Abuse of Power Read online

  In only eight hours’ time, Rachel knew she would have to walk back into the squad room and face the same men. And Grant had gone back on his word and told the sergeant what had happened at the scene of the Stop N Go robbery. For all she knew, he had told everyone at the watch party. She could imagine them all gathered around, laughing and hooting as Grant told them how she had foolishly locked her keys in her unit. Had he told the sergeant about wiping down the phone as well? Had he changed the story and claimed she had done it?

  Her stomach roiled as she thought of the leer on Grant’s drunken face when she woke to find him on top of her. The gleam in his eye, the cruelty in his expression—she had seen that look before, that awful last day of her childhood, her last glimpse of the kidnapper before he drew the pillowcase over her head and threw her into the trunk of his car…

  The car had bumped and rattled as it sped over the city streets. Rachel rolled to one side when it careened around a comer. A few moments later, the tires hit a large bump in the roadway, and she popped up in the air, striking her head on the trunk lid. Kicking and thrashing, she became so hysterical that she vomited. The pillowcase was suffocating her. She kept sucking the fabric into her mouth.

  A few moments later, the vibrations beneath her stopped. Rachel heard what she thought was the car door opening and closing. Some time passed, and she heard heavy footsteps approaching. When the man opened the trunk, he said, “If you’re quiet, nothing will happen to you.”

  Rachel struggled in her kidnapper’s arms, then fell limp with exhaustion. His arms were like steel rods. She knew she could never free herself. When the man finally removed the pillowcase, she was weak and disoriented. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw a bed, a green vinyl chair, and a small desk located in the comer near the window. The drapes were closed, and the room had a stale, musty odor.

  Clasping Rachel’s hands, the man dropped to his knees in front of her. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, a strange, pleading look in his eyes. “Don’t be afraid. I promise I’m not going to harm you. I’ve never seen a girl as pretty as you before. I’m just going to take a few pictures of you. When I’m finished, I promise I’ll take you home to your mother.”

  Rachel glared at him, too frightened to speak. Her face was caked with vomit, her pulse pounding in her ears. When the man had removed the pillowcase, vomit had spilled down the front of her red T-shirt. He used a damp towel to clean her.

  “I have a little girl of my own,” he said, placing a finger under her chin. “I would never hurt a child. Look at this, Rachel.” He picked up a doll off the floor and showed it to her. “If you do what I say, you can take the doll home with you. Isn’t she the most special doll in the world? I bought her for my own little girl, but I’ve decided to let you keep her instead.”

  Rachel stared at the doll as something fluttered just outside her memory. The face and hands were made out of fine china, and the doll had real eyelashes and silky red hair. Her fingers trembled as she reached out to touch the pink satin dress embossed with rhinestones. Underneath the dress was a real lace petticoat. On the doll’s feet were tiny, removable slippers. “I want to go home,” she said, her voice hoarse from crying, “it isn’t right to put someone in the trunk of your car. I was scared. When my mother finds out what you did to me, she’ll come after you with her belt.”

  “Please forgive me,” the man said, a contrite expression on his face. “I didn’t mean to scare you. You’re just so pretty, and I love little girls with red hair. I’m a photographer, remember. I only want to take some pictures of you for a magazine assignment I’m working on. If you stay calm and let me take the pictures, I’ll give you the doll to take home with you. You know you want her. I could tell by the way you looked at her. Think of how jealous your friends will be when they see your beautiful new doll.”

  Rachel shoved the man in the chest. “Take me back,” she said. “I don’t want your stupid doll. I have to get my bicycle before someone steals it.”

  Something in the man’s eyes changed. Grabbing Rachel by the arm, he tossed her onto the bed, then began ripping her clothes off. She kicked wildly. “No,” she screamed, holding onto the waistband of her shorts. A moment later, the man had her shorts off and was yanking on her panties. Terrified, she urinated on the bed. Once her panties were off, he pulled her T-shirt over her head.

  Her attacker stuffed a handkerchief in her mouth and secured it with masking tape. Using the scarf from before, he tied her hands behind her back, then propped her in the green vinyl chair with the doll beside her. The shutter clicked repeatedly as the man snapped pictures of her naked body with a Polaroid camera, the flash causing black spots to dance in front of her eyes.

  An hour passed as Rachel sat shivering. The muscles in her arms were strained and throbbing. The handkerchief was shoved so far down her throat that she kept gagging on it, but there was nothing left in her stomach to regurgitate. The man smelled awful. He had touched her in places where no one was supposed to touch her. She wanted her mother. She wanted to go home. She knew now that the man didn’t have a little girl, that everything he had told her had been a lie. He was going to kill her. And after he killed her, he was going to cut her up in tiny pieces.

  Just when the man was squatting down to snap another picture, Rachel heard a loud voice call out, “Police. We know you have the girl, Richardson. Send her out and you won’t get hurt.”

  The man raced to the window, pulled back the drapes and peered out. The room was suddenly lit from the glare of a powerful spotlight. Rushing to the opposite side of the room, the man removed a revolver from an Army duffel bag, then raced back to the window. “I have a gun,” he shouted, flattening himself against the wall. “Leave or I’ll shoot the girl.”

  “There’s only one way out,” the same voice said over the bullhorn. “It’s over, Richardson. Your parole officer is here. He says if you put the weapon down and send the girl out unharmed, he’ll do everything he can to keep them from sending you back to prison. Don’t force us to come in after you.”

  The man paced inside the room, perspiration soaking his face and clothing. Every few moments he would walk to the window and peek out, then return to pacing again.

  “All we want is the girl,” the voice said. “We don’t want any bloodshed, Richardson.”

  Rachel had no idea how much time passed. The man was cursing and mumbling under his breath. The voice outside droned on as the police officers tried to reason with him. Her eyelids fluttered and then closed. When she awoke, the man was untying her.

  Holding the big gun against her head, he positioned Rachel in front of his body, pushing her toward the door. “I’m coming out,” he shouted. “If anyone gets near me, I’ll kill the girl.”

  When the man flung the door open, Rachel was struck by a gush of cold air. It was night now, and the police officers had the beams of their headlights focused on the door to the hotel room. All she could see was a circle of white light. Beyond the light was inky darkness. The man had his arm around her waist. Her feet were dangling in thin air, the top of her head grazing his chin. She could feel the hard metal of the gun against her temple, the man’s arm squeezing her insides like a boa constrictor.

  Rachel’s body stiffened. She couldn’t go outside without her clothes on. The man was afraid, too. She could feel his heart thumping against her back. Twisting her slender body sideways, she managed to slip out of his arms and tumbled to the ground.

  A loud shot exploded in her ears, and the man collapsed beside her.

  Rachel stared at him, screaming in terror. Part of the man’s head was gone. Her hair was soaked with his blood, her skin speckled with red splotches. Scrambling to her feet, she raced blindly into white light and into the open arms of a police officer.

  “It’s okay, baby,” Sergeant Lawrence Dean said, crushing her to his massive chest. “Get a blanket,” he said to an officer standing beside him. “The poor kid doesn’t have any clothes on.”

  Gently peel
ing the masking tape off Rachel’s face, the sergeant plucked the rag out of her mouth, then cradled her trembling body under the folds of his nylon parka. Sirens blasted in the distance. Feet thundered past them. While Dean tenderly rocked her in his arms, Rachel stared up into his face. She tried to speak, but no words came out. Her tongue felt swollen and heavy. Her body contracted into a tight ball, her fist pressed against her mouth.

  “It’s over now, honey,” Sergeant Dean told her, his eyes crinkling with kindness. “He was a bad man, so I don’t want you thinking about what happened to him. Bad people get what’s coming to them.”

  Craning her head around, Rachel looked at the man on the ground. His eyes were open but his body was still, his arms and legs twisted beneath him.

  Turning back to Sergeant Dean, she committed his face to memory: his clear eyes, the fine lines darting out around them, his soft padded lips. With the tips of her fingers, she reached out and touched the badge pinned to his police uniform.

  Rachel had her head buried in her hands when she heard a horn honking. Its repeated blasts caused her to surface from her memories. When she looked up, she saw Lucy’s head protruding from the driver’s window of her station wagon. “Good Lord,” her friend exclaimed, “what happened to you? You look awful.”

  Half in a daze, Rachel circled to the passenger side of the car and got in. She tossed a diaper and several fast food wrappers into the back seat. Lucy Folger was a petite woman with a kind face and an easy smile. She had lost her hair while undergoing chemotherapy and radiation treatments, but it had finally started to grow back and Lucy was very proud of it. Although her once thick hair was now stringy and sparse, she refused to wear a wig. She was a simple woman with a large heart. Tracy might complain about her from time to time, but both the kids adored her. “Who’s watching the kids?” Rachel asked, knowing Lucy’s husband had to work on Saturdays.

  “Tracy,” the woman answered, turning sideways in the seat. “Want to tell me what happened? Where’s your car? Couldn’t one of the other officers give you a ride home? It’s not that I mind coming to get you, Rachel. I just want to know what’s going on. You sounded so distraught on the phone, I was afraid you’d been in an accident.”

  Rachel took a deep breath, then proceeded to tell her neighbor what had transpired on the beach. “I’m so ashamed,” she said, sniffing back tears. “I should have never gone to their awful party. I only did it because Grant said if I didn’t go, he’d tell the sergeant what happened at the market. The bastard told him anyway.”

  Lucy fired up the wagon and pulled out onto the Pacific Coast Highway. “They can’t get away with something like this,” she said, cutting her eyes to Rachel. “That’s attempted rape, isn’t it? Just because they’re police officers doesn’t mean they’re above the law. They can’t jump your bones and get away with it.”

  “It might be more than attempted rape,” Rachel said weakly. “For all I know, one of them had sex with me.”

  “I doubt that,” Lucy said, touching her hand. “Surely you’d know if someone had sex with you. Didn’t you only have a couple of beers? Isn’t that what you told me? I don’t think you were drunk so much as exhausted. Don’t make it out to be worse than it was.”

  “The sergeant got me to drink some Jack Daniel’s,” Rachel told her. “I think that put me over the top. The last thing I remember was the hot dogs sliding off the plate. The watch ended at six, Lucy, and we probably got to the beach around seven. When I woke up, it was one o’clock. My pants were unzipped, and my T-shirt was pushed up to my neck. I was out for a long time. There’s no telling what they did to me.”

  “Report their asses, then,” Lucy barked, outraged by the things her friend was telling her.

  “I can’t,” Rachel said. “You don’t understand, Lucy. I’d lose my job for sure. They’d claim I was drunk…that I just made it all up. Then the sergeant would retaliate by bringing up the mess I made of the robbery the other night. How do I know what Grant told him? They could classify me as incompetent and dismiss me. Even if I manage to get Internal Affairs behind me, I’d end up the loser.” She began trembling again. “I can’t afford to lose this job. I need this job. I haven’t even paid off all of Joe’s hospital bills yet.”

  “You should have filed for bankruptcy,” Lucy said, steering the car up the ramp to the freeway. “I’ve told you that a dozen times, Rachel. How could anyone expect a woman with two kids to pay such enormous bills?”

  “Filing for bankruptcy is similar to going on welfare,” Rachel said, dabbing at her eyes with her fingers. “I’m not going to put my kids into that kind of a life. After Carrie and Susan left home, Mother had no choice but to go on welfare. I’ll never forget the looks people gave me when I paid for our groceries with food stamps.”

  Lucy sighed in frustration. They had covered this topic many times. She hated to see her friend buried under a mountain of bills when there was a legitimate way for her to obtain relief. “Bankruptcy,” she said, “is nothing at all like going on welfare. No one looks down on you. No one will even know.”

  “I’ll never be able to buy another house if I do what you say,” Rachel told her. “I have to get Tracy her own room, Lucy. She’s a teenager now. She needs her privacy.”

  Exiting the freeway, Lucy stopped at a red light and pulled Rachel into her arms. “It makes me sick to see you this upset. I wouldn’t be alive today if it wasn’t for you.”

  “That’s silly,” Rachel said. “I didn’t cure you, Lucy. The doctors did.”

  “When Glen left me, I was on the verge of committing suicide,” she continued. “It takes more than medicine to cure someone, Rachel. You cleaned my house, took care of my kids, cooked our meals. You helped me to be strong. Without you, I would have never survived the chemotherapy. Don’t you think I know the truth? If you had entered the police academy when you were scheduled to, you wouldn’t have fallen so far behind with your bills.”

  “You’ve more than paid me back,” Rachel told her.

  “I worry you’re overdoing it by taking care of Tracy and Joe for me while I’m at work. I’ve been thinking of switching to days and putting Joe in day care.”

  “I feel like a million bucks,” Lucy insisted, her face spreading in a warm smile. “The kids only stay with me at night. Having a couple of kids sleep on the floor in your living room isn’t exactly taxing. Tracy is a gem. She always helps me get my brood bathed and in bed. There’s no reason for you to pay for day care. With Glen working late so many nights, Tracy is great company for me.”

  “I don’t know if I can continue working with the men on my watch,” Rachel said, staring out the window. “What happened today on the beach brought back everything from the kidnapping. I thought I had finally pushed it from my mind, but now it’s all coming back again.” She sucked in a deep breath.

  “Calm down, sweetie,” Lucy said. “We’ll get you home, get you in a hot shower, then we’ll figure out what to do about these awful cops.”

  c h a p t e r

  NINE

  When Rachel left Lucy’s house with Tracy and Joe, she saw a red car parked in her driveway. A moment later, Carrie’s long legs unfurled from the driver’s seat. “Where have you been?” her sister said, yanking her sunglasses off. “I’ve been calling the house all morning. I finally decided to drive over here and see what was going on. Didn’t you remember I was coming today?”

  Carrie was an attorney. She lived in San Francisco and specialized in civil litigation. Rachel had completely forgotten that she had said she would be passing through Los Angeles that morning on her way back from a business trip. Dressed in a white linen suit, nude hose and stiletto heels, Carrie had her hair dyed jet black and cut severely to frame her face at her jaw line. Her skin tone was fair, similar to Rachel’s.

  “I’m sorry,” Rachel said, walking over and embracing her. “How long can you stay? Have you had lunch?”

  Carrie glanced at her watch. “I was going to spend the morning with you,
but now we’ll have to cut our visit short. My plane leaves at four, and I have to return the rental car.” She squatted down to hug Joe, then leaned over and gave Tracy a peck on the cheek. “You’re growing up, kid. You look about sixteen now. Got a boyfriend yet?”

  “She’s only fourteen,” Rachel said, taking in her sister’s polished red fingernails, her perfect makeup, the expensive designer suit she was wearing. Carrie was a sophisticated, accomplished woman. Rachel looked down at her rumpled jeans, her stained T-shirt. She still felt light-headed, and the sun was burning her eyes. “Why don’t we go inside? I’ll make a pitcher of lemonade.”

  “I brought some stuff for the kids,” Carrie said, removing several boxes from the trunk of the car before following her sister into the house. Her nose was small and dainty, her eyes almost as dark as her hair. She wore smoky taupe shadow and her lipstick was a vibrant shade of coral. Her eyebrows were slender arches that darted up and down when she talked.

  Tracy and Joe ripped into the packages in the kitchen. Carrie had bought Tracy a white leather miniskirt. Joe got a set of Mighty Morphin Power Rangers and three dinosaur figures, along with several playsuits that he instantly tossed aside. “This is the coolest skirt I’ve ever seen,” Tracy exclaimed, racing to her room to try it on.

  “Don’t I get a kiss, Joe?” Carrie said, watching as the little boy played with the toys. He toddled over and planted a mushy kiss on her forehead, then squatted back down on the floor. Carrie turned her attention to Rachel. “You look like hell.”