The Unseen - A Mystery (The Baudin & Dixon Trilogy Book 2)

  THE UNSEEN

  A Thriller

  VICTOR METHOS

  1

  The girl awoke. As her vision cleared, she looked down and saw that she was nude. Her feet dangled at least two feet off the dirty floor. Her head was pounding, and her shoulders screamed. A length of rope encircled her wrists, and her arms were overhead. She was hanging from a meat hook.

  Panic began to seep in.

  “No,” she mumbled, struggling against the rope, “no, please no.”

  The full horror of what was happening came to her, and she wanted to scream, but he was there, somewhere.

  Swinging her legs, she gained momentum, and the chains connected to the meat hook rattled. As she fought, she noticed the smell. The smell of rot hit her nostrils like acid and only added to her dread.

  She swung her legs harder, grunting with the effort, though she tried to remain as quiet as possible. Twisting, writhing, and fighting, she heard the meat hook rattle as the momentum from her last swing flung her to the bare cement floor.

  She rose, her pulse pounding in her ears, and ran to the door. She looked out the small window next to the barn entrance. A farm. She remembered coming to the farm and remembered the drugs… then little else. She looked back. On a metal table against the wall were slabs of meat, buckets of something wet underneath.

  She was on a pig farm. She remembered that much—lots and lots of pigs.

  Before she turned away, she noticed something in one of the buckets. A horse’s tail seemed to be sticking out and running along the floor. But it wasn’t a horse’s tail. Recognizing it, she slapped her hand to her mouth. Unable to control the sounds coming out of her, she wept.

  “Shelly, no!” she cried.

  A loud bang in the back echoed through the barn, stopping her heart. Her eyes darted up to the origin of the sound, but there were no lights farther back. Slowly, she backed up until she was touching the entrance. Turning and opening the door just enough for her to slip out, she glanced back and saw movement.

  She screamed and ran in the soft dirt and gravel as the sun shone down on her. Because of the drugs, her legs wouldn’t move as fast as she knew they could, and she stumbled several times. She heard gravel crackling behind her as someone followed. Screaming, crying, she sprinted with everything she had. She cried out for God to help her, her throat aching from the screams.

  A pickup truck sat alongside the home up ahead. She dashed for it, praying that the keys were inside. She got close enough to see her reflection in the window then saw only a blur behind her as pain filled her body and she was thrown to the ground.

  “No, please, no!”

  A hook had embedded in her shoulder. The shock of looking down and seeing something sticking out of her filled her with a terror she never thought she could feel. Blind, utter horror overtook her as blood began to pour from her wound.

  The hook pulled, and she slid along the ground, screaming and kicking. He was dragging her back to the barn.

  “No! No! Let me go, let me go! Please. Please!”

  The more she fought, the more the hook tore into her flesh, sending waves of pain through her. She felt the gravel tugging at her flesh and the sun warming her body as she lost control of her bladder.

  In the shadow of the barn, she tried to tear away, but he grabbed her hair and pulled her inside. She managed to scream once more before the barn door slammed shut, leaving her in darkness again.

  2

  The parking lot was mostly empty. Detective Ethan Baudin sat on the hood of his Mustang, staring up at a clear blue sky. Cheyenne had some of the clearest skies he’d ever seen, and he’d grown up and lived in Los Angeles his whole life. Though the pollution was going down, as a kid, the black smog hanging above LA had made him think of those cartoons where a dark cloud followed somebody around, and he wondered then if people in LA just weren’t meant to be happy.

  Having been in Cheyenne for almost eight months, he considered himself a resident. It was beginning to feel like his city, like his people. He’d even bought a black cowboy hat, which he was wearing. The salesman had told him the Cattleman was the most popular style, but he’d gone with the Gus. The hat had a high crown and three indentations, and the salesman had told him the indentations were where cowboys used to grab their hats and take them off when a lady walked into the room. He loved that idea and had purchased it on the spot.

  He wore a sleeveless shirt, exposing the tattoos that ran up and down his arms. Some were dragons, others samurai and swords. He had been obsessed with the samurai as a youth, enamored of the idea that there were once men who valued honor and courage above all else—even their lives. He stared down at a red tattoo on his left arm, a samurai lifting a sword as though about to strike.

  The car pulled up just then and parked across from him about twenty feet away. The man got out and looked around before approaching Baudin. He was much heavier than he’d looked in the mugshots, and he wore an Arizona Cardinals baseball cap.

  “You Charlie?” the man asked.

  “I just go by Chuck,” Baudin said. “You Eric?”

  The man nodded and looked around again. “A hundred pounds. That’s what you said, right?”

  Baudin nodded as he took out a cigarette and lit it with a silver lighter. “Yeah.”

  “Come on back.”

  Baudin hopped off the hood of his car and followed the man. The lot had maybe five cars in it. They were in the lot of an abandoned building that had been for sale since Baudin had moved to Cheyenne. A faded Kmart sign hung over the entrance. Down the block, a Walmart had opened the previous year, and he didn’t need to guess what had happened.

  As they came upon the car, Baudin saw someone in the passenger seat. A young girl, maybe eight or nine, was wearing a baseball cap, too, and was playing on a phone.

  “Daddy, can we go to the game?”

  “One sec, baby,” the man said, walking over to the trunk. He looked at Baudin. “South High game. My boy’s the pitcher.”

  Baudin looked back to the girl. Her cheeks were red from wind and sun. Her blond hair stuck out from the hat, and she was so engrossed in the phone, she didn’t even seem to notice Baudin. Baudin bit his lower lip, his eyes fixed on the girl, who was as innocent as could be. He wondered what excuse her father had given her for stopping in an empty parking lot.

  The man opened the trunk, and Baudin quickly walked over and pushed it back down. The two men stared at each other. Slowly, Baudin pulled up his shirt, revealing the mic taped to his belly and chest.

  The man’s eyes went wide, and his mouth fell open almost comically.

  Baudin looked back to the girl and then to him. “Where’s the pot?” Baudin asked.

  The man didn’t move or speak for a moment, then he swallowed and said, “I don’t have any.”

  “Really?” Baudin asked, stepping closer to him and out of earshot of the girl. “Why set this whole thing up if you don’t have any?”

  “I… I misunderstood. I don’t have any.”

  Baudin nodded. “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  Baudin looked back at the kid then took a few steps away from the car. “Well, be on your way then, and quit wastin’ my time.”

  The man hurried into the driver’s seat and started the car.

  “If I see you again…” Baudin said.

  “You won’t.” The man sped away like a racecar driver. He zipped out of the parking lot, scraping against the pavement, then darted out of sight. In the lot behind Baudin, a van started and pulled forward. The back opened, and two other detectives hopped out.
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  “What the hell happened?” his partner, Kyle Dixon, asked.

  He shrugged. “Sometimes they don’t have any pot.”

  “He said on the phone he had a hundred pounds that he was gonna bring.”

  Baudin shook his head. “Doesn’t work sometimes.”

  Dixon held his gaze for a second then let it go and went back inside the van to confer with someone else. Baudin sat on the hood of his car and waited until they were done. They were probably reviewing the tape to see if they had enough for a bust. But they would let it go; he was certain of that. So many people were so much easier to catch. They wouldn’t waste their time on someone they didn’t have a confession on.

  Dixon hopped out of the van and came over to Baudin. He put his hands on his hips and spit onto the pavement. He glanced back at the van and made sure no one else was listening. “You and I know if I have a unit pull him over right now, we’re gonna find that pot on him. Why’d you let him go?”

  “It wasn’t for him.” He puffed at his cigarette and blew the smoke out of his nose. “It’s nine in the morning, Kyle.”

  “So?”

  “So I can smell the hooch on your breath.”

  Dixon looked away. “So what?”

  He rubbed his eyebrow with the back of his thumb, letting the cigarette dangle from his fingers. “Have you talked to Hillary lately?”

  Dixon shook his head, staring at the pavement. “No, man. She calls sometimes, but I don’t answer.”

  “You gotta forgive her, man.”

  “Forgive her?” he said, turning toward him. “What the shit would you know about it? You ever have your wife cheat on you? You ever find out your kid is someone else’s? What if someone told you Heather was another man’s girl? You forgive your wife?”

  He nodded. “Yes, I would. For her to cheat on me, she must’ve been in enormous pain. I’m not sayin’ I’d be together with her again, but I’d forgive her.”

  He spat again. “Well, you’re a better man than me.”

  “Randy’s your son in every way that counts. He doesn’t know anything about anything other than he’s gonna need a daddy.”

  Dixon shook his head. “It’s too early in the morning for your sanctimonious bullshit. Save it for the afternoon.”

  After the bust was officially cancelled, they called it a day. In Cheyenne, the detectives didn’t have specialties like their counterparts in some of the larger cities. For Baudin, working a homicide one day and doing a drug bust the next was refreshing, kept the job feeling alive. And when he had worked in Robbery-Homicide in Los Angeles, the work weighed him down. It pressed his soul and made him feel like he couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t felt that in Cheyenne. As soon as a homicide was over, he would move on to a credit card fraud case or a car theft. Nothing ever stayed the same.

  He climbed into the driver’s seat and waited as Dixon said goodbye to some of the detectives. Dixon looked pale and thin, like he wasn’t eating or getting out enough. His clothes were wrinkled and stank permanently of alcohol, his companion since he’d moved out of the home he’d shared with his wife and child. Baudin wanted to be there for him, but sometimes people had to be in pain before they could heal.

  Dixon climbed into the car. “You ready?”

  “Yeah, man. I gotta make a quick stop, though.”

  “Where?”

  “Just dropping something off to a friend.”

  3

  Baudin pulled up to the Grant View Apartments and parked in front. He stared at the multi-colored brick and stucco. The attempt to make it appear modern just made it look like a mongrel mix of random color.

  “Who you got that lives here?” Dixon asked.

  “A friend.”

  “You said that.”

  “Her name’s Candi. She’s a workin’ girl.”

  “You’re getting a piece of ass now? With me sitting in the car?”

  He shook his head. “Nah, man. It’s not like that. Just a gift for her. Be right back.”

  Baudin hopped out of the car and went to his trunk. Inside, underneath the spare tire, was a small baggie of weed from his last bust. He took it and closed the trunk before heading up to the second floor. Candi’s apartment was the second one over, a step up from the Motel 6 room she’d been staying in six months ago. He knocked and waited.

  Candi opened the door and smiled.

  He walked in and laid the weed on the table, along with his hat. “Present for you.”

  “You shouldn’t have.” She picked up the bag and opened it, taking in a large whiff. “Never mind, you definitely should have.”

  Baudin went to her balcony, which overlooked the pool. A man on an inflatable tube was drinking beer, though it wasn’t yet ten in the morning. He looked sunburnt. Baudin leaned against the railing.

  “People don’t see the world the right way,” he said.

  “How’s that?”

  “They don’t evaluate risk properly. Everything is random, and you got people pounding bells and selling sure things to people that don’t know better. It’s just perspective. People see the world as much safer than it is.”

  “How ’bout just asking me how my weekend was?”

  He grinned. “How was your weekend?”

  “Good. My sister’s in town. We’re going shopping this afternoon.” She sat down at the table and took a pipe out of her purse. She packed it full of weed, lit the marijuana, and inhaled deeply before letting the smoke out through her nose. “How is it you’re okay with bringing me weed?”

  “It shouldn’t be illegal. I’m not in this job to enforce the morality of the corrupt.”

  “You always talk like that.”

  He turned to her. “Like what?”

  “Like you on some crusade all the time.”

  He approached her and leaned down to give her a quick kiss on the forehead. “Do you need any money?”

  “No.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Business is good. I’ve got one customer, a regular, feeding me good. Two grand a month for one session a week.”

  Baudin picked his hat up off the table. “Customers and sessions, now, huh?”

  “I’m movin’ up to bein’ an upper-class whore, Detective.”

  Baudin smiled. “Just remember where you came from. I did have one question.”

  “Shoot.” She took another puff off the pipe.

  “Mike Sandoval. You heard of him?”

  “Hell yes, I heard of him. He’s the district attorney.”

  Baudin nodded, glancing down at the creases in his hat. “I wanna know about him.”

  “You got access to all sorts of background checks, don’t ya?”

  “No, not like that. I wanna know about what he’s really like. He visits a girl with a white jacket, blue trim. She’s not on the corners, but she’s definitely a working girl. Escort from one of the agencies. He’s been with her two nights this past week. I wanna know who the girl is.”

  “You think I know all the whores in this town?”

  He grinned. “Don’t you?”

  She blew out a lungful of smoke. “I do. I’ll ask around. Why you interested in the DA’s extracurricular activities?”

  Baudin put the hat on his head. “Because he’s part of it.”

  “Part of what?”

  “The blackness that hangs over this city.”

  She smirked as she looked at him. “And you think you’re not?”

  “Do you think I am?”

  She took his hand and caressed it gently. “No, you’re one of the good ones. I just don’t want you digging your way into something you might not be able to dig your way out of.”

  He kissed her hand. “Don’t worry about me. But if good people sit by, evil’ll win.”

  “Oh, honey, evil will win anyway.”

  Baudin stared for a moment then left.

  Back in the car, Dixon had his head leaned back on the headrest, his eyes closed. Without opening them, he said, “What was all t
hat about?”

  “Just some information I wanted.”

  “’Bout what?”

  “About the dear Mike Sandoval.”

  Dixon opened his eyes and looked at Baudin. “What are you talkin’ about?”

  “He’s the next one, man.”

  “Next what?”

  “On our list.”

  Dixon stared at him incredulously. “Ethan, the chief of police was killed because we dug into his life. Everyone’s on their best behavior. Whatever you think you know about Mike, you’re not gonna find anything.”

  Baudin started the car. “Maybe. But maybe not.”

  4

  The Mustang stopped in front of Dixon’s apartment around six in the evening. He waited a beat before getting out then leaned in through the window. Baudin looked at him.

  “I don’t think we should do it,” Dixon said.

  “They started this, man. Not us.”

  He spit onto the ground before taking out a wad of tobacco tucked between his lip and gums and tossing it into a crack in the pavement.

  It was true. Eight months ago, they’d just seen the tip of the iceberg. Sigma Mu, the largest fraternity at the University of Wyoming, had been engaging in rape parties, where they drugged and gang-raped girls. Every member of the frat was forced to participate as a way of guaranteeing no one would go to the police.

  But that wasn’t what had really bothered Dixon. He’d heard of that kind of thing before. What bothered him was that Sigma Mu had been doing it for well over twenty-five years. Alums of the fraternity included the district attorney, the city manager, several police officers, the SWAT commander, the mayor, a former governor, and several state legislators and senators.

  No one would have even known about the goings-on of the frat, except that the chief of police, Robert Crest, got too violent and killed a young woman.

  The question was, as Baudin had asked it, how far did the rabbit hole go? How many girls had there been?

  Dixon had a lot to say on the subject, but he was tired, and his mouth felt dry. It wouldn’t matter what he said anyway. Baudin would do what Baudin thought was right, regardless of whether anyone stood with him.