“Open the door, Mr. Bianca.”
Cody Bianca’s eyes lit up. The police had come to help him,
Bleeding Skull shot him down. “They’re here for you,” he mocked. “They’re not here for me, because I’m not even here.” He shoved the whiskey bottle in his mouth and poured the rest straight down his throat. He grabbed him by the hair and pulled his body to the front door. “It’s time to pay the price!“ Bleeding Skull cracked the door open with Bianca propped in the doorway. From behind the door, he gave Bianca a rabbit punch to his gut. Bianca lurched and vomited over the waiting policemen.
“Oh, Jesus.”
“Hey, Bradley, you see that email? The one about how we’re responsible for our own dry cleaning?”
“Just for that I’m not cleaning it. You can ride with this stench. You okay there, Mr. Bianca?”
“He’s in there! He did it, not me!” Cody gasped.
“Who’s in there, Mr. Bianca?”
“The Skull Face guy! He’s the one that took her!”
The door swung open. Officer Bradley took a step inside. He slid open the doors of the small closets on either side of the door.
“There’s nobody here, Mr. Bianca. Do you need to grab your keys and your cell phone?”
“He was there!”
“Mr. Bianca, we’re placing you under arrest for public intoxication. Now, do you need your phone or your keys so they’ll be in your property when you get out?”
“He’s hexed you! I’ll find him!”
“Oh, geez, there he goes.” There was some scuffling at the door. “Please go back in your rooms!”
Some handcuffs clicked. “Dude, don’t tell my dad! She’s still alive! We let her go! I haven’t even seen that other girl.”
“Are you talking about…”
“Whoa, zip it, Owens. Let’s get him in an interview room and get him to waive first. He even says … it could screw things up.”
“Come on, Cody. Let’s get you somewhere you can sober up,” said Owens. “Radio Detective Perry, have him meet us at the station.”
The door shut. Bleeding Skull heard talking and laughing from the hallway outside, muffled by the mattress and cushions pinning him to the ground. After pushing Bianca out the door he laid down in the corner of one of the fold up beds, pulled up the end, and folded himself into it. He lay crammed inside the metal frame between the headboard and the floor.
Bleeding Skull grabbed a VCU t-shirt from the floor and put it on. He wrapped his hoodie around his waist and stowed the mask. He looked out the peephole. Some foot traffic passed, looking down disgusted at the vomit at the front door. He had to move. Detective could mean a search warrant. These were good things.
Bianca had left his laptop on. Bleeding Skull quickly loaded spyware onto it from his USB stick. He was tempted to take it with him for more intel, but it was more valuable in the hands of the police. He checked the peephole again and listened at the door. When he heard a break in footsteps and voices he slipped outside.
Dean left Hopper Dorms and set up at a bench outside of the Fine Arts Library. Bianca’s been taken care of. He had better intel on Bailey than on Dawley, and Bailey had a closer connection to Mu Theta Pi. He pulled out his netbook, got a wifi connection, and logged on to the website for the spyware he installed.
Sent texts:
0824 241-467-112 - DoubleDown - sht hapnd ml
1325 241-332-324 - Domicide - n d jeep
1327 241-332-324 - Domicide - fkg chill il deal w it
Received texts:
1322 241-332-324 - Domicide - Where was the shit?
1325 241-332-324 - Domicide - YOU FUCK
1325 241-332-324 - Domicide - STUPID STUPID FUCK
1325 241-332-324 - Domicide - FUKING DESTROY OU
1326 241-332-324 - Domicide - GET IT BACK NOW
1326 241-332-324 - Domicide - FUCKING NOW NOW
The last GPS entry was at 16:05, at which point Bailey's phone was turned off or ran out of battery. The log showed locations every ten minutes prior to that, but he didn't stop at a single location for more than an hour.
Dean checked on the numbers for received calls. Three had a contact name "Dad - Work". One had an 837 prefix, which meant a city number. He cross referenced it against an online city directory. VCPD Auto Theft detail. He checked the website for the GPS on the jeep. It gave the address of Southwoods Towing. Southwoods Towing was an impound contractor for VCPD. It takes longer than a day for an abandoned car to be towed in VC.
Dean checked the mugshots on the VCSD website. Sintalia's real name was Gaylen Wallace, and she was being held for Joyriding and Unauthorized Use. Her bond wasn't set pending charges being formally filed. He logged into a non-profit victim notification service and entered in Gaylen's offender information and one of his cell numbers.
He walked through campus tracing the pattern of Bailey's phone GPS log. Dean trusted the log to the block, but not always to the building. First stop was the Mu Theta Pi house. From there a coffee shop, then various halls around campus. He went to his classes. He had lunch at the Student Union. More classes. Back to Mu Theta Pi, then nothing.
There was a four story apartment building with an external stairwell a block from the frathouse. Dean walked up to the top flight, climbed over the railing, and kicked off a window sill to get a grip on the roof. He pulled himself up to the roof and lay down on the gravel.
He double checked the GPS on the car. Still at impound. Double checked VCSD website. Gaylen was still booked in. The jail was three miles away, and it typically took a couple hours for an offender to be processed out. He set his cell phone for two hours and laid back on the graveled roof, his hoodie rolled into a pillow.
He couldn't remember what Alana Favors face looked like. Did he keep a flier? No, they all went up. He knew they were all over campus, but he went in circles from building to building and couldn't find them.
The vibration of his phone woke him up. It didn't feel like two hours. It wasn't. He had received a text. Gaylen Wallace was scheduled for release. Dean climbed back down to the stairwell and walked briskly to the county jail.
Dean sat at the edge of a planter outside the Criminal Justice Center within view of the exit doors of the County Jail. It was approaching midnight, but the area was alive with activity. Law enforcement walked past citizens, mostly women waiting for someone to be released. Offenders just released waited for their rides, and bail bondsmen and lawyers filled out paperwork with clients.
He checked his netbook. Gaylen was still being processed out, but her charges had been dropped. He checked the GPS on Bailey's jeep. It was parked on the street not fifty feet away. He closed the netbook and walked behind a tree before turning to the street. The jeep was in a metered spot on the adjacent street. A form sat in the driver's side, smoke coming out of a rolled down window.
Dean relocated to the steps of a courthouse on the same block, sitting among some sleeping homeless. He kept the jeep and the jail exit in his field of vision. He wanted to have a chat with Michael Bailey, but he couldn't risk it here. Police cars lined the block, officers filling out reports on their laptops after booking in their suspects.
Dean fought sleep as he waited. Bailey stepped out of his jeep and looked towards the jail exit. Dean saw a female form that might be Gaylen standing in the jail lobby, her hand up to her ear. Bailey waited leaning against his jeep until Gaylen left the building. He rushed up the intercept her, grabbing her by the arm. Dean halved the distance between them, but kept observing. If Bailey needed to be stopped, it would be better for a cop to do it. He kept his eyes out for passing cops, catching pieces of hushed voices.
"Where is it?"
"Get the fuck away from me, you fucking piece of shit!"
"Look..."
"Really, right here? In front of all the POLICE!" she yelled.
A VCPD officer passing nearby stopped and watch to see if it would escalate. Bailey let Gaylen go as she got into a car that pulled up to the curb. Dean wanted to slow Bailey down, but he had to keep the jeep operational so he could track the GPS. He grabbed a wire metal trash can and laid it on its side behind Bailey's jeep's rear tire. He walked low behind the row of cars as Bailey rushed to his jeep. Bailey quickly tried to pull out to follow Gaylen, getting the trash can jammed in the bumper.
Bailey got out to inspect the grinding noise, leaving the engine on and the door ajar. Dean double backed around to the sidewalk and the front of the jeep. He slipped through the driver's side door and crept between the seats, lying on the floor. Bailey was too busy cussing and trying to disentangle the wire from his bumper to notice.
Bailey took to kicking the trash can, screaming "Fuck!" at the top of his lungs.
"Hold on there son,” started an approaching officer. “Maybe you should calm down."
"Shit!"
"You can start by watching your language. You back into something?"
After a pause, Bailey began talking between quick breaths. "Yeah. A trash can."
"How'd it get into the street?"
"I don't know."
"Eh. Between the homeless and the people getting out of jail, some folks like to mess around. You have business here?"
"I did. I was supposed to pick my girlfriend up," Bailey lied.
"I saw that. From the looks of things, she didn't want to talk to you right now. Would you agree?"
"Yeah."
"You been drinking tonight?"
"No, sir."
"You smell OK. Let me take a look at your eyes if I can. So what's your plan for the rest of the night?"
"I'm going home."
"Straight home?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'm not saying this as a matter of law, but a matter of advice. You open to some advice?"
"Sure."
"I don't know what's up between you and your girlfriend, but I suggest you at least sleep on it. No coming by her place, no calls, no texts, no tweets or whatever. Both of you will be more civil after a good night's sleep."
"Yes, sir."
"You need help getting that trash can out from your car?"
"No, I think I've got it."
"All right. You have a good night, now."
"Thank you, sir."
After another minute of grumbling and yanking on metal, Bailey got back in the jeep. He shut the door, cutting out the interior light. He put the gear into reverse and turned around to check his back window. He turned to face a hooded mask.
"Jesus!"
"Hello, Michael Bailey."
"Who the fuck are you?" His voice was more desperate and tired than confused.
"You don't remember? I'm the guy that kicked your ass when I was freeing the woman you had chained in that house." Bailey looked around the plaza for a policeman. "Yeah, Michael. You get a cop. We can all have a nice talk about how we know each other."
Bailey looked at his lap. "Fine. Just... fine, what do you want?'
"I want to find Alana Favors. And I'd prefer to do it without having to kick your ass again."
"I don't know who..."
"The girl Dawley traded with Mu Theta Pi. I know they have her and I need to know where." Bailey was thinking. Bleeding Skull gave him a way out. "Be smart, Bailey. Me freeing her is the best way this is going to end. You know I can't go to the cops. She might, but does she know you? Seen you? Know your name?"
"No. I just knew about her, I didn't..."
"Then you've got nothing to worry about. Because if I don't get her, either the cops get her, or she ends up dead. Either way, it's more heat than you want."
Bailey nodded. "Dillon's going to be a problem."
"Not for me."
"He's lost it."
Bleeding Skull smiled behind the mask. "Dawley is next on my list. And I'm hoping he won't be as reasonable as you. Because, trust me, I can be a lot crazier than he can, and you already know I fight better. Where is Alana Favors, Michael?"
Bailey took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "At Mu Theta Pi."
"I know they have her, I need to know where."
"At Mu Theta Pi. At the frat house."
Bleeding Skull's eyes burned. He was there last night. He was there. "Drive me there. Now."
Bleeding Skull quizzed Michael Bailey angrily on the quick drive to the Mu Theta Pi house.
"Is there a hidden room? How are they keeping this a secret?"
"I don't know where exactly she is, but they're not exactly keeping things a secret," said Bailey, getting more nervous as his passenger got more inflamed. "People know she’s there. Sometimes girls do that kind of shit, you know."
"Pull over here." Bailey pulled the jeep into a spot two blocks from the Mu Theta Pi house. "Keys and phone."
"What are you..."
"Your keys and phone!" Bleeding Skull barked, his eyes on fire from under his hood. Bailey turned the jeep off and passed back the keys and phone. A thin plastic noose came down over his head and dug into his throat. Bleeding Skull strapped Bailey's neck to the headrest with a zip tie, leaving him room to breathe, though not comfortably.
"If she's not here, this is your last chance to tell me before I lose my temper," Bleeding Skull hissed.
"She was here yesterday," Bailey gasped. "If they moved her, I don't know about it."
"Stay here. And relax, Michael. Really. You start struggling and you'll choke yourself out."
Bleeding Skull pulled open the plastic moulding and recovered his recorder. He got out of the jeep and retrieved the GPS tracker. He took his mask and hood off, stashed his backpack in a storm drain, and dialed 911 on Bailey's phone.
"911, what's the nature of your emergency."
"My name is Michael Bailey and I'm at the Mu Theta Pi frat house. They're holding a girl here against her will and I think she might be dying. You need to send police and an ambulance."