She groaned and reached up with her left hand. Her fingers bumped against something square and sharp, dangling on a thin strand of plastic wire. She yanked on it and felt it give way, but before she could grab it, her right hand slipped, and she had to stop and hold on to avoid falling. She took a few long breaths. Sweat gathered on her palms, making both hands slippery.
She tried again. This time, the metal plate and the thin wire came away. Dust settled over her face. She coughed and nearly lost her grip again, but she held the plate in her hand. Her right arm howled in pain as the fingers of her left hand traced the outline and found a metal corner that was bent and sharp, where it had obviously torn away from a larger frame.
Kasey knew she had only one hope. Cut the rope.
She found a reservoir of strength and bent her elbows to do a chin-up. Her body climbed, slow inch by slow inch. The pipe wobbled. Her fingers twisted and slipped as blood and sweat gathered under her skin. When she felt her chin touch the metal, she nudged her right arm over the pipe and then let go with her left arm, hanging by her crook of her elbow.
The pipe made an ominous lurch downward. The rope yanked her chin back and tilted her head up. Kasey sawed the edge of the metal plate against the rope around her neck. She felt the cord fraying, threads splitting and cutting loose.
The pipe shifted downward again. The rope choked her. She couldn't breathe, and she felt her cheeks puffing out and leaching the rest of her air. Her face was wet with tears. Her right arm grew numb and lifeless.
She sawed frantically. The rope thinned but refused to yield. Her body twitched as she jerked the jagged metal up and down, and the repeated pounding added to the stress on the pipe.
It was all too much. She had no air. She had no strength. Her left arm collapsed, and the metal plate dropped from her hand and fell to the ground below her with a clang. Unconsciousness began creeping in.
Oh, God, no.
Then, from the wall beside her, came the groan and squeal of metal tearing.
The pipe separated and gave way. Kasey felt her body falling, with the rope still clutching her windpipe like powerful hands.
Chapter Forty-seven
Troy Grange opened the door of his house with a bottle of beer in one hand. Over his shoulder, Maggie saw a basketball game on the wide-screen television in his living room. He wore an untucked flannel shirt and jeans. His eyes were rimmed in red, and his skin was pasty.
'Sorry to stop by so late,' she told him.
'It's OK. Come on in.' He led her into the main room and muted the sound on the television. 'You want a beer or something?'
'No thanks.'
'So did you lose a bet?' Troy asked.
'What?'
'The hair.'
'Oh. Yeah, funny. It was just a stupid whim.'
'Uh huh.' He added after a long pause, 'I saw the news.'
'Yeah.'
'Same guy, huh?'
'Looks that way.'
Troy swore. He finished his beer and wiped his mouth. 'Are you any closer to catching him?'
'I'd like to say yes, but so far, he's one step ahead of us. We're pursuing a lead down in Colorado, but it's too early to tell whether that will pan out. The car he was using was stolen in Colorado Springs, so we're checking on pattern crimes in the area.'
'You think he's been at this for a while?'
'I don't know, but these guys don't usually quit until they're caught.'
Troy shook his head. 'It's a fucked-up world.'
'How has it been for you at work?' Maggie asked.
'Oh, it's crazy, which is a good thing. I get into the office, and the first crisis hits about two minutes later, and the shit keeps up until it's dark and I'm driving home. I don't have time to think about anything until then.'
'Is the baby still with Trisha's parents?'
Troy nodded. 'I'll probably go get her this weekend. Debbie misses her. So do I.'
'The offer still stands, Troy. Anything I can do to help.'
'I know. I appreciate it.' He added, 'What about the kid? Do you have anything on Nick Garaldo?'
'We think he's one of these guys who likes to break in where he doesn’t belong,' Maggie told him. 'Urban ruins.'
'Really?'
'We found a photo card in his apartment. He was inside the Duluth Armory a few months ago.'
Troy rubbed his chin. 'We've had break-ins at a few of the unused areas of the port over the past couple years. I wonder if Nick was involved.'
'Half the fun for these guys is staying ahead of people like you and me,' Maggie said
'So you think he had an accident somewhere?'
Maggie nodded. 'That's our best guess right now. Nick may have been casing an abandoned school in Buckthorn. I've got a guy from a local security agency taking a look at the site. I haven't heard from him yet.'
'Well, keep me posted. Nick's girlfriend is worried sick.'
'I will.'
'You look tired, Maggie. Is the investigation wearing you down?'
'Yeah, a little,' she admitted.
'Stride's back on the job next week, right? That should help.'
She grunted affirmatively, but Troy picked up on her mixed emotions.
'You don't sound thrilled to have him back,' Troy said. 'Do you not want to give up the big chair?'
'He can have it.' 'So what's the problem?'
Maggie shrugged. 'It's complicated. I'm not going to bother you with my troubles.'
'Right now, it's easier to worry about someone else's problems,' he told her. 'We're friends. If you want to talk, talk.'
Maggie sighed. She was tired of keeping it a secret from everyone. 'It's me and Stride. Something happened.'
'Something?' Troy asked. Then he read her face. 'Oh, that kind of something. Yeah, well, that is complicated.'
'Tell me about it.'
'Isn't he involved with someone else?'
'Yeah.'
'So now what?'
'Now I tell myself what an idiot I am.'
Troy chuckled. 'Sorry. Wish I could help. Romantic advice isn't really my thing.'
'Me neither. Listen, keep this to yourself, OK? Nobody knows.'
'My lips are sealed.'
Maggie heard her cell phone ringing. She dug it out of her pocket and checked the caller ID, but the source of the call was blocked. 'This is Maggie Bei,' she answered.
'Ms Bei, my name is Jim Nieman.'
