Abby Kane 7-16 Bundle

We entered the hospital’s emergency room fifteen minutes later and inquired at the front desk about Suitcase Girl. The nurse sitting behind the counter looked up to find Kang and me showing our identification.

She crinkled her brow. “Are you the mother?”

“No,” I said, waving my ID a bit. “We have questions we’d like to ask her. Is that a problem?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, a bit flustered. “It’s just that you and the little one look alike.”

The nurse tapped away at her keyboard while looking at the computer monitor. “She’s already been moved to the pediatrics floor, room four.”

We took the elevator up two floors and exited, bumping into a family with a child in a wheelchair. Another family sat in the waiting area, their little boy busy playing with a wooden car on an area rug in front of them. The white walls were painted with bright rainbows, colorful flowers, and the characters from the Winnie the Pooh stories. 

We walked past the reception desk, straight toward room four. A nurse exited the room just as we approached.

“Oh, you’re here. That’s good news. Your daughter is fine, a little quiet, but fine.”

I held up my identification. “I’m Agent Kane. This is Agent Kang. SFPD brought a young girl in this morning.”

“Oh, yes, she’s here. I’m sorry. I thought you two were the parents.” Her face turned a shade of red before she excused herself. 

We watched the nurse hurry away. 

“Are you ready to face your twin?” Kang asked with a smile.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The intruder snapped his fingers and rocked his hips side to side. His eyes were closed as he mouthed the words to the Russian pop song that blared from a cell phone he had placed on the table.

His movements carried him across the floor away from the woman. He twirled and danced back toward her, shimmying his shoulders as he playfully pointed, beckoning her to join him. But, of course, she could not. Plastic cuffs secured her hands behind her back as she sat on the hardwood floor with her back against the wall. Her right breast had slipped free from her silk teddy. 

The woman’s eyes shot sideways to her husband, Gary, who was unconscious from a blow to his head. She didn’t know what the man had hit him with, but it had split his head open. Blood spider-webbed the side of his face as he slumped forward. Weird though it seemed, she envied her husband, as he wasn’t subjected to the dancing lunatic before her.

The man had broken into their home in the middle of the night and, although they had never seen him before, he seemed to be there for a specific reason. After knocking her husband unconscious, zip-tying her hands behind her back, and gagging her, the thief spent nearly a half-hour drilling into the safe that had been built into their walk-in closet. He seemed to know what he was after, but never asked either her or her husband for the combination to the safe, which she would have given him without hesitation, had he asked.

There was jewelry in the safe that was worth nearly a million dollars. The thief, however, took only one item: a necklace previously owned by the late Natalie Wood. It contained twenty-four carats in white diamonds and fourteen deep blue sapphires in a white gold setting. Once he had what he wanted, he made them walk downstairs to the dining room. That’s when he clobbered Gary.

She waited patiently for the nightmare to end, for him to disappear into the dark night. Instead, he hung around like an unwanted guest making himself at home. He had even opened a bottle of vodka and taken a few shots. Now he danced, oblivious to them.

He’d made no attempt to mask his appearance. What did that mean? Was there more to come? Was her worst fear—death—inevitable? Was that the reason he hadn’t rushed out of the house sooner? She looked at her husband once more. If it weren’t for the blood, he looked as he would when sleeping. Nothing much stirred him. He’d sleep through his own death. 

Perspiration had bubbled across her face, causing the duct tape on the left side of her cheek to lose some of its grip. She could move her mouth. As a last-ditch effort, a plea really, she decided to engage. He might have a conscience. 

“Please,” she said. “Leave us, please.”

He stopped dancing, his eyebrows rising in surprise. In an overly dramatic move, he cupped a hand around his ear and leaned in.

“We’ve done nothing to you. Take what you want. Take it all and leave us.”

He repeated the move once again as if he hadn’t heard her. 

She cried uncontrollable, shaking sobs.

He tapped at the screen of his cell phone, and the music stopped playing. He then snapped a picture of her and her husband before pocketing the phone. He slipped the small knapsack he wore off his shoulders. From the bag, he removed a large knife. 

Her crying grew louder when she saw the blade. She shook her head violently. “No! No!”

A wicked smile grew across the man’s face as his eyes bore through her. She could see clearly now. He had no intention of letting them live. A shiver rippled across her body.

The man walked closer and knelt in front of her husband, raising his limp head with two fingers so he could get a better look. He stared at him for a moment or so before shifting his gaze to her.

He spoke for the first time. “He didn’t try hard to protect you.” He had a Russian accent. “Yet, you love this man. I don’t understand.”

“We’re no threat.” Her voice trembled. “Let us live. I beg you.”

He removed the tape completely from her mouth so he could hear her more clearly. She gasped and sucked in the fresh air. He watched her chest rise and fall with each breath. Her eyes were glassy and red.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

He crinkled his brow. “That’s an odd question for someone in your situation.” He pondered her question for a few seconds before answering. “Yuri.”

“That’s a nice name,” she said with a tremble in her voice. “Mine is Maria.”

He stared at her, no change in his expression upon hearing her name. Then, without warning, he struck. He drove the knife into the side of her husband’s neck. Blood spewed across her face. She watched in horror as Yuri sawed, grunting with each movement.

“I hate this time of the year. It makes my bones creak,” Detective Munoz said as he exited the passenger side of the Crown Victoria. His partner Detective Berry climbed out of the driver's seat.

The two homicide detectives were with the Yuba City Police Department. It was just after 8:30 in the morning, and the tule fog that had settled across the valley remained thick, keeping visibility to ten feet at best. From October to March, the Sacramento Valley becomes home to some of the densest fog on Earth, keeping most locals indoors and visitors away from the area. Everywhere the detectives looked, they saw gray mist floating past them.

That morning, they’d received a call that a body had been found near the Bobelaine Sanctuary, a family-friendly hiking area along the Feather River. The detectives had parked their vehicle at the end of Laurel Avenue. The sanctuary was a short walk away.

“Is someone supposed to meet us here?” Munoz asked as he looked around. “I don’t hear anybody.” He closed the car door and looked around.

“Dispatch said this was the place. I’ll double check.” Berry leaned back into the vehicle and radioed dispatch for confirmation. The radio crackled in response. “Dispatch said there’s a patrol unit already here. They probably parked in a different spot is all. She’ll let them know we’re here.”

“You familiar with this area?” Munoz asked.

“I’ve been here a few times with the family, but that was years ago when the kids were younger,” Berry said. “Up ahead is a trail that leads down to the river.”

The two detectives started walking, their footsteps crunching on the gravel road.

“I can’t see crap. I hope you know where you’re going,” Munoz said.

Trees appeared a few feet away. “There’s the start of the trail.”

“Should we wait?” Munoz asked as he adjusted his sport coat.

“Body’s in there. So I’m guessing that’s where the patrol officers are.”

Berry led the way along the dirt path. “Watch your step; tree roots are sticking up everywhere.”

About seventy-five yards down the trail, they met up with a patrol officer. “Detectives, sorry to keep you waiting. The fog is super thick today. It had me turned around for a bit.”

“Is it just you?” Berry asked.

“Yeah, my shift was ending when the call came in. I wasn’t far, so I took it.”

“What are we looking at here?” Munoz asked.

“Uh, I’m not sure how to explain it. I haven’t been on the force very long; this is actually my first homicide.”

“Who found the body?”

“A fisherman. Crazy, huh? Coming out here in this weather… He swears the trout are biting. I’m not much of a fisherman, so I’ll take his word for it.”

“It’s just the one guy fishing?”

“Yeah.”

Berry gave Munoz a look.

Munoz nodded; the fisherman might be their first suspect.

The three men exited the wooded area onto the bank of the river. Munoz jumped back when the fisherman popped out of the fog.

“Sorry, Officer,” the man said. He wore a gray insulated vest with a long-sleeve shirt underneath. He also had on waterproof bib overalls and boots that came up to his knees.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m Detective Munoz, and this is Detective Berry. Seems like an odd time to fish—the fog and all.”

“I like it. It’s quiet. No one else to contend with. Trout don’t care if the fog is out.”

“How deep is the river?”

“In this part, it can be anywhere from half a foot to three feet. Depends. Head farther down, and you won’t be able to cross. Too deep, and the current is stronger.”

Munoz nodded. “Wait right here. We’ll be back to talk to you later.”

The fisherman nodded and sat down on a fallen tree trunk.

“It’s up here,” the officer pointed. “Got caught up in the trees along the bank. I’m not sure if the body was dumped upstream and got snagged here or if it was unloaded here.”

That particular area of the river narrowed to just over thirty feet. The lazy water flowed past them quietly. The officer slowed down and carefully picked his steps as he walked on the soft soil near the water’s edge. One of Munoz’s shoes sunk into the mud.

“You should have worn boots,” the officer said, as he watched Munoz try to shake the mud off.

Just a few yards farther downstream the officer paused. “There you go,” he said as he stepped out of the way.

Munoz took a few steps forward and then stopped.

“What?” Berry asked as he came up beside him.

Both detectives stared at the body. The victim was face down. His legs were in the water and his torso on the bank, tangled in tree roots. The victim’s shirt was missing. Even with the fog, the detectives knew what they were looking at. They’d seen a body like this before—five of them, actually, last year, during the foggy season. All of the victims had the skin removed from their backs.

Munoz shook his head slowly. “It’s starting again.”