The Death Factory Read Online Free PDF Page A

screwup. I think you’re the only one who can stop it.’
    “That got my attention. I didn’t invite him in, but we had a porch swing outside, and I sat on that while Vargas paced around and smoked and told me his story.”
    “Which was?”
    “A Latina girl had been raped and beaten half to death the previous week. Raped with a beer bottle. Her name was Maribel. She was twenty-one years old, fresh out of junior college, a bookkeeper at a trucking company. The alleged perp was the son of the owner. A couple of months before, this Maribel had gone on a few dates with the kid, but she’d ended it after a couple of weeks because she sensed there was something off about him. He had anger problems, and some sexual issues, apparently. Difficulty getting it up, for one thing. And he was only twenty-four.”
    “Was this guy Latino?”
    I shake my head. “Anglo. Last name Conley. And his family had money. Within an hour of his arrest, Wes Conley Jr. had one of the top criminal defense attorneys in the city representing him.”
    “Go on.”
    “The girl’s story was straightforward. She would have stopped dating Conley much sooner than she did, but she was afraid she’d lose her job, since Conley’s dad owned the company. But when she finally got up the nerve to end it, that didn’t happen. The kid stalked her a little, called her fifty or so times, but then he seemed to resign himself to it.
    “Everything seemed fine. Then Maribel goes to a company party. The Conley kid is there, and he starts talking to her. He’s drunk, and hitting on her pretty heavy. Lots of people see it. Later on, though—after the assault—their memories get hazy on that point.”
    “Employment anxiety?”
    “You got it. So, Maribel goes home from the party around eleven, alone. She lives with her mother, but her mother’s staying across the complex with a sick friend. Fifteen minutes after Maribel gets home, Wes Conley shows up at her door.”
    Jack is shaking his head in what looks like dread.
    “She talks to him through the door, tells him to leave. He won’t. She’s reluctant to call the police because of her job situation. She decides to answer her cell phone, talks to him while looking through the peephole. Conley’s got a half-empty bottle of Corona in his hand. He seems calm enough, and he says he needs to give her something. A present he bought her before they broke up. Hoping to avoid a big scene, she opens the door.”
    “Oh, no.”
    “Well . . . so far, so good. The kid gives her some gold pin he claims to have bought months before. Then he wants to come in, make out, you know the drill. But Maribel actually talks him out of it and gets him to leave. Jumpy as hell, she calls her sister in Miami and tells her what happened, but she decides not to call the police, even though her sister told her she should.”
    “I don’t think I want to hear this.”
    “It could be worse. But it was bad enough. Maribel finally goes to bed. Close to an hour later, a loud noise wakes her up. When she gets to her den, there’s a guy standing there in a black ski mask and gloves. Before she can even scream, he coldcocks her. Then he picks up Conley’s beer bottle from the counter. Maribel had brought it in after he left it on the porch. The masked man beats her with the bottle, which doesn’t break, thank God. But then he rips off her panties and rapes her with it. Both holes. Serious trauma, but mostly in the back.”
    Jack closes his eyes. “I think I’d have quit your job long before you did.”
    “The guy never penetrates her with his penis, but while she’s lying half conscious on the floor, he masturbates over her.”
    “Leaving DNA?”
    “Yes. Most of it hits her nightie, but some hits the floor. Carpeted.”
    “Okay.”
    “Once the guy finishes getting off, he stares at her for half a minute, breathing hard. She believes he’s getting ready to kill her. But instead, he pulls a camera out of his pocket and shoots a flash