The Girl Who Was Taken Page 15

  Livia’s thoughts congealed into a single question. She asked it before she knew it was on her tongue. “Were you part of the Capture Club?”

  “Shit,” Nate said with a smile. He blew diluted smoke from the corner of his mouth. “How do you know about the club?”

  “We’re finding all sorts of things out about your pal Casey. I talked to a girl named Diana Wells. Know her?”

  “Yeah, I know her,” Nate said without hesitation.

  “She doesn’t have flattering things to say about your little club.”

  “That’s ’cause she couldn’t deal with it. Little psycho went ballistic during her initiation. Couldn’t handle the take, so we had to cut her loose. First time we ever did that—stopped in the middle of an initiation. But we had no choice. She was throwing a fit. Thought she might have a seizure.” Nate laughed as he reminisced. “Holy shit, it was a mess. We nailed her ass good.”

  “Sounds like it,” Livia said. “Tell me about the Capture Club.”

  “Just a bunch of stoner kids out for a thrill. We were into that sort of thing back then. A fetish, I guess some people would say. Couldn’t get enough of kidnappings and missing people. Used to talk about all the interesting ones. We dissected that shit. Like that girl who went missing in the Bahamas. ’Member her? Still, like six years later, everyone’s trying to figure out what happened to her. Everyone’s got a theory. There was an HBO special on her. Casey got a copy and we watched it at one of the meetings. The club, we made our own guesses and talked about all that stuff.”

  Livia nodded, trying to hide the ugly look her face wanted to make.

  “I still read about that stuff all the time,” Nate said. “It’s just insane, you know, that somebody like, steals somebody else. Not their car, not their money. Actually steals the person! Yeah, the club was dark but so’s the whole country. When someone important goes missing, or the case is interesting enough, everybody has the same fetish. Whole world, really. No one admits it, but it’s true. In the club, nobody judged. We all understood.” Another drag of his smoke and an amused look. “Everyone hides under the cover of news watching and sadness for the victim and their family. Fine. Be sad. That’s normal. But don’t pretend you’re not curious.”

  “Tell me about the initiations.”

  “That was the thrill of the club. To get in, you had to agree to be taken. That was a rush, on either side of it.” He laughed. “We had some epic takes, too.”

  “Let me try to understand. You all agreed to kidnap one another?”

  “Nah, it wasn’t like that. You don’t just agree to it, that wouldn’t work. It wasn’t anything you expected. Casey was the contact guy who went online and found people who were interested in becoming members. As soon as Casey was convinced that a new potential member would be up for the thrill and would be cool with it”—Nate raised his eyebrows—“the take was on. No one ever saw it coming. If you expected to get taken, what’s the point? If it’s gonna work, you gotta be scared. I mean terrified.”

  “Like Diana Wells.”

  Nate just smiled and blew smoke into the night air. “Not everyone was cut out for the club.”

  “And Casey was, what? In charge of the club?”

  “He was the man.”

  “Who else did you guys talk about at the meetings? What other cases?”

  “Shit. Lots. Some old stuff, like sixties old. But mostly current stuff.”

  “Like what?”

  “Anything local, or even close, was always a big topic.”

  “You guys ever talk about Megan McDonald and Nicole Cutty?”

  Nate looked at Livia, the corners of his eye creased slightly out of suspicion. “You sure you’re not a cop?”

  “I’m sure. You know who those girls are? Megan and Nicole?”

  “’Course I do.”

  “Yeah? Nicole Cutty was my sister.”

  “No shit?”

  Livia cocked her head. “No shit. Casey and the club ever talk about Nicole or Megan?”

  “You mean about them going missing? No.”

  “No? Why not? Can’t get more high profile than Megan McDonald. Plus, they were local girls. Probably had you guys salivating with such a big case being so close.”

  “Totally. I was fascinated. Still am. Follow the McDonald girl online and watch her stuff. Even read her book. But there’s no more club. Casey organized everything. So when he took off, the club broke up. We tried to get together a few times. Used to meet down at the old Coleman’s brewhouse, but with Casey gone it wasn’t the same.” Nate smiled and shook his head. “So Nicole was your sister?”

  Livia nodded. “She was.”

  Nate gave another crooked smile. “She was one of the club’s most epic takes. She wanted it dark and dirty. Most people couldn’t handle what we did to Nicole. She loved it.”

  Livia swallowed hard, pushing down whatever was trying to come up her throat. “So Nicole was part of your club?”

  Nate frowned like everyone should know this. “Not just part of it. She had Casey all wrapped up. So whatever she wanted, she got.”

  Livia blinked and tried to make sense of what she was hearing. “I don’t understand.”

  He finished the cigarette, tossed it in the grass with the dandelions and stray beer cans. “Just being straight with you, Casey and Nicole were screwing and running the club. Like, together. Whatever Casey was into, your sister was into. The whole thing with Diana Wells went bad because Nicole took it too far and Casey went along with it.”

  The words pushed Livia back half a step until she, too, rested on the railing opposite Nate. She tried to put on a casual expression. “You ever tell the police any of this?”

  “I don’t ever tell the police anything.”

  “They ever talk to you?”

  “The police? Shit no.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’d know if the cops talked to me, trust me.”

  “But Nicole goes missing, it’s all over the news. Megan McDonald, too. At the same time, Casey stops showing up for work. You ever stop to think if there’s a connection?”

  Nate shrugged. “I just figured with Nicole being gone, Casey took off to avoid any heat from the cops. Boyfriend’s always under the gun, know what I mean?”

  Nate took out another cigarette, offered the pack to Livia.

  “No, thanks,” she said. “So this club, it’s no more?”

  “Poof,” Nate said, lighting his Bic. He put the flame to the tip of his Marlboro. “Gone, just like that.” He released his finger and the flame died.

  “But you still follow the stories, right? Missing girls?”

  “It’s in my blood, or whatever they call it. You know?”

  “DNA.”

  “Right. It’s in my DNA. Ain’t my fault, it’s just part of me.”

  “You’ve got some sick DNA, Mr. Theros.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “You mind if I come back and ask some more questions if anything else comes up about Casey?”

  “Sure, whatever.”

  Livia walked off the patio.

  “So Casey’s really dead?”

  “Afraid so,” Livia said over her shoulder.

  “Sorry about Nicole. She was a cool chick.”

  Livia lifted her chin and walked across the trash-filled front lawn, a very different picture of her younger sister forming in her mind. Gone was the image of Nicole lugging Harry Potter books into her bed, shadowed now by the aura of a girl clad in black, desperate for attention and willing to go to great lengths to find it.

  CHAPTER 22

  Her ride-along week officially ended Friday afternoon at five p.m., but Livia managed, with a favor from Kent, to finish by noon. After the sequestration and transport of a forty-year-old suicide victim who had started his car in his closed garage and waited for the carbon monoxide to kill him, the morgue van pulled up behind the OCME where Sanj Rashi drew the gurney from the back and wheeled the body through the rear door of the morg
ue. In all, Livia recovered twelve bodies during ride-along week while learning the intricacies and tricks of scene investigation from Kent and Sanj. Although the past week had been fascinating, Livia found herself aching Friday morning to get back to the morgue. Back to her autopsy table and her tools and the controlled environment of the autopsy suite. What she learned during her first week of ride-alongs would prove invaluable as she continued her training, and she would return Monday morning more knowledgeable than when she left. She would also be refreshed and ready for her next case.

  After Sanj wheeled the body inside, Livia stood outside with Kent. He pulled out a cigarette.

  “You sure you don’t mind if I take off early today?” Livia asked.

  “You outrank me, Doc.”

  “Thanks. And I’d appreciate it if Dr. Colt didn’t hear about my heading out today.”

  Kent smiled. “What happens in the morgue van, stays in the morgue van.”

  “I owe you one.”

  “Careful what you promise. I cash in on my favors. Trust me.”

  Livia pointed at his cigarette. “You know what this job’s done to me in just three months?”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s made me see people from the inside out. Or in reverse, I guess is a better way to say it. I see you dying of lung cancer as you suck on that cigarette. I see your lifeless body on my autopsy table, and I see all the necrotic tumors in your stenosed lungs. I see your trachea scarred and ash-strewn. I see your lips and tongue black with waiting death that crept down your throat and found your lungs. I see white pockmarks of cancerous tumors throughout your abdomen, and I feel your fattened lymph nodes swollen with—”

  “All right, for Christ’s sake,” Kent said, dropping the cigarette and stomping it out.

  “Sorry,” Livia said. “I’m just telling you the perils of my job. Since when do you smoke, anyway? I’ve known you three months, first time I saw you stick a cigarette in your mouth was two days ago.”

  “Old habit,” Kent said. “Just picked it up again.”

  Livia walked over to the van and leaned against it, taking a spot next to Kent. Ride-along week, much of which was spent in the van, provided many opportunities to talk. Fabricated beliefs about medical examiners were rampant, especially the idea that all MEs were tight with detectives, which Livia was finding to be a myth. The MEs worked most closely with the medicolegal investigators, and these were the people they got to know best. After five days, she realized much could be learned from sitting in the back of the morgue van. Kent was unhappily married to his high school sweetheart. His kids were the only reason he and his wife stayed together, and they had openly discussed the best time for divorce. Maybe when the kids were in high school, but that presented an awkward transition for the kids at an already challenging time. College was the next best time, but this was far off and the thought of “existing” together for that long was difficult. He didn’t believe in counseling and straight out refused to confess his annoyances and disappointments to a shrink. After all, Kent said in the middle of the week as he grumbled in the front seat and blew cigarette smoke through the barely open window, he had a never-ending supply of bodies that would listen to the stories of his shitty life.

  “Things any better at home?” Livia asked.

  “You can only stack a pile of shit so many ways, Doc.”

  Livia smiled. “Try a stress ball instead of cigarettes. They’ll keep your hands occupied while you’re in the van.”

  “I’ll give it a shot.”

  “You talked all week about your wife, I wanted to make sure you knew I was listening.”

  Kent smiled, lifted his chin. “Noted. Just remember when you settle down, Doc. Wait for the right person, because once you have kids you’re stuck with them.” There was a short pause before Kent spoke again. “So, you seeing anyone?”

  Livia shook her head. “This job is all-consuming. Sadly, I’m more interested in impressing Dr. Colt than a boyfriend. And my current outlet for pent-up energy is kicking a hanging Everlast bag held by a large black man named Randy.”

  Kent pursed his lips. “I’m not going to touch that answer.”

  “Good. It was meant to get me off the hook.”

  “You’re off. So what do you have cooking today? Why are you cutting out early?” Kent asked.

  “I’m making a run up to Richmond to meet with the chief medical examiner up there.”

  “Oh yeah? What about?”

  “Probably nothing. It has to do with that jumper you dumped on me a few weeks ago.”

  “The one we pulled out of the bay?”

  “That’s him.”

  “That case still pending?”

  “Yeah. I’m not involved with it any longer. Homicide guys have it. I’m just curious.”

  Kent ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip. “About what?”

  “It’s a long story, Kent. If we had a couple hours together in the van, I’d fill you in.”

  “We don’t have that, so you can fill me in some other time,” he said.

  “You’re on vacation next week?” Livia asked.

  “Yeah. Heading up to Tinder Valley to fish for a few days.”

  “I’ll see you when you get back?”

  “For sure. You did good this week, Doc.”

  * * *

  After her Emerson Bay runs to track down Diana Wells and Nate Theros, Livia had spent the past two nights concentrated on Nancy Dee, the girl profiled in articles she found in Casey Delevan’s drawer. After two nights of researching the girl’s disappearance, the search to find her, the leads that came and went, the people who were questioned, and, six months after she had vanished, the grisly discovery of her body in a Virginia forest preserve, there wasn’t much Livia didn’t know about Nancy Dee.

  After Nancy’s abduction from Sussex County, Virginia, in March of 2015, there was at first a group of the usual suspects that included her father and boyfriends. But the case quickly evaporated as everyone of interest provided solid alibis. An intensive search lasted for the first few weeks, and as Livia read Nancy’s story the words took her back to the previous year when the folks of Emerson Bay looked for Nicole and Megan. Their search, too, was frantic. Filled initially with hope that there would be a simple explanation to their disappearances, the hunt slowly fell under a cloud of dread as the days stacked up. When Megan McDonald miraculously resurfaced, wandering down Highway 57 two weeks after she disappeared, a joy filled the town and elation flooded the country, sweeping from east to west like a rolling tsunami. Details soon followed about Megan’s crafty escape from the dreaded bunker in the woods and her resilient character during her captivity. It was all everyone wanted, and the fact that Nicole was still missing fell into the shadows of Megan’s celebrity.

  There was nothing in particular that pushed Nancy Dee’s story into the background other than time. The public’s attention span was short, and there were plenty of other stories that came along to distract them. Until Nancy’s body turned up in a shallow grave near the Virginia border in Carroll County, most had forgotten about this poor girl. Then, for a short, final burst, Nancy regained the headlines before she was gone for good, remembered only by family and friends and fetish groups that got off on such horrors.

  Livia gathered everything she had on Nancy Dee and dropped it all on the front seat of her car. Virginia, like North Carolina, had a statewide medical examiner system in place, which meant any suspicious deaths would be handled by the OCME, as opposed to the smaller, coroner-run local facilities scattered throughout the counties. Livia had placed a call the day before to Dr. Angela Hunt, the chief medical examiner of Virginia, to inquire about Nancy Dee. Dr. Hunt had agreed to meet with Livia if she could manage to get to Richmond by four p.m.

  The ride from Raleigh to Richmond was two and a half hours, and a straight shot up I-85. Livia found the Madison Building and parked under two tall flagpoles where the American flag and Virginia state flag flapped in the aftern
oon breeze. It took a few minutes of introductions and displaying her medical examiner’s badge until Livia was finally ushered to Dr. Hunt’s office.

  “Dr. Cutty?”

  “Yes. Hi, Livia Cutty.”

  “Angie Hunt.”

  They shook hands and Dr. Hunt motioned for Livia to sit in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Taking her place behind the desk, Dr. Hunt asked, “What brings a Dr. Colt fellow up north?”

  Livia smiled. “Not Dr. Colt. I’m on ride-alongs this week, and finished early so the timing just worked out. I wanted to ask you about that case from last year.”

  “Right,” Dr. Hunt said, pulling a file from her bottom drawer. “Nancy Dee.”

  “Correct.”

  “I went back through it after you called. I’m happy to let you have a look. It was a sad case, but when I reviewed it I didn’t see anything that jumped out at me.”

  “Just the same,” Livia said. “I’d like to see it. For my own personal reasons.”

  Dr. Hunt smiled. “Whatever you need. You’re welcome to use my office. Let me know if you need anything or if I can answer any questions.”

  “Thank you.”

  When Dr. Hunt was gone, Livia pulled the file toward her. She opened the front cover of the manila folder to find photos of the scene where Nancy’s body was located. Livia had just witnessed hundreds of these photos being snapped by Kent and Sanj during the last week when they documented the bodies they were called to investigate and transport. Livia pulled the photos from the folder and laid them out in front of her. Depicted in them was Nancy Dee’s lifeless body, as it lay partially covered by leaves and dirt. Her eyes closed, skin pale with death and pocked with dirt, hair matted and caked down like a sculpture. Livia could not help but superimpose Nicole’s face onto the photos. The image caused her insides to ache and her stomach to sour.

  A morning jogger, whose dog had taken off in front of him and raced through the woods apparently with a beat on the body’s odor, had discovered Nancy Dee. She had been missing for six months, and the identification came quickly when the body was transported to Dr. Hunt’s morgue.

  Livia turned to the autopsy photos and perused the findings, cruising through the report like a speed-reader. She’d read hundreds of autopsy reports over the last four years, and had written plenty of her own in the first three months of fellowship. She expected to find this poor girl, abducted from the streets of Virginia and abused by a monster, to have died from some barbaric act of violence. Indeed, the autopsy revealed sexual abuse. But the photos Livia saw of the body were unremarkable. The external exam noted chafing and bruising to the ankles and wrists, likely from restraints, but otherwise there were no signs of physical abuse.