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Amanda asked, "What about Anna's neighbors?"
"It's a quiet building. The apartment below the penthouse has been vacant for months. They could've set off an atom bomb up there and no one would've known."
"The dead guy?"
"Drug dealer. Heroin overdose."
"Anna's employer didn't miss her?"
Faith told her what little she'd managed to find out. "She works for a law firm—Bandle and Brinks."
"Good Christ, this just keeps getting worse. Do you know about the firm?" Amanda didn't give Faith time to answer. "They specialize in bringing lawsuits against municipalities—bad policing, bad social services, anything they can catch you on, they pounce and sue your budget to hell and back. They've sued the state and won more times than I can count."
"They weren't open to questioning. They won't turn over any of her files without a warrant."
"In other words, they're being lawyers." Amanda paced the room. "You and I will talk with Anna now, then we'll go back over to her building and turn it upside down before that law firm of hers realizes what we're doing."
"When's the interview with the doorman?"
"Eight sharp tomorrow morning. You think you can fit that into your busy schedule?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Amanda looked like a parent as she shook her head at Faith again; frustrated, mildly disgusted. "I don't suppose the father's in the picture this time, either."
"I'm a little too old to be trying something new."
"Congratulations," she said, opening the door. It would've been nice except for the "idiot" she muttered as she walked into the hall.
Faith hadn't realized she had been holding her breath until Amanda left the room. Her lips parted in a heavy sigh, and for the first time since this whole diabetes thing started, she jabbed the needle into her skin on the first try. It didn't hurt as much, or maybe she was in such shock that she couldn't feel anything.
She stared at the wall in front of her, trying to get her head back into the investigation. Faith closed her eyes, visualizing the autopsy photos of Jacquelyn Zabel, the cave where Jacquelyn and Anna Lindsey had been kept. Faith catalogued the horrible things that must have happened to the women—the torture, the pain. She put her hand to her stomach again. Was the child that was growing inside of her a girl? What sort of world was Faith bringing her into; a place where young girls were molested by their fathers, where magazines told them they would never be perfect enough, where sadists could take you away from your life, your own child, in the blink of an eye and thrust you into a living hell for the rest of your life?
A shudder racked her body. She stood and left the room.
The cops in front of Anna's door stepped aside. Faith crossed her arms over her chest, feeling a sudden coldness as she entered the room. Anna was lying in bed, Balthazar in the crook of her bony arm. Her shoulder was pronounced, the bone hard against the skin, the same as the girls Faith had seen in the videos on Pauline McGhee's computer.
"Agent Mitchell has just entered the room," Amanda told the woman. "She's been trying to find out who did this to you."
The whites of Anna's eyes were clouded, as if she had cataracts. She stared unseeingly toward the door. Faith knew there was no etiquette for these kinds of situations. She had handled rape and abuse cases before, but nothing like this. She had to think the skills translated. You didn't make small talk. You didn't ask them how they were doing, because the answer was obvious.
Faith said, "I know this is a difficult time. We just have a few questions for you."
Amanda told Faith, "Ms. Lindsey was just telling me she finished a big case and took off work for a few weeks to spend time with her child."
Faith asked, "Did anyone else know you were taking time off ?"
"I left a note with the doorman. People at work knew—my secretary, my partners. I don't talk to the people in my building."
Faith felt like a large wall had been erected around Anna Lindsey. There was something so cold about the woman that establishing a connection seemed impossible. She stuck to the questions they needed answered. "Can you tell us what happened when you were taken?"
Anna licked her dry lips, closed her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper. "I was in my apartment getting Balthazar ready for a walk in the park. That's the last thing I remember."
Faith knew there could be some memory loss with Taser attacks. "What did you see when you woke up?"
"Nothing. I never saw anything again after that."
"Any sounds or sensations you can recall?"
"No."
"Did you recognize your attacker?"
Anna shook her head. "No. I can't remember anything."
Faith let a few seconds pass, trying to get hold of her frustration. "I'm going to give you a list of names. I need you to tell me if any of them sound familiar."
Anna nodded, her hand sliding across the sheets to find her son's mouth. He suckled her finger, tiny gulping noises coming from his throat.
"Pauline McGhee."
Anna shook her head.
"Olivia Tanner."
Again, she shook her head.
"Jacquelyn, or Jackie, Zabel."
She shook her head.
Faith had saved Jackie for last. The two women had been in the cave together. This was the only thing they knew for certain. "We found your fingerprint on Jackie Zabel's driver's license."
Anna's dry lips parted again. "No," she said firmly. "I don't know her."
Amanda glanced Faith's way, eyebrows raised. Was this traumatic amnesia? Or something else?
Faith asked, "What about something called thinspo?"
Anna stiffened. "No," she said, more quickly this time, her voice louder.
Faith gave it another few seconds, letting the woman think. "We found some notebooks where you were kept. They had the same words over and over again—'I will not deny myself.' Does that mean anything to you?"
She shook her head again.
Faith worked to keep the pleading out of her voice. "Can you tell us anything about your attacker? Did you smell something, like oil or gas on him? Cologne? Did you feel any facial hair or any physical—"
"No," Anna whispered, pressing her fingers along her child's body, finding his hand and taking it in hers. "I can't tell you anything. I don't remember any details. Nothing."
Faith opened her mouth to speak, but Amanda beat her to the punch, saying, "You're safe here, Ms. Lindsey. We've had two armed guards outside your door since you were brought in. No one can hurt you anymore."
Anna turned her head toward her baby, making shushing sounds to soothe him. "I am not afraid of anything."
Faith was taken aback at how certain the woman sounded. Maybe if you survived what Anna had been through, you believed you could endure anything.
Amanda said, "We think he has two more women right now. That he's doing the same thing to them that he's done to you." She tried again, "One of the woman has a child, Ms. Lindsey. His name is Felix. He's six years old and he wants to be with his mother. I'm sure wherever she is, she's thinking of him right now, wanting to hold him again."
