Read Online Blood Dahlia - A Thriller (Sarah King Mysteries) by Victor Methos - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Victor Methos
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ordinary. The bits of grass before it were yellowed, but the trees engulfing it were green. Giovanni parked at the curb, and the two men stepped out of the car.
The interior of the building smelled slightly of mildew , and the carpets had stains—enough to be noticeable but seemingly not enough to warrant a cleaning. Several apartments were crammed in on each side of the hallway, and Rosen checked his phone before walking up two flights of stairs and knocking on one of the doors.
Giovanni stared out a window at the traffic while they waited. Some sort of medical clinic was across the street, their wall adorned with graffiti. Next to that was another apartment complex with paint peeling off the exterior.
“Nobody’s home,” Rosen said. “I’ll leave my card. We can try again tomorrow.”
Just as they were taking the stairs, a door opened. Giovanni glanced back to see a man coming out of an apartment across the hall from Sarah King’s.
“Excuse me,” Rosen said. “We’re looking for Sarah. Do you happen to know when she’ll be back?”
“Couldn’t say. She works nights.”
“Ah.”
“Who are you guys exactly?”
“We’re with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We needed Sarah’s help with something. You don’t happen to know where she could be right now, do you?”
“No, sorry. Well, there’s a bar around the corner she’s at sometimes.”
“Which bar?”
“Habituals. It’s the flat kinda square building.”
“I appreciate that. Thank you.”
“No prob.”
Rosen looked at Giovanni and said, “Couldn’t hurt. Let’s walk.”
12
Darkness swallowed the figure at the desk. The room was cement walls with a single rug, the desk and his chair, and a fridge. In the corner was a water pipe that ran from the ceiling down through the floor and into the bowels of the house. Handcuffed to the pipe was a young woman in a nightie.
He looked over at her. The woman’s head was bobbing up and down, the drugs still dulling her. The only illumination in the entire room was the florescent lighting on the ceiling.
“Please…” she mumbled. “I wanna go home. I just wanna go home.”
“Whores don’t speak unless spoken to.”
“Just let me go. I promise I won’t tell anybody anything. I just… I just wanna go home.”
The man exploded out of his chair and rushed at her. He slapped her across the mouth so hard she fell over, caught by the handcuffs on her wrists, which cut in and made her bleed.
“ Whores don’t speak unless spoken to!”
The man stood over her, his eyes blazing with fury. His chest was heaving, hoping she would say another word so he could cut out her tongue. But she didn’t. She sobbed quietly. The man relaxed and returned to his desk. He picked up the small brush and began work ing again.
“ Are you hungry?”
She hesitated. “No, I’m not hungry.”
“Thirsty?”
“Yes.”
The man lowered his work again and rose. He went to the small fridge in the corner. Inside were several bottles of sports drinks and some casserole he had made. He dipped his finger in the casserole and tasted it, closing his eyes as he savored the flavor.
He took one of the sports drinks and opened it , brought it over to the woman, and put it to her lips. She sipped at it softly.
“There,” he said almost gently. “Drink.”
A quarter of the bottle was gone when he stopped. He capped it and stared at the woman. She would be considered beautiful by conventional standards. Her breasts were coming out of her nightie, and it aroused him, but it wasn’t time. Not yet. He reached down and pulled the nightie up to cover the breasts.
“ You have my permission to sleep.”
As the man turned to get back to his work, the woman shouted, “How the fuck am I supposed to sleep!” She pulled at her handcuffs, swearing and spitting, trying her best to break free. The man calmly walked to his table and looked over his tools. He grabbed the pair of scissors.
“What’re
The interior of the building smelled slightly of mildew , and the carpets had stains—enough to be noticeable but seemingly not enough to warrant a cleaning. Several apartments were crammed in on each side of the hallway, and Rosen checked his phone before walking up two flights of stairs and knocking on one of the doors.
Giovanni stared out a window at the traffic while they waited. Some sort of medical clinic was across the street, their wall adorned with graffiti. Next to that was another apartment complex with paint peeling off the exterior.
“Nobody’s home,” Rosen said. “I’ll leave my card. We can try again tomorrow.”
Just as they were taking the stairs, a door opened. Giovanni glanced back to see a man coming out of an apartment across the hall from Sarah King’s.
“Excuse me,” Rosen said. “We’re looking for Sarah. Do you happen to know when she’ll be back?”
“Couldn’t say. She works nights.”
“Ah.”
“Who are you guys exactly?”
“We’re with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We needed Sarah’s help with something. You don’t happen to know where she could be right now, do you?”
“No, sorry. Well, there’s a bar around the corner she’s at sometimes.”
“Which bar?”
“Habituals. It’s the flat kinda square building.”
“I appreciate that. Thank you.”
“No prob.”
Rosen looked at Giovanni and said, “Couldn’t hurt. Let’s walk.”
12
Darkness swallowed the figure at the desk. The room was cement walls with a single rug, the desk and his chair, and a fridge. In the corner was a water pipe that ran from the ceiling down through the floor and into the bowels of the house. Handcuffed to the pipe was a young woman in a nightie.
He looked over at her. The woman’s head was bobbing up and down, the drugs still dulling her. The only illumination in the entire room was the florescent lighting on the ceiling.
“Please…” she mumbled. “I wanna go home. I just wanna go home.”
“Whores don’t speak unless spoken to.”
“Just let me go. I promise I won’t tell anybody anything. I just… I just wanna go home.”
The man exploded out of his chair and rushed at her. He slapped her across the mouth so hard she fell over, caught by the handcuffs on her wrists, which cut in and made her bleed.
“ Whores don’t speak unless spoken to!”
The man stood over her, his eyes blazing with fury. His chest was heaving, hoping she would say another word so he could cut out her tongue. But she didn’t. She sobbed quietly. The man relaxed and returned to his desk. He picked up the small brush and began work ing again.
“ Are you hungry?”
She hesitated. “No, I’m not hungry.”
“Thirsty?”
“Yes.”
The man lowered his work again and rose. He went to the small fridge in the corner. Inside were several bottles of sports drinks and some casserole he had made. He dipped his finger in the casserole and tasted it, closing his eyes as he savored the flavor.
He took one of the sports drinks and opened it , brought it over to the woman, and put it to her lips. She sipped at it softly.
“There,” he said almost gently. “Drink.”
A quarter of the bottle was gone when he stopped. He capped it and stared at the woman. She would be considered beautiful by conventional standards. Her breasts were coming out of her nightie, and it aroused him, but it wasn’t time. Not yet. He reached down and pulled the nightie up to cover the breasts.
“ You have my permission to sleep.”
As the man turned to get back to his work, the woman shouted, “How the fuck am I supposed to sleep!” She pulled at her handcuffs, swearing and spitting, trying her best to break free. The man calmly walked to his table and looked over his tools. He grabbed the pair of scissors.
“What’re
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