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“You weren’t the police chief here when Todd Danes was killed?” she asked, deciding to change tack.
“No. That would have been Jensen Tucker. And then Ben Graves took over till he retired six years ago. That’s when I stepped in.”
“Where were you before?”
“Seattle.”
Barbara raised an eyebrow. “Heck of a move, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“I was in need of a change.”
She waited, but he didn’t elaborate.
“And what about you?” he asked.
“Me?”
“How did you get into…your line of work?”
She was saved from an answer by Rita’s arrival: “Okay, folks. One Mayor’s Special for the Detective Doc.” Rita grinned and placed the brimming mug on the desk. The sweet aroma of rich coffee beans floated up into Barbara’s nostrils.
“Damn. That does smell good.”
“I never lie…well, not about coffee anyway.” Rita chortled again. Then she eyed them both more keenly. “I’m guessing you two want to chat some more about police business, so I’m just going to call it a day here. Nothing that can’t wait till tomorrow.”
“No need,” Nicholls said. “I’m sure Barbara would like to check in to her room and get herself washed up…after her coffee, of course.”
“Actually, I’d like to get started,” Barbara said. “After all, you said you wanted to get this wrapped up quickly.”
Nicholls smiled curtly. “I did.”
Rita beamed. “You know, I think you two are gonna get along real well.”
Barbara reached for her mug. “Oh, I think Chief Nicholls and I understand each other, don’t we, sir?”
His gaze was stone. “That we do.”
The girl sat in her room. Waiting. Listening. She was hungry, but these days she often was. She had become used to ignoring that constant gnawing feeling in her gut. Her Captor was strict with her feeding.
The door was locked. There was only one small, barred window, the glass painted black. The girl didn’t mind that so much. It was necessary. And her Captor had hung a pink blind decorated with dancing unicorns over the window to make it look less like a jail.
Her Captor had also provided plenty down here to keep her occupied: from a radio and an old record player to cable television and a video recorder. She had a bookcase overflowing with paperbacks. There was an exercise bike for fitness. She even had a private bathroom with a large shower.
Her Captor was not a monster. They loved her. They told her this daily.
All of this was for her own good. To protect her. She understood that, didn’t she?
Yes, she did.
And no, she didn’t.
The girl wandered over to the bookcase. Her reading tastes had changed over the years—from the classics, crime, sci fi, horror, literary, poetry. She had explored most genres of fiction, even tried her hand at writing herself. But she found it hard to convey her emotions in such a limited way. There didn’t seem to be enough words for how she felt.
Now she found herself more interested in non-fiction. Books about religion, philosophy, books that explored the soul, the psyche. Her Captor encouraged this. Told her it was good education for the day she could re-enter the world. The girl had also taught herself several languages, including Latin. The mind is a beast. It never gets full.
The girl sat back down on the bed. No books interested her today. No TV shows or games.
It wasn’t just the gnawing pain in her stomach.
