Chapter Twenty Five

Tim picked up a silver plastic voice recorder from an evidence box, hitting the play button with his thumb. A unintelligible wave of sound blasted from it before quieting, turning into a female voice.

Tim lifted the small device to his ear, straining to make out the sounds. The voice suddenly became clear, making his other hand clench into a tight fist as anger stole his breath.

"Art!" he called. "You're gonna want to hear this."

Sick rage swirled in his gut. He fought it down hard, locking it away to use when he needed it.

The older man tipped his head towards his office. Tim nodded and stood, carrying the voice recorder with him as he walked to join Art.

"What is it?" Art asked.

Tim plugged it into Art's computer. "Speakers are better," he muttered. "Mind if I close the door?"

Art pursed his lips, unease taking hold of his gut. "Is it that bad?"

"From the little I heard, yeah." Tim dropped into a seat and started the playback.

A harsh burst of sound filled the room again. Art frowned. "Is that someone laughing?"

Tim turned his hand in a thoughtful gesture. "I think so. It gets worse... just listen."

A female voice broke through the wild laughter. "By the time I'm finished with him, he'll be putty in your hands. You won't have to worry about the marshals anymore."

Art paused the playback. "That's the coroner. I can't believe she was involved in this."

Tim nodded, face twisted with disgust. "I can't believe any of them were."

Art un-paused the playback. Static hissed for a second before clearing.

Footsteps echoed eerily on the recording. A door creaked open. Something dropped onto a hard surface. Fabric rustled, hiding a few indistinct sounds.

"Now, I'd say this won't hurt, but that'd be a lie," the coroner drawled.

"What was that?" a groggy male voice asked.

Art paused the recording again. "That's Raylan."

Tim balled his hands into fists. "He sounds really bad. They drugged him, didn't they?"

Art nodded. "Hope told me so too." He stood and started pacing. "Damnit. I hope that bastard roasts in hell for this."

Motions quick and tight with anger, he reached over to un-pause the recording again.

A tinny clunk hissed from the speakers. "Oh, it's a little cocktail that I had a friend make for me. You won't be able to resist. In a couple of minutes, you'll do anything we want you to." The sound blurred, fading out as something rasped against the microphone. "Now, try not to fight it, okay? That just makes it work more quickly."

A door creaked open in the background. Light footsteps came into the room.

"I won't do it." Desperation and anger filled Raylan's voice. "I won't."

"Darlin', in a little while, you'll do anything we tell you to." The coroner purred. "Bring the girl," her voice sharpened, growing harder.

Something crashed against the floor. A male voice cursed in the background.

"What are you two staring at?" the coroner screamed, voice harsh with anger. "I'll deal with the little bitch. You know what you have to do." Her footsteps filled the tape, changing as she walked towards the room's door. "Just make sure you don't kill him, okay?"

A sudden bang on the recording made both men jump a little. Art frowned.

"You've caused us a lot of trouble." The coroner growled. "Now, I can't mark you up too badly, 'cause Nick has a client for you tonight. Needs the good un-blemished, you okay?" She laughed. "Aw, hell with it. It's not like he's going to care either way."

A female voice cried out in pain. "Get off me!" Fear filled the girl's voice.

The coroner continued talking as if the girl hadn't interrupted her. "So, little bitch, we're going to make your white knight here watch while my man here gives you the hiding you deserve for bringing the marshals down on us."

A shrill scream split the air. "Stop it!" the young female voice screamed. "Please! Please! I'll do anything!"

The sound of a fist being driven into a body filled the recording. A pain filled gasp made both men reach for the pause button.

Tim met Art's eyes. "Wonder which of them just got hit?" he asked.

Art stood, opening his safe to pull out his bottle of bourbon. He poured two stiff measures, handing one to Tim. "Does it matter?"

Tim swallowed a mouthful of his liquor, tilting his head. "Guess not."

Art let out a breath before hitting the play button.

The sharp sound of an open handed slap exploded from the recording. A pained whimper followed. More blows punctuated the sound of hands scrabbling on a dry wooden floor. Something crashed hard into a wall.

"The bastard threw her into the wall," Tim whisper over broken, ragged sobs. "Poor kid."

"Leave her alone!" Raylan's voice broke through the sobbing. "You bastard, leave her alone!"

"Pause it," Art asked.

Tim clicked the button, dropping the room into heavy silence for a few long seconds.

Art swallowed the last of his drink. "Raylan. He sounds groggy. The drugs must've been designed to stop him fighting back."

Tim stared uneasily into his glass. "There's not a hole deep enough in this country for these bastards."

Art rubbed the bridge of his nose, reaching for the play button again.

Rachel tapped on the door. Art motioned her in. "What is it?"

She met his eyes, face grim. "I have good news and bad news."

Art waved her into a seat. "Give me the bad first."

She tucked her feet under herself neatly, leaning forward. "The guards at the jail just found Nick Oakley. He was beaten to death with a length of metal pipe."

"Jesus Christ," Tim breathed. "Not that he didn't deserve it, but it would have been nice to get some info from him first."

"Amen to that." Art let out a long breath. "What's the good news?"

Rachel held up a sheet of paper. "I think I know where they're holding the girls."