Traces of Hope

When Prince realized he was out of beer, he ran out to the nearest grocery store. He contemplated picking up extra groceries, but the bitch had enough fat on her to keep her going for a while. She didn’t need much, and the less she had, the weaker she’d be. He stepped out into the blustery wind with the grocery bags and was headed for his station wagon when a young woman approached him. “Excuse me! Excuse me!” Prince turned in the direction of the voice. “Yes?” The woman was about thirty, with dull gray eyes and ash-blond hair. She shivered in the cold, pulling the hood of her coat tighter around her head. “I hate to bother you and to ask favors of a stranger, but my boyfriend and I had a fight and he left me stranded. I tried calling my mom’s house and my friend’s, but no one’s answering. Think you could help me out? I only live a few blocks from here and I’ve got a few bucks I can give you for helping me. I’d hate to walk home in this wretched cold.” “Yeah, sure. No problem,” said Prince, leading the woman to his station wagon. “There sure seems to be a lot of couples fighting these days.” “It seems that way, unfortunately.” Prince unlocked the passenger door before heading for the driver’s side. He couldn’t believe his luck lately. First, he had nabbed the bitch with hardly any effort, and now an opportunity had walked right into his hands. He observed his surroundings. Hardly anyone was present. Tiny snowflakes began to flutter down through the gloomy parking lot. He had to glance up at one of the sodium-vapor lights to be sure they were really falling. He got into the car and started it up. “I just live over there,” the girl said pointing. “Got it,” Prince replied, backing the wagon out of the parking spot. “I hope I’m not taking you too far out of the way.” “Oh, no. Not at all. I live just past that street.” Brilliant, he thought. Now he really had to make sure he killed this one when he was done with her. He headed towards the street the woman lived on, which lay between the grocery store and the park. “Mind if I light a cigarette?” she asked. “No, go right ahead.” She pulled a cigarette out and began searching for a light. “You can use the cigarette lighter,” Prince told her. She reached for it, lit her cigarette, then studied her hand after placing the lighter back in its slot. “I’ve got some black gunk on me.” “It’s just grease. I’m a mechanic.” Now he could talk all he wanted. She would be dead in less than an hour, and any information she might gather between now and then would die with her. Neither one spoke until Prince turned onto the woman’s street. “I live in the blue house midway down on the left.” Prince drove past the house she pointed out and headed for the park. “Hey, you passed it!” He drove faster, not saying a word. “What, are you suddenly stuck on deaf, dumb, and blind? I said you passed my damn house!” Still not a word from him. “Look, buddy, whatever you have in mind, it won’t work. You see, I’m the last one you want to fuck with. Trust me on that. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll turn around or stop the car now.” But Prince didn’t stop the car. He drove into the park, which was virtually deserted. “Ah, so you’re bringing me to the park, are you?” said the girl, growing angrier by the minute. “What, are you the Forest Park murderer or something?” Prince stopped the car a half-mile or so into the park and turned to face the woman beside him. He was dismayed to see that she wasn’t the least bit scared. If anything, she was furious at having been driven even farther from her home. “Do you want to die tonight?” he asked her. “Do you?” He pulled his pistol from his coat pocket, but not fast enough. She saw it coming and grabbed his wrist. “You sick little pervert!” she screamed. The gun fell to the floor. Just as Prince reached down to grab it, the woman threw open her door and ran off. Fortunately for her, the start of a dense patch of woods was just a few yards away, shielding her from any bullets that might have been fired at her. Prince reached across and pulled the door shut, cussing every step of the way, then took off with a screech. “Damn it!” he shouted, slamming his fist into the dashboard. “Fucking damn it to hell!” The bitch probably hadn’t gotten his plate, but she had other information that could lead the cops to him. But maybe not. He willed himself to calm down and reminded himself that he’d been doing what he’d been doing long enough and getting away with it, so there was no reason to think he’d get caught now. If his father could get away with murder, so could he.

A light suddenly came on and Crystal could now see the room she was in. It was a small bathroom with a cot in it, much like an old, dingy jail cell. The walls were painted a dull shade of yellow and the floor was gray cement. All that was on the cot was an old, ratty blanket. She glanced down at the black T-shirt she wore, with the name of a popular brand of beer printed across it. She wore no underwear or shoes of any kind. He had taken everything from her. A key was being inserted into the lock of the thick wooden door. Her heart accelerated in anticipation as she rose from the cot, ready to pounce. As soon as the door opened, she lurched forth in a rage. A bright, jagged light arched out towards her like a great bolt of lightning, hitting her in the chest, burning her, numbing her. She slumped to the floor, aware that she had been hit with a taser gun. Although her body was immobilized, her mind and eyesight weren’t. She could see him clearly as he hovered over her. “You stupid fool,” he muttered with disgust, shaking his head. “Slut. Bitch.” He turned and left the room, returning a second later with a can of soda and a plate of food. “I’ll leave this here for when you recover enough to eat. Just remember that every time you go for my throat, I’ll zap your ass. You should know better from what I can see.” He studied her bruises. “Seems like your old lady beat your ass good. My name’s Warren, by the way. Warren Prince—and a prince I most certainly am. You’ll see that soon enough. I promise you that much.” He left the room again and returned a minute later with a roll of toilet paper and a paper cup. “Use this cup for water and keep yourself nice and clean for tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll spend lots of time together. You’ve exhausted the hell out of me, you dumb shit, so you’re just going to have to patiently wait for tomorrow. Pleasant dreams.” He turned to leave, turning the light out and leaving her in darkness. About twenty minutes later, she regained enough movement to pull herself up off the cold, hard floor and onto the cot. She shivered. The room was getting colder by the minute. Crystal slid down to the foot of the cot where he’d left the food. She didn’t want to eat any of this monster’s food, but she knew she needed the strength to stay alive. Slowly, she ate the peanut butter and jelly sandwich, along with the few potato chips that were on the plate. Then she set out to figure out how she was going to escape a windowless room that was obviously in a basement somewhere—and get past God only knew how many locked doors, tasers, and other weapons.

The uniformed policeman watched the woman as she sipped hot coffee. “Here you go,” said a policewoman, handing the woman a blanket, which she wrapped around her trembling body. “Thank you,” said the woman softly. The policewoman left, and a pair of detectives—a woman and a man—entered the small room. A large conference table sat at its center. “Do you mind if we record our conversation?” the female detective asked. The woman shook her head. Inserting a cassette into the portable recorder and pressing the start button, the detective spoke the date and time into it. “This is Detective Bowers speaking. Present with me are Detective Lieberman and Officer Hemloch. We are about to conduct an interview with what may be the Forest Park murderer’s latest victim, Sherry Dunmore.” Sherry placed the cup on the table in front of her and slowly rocked back and forth as she tried to shake the chill from her body. A knock came at the door. Hemloch, being closest, rose from his seat and opened it. “It’s just me,” a woman said. Sherry’s eyes flicked over as a tall, strong-looking woman entered the room dressed in a tan tweed business suit. She looked the most formidable of them all. Bowers, who had hit the pause button, resumed recording. “Now also present is Special Agent Jewell Wallace.” She then turned back to Sherry. “Miss Dunmore, I know this is hard for you. However, do you think you could describe in your own words what happened, as you did with Officer Hemloch earlier?” Hesitantly, Sherry nodded. As Sherry spoke, Detective Bowers’ eyes followed the typed statement she’d given Hemloch earlier to check for any discrepancies. “My boyfriend and I had a fight at the grocery store. He left me in the parking lot and took off with what we’d purchased in the store.” She stopped and cleared her throat, noticing the four pairs of eyes watching her intently. “It was so cold and dark that, without even thinking, I approached a young man, maybe twenty-eight or thirty, and asked him for a ride. I told him I didn’t live very far and that I’d give him a few dollars for helping me. He said it would be no problem.” “Do you remember the man’s height, hair color, or eye color?” Bowers asked. “He was about average height, with brown hair, but I don’t remember the eye color. It was too dark.” “Tell me about the thickness, length, and style of his hair as best as you can remember.” “I think it was thick, short, and wavy,” Sherry said. “What about the car he was driving, Miss Dunmore? Can you remember anything about that?” “It was a station wagon of some kind. I’m not great with makes or models, but it seemed old and had a dull sort of color.” “What do you mean by dull?” “I mean, it wasn’t shiny, like new car paint usually is.” “Do you remember the color?” She thought about it, then shook her head. “All I can remember is that it was dark—maybe navy, maroon, or brown. I doubt it was black, but with it being so dark outside, it was hard to tell the exact shade.” “Did you notice anything particular about the inside of the car?” “No, not really.” Then she paused. “Oh, wait a minute.” “Yes?” “Actually, there was something. When I went to use the car’s cigarette lighter, I got black grease on my hand. He said he was a mechanic.” The officers exchanged glances. “He said he lived on Miller Street, too.” Bowers turned to Hemloch. “Anyone follow up on that yet?” Hemloch nodded. “We did come up with one possible suspect—a man named Warren Prince. Been in quite a few scrapes with the law since he was around fifteen. We’re keeping an eye on him, but I’m not sure we have grounds for a search warrant yet.” “What happened after you drove out of the parking lot?” Bowers asked Sherry. “I told him the street I live on. I thought he was bringing me home because we turned down that street. But I realized I was wrong when he passed my house and continued on to Forest Park. I even asked him if he was the Forest Park murderer.” After she explained the scuffle over the gun and how she ran for cover in the woods, Sherry was led out by Officer Hemloch. “Well, her story’s consistent,” said Bowers once the door was closed. “So what do you think?” Detective Lieberman asked Jewell. “I think it sounds an awful lot like the description my girl gave me.” “Do you?” said Bowers. Jewell nodded. “The physical description is right on—and then there’s the issue of the grease. That damn grease just keeps popping up.” Bowers and Lieberman exchanged guarded looks. “Let’s put it this way,” Jewell continued. “My girl’s missing, and now we’ve got Sherry Dunmore, who miraculously escaped being his next victim. If I can’t get a judge to sign a warrant tonight, I’ll personally go visit Mr. Prince myself.”

Somehow, Crystal managed to sleep. Her ordeal seemed to have drained the very life right out of her. The next time she awoke, it was to the sound of voices—two male voices. Oh, please let it be the police! she thought desperately, even though she didn’t see how they could possibly know where she was. But judging by the laughter she could hear, they were obviously not the police. “Like father, like son,” she heard Prince say. “I can’t believe you did this—and that you’ve known all along that I killed that damn whore I was married to and buried her in the basement,” an older man said. Crystal’s heart began to pound double-time. “It’s okay, Dad. Your secret’s safe with me. You protect me, and I’ll protect you.” “But what’re you gonna do with this one?” The key was inserted in the lock and the door swung open fast. “Torture her, kill her, then bury her under the floor!” he answered excitedly, glaring menacingly at Crystal. Crystal sat on the edge of the cot. She couldn’t see Prince’s father at first, but once he stepped into view, she saw the dumpy-looking man. “She ain’t too shabby,” his father declared with a semi-toothless grin. “Ain’t no centerfold and she’s a bit on the meaty side, but not too shabby.” “She’s what I’d call a good-looking blimp. What’d you go and get so fat for anyway? You weren’t always like this,” Prince said. “Having a child usually does that to you,” Crystal answered, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Want to get it on?” asked Prince. “Or are you too much of a dyke to handle a real man?” Crystal glared at Prince with hatred and disgust. “Gay or straight, you’re ugly,” she said. “And if I can’t get it on with someone who’s just plain, then I sure as hell can’t do it with someone who’s ugly—and you’re ugly. Pitifully ugly.” Prince’s father roared with amusement, though Crystal could clearly see that his son was anything but amused. “Oh yeah?” he stammered. “Well, we’ll just see about that, won’t we?” Crystal remained silent and continued to glare at the two men with utter contempt. “You two do realize that this dyke, as you call me, is married to an FBI agent, don’t you?” “Oh, save it, bitch. She doesn’t scare me. Besides, after the number she did on that pretty little face of yours, I doubt she’s in any hurry to go looking for you.” The two men looked at each other and roared with laughter as if they’d shared the funniest joke in the world. “Want to go get smashed before we party with her?” Prince asked his dad when they could stop laughing long enough to catch their breath. “Sure thing, son. It’s still early enough. Getting shit-faced is what I live for. C’mon—we’ll go in my truck and leave that piece of shit of yours here.” “It ain’t no piece of shit!” Prince yelled, slamming and locking the door. Crystal listened to them argue all the way up the stairs. A moment later, she heard the front door bang shut from above.

Rosie couldn’t put it off anymore. She knew that if she didn’t make that phone call, she’d never be able to live with herself. She hated to take the chance of turning her brother over to the police if he might be innocent, but she had to take that chance. There were too many coincidences, and she knew she’d never rest easy if the murders continued while she stayed silent. Yet maybe she was wrong. Could she be wrong? Instinct said she wasn’t, but only the police could find out for sure. It was just one hell of a coincidence that the missing girl was a redhead named Crystal. And the dark station wagon that the woman escaped from… “Are you going to call?” Rosie turned to face her husband, who had interrupted her thoughts as she sat sipping mint tea at the kitchen table. She nodded and reached for the wall phone. It was time to let the cops know that the killer was probably her brother—and that he drove a midnight-blue station wagon.

The judge, a bald man close to retiring to Florida’s mosquito-infested warmth, signed the warrant without a moment’s hesitation. “Thank you, Judge Meyers,” Jewell said gratefully. With half a dozen police officers as backup, she turned and headed for the residence of Warren Prince. Although it was only a five-minute ride from the police station to the suspect’s house, it seemed like an eternity to Jewell as she sat in the passenger seat of the squad car. “Just hang in there. If he’s got her, we’ll get her out,” said the officer driving. He was a pleasant man Jewell had seen around the station several times but had never spoken much with. “If she’s still alive,” Jewell said grimly. “We were just about to break up. It kind of makes you think, you know?” The officer nodded. “If you’ve got a significant other, don’t neglect or abuse them, because they may be here today and gone tomorrow.” The officer seemed to turn Jewell’s words over in his mind. “To say I feel guilty as hell is the understatement of the century. If it hadn’t been for me kicking her out that day, this never would’ve happened. This sick prick’s obviously been following her, waiting to pounce. If only I’d been more attentive, more appreciative—more accepting of her ways. I failed her. Miserably.” “Ah, but you mustn’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have predicted this.” The house was dark when they pulled up, and no vehicles were in the driveway. Two officers ran to the front door just as another pair ran around back, and one checked the garage. “There are two vehicles in there,” informed a policewoman after peering through the window.

They were back. She hadn’t heard them walking about overhead for long before they came storming down into the basement with Prince shouting, “We’ve been made! Oh, shit!” “Shut up,” his father barked. “They’ll hear us! Get your ass hidden good, boy, and have your gun ready. And don’t hesitate to use it, either, ’cause I ain’t armed.” The next thing Crystal heard was a loud bang from up above, which jolted her heart into motion. It seemed to beat so madly she could barely hear the commotion above. Running—lots of footsteps running overhead. Again, she hoped the police had somehow been tipped off and had come to rescue her. Would screaming for help be the thing to do, or would it only get her killed? Either way, she had to try something. “Help!” she screamed. She could now hear voices, though too muffled to make out. Crystal continued shouting for help and began beating on the door frantically. Footsteps were descending the basement stairs. Crystal’s body tensed. “Crystal! It’s the police! Can you hear us?” shouted a man. “Yes! I’m in here!” “Stand back from the door!” She did, and the door was kicked open. A police officer with his gun drawn stood before her. “Are you okay?” “Yes. They’re here—I heard them. They’re hiding down here somewhere,” Crystal said urgently. “Okay, ma’am, just stay put.” Moments later, she heard shouts. Peering out of the doorway, she saw officers tackling and cuffing Prince’s father. He swore and threatened lawsuits with every breath. “Where’s your son?” demanded an officer. “If you protect him, that’s more trouble for you. Now, where is he?” “I told you assholes, I don’t fucking know!” They dragged him upstairs just as Jewell flew down the steps. “Oh, thank God!” she shouted with joy at the sight of Crystal. Just then, Prince squeezed out of an old locker against the far wall, nearly hidden in the shadows. Crystal saw him first. Jewell and the officer beside her had their backs turned. Prince drew his gun and aimed it at Jewell. “Jewell!” screamed Crystal. In an instant, Jewell spun around and fired, as did the other officer, killing him instantly.

On the way to the station to give her statement, Jewell sat with Crystal in the back of the squad car, arms wrapped tightly around her. “How’d you find me?” Crystal asked after recounting how Prince had abducted and held her hostage. Jewell filled her in on Sherry Dunmore’s escape and Prince’s sister’s phone call. “Oh my God—I just remembered!” exclaimed Crystal. “What, honey?” asked Jewell. “From what I overheard, Prince’s father may’ve killed his wife years ago and buried her under the basement floor.” Through the mesh partition, Jewell glanced at the officer in the front seat. “His daughter suspected as much. She said her mother was too devoted to the kids to just run off.” Prince’s mother’s body was later found, and his father was charged with first-degree murder. He sat in jail awaiting trial. Crystal met with Sherry Dunmore to personally thank her. If it hadn’t been for her, Crystal might never have been found alive. She and Jewell soon resumed their relationship and it was better than ever. “Oh, babe, I’m so sorry it took such extreme events to make me see how badly I messed up,” Jewell told her after they made love for the second time that day. “I promise I’ll never hit you again.” Crystal smiled and hugged her tightly. “It’s going to be okay now.” Jewell smiled, too. “I’m just glad I got a second chance.” Sheena began to coo in the next room. Crystal rose and said, “Come on. Let’s all get dressed and go have fun at that pizza place—you know, the one with people dressed as cartoon characters? Sheena will love it.” “I’m with you two,” Jewell said, rising to join her. Good, thought Crystal, because she wasn’t about to continue raising a child of rape or living with a partner who hit her, no matter how sorry they claimed to be. She would be gone the next day when Jewell was at work. Jewell wanted the kid and now she could have it. Just not her.