the sidewalk.
“That’s not what worries me.” Bill followed her.
In a few moments, Riley stood in the yard of a two-story house. It was broken-down and obviously condemned, with empty lots on either side – a typical “shooting gallery” for heroin users. It reminded her of the house where a sadistic psychopath named Peterson had held her captive. He’d kept her in a cage and tormented her with a propane torch until she’d escaped and blown the place up with his own supply of propane.
For a second, she hesitated, shaken by the memory. But then she reminded herself:
April’s in there.
“Get ready,” she told Bill.
Bill took out his own flashlight and his gun, and they moved together toward the house.
When Riley arrived at the porch, she saw that the windows were boarded up. She had no intention of knocking this time. She didn’t want to give Joel or anyone else who was in there any warning.
She tried the doorknob. It turned. But the door was locked by a deadbolt. She pulled out her gun and fired, blasting the deadbolt away. She turned the knob again and the door fell open.
Even after the darkness outside, her eyes had to adjust as she and Bill stepped into the living room. The only light came from scattered candles. They illuminated a ghastly scene of trash and debris that included empty heroin bags, hypodermics, and other drug paraphernalia. About seven people were visible – two or three of them getting sluggishly to their feet after the racket Riley had made, the rest still lying on the floor or curled up in chairs in a drug-induced stupor. They all looked wasted and ill, and their clothes were filthy and tattered.
Riley holstered her weapon. She clearly didn’t need it – not yet.
“Where’s April?” she yelled. “Where’s Joel Lambert?”
A man who had just stood up said in a foggy voice, “Upstairs.”
With Bill behind her, Riley made her way up the dark stairway, shining the flashlight ahead of her. She could feel the rotting steps giving under her weight. She and Bill stepped into the hallway at the top of the stairs. Three doorways, one of them leading into a vile-smelling bathroom, had been stripped of their doors and were visibly empty. The fourth doorway still had a door, and it was shut.
Riley stepped toward the door. Bill held out his hand to stop her.
“Let me go in first,” he said.
Ignoring him, Riley pushed past him, opened the door, and stepped inside.
Riley’s legs almost gave out from under her at what she saw. April was lying on a bare mattress, murmuring “No, no, no” over and over again. She writhed feebly as Joel Lambert struggled to pull off her clothes. An overweight, homely man stood nearby, waiting for Joel to finish his task. A needle and a spoon lay on the candlelit bed stand.
Riley understood in an instant. Joel had drugged April almost into unconsciousness and was offering her as a sexual favor to this repulsive man – whether for money or some other purpose, Riley didn’t know.
She drew her weapon again and pointed it at Joel. It was all she could do to restrain herself from shooting him right away.
“Back away from her,” she said.
Joel clearly understood her state of mind. He raised his hands and stepped away from the bed.
Indicating the other man, Riley said to Bill, “Cuff this bastard. Take him back to your car. Now you can call for help.”
“Riley, listen to me …” Bill’s voice trailed off.
Riley knew what Bill was leaving unsaid. He understood perfectly well that all Riley wanted was a few minutes alone with Joel. He was understandably reluctant to allow that.
Still keeping her gun pointed at Joel, Riley looked at Bill with an imploring expression. Bill slowly nodded, then went over to the man, read him his rights, cuffed him, and led him outside.
Riley shut the door behind them. Then she stood silently facing Joel Lambert, her gun still raised. This was the boy that April had fallen in love with. But this was no ordinary teenager. He was deeply involved with the drug trade. He had used those drugs on her own daughter and had obviously intended to sell April’s body. This was not a person capable of loving anyone.
“What do you think you’re going to do, cop lady?” he said. “I’ve got rights, you know.” He flashed her the same slightly smirking smile he’d displayed the last time she’d seen him.
The gun trembled slightly in Riley’s hand. She was itching to pull the trigger and blow this lowlife away. But she couldn’t let herself do that.
She noticed that Joel was edging toward the end table. He was sturdily built, and he was a bit taller than Riley. He was moving toward a baseball bat, obviously kept for self-defense purposes, that was leaning against the table. Riley suppressed a grim smile. It looked like he was going to do exactly what she wanted him to do.
“You’re under arrest,” she said.
She holstered her weapon and reached for the cuffs on the back of her belt. Exactly as she’d hoped, Joel lunged for the baseball bat, picked it up, and swung it wildly at Riley. She deftly avoided the blow and braced herself for the next swing.
This time Joel raised the bat high, meaning to smash her head with it. But as his arm came down, Riley ducked and reached for the small end of the bat. She grabbed it, then yanked it away from him. She enjoyed the surprised look on his face as he lost his balance.
Joel reached for the end table to stop himself from falling. When his hand was fast against the table, Riley brought the bat crashing down on it. She could hear the bones breaking.
Joel let out a pathetic scream and fell to the floor.
“You crazy bitch!” he yelled. “You broke my hand.”
Panting for breath, Riley cuffed him to a bedpost.
“Couldn’t help it,” she said. “You resisted, and I accidentally slammed your hand in the door. Sorry about that.”
Riley cuffed his undamaged hand to the bottom of a bedpost. Then she stepped on his broken hand and shifted her weight onto it.
Joel screamed and writhed. His feet thrashed around helplessly.
“No, no, no!” he shouted.
Still keeping her foot in place, Riley crouched down close to his face.
Mockingly, she said, “‘No, no, no!’ Where did I hear those words before? Just in the last few minutes?”
Joel was blubbering with pain and terror.
Riley pushed down with her foot.
“Who said it?” she demanded.
“Your daughter … she said it.”
“Said what?”
“‘No, no, no …’”
Riley let up on the pressure a little.
“And
