Finding AJ Read online

  Jules cleared the rest of the room. The living room was every bit as filthy and cluttered as it had been five weeks ago. The only difference Jules could see were the empty, tipped-over cans that lay scattered on the coffee table in place of the fast-food wrappers. A couple of dirty silver spoons encrusted with dried up food lay next to the cans. As before, dirty clothes were randomly strewn about on the wood floor.

  The house had a ghost-like feel to it as if Glickman were long gone, yet the home retained remnants of his presence. Jules fought against an inclination to relax and reminded herself of the shiny garbage bag outside.

  Though she sensed Glickman wasn't in the house, she needed to remain alert and focused. There was still work to do. She still had to check out the bathroom and the bedroom along with the basement.

  Jules went back to the hallway entrance. She took two quick steps to the other side of the hallway, keeping the shotgun aimed at the open bedroom doorway at the end of the hall. She sidled close to the wall and made herself as small a target as possible. Being in the hallway made her tense and alert at the same time. She didn't like being in the open with no avenue of escape.

  Jules came to the bathroom door. She counted to three before turning into the doorway, exposing part of her head and shoulder and pointing the shotgun inside the bathroom. It was empty.

  Like the living room, the bathroom had a grimy feel to it, everything except the bath tub. The tub was spotless and even had a well-scrubbed shine to it. Jules had a tough time wrapping her mind around it. Everything else was filthy. The medicine cabinet mirror was greasy and foggy. A shirt languished in the sink in gray water. The floor had small, alternating black and white square tiles, some streaked with rust. And a pair of dirty jeans lay in a heap on the floor.

  Jules passed the bathroom and moved toward the bedroom, less than six feet away now. She moved stealthily, her senses sharpening with each step. She was intensely alert, and her breathing was quiet and shallow.

  At the doorway, she crouched next to the door jamb and peeked into the room, the barrel of the shotgun mimicking the path her eyes took. She didn't see Glickman, but part of the room was obscured from her by the door. She leaned over and looked into the crack next to the door jamb. Glickman wasn't hiding behind the door either. She couldn't see him anywhere.

  Jules was taken aback by the what she saw in the bedroom. She stood up and tried to make sense of what she saw. The bedroom was immaculate, clean and tidy, everything neatly organized. Even the bed was made. Jules had trouble reconciling the clean bedroom with what she knew about Glickman. Glickman was essentially a slob. The only time he displayed any meticulousness was when it came to his crimes.

  Jules stepped inside the bedroom and used the barrel of the shotgun to close the door behind her, keeping her head on a swivel and sweeping the room with her eyes. Glickman was nowhere to be found. Unless he was hiding in the closet, he simply wasn't in the house.

  She checked the closet. Glickman wasn't there but something else was. Five colorful dresses hung in Glickman's closet. They looked fresh and clean. Glickman was active again. Was he bringing his victims to his home?

  Jules still had to check out the basement but doubted Glickman would be down there. With the electricity gone and the windows boarded up, the basement would be drenched in darkness. It made no sense to her that Glickman would be down there.

  There was no dust on the dresser or the night stand which meant Glickman was still around even if he wasn't in the house. He could have been out looking for food or a victim or both. Jules would stay till Glickman returned. In the meantime, she would search for the trophies taken by the Calligrapher.

  A single austere chest of drawers sat against one wall. Jules checked it first. The top drawer had a valet tray in it with a wallet but no keys. That made Jules wonder. She walked back to the living room and checked the front door. It was locked. She looked out the picture window and saw Glickman's truck, an old '90s Dodge Ram, parked in the front yard. Wherever Glickman was, he was on foot, but he'd apparently taken his keys.

  Jules headed back to the kitchen and closed the back door. She tacked together the splintered wood as best she could. She didn't want Glickman to notice anything out of place. After she finished, she thought the door looked passable. Jules didn't believe Glickman would notice anything amiss unless his attention was drawn directly to the door.

  Jules headed back to the bedroom to resume her search. As she passed the basement door, she heard a faint metallic rustling sound. Jules stopped. The sound had come from the basement. A moment later she heard it again. Was it Glickman?

  The only way Jules would know if Glickman was in the basement is if she went down herself. She cracked open the basement door, her back flattened against the wall next to it. "Mr. Glickman, is that you down there? This is Jules Vandevelde with the FBI."

  Her question was greeted with silence. After a few moments, she heard the metallic scraping again, another sound too.

  Jules pushed the door open further. A shivered whimpering sound drifted up the stairwell. Jules glanced down the wooden stairs. The basement was engulfed in darkness. The dim light in the hallway threw a paltry wedge of light onto the stairs.

  "Who's down there?" she asked.

  The soft whimpering continued, then a stammering, pleading voice, barely audible, cut through the crying. "Can you help me?" It sounded like a teenager's voice. Jules wondered if Glickman was in the basement using the girl as bait. She wanted to help the girl, but she needed to remain detached. She couldn't let her emotions distract her from doing things the right way. She needed to determine if Glickman was in the basement.

  "Where's Glickman?" Jules asked.

  "I don't know," the voice answered, sounding flustered and peevish. "He … he left earlier before you came. Are you going to help me or what? I don't like it here."

  Jules knew she would have to go down. "Okay, okay. I'm coming down."

  She pointed the shotgun into the empty darkness below and mulled over a strategy. She moved down to the first step and closed her eyes. She let at least twenty seconds pass before closing the door behind her. She wanted the light to shine into the basement for a while. If Glickman were in the basement, she wanted him to be as disadvantaged as she was by the darkness.

  She took the stairs slowly, keeping both hands on the shotgun, ready to fire if need be. She focused on the steps one at a time. Jules felt disoriented and her sense of depth perception was gone. It was as if she'd gone blind. She couldn't see anything. She'd set herself adrift in a world of inky blackness. The only thing she could rely on was her auditory sense. She heard the girl's whimpering and the occasional tingling of what she now believed were chains being dragged across concrete.

  Jules had no idea where she was in relationship to the basement floor. When she thought she was getting close, she carefully toed the surface of each step with her hiking shoes trying to find each step's edge.

  "Why did you close the door?" the girl whined. "It's too dark down here. I don't like it when it's this dark."

  Jules didn't answer. If Glickman was in the basement, she didn't want to give him a target. She sensed she was close to the floor. She tested the surface one more time, and this time she couldn't find a drop-off edge. She pushed her shoe further away from her but still found nothing. Being on the floor made Jules feel more confident. She knew if she had to, she could move laterally, even if she couldn't see where she was going. The girl continued to whimper and Jules followed the sound.

  "Can't you hurry?" the girl pleaded. "Why are you going so slow?" She paused briefly, then said as if exasperated, "You do know I can see you, right? Don't you get it? He could come back any time. What are you waiting for?"

  Jules remained silent. She knew the girl was close.

  "No more baths!" the girl yelled hysterically.

  The girl had to be right in front of her. Jules lowered the gun. If Glickman had been in the basement, he would already have made his move. "What's your name?" Jules asked.

  "Addy," the girl said, crying. "My name is Addy. Thank you for coming for me."

  Jules eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness. She could see the outline of a silhouette in front of her. The silhouette was the same height as Jules. Jules reached her hand out toward the silhouette and found an arm. Jules ran her hand up the girl's arm to her shoulder. It didn't appear the girl had any clothes on. Jules ran her hand back down the arm and found a wrist shackle with a chain attached to it. She followed the chain down to the floor where it was secured by a steel ring. Jules gave the ring a tug, but it didn't give, not that she expected it to.

  "You're going to be fine," she told the girl. "Is there a key?"

  "What? Oh. Uh huh. He keeps the key in his pocket." The girl shivered with fear. "What are you going to do?" she asked haltingly.

  "Don't worry. I'm going to take the key from him when he gets back. It's going to be fine," Jules reassured her. "I'm going to get you out of here. But I'm going to have to go upstairs first and wait for him to get back."

  "Don't leave me here," the girl cried.

  Before Jules could respond, a loud creaking moan echoed through the house. The front door.

  "He's back. I told you he'd be back," she cried. "Please, no more baths."

  Jules leaned forward and whispered in the girl's ear, "I won't let him hurt you. No more baths. I promise. But you have to stay quiet. He can't know I'm here. I'm going over there behind the stairs. It's going to be all right."

  Jules heard Glickman's footsteps as he made his way across the wood floor above them. The old floor groaned under his weight. She heard him head into the kitchen. A moment later there was an abrupt clanging sound, like a bag of cans being dropped onto a kitchen counter.

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; Jules eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness, but the basement was still shrouded in indistinguishable black hues. Obscure shapes filled her vision, but Jules wasn't sure if she was actually seeing them. The images didn't seem stable, and she thought they might be a kind of darkness-induced mirage. She strained to see and thought she could make out the dark outline of the stairs. She walked quickly toward them. When she got close, she felt around with her hand and found the side of the stairs. She got into position underneath them. Jules listened to Glickman's footsteps as he tramped down the hallway. A moment later she could hear water rushing through the pipes under the ceiling. Glickman was filling the bathtub. He made his way to the bedroom for a minute before coming back down the hallway.

  The door to the basement opened and a jittery beam of light streamed down the stairwell.

  Glickman started down the stairs. "Good news, darlin'," Glickman announced, his voice filled with buoyant energy. "Found you a pretty new dress. I think you're going to like this one."

  Chapter 2

  Glickman

  Halfway down the steps, the beam from Glickman's flashlight found Addy. She was crouched low and had turned away from him. Slowly, she turned her head toward him. Her slender face was twisted in fear and her eyelids blinked from the brightness. Her arms were crossed in front of her, covering her breasts as best she could. For the first time, Jules noticed how skinny Addy was. She was wafer thin and looked malnourished.

  "Now don't be like that," Glickman said in a wounded voice. "Wait till you see what daddy brought ya."

  The only sound Addy made was a low whine.

  Jules stepped silently to the outside of the stairs. She had to be ready when Glickman reached the basement floor. She listened closely to his footsteps on the stairs. When the time was right, she would move to a position where Addy wouldn't be in the field of fire. The moment Glickman reached the floor, she'd have to move quickly.

  Addy was no longer looking at Glickman. She held her hand up to shade her eyes from the flashlight, and she was moving her head around searching for Jules. Jules held up her hand up in a warning gesture, though she knew Addy couldn't actually see her or her hand, not with the blinding flashlight in her eyes.

  Glickman suddenly stopped. He couldn't have been more than two steps from the floor. "Hey, what the fuck are you looking at, darlin'?" he asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and paranoia.

  Addy didn't answer him. Her whine grew louder and more desperate, and she kept looking for Jules.

  Jules had to move. She ran toward Addy and turned to face Glickman as she ran. He stood on the stairs, looking ominous and ridiculous at the same time. He stood in shadows one step up from the floor, holding a flashlight in one hand and a dress in the other. He held the dress up as if for Addy's inspection.

  He must have sensed Jules or heard her because he turned the flashlight in her direction. Jules stopped and leveled the shotgun at him. Glickman found her with the high-beamed flashlight and shined the light in her eyes.

  "Stay right where you're at, Mr. Glickman," Jules ordered. "Jules Vandevelde, FBI."

  "FBI?" Glickman said, sounding genuinely confused. "What the hell? There ain't no more FBI."

  "Stay right where you're at," Jules repeated.

  "Wait, now. Wait a minute. I remember you. You came with that FBI fella. The stuffed shirt. Sure, I remember. What the fuck are you doing in my house, Jules?" he asked, a surly nastiness filtering through his voice.

  Jules took a cautious step toward Glickman, ignoring his question. Glickman kept the flashlight's beam pinned to Jules' eyes. She did her best to pretend the beam of light wasn't obscuring her vision. "I want you to slowly put the flashlight down on the stairs, Mr. Glickman. The dress too. Move very slowly. Any sudden movements, and I'll be forced to cut you in half."

  Jules noticed a shaky trill in her voice.

  "Sure. Okay. Take it easy, darlin'. No need to stress. We can work this thing out."

  Glickman bent down but kept the flashlight dialed in on Jules' face. He lowered it toward the step when the light suddenly went out. He flung the dress in the air and dashed off into the darkness to the other side of the basement. While the flashlight's beam was gone, a blurry white circle of light pulsed in front of Jules' eyes. On instinct, she ducked down and rolled on the cement floor to her right, keeping a firm grip on the shotgun with both hands.

  Before she could right herself, two short-lived flashes of light erupted from the other side of the basement, accompanied by two thunderous explosions. The bullets struck the wall behind her and sent cement chips flying.

  No more than ten feet away, Addy screamed in a shrill warbly voice.

  Jules couldn't tell exactly where the flashes had come from. She blinked several times trying to rid herself of the fading circle of light in her eyes. She knew she was in trouble. The pale light coming from the hallway marked the stairs, but on either side of the stairwell, the basement was immersed in darkness. Jules couldn't see anything past the stairs. She knew Glickman couldn't see her either, but she knew he'd be able to adjust to the darkness before she could.

  Jules kept low and moved to the spot where she'd stood moments before. Her thinking was that Glickman wouldn't expect her to be in the same spot he'd just fired his weapon at. She thought she had five or ten seconds before he'd be able to see her.

  The only sound came from Addy's sustained low-pitched whimpering that seemed to reverberate off the walls.

  Jules knew she would die if she didn't act quickly. A familiar resolve welled up inside her. She crouched down, one knee on the floor, and got into a firing position. She held the shotgun's forestock with her left hand and pressed the gun's butt into her chest to keep it balanced and level. She took a breath. Then, as quietly as she could, she slipped the Glock out of its holster and tossed it as far as she could to her right where it made a soft thumping sound before it fell to the floor with a sharp metallic clack.

  As soon as the gun hit the floor, loud shots rang out, and she could tell from the flashes that Glickman was moving forward, firing one shot after another. "How you like me now, bitch!" he yelled.

  Jules waited a fraction of a second before firing at the area immediately behind the flashes. She pumped another round into the chamber, ready to fire again, but hesitated. She thought she heard a groan and a thud accompanied by a clattering sound, but she couldn't be sure. Every sound Jules heard was muted by a loud ringing tone in her ears. Jules thought she could hear Addy screaming, though it was as if her screams were coming from a great distance away. Across the room, she could barely make out the sounds of a man in great distress. A man dying.

  Jules rose to her feet and kept the shotgun pointed in the direction of the sounds. The ringing in her ears was deafening. She waited several seconds to see if her hearing would return, but the ringing persisted.

  A little past the stairs she saw a shapeless figure lying on the floor. Glickman. He wasn't moving. Jules moved slowly, keeping the shotgun pointed at the amorphous shape, ready to fire if need be.

  By the time she got to the stairs, she could see Glickman clearly. The gun was near his feet. Jules kicked it away into the far corner of the basement.

  Glickman lifted his head up and inspected the pattern of holes in his chest and abdomen. He looked as if he were in a state of shock and couldn't believe what he was seeing. He made strained whistling sounds in concert with each inhale. His long, pockmarked face was distorted in pain, and he was spitting blood with each exhale. Glickman's trembling fingers hovered a few inches above his chest. It was as if he wanted to touch the wounds but was afraid to touch them at the same time. He didn't pay any attention to Jules.

  Jules didn't know how she should feel. Till this morning, she'd only fired her weapon once in the seven years she'd worked for the FBI, a warning shot for a suspect who was attempting to flee. There was a part of her that didn't want to own what she'd done. But Glickman was trying to kill her.