The Store House

Chapter 14 - Mafia Princess

The tires screeched on the tar road as Sheriff Sam took the last turn to the Cook residence. He ran through what he knew of Anya Cook as he drove, acutely aware that his knowledge of the situation and of the young lady herself was condensed into two brief interactions and some background research that didn't entirely align to the story he had been told. Regardless, Timothy and Anya had gone to great lengths to hide the fact that she even existed from everyone in the town, and Anya had seemed content with that isolation, like a wounded animal seeking the safety of solitude to heal. It was unlikely, in Sheriff Sam's opinion that she would venture past the threshold of her sanctuary of her own accord, and if no one knew of her existence, then who could possibly want to abduct her, and how would they have even accomplished that given that she was always tucked away in that house with Timothy nearby? But Sheriff Sam had to consider all possibilities. Anya was an adult and may well have gotten bored of being locked away. Perhaps she took the dog for a walk or ran down to the store to get some supplies. Or maybe the investigation had scared her and she had decided to leave. Sheriff Sam couldn't rule out the possibility that she had purposefully deceived them either - she may well be involved in the crimes up at the grey house and may have decided to make a run for it.

As Sheriff Sam turned into the driveway, Timothy Cook came bounding towards them, worry etched deep into his features. He pulled the car door open as the Sheriff put the car in park and turned off the ignition.

"She's gone, Sheriff! I had a nap and when I woke up, she was just gone. You have to find her. Please! You have to help me!" his desperate plea seemed to echo inside the small confines of the vehicle.

"Tim, let's go inside and have a chat. We're going to do everything that we can to help find her, but we need to hear what happened first. It'll help us know where to start looking for her," the sheriff soothed, his words gentle and measured. The careful words seemed to break through the panic that gripped Timothy as he took a step back from the vehicle and nodded his acquiescence.

Inside the house, Timothy paced the floor, nervous tension radiating from him in waves, as he explained what had happened. "I took a nap. At around 11:00am, I think. I must have woken up about an hour later. I got up and went to the bathroom, then made my way to the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee. I didn't see Anya, but she likes to sit outside in the garden and read, so I didn't think anything of it. But then Sobaka started whining at the door. He only whines to be let in if Anya's not with him. That dog follows her like a shadow. So, I let him in and called for Anya. But she didn't answer. I checked the house. I checked the garden. But she was nowhere. That's when I called your office. I don't know what to do. She's gone. She's just gone," a loan tear rolled down his cheek as he slumped into his chair and broke down.

"Timothy, I have to ask. Is it at all possible that she just went for a walk, or into town on her own?" Sheriff Sam asked.

"No! It's not like her. She won't leave here. Especially not without me. She's never gone out on her own since we've been together. She wouldn't go out. She just wouldn't... She couldn't," his shoulders seemed to slump even further into the chair in defeat as he looked at the sheriff, hoping for reassurance.

"Timothy, we have to look at the facts here. From what I have seen, there's no sign that she was forcibly abducted from the property. No sign of forced entry or a struggle. Nothing out of place. For all practical purposes, it looks like she walked out that door on her own - "

"No! It's not like that. It just isn't. She wouldn't leave here. She couldn't leave here," Timothy cut the sheriff off, some fight to his words before he collapsed further into himself, his body shuddering as he fought to gain control over his emotions and prevent the sobs that threatened to spool over.

"Tim," Det. West cut in, her voice subdued, as if speaking to a scared child that could startle easily, "You say she couldn't leave... What do you mean by that?"

Timothy Cook lifted his red, rimmed eyes to meet those of the detective. He stared at her for a long moment, a clear struggle marching across his features as he weighed his need to hide whatever secret he felt so strongly compelled to protect against his desire to find his wife.

"Tim, we can't help you if you don't tell us exactly what is going on," Det. West coaxed gently.

Timothy remained silent, his gaze focused on the detective for a long time, the seconds ticking on into infinity, before his concerns for Anya's safety won out. He dropped his head in his hands and ran them through his hair, taking a long, shuddering breath before continuing. "Ok. But I need a drink for this. Can I get you anything?" he asked as he stood and walked over to the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a scotch.

He sipped the drink nervously as he sat and made eye contact with Sheriff Sam and Det. West. "We might have omitted some details when we had the video call. Anya's father was from a poor family. They were farmers. But he got out of that life. By the time Anya was born, he was a very wealthy and very feared man in Russia. He was a brigadier in the Bratva - the Russian mafia."

Tim paused, taking a long swig of his scotch. Sheriff Sam let out a long, low whistle while visions of Russian mafia hitman and headless bodies bombarded his thoughts. Could she be the link to the plague of bodies tormenting his peaceful town. For all purposes, Anya Cook was a verifiable mafia princess.

"It's not what you're thinking," Timothy interjected, taking the last swig of his drink before sitting the glass down on the table. "She hated that life. She resented her father for becoming the man that he is. All she wanted to do was get away from it all."

Timothy Cook dropped his head into his hands and breathed deeply as he composed himself, holding back the tide of emotions that threatened to break free. There was no denying his feelings for his bride. "When Anya realized what atrocities her father was capable of, she was appalled. But it was much more than that. When he realized that she had no inclination for the lifestyle, he lost all interest in his precious daughter. She was used and abused - a commodity that her father could trade. He didn't care about her. He just cared about his business. The things he had her do, that he allowed to be done to her, are despicable."

Timothy looked directly at the sheriff, the pain consuming his features etched into his face. And just behind that, a hint of fear lurked at the periphery. Timothy Cook was a troubled man, clearly disturbed by what his bride had told him of her life in Russia and the father she had left behind.

"When I found her, she was looking for a way out of that life. An escape from her father and from the things he made her do. I offered her a way out - I bought her. I paid that man to sell me his daughter. Despite everything, she still loved him though, and when he took ill, we offered to fly him here and help take care of him, get him the very best medical treatment that money could buy, provided he leave that life behind, but he wasn't interested. His name and his career in the Bratva were more important to him. So, he stayed and demanded that she come home to look after him and earn her place as his heir to his disgusting regime. She refused."

Sheriff Sam sat in stunned silence listening, processing, trying to wrap his mind around what he had just heard. Visions of hitmen and headless bodies came dancing back into his thoughts, now accompanied by a vengeful father-come-mob-boss and his abused and estranged daughter, twisting together in some sort of barbaric tango. How had things in his little, peaceful town gotten so complicated?

"Tim, this still doesn't tell me why you said she couldn't leave. Did her father send someone after her or threaten her?" Det. West coaxed, aware that the conversation had seemed to stall.

"No, Detective. Nothing like that. At least I didn't think so. But you have to understand. Anya's past... It haunts her. She's fine with one or two people in a familiar environment, but she suffers from severe anxiety. She starts hyperventilating when she so much as thinks about leaving the property. She wouldn't make it past the front door on her own."

Which posed the question, Sheriff Sam mused, where the hell was Anya Cook, and how did this relate to the headless bodies or would hers soon join their ranks?