your name, sir?”
“Dr. Kent Barker. What’s going on? Has something happened to my wife?”
“Why would you ask that, sir?”
Kent became impatient. “Because you’re standing in the woods behind my house asking me questions.”
“Your wife is Marilyn Barker?”
“Yes. What’s happened? Is she okay?” Kent demanded.
“May I have a look at the soles of your shoes, sir?”
Kent immediately showed the bottoms of his shoes to the deputy and began to panic, “Oh, my God. Marilyn. Tell me what’s happened.”
“Your wife is fine, Dr. Barker. Someone broke into the house two doors that way.” The deputy pointed just a few hundred yards down the trail. “During the canvas this morning, we found tracks in the mud there and the same tracks here behind your home and more muddy prints on your back patio. They do not match your shoes. We spoke to your wife. We understand you reported a theft a little over a year ago. Is that right?”
“Yes. Did he come back?” Kent asked.
“The crimes seem to match the fetish burglaries we’ve had over the past twelve months, starting with your home last September, only this time the female was at home.”
“The Tanners, that’s who you’re talking about, right? Is anyone hurt?”
“Tanner, yeah that’s right. Do you know them?”
“Yes, we all know each other. It’s a friendly neighborhood. You didn’t answer me. Is everyone okay?”
“Yes, sir. No one was hurt. The teenager was home alone. She took a shower and when she came out, the clothes she left on the bathroom floor were gone along with the contents of her lingerie drawer.”
“My God, he was in there with her. When did this happen?”
“Where were you around midnight last evening, Dr. Barker?”
Incensed that he was under suspicion, Kent responded, “What? You think I stole my own daughter’s underwear, and now I’ve moved on to the neighbor’s?”
“We’re asking these questions of everyone, Dr. Barker.”
“I was home with my wife. Didn’t you speak to her? Didn’t she tell you that?”
The deputy smiled. “We have to ask and yes she did. Did you see or hear anything unusual last night?”
Kent relaxed. “No, nothing. We went to bed around eleven. I take a sleeping aid, and I was out pretty quickly. I wouldn’t have heard a thing for at least six hours. My wife says I’m like the living dead.”
“In the last year, have additional personal items disappeared from your home?”
“Not that I’m aware of, but our daughter doesn’t live here anymore. She shares a house with some friends a few miles away and closer to her school. The responding officers last year told us she was the target, that it was probably a teenager with issues.”
“I think we’re reevaluating that assessment, Doctor. This is the eleventh reported fetish burglary in the last year.”
“My God, I had no idea,” Kent said, feeling sick to his stomach.
The deputy made a note and put the pad back in his pocket. “We might want to speak with you again. Keep your doors and windows locked, sir.” He started to turn away but added, “You might lay off that sleeping aid for a bit. At least, until we catch this guy.”
#
4:56 AM, November 22, 2014
Arianna Wilde’s Farmhouse
Buckhorn Road, Chatham County, NC
She watched the second hand on her grandmother’s kitchen wall clock tick away the minutes in slow motion. The large red rooster with the clock in his belly hung in that very spot as long as Arianna remembered. She'd been sure to rehang it as soon as the new paint dried. Mr. Rooster's clock hands said it was closing in on five in the morning. Her attacker left her at three, two hours ago. Two hours that crept by one tick at a time.
“Arianna, can you look straight ahead for me?”
The EMT’s smile did not cover his concern, as he focused a small flashlight in each of her eyes.
“Thank you,” he said, clipping the penlight back inside his shirt pocket. He checked the bandage on her head, seemed satisfied, and asked, “Are you warm enough? Can I get you anything?”
Arianna pulled her grandmother’s quilt tighter around her shoulders and resumed watching the seconds tick by.
“Are you sure we can’t take you to the hospital?” A second EMT asked.
“I’m sorry, gentleman. May we have a moment alone with Ms. Wilde?”
Arianna heard the voice of the female detective again, the one who tried to interview her before without much luck. The only words Arianna spoke in the last two hours were to the emergency operator. The details she gave were sparse. Her name, address, and the declaration “he raped me” were all she said before hanging up. The phone repeatedly rang in the long minutes she waited for the police to arrive. Arianna ignored it while she watched Mr. Rooster tick-tick-tick away the life she knew. Convinced this was punishment for walking out of her marriage, for trying to start over, for seeking the life of independence she craved—Arianna Wilde stopped talking because there was nothing left to say.
The flashlight bearing EMT protested being asked to leave, “She needs medical attention.”
“That’s the goal, but right now what she needs is to process,” the detective responded with authority.
“Well, if she starts showing signs of shock—”
A female voice unfamiliar to Arianna interrupted the EMT.
“I think what Ms. Wilde needs right now is a little quiet. If you will just wait outside in the hall, I’m sure she’ll leave with you voluntarily when she’s ready.”
The room cleared of all but the detective and the other woman, the one with the calm, controlled tone. The moment the police arrived the normally peaceful country night had filled with male voices and the sound of heavy footsteps. They attempted hushed communications, but Arianna could still hear them—and smell them. Or was that his odor lingering on her skin. She rubbed her nose in her grandmother’s quilt, hoping for a whiff of Chanel no. 5, as quiet returned to the kitchen.
Arianna heard the refrigerator door open. She turned to see the calm voice belonged to a tall woman with short chestnut curls, dressed in a black, classic, long wool coat. At the moment, she was removing a carton of half and half from the shelf. Arianna became entranced with the woman who did not try to speak to her, but went about making tea. A full five minutes of silence passed before the tall stranger sat down across from Arianna and slid a cup of tea in front of her. A little wisp of steam curled up between them.
“I hope I got it right,” the darkly attractive woman said. “You look like you could use something warm. It’s getting chilly in the early mornings, isn’t it?”
Arianna nodded and reached for the cup. She pulled it close, wrapping both hands around it for the warmth. To her bones, she felt a chill that only seemed to turn colder as time wore on. Tea was exactly what she wanted, but she hadn’t been able to articulate that to anyone. Arianna stared across the table into eyes that understood.
With eye contact made, the woman began to talk. Nothing in her voice registered the seriousness of the situation. She spoke as if they were sitting down for a casual tea, two strangers meeting for the first time.
“I’m a coffee drinker, but my spouse spent a summer in England during college. I’ve been told putting the milk in first and then adding the tea and water makes a better cup. Do you add your milk first?”
Arianna answered without thinking. “Yes, my grandmother was British and taught me to make it that way.” She then took a sip of the tea and found it tailored to her taste. She smiled at the stranger. “It's perfect. How did you know?”
The woman returned the smile and replied nonchalantly, “You have half and half in the refrigerator. The used cup in the sink has a residue, giving me a clue as to the color I was shooting for. The sugar bowl, a few spilled granules, and the spoon on the paper towel by the hot water dispenser were a clue that you stirred a bit of sweetener into your tea. Since you are health conscious, according to your food choices, and appear to be in great shape, I guessed it was only a small amount, a guilty pleasure.”
Arianna took another sip before asking, “Are you some kind of Sherlock Holmes?”
“In the way that Doyle explained the power of observation, I guess you could say I am a believer. My name is Rainey Bell. I’m a behavioral analyst by trade.”
“Are you a detective, like her?” Arianna indicated the other woman standing silently by the kitchen sink.
“No, Detective Robertson and I go back to my days as an FBI agent, but I’m a consultant for local law enforcement now.”
“Why are you here?” Arianna wanted to know.
“Sheila,” Rainey said, giving a nod to Detective Robertson, “thought I might be uniquely qualified to help you.”
“Why, because you have experience making victims talk?”
Rainey Bell leaned a little closer and locked her eyes on Arianna’s. “No, because I’ve been exactly where you are. I know what this feels like, and I think I know what you need to hear.”
“Oh yeah, and what is that?” Arianna asked with a bit of attitude, thinking this woman couldn’t possibly know what to say to take away the self-blame. Could she have fought harder? Should she have fought him until he killed her? He would have, she was sure of that. And what was that feeling, nagging, pulling at her heart—was it shame for choosing compliance over death?
The behavioral analyst kept her deep green eyes focused on Arianna as she explained, “Every assault is unique, but one thing remains the same. You did what you had to do to survive and that is all that matters. You survived. Hang on to that. Hold it tight. It will help you in the days to come. When your brain starts telling you what you should have and could have done differently, simply remind yourself that you are alive to hear those doubts.”
“He was going to kill me,” Arianna said, and finally broke.
#
9:15 PM, Sunday, November 30, 2014
Long-term Parking, RDU Airport
Wake County, NC
“Park on the other side of that RV in the last row. The security cameras can’t see this far back.”
The older man laughed. “I see this isn’t your first rodeo. How old are you kid?”
The teenager turned to the man. “However old you need me to be to complete our business.”
The man eased the car into the parking place and put the car in park.
The teenager instructed, “Turn it off. The security guard tools around here on a golf cart. He won’t notice us if the car isn’t running. Keep your foot off the brake.”
“You come here often?”
The man’s attempt at humor was lost on the teen. He replied to the joke, “Let’s get this over with. Fifty bucks for the blow, like I said. If you want to touch me, that’s going to cost you double. Money up front.”
The man dug into his back pocket for his wallet. “I don’t usually pay first.”
“Well, you haven’t been tossed out of a moving car by an asshole that didn’t want to pay up.”
The kid held out his hand for the money, unprepared for the cold steel that slapped around his wrist.
“You are under arrest for prostitu—”
The teenager didn’t hesitate. He snatched his wrist free of the man’s grasp, taking the handcuff with him. In an instant, he was out of the car and running toward the woods. There was no moon, and once he was out from under the parking lot lights, he was plunged into inky black darkness. His eyes took their time adjusting, but he didn’t slow down. He heard footsteps and shouts coming fast on his heels.
“Stop! Police!”
“Fuck that,” the boy said, and ran faster.
His heart pounded in his chest as his feet flew across the ground before he felt the earth drop out beneath him. A few seconds of hang-time later he plunged into the frigid water of the drainage pond.
“Dammit,” he thought, “I forgot about the fucking pond.”
He thrashed around in the cold water and finally found his footing. He stood up in the glare of multiple flashlights.
Silhouettes of officers shouted, “Let me see your hands. Let me see your hands.”
The teenager reached for the sky. A submerged tree branch caught on the handcuff still dangling from his wrist. It followed his hand into the air and slapped against his side.
“Jesus Christ,” a voice behind a flashlight exclaimed.
“Don't shoot. Don’t shoot,” the kid yelled, before stumbling backward.
As he swung wildly to catch his balance, the branch swung around in front of him. That’s when he saw it wasn’t a branch at all. The teenage tough-guy turned into the little boy he truly was, screaming and falling on his back in the water, as skeletal arms wrapped around him.
#
1:00 PM, Monday, December 1, 2014
Bell’s Bail and Investigations
East Franklin Street
Chapel Hill, Orange County, NC
“Rainey Bell,” she said into the phone.
“Ms. Bell, this is Detective March, from the Wake County Sheriff’s Office.”
“Good afternoon, Detective. How can I help you?”
“Actually, I have some information for you,” the detective replied. “It’s about your assault case. I was told you should be informed of a recent finding.”
“Okay, I’m listening,” Rainey said and sat up straighter in her chair.
“We found three bodies in the drainage pond near a long-term parking lot at RDU. Two of the bodies haven’t been there long enough to be JW Wilson’s victims, but the third, a male, appears to be that of Dr. John Taylor. We don’t have DNA evidence yet, but we did find his wallet and credit cards near the body. We aren’t making this public knowledge until the test results come back, but things leak. You know how it is. We thought you should know before you read it in the paper.”
“Thank you for that consideration, Detective. I appreciate it. You don’t have to call the former Mrs. Wilson. I’ll take care of that.”
“You’re welcome. Yeah, Detective Robertson, over in Durham, said you’d probably want to do the notification with Mrs. Wilson.”
Rainey tensed and corrected him. “She’s Mrs. Bell-Meyers now.”
“Yeah, I guess she remarried. Anyway, we can put the case to bed. Wilson must have sunk the missing escorts out deep in the lake.”
Rainey commented, “I guess we will know that when the bodies are discovered. Thank you again for calling. Is there anything else?”
The detective seemed confused by Rainey’s dismissal. “Uh, no. I guess that’s it. Have a good day, Ms. Bell.”
“You too, detective,” she hesitated, before sending him off with the truth. “By the way, Katie Meyers Wilson married me. She’s my wife and the mother of our triplets. You can put that in the file before you close it. People should know there was a happy ending for us.”
Rainey was pleasantly surprised at the detective’s response, “I’ll do that, Ms. Bell. That’s good to hear. Congratulations.”
She hung up the phone and stared at the wall.
Ernestine Womble, the office manager who only came in two days a week now, topped the stairs leading into Rainey’s office. Known as Ernie by all that loved her, she was still as spry as ever, acting and looking much younger than her seventy-two years. She was semi-retired but kept an eye on things, as she had since Rainey’s father opened the bail bond business back in the seventies.
“What crazed idiot does Wake County want you to help them catch this time?”
“That wasn’t a consultation request,” Rainey replied. “They found John Taylor’s body—the veterinarian set up to take the fall for JW Wilson's crimes.”
“Oh,” came Ernie’s one-word reply.
“I guess I better call Katie before the media leaks the story.”
“You all right kid?” Ernie asked.
Rainey would always be a kid to Ernie. She helped Rainey’s dad, Billy, raise her and was more of a mother figure during her formative years than her biological mother. Ernie was giving Rainey the eye, the one that said, “Don’t lie to me.” Rainey knew better than to be anything but truthful.
“I think so. I’m not sure. Every time I get to a place where the memories of that time dissipate, something pops up to remind me. Here comes another round of nightmares.” She added sarcastically, “Katie will be thrilled.”
“He didn’t win, you know,” Ernie reminded her.
Rainey shook her head in response. “Yes, he did. He intended to scar me for life and apparently he has. JW Wilson will just not go away.”
Ernie would not abide self-pity. “He intended to kill your ass, how many, three times? He did not succeed and is dust in an urn as we speak. You’re still here. You fill your head with that beautiful family of yours and evict that evil SOB from your mind. He’s of no consequence to you now.”
Rainey smiled at Ernie’s simplification of a complicated neural process.
