8 Scream for Me

by Karen Rose

  Daniel stood up. “I’ll tell Mary to get you whatever they come up with. I’ve got to get down to Dutton to talk to Rob Davis and Garth. But first I have to call the SA. Fulmore was telling the truth about the ring and he didn’t hit Alicia while she was alive, so the man is not guilty of murder. Abuse of a corpse, but not murder.”

  “Chloe’s gonna love you,” Luke said, shaking his head. “Not.”

  “As long as—” Daniel stopped himself short. As long as Alex does, he’d been about to say. But that was premature. Maybe. But he was still warm from the . . . rightness of holding her in one arm and a little girl in the other. It was certainly more than he’d ever had before. It could end up being nothing more than good sex.

  Really, really, really good sex.

  But he didn’t think so, and Daniel was a man to trust his instincts.

  “As long as what?” Luke asked, one side of his mouth quirking up.

  “As long as Chloe does the right thing by Fulmore,” Daniel said quietly. “But that’s not the biggest thing. If Fulmore is telling the truth about that ring, then the Dutton police planted evidence.”

  “Chase already gave Chloe the heads-up on Frank Loomis,” Luke said.

  “I know. They’re going to open a formal investigation.”

  “Are you okay with that? I mean, the guy was your friend.”

  “No, I’m not okay with that,” Daniel snapped, “but if he planted evidence, he sent an innocent man to prison for thirteen years and let a killer walk free, and I’m even less okay with that.”

  Luke held up his hands. “Sorry.”

  Daniel realized he was grinding his teeth and forced himself to relax. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t bark at you. Thanks for all of this. I gotta go.”

  “Wait.” Luke pushed two yearbooks across the table, one stacked on the other, opened to the senior graduation pictures. “Yours and your sister’s. I thought you might like to have them.”

  Daniel looked at the photo on the bottom row and his heart hurt. Susannah Vartanian maintained a cool, sophisticated air in her senior picture, but he knew she’d been silently miserable. He needed to call her before the press got wind of the rapes Talia Scott was investigating. He owed her that much. He owed her a great deal more.

  Atlanta, Thursday, February 1, 11:15 a.m.

  Most likely to be president of the United States. Daniel traced a finger over his senior picture in his high school yearbook. His classmates had voted him so because he’d been so serious and sober. So studious and sincere. He’d been the class president and captain of the debate team. He’d lettered in football and baseball every single year. He’d had straight As. His teachers had seen him as having integrity. Ethics. The son of a judge.

  Who’d been a sonofabitch.

  Who’d been the reason Daniel had pushed himself so hard. He’d known his father was not all everyone believed. He’d overheard the whispered conversations between Judge Arthur Vartanian and the late-night visitors to his office on the first floor of the house in which Daniel had grown up. He knew where his father had hidden things all over their old house. He knew his father kept a whole cache of unregistered guns and stacks of cash. He’d always suspected his father had been on the take, but he’d never been able to prove it.

  He’d lived his life trying to make up for being Arthur Vartanian’s son.

  His eyes moved to the other yearbook and stared sadly at his sister Susannah’s picture. She lived her life trying to forget she was Arthur Vartanian’s daughter. She’d been voted most likely to succeed and she had, but at what cost? Susannah harbored secret pain she’d share with no one . . . even me. Especially me.

  He’d gone away to college, then he’d gone away to the police academy. Then after his father had burned Simon’s pictures, he’d just gone away. And left Susannah in that house. With Simon.

  Daniel swallowed. And Simon had hurt her. Daniel knew it was true. He was afraid he knew how. He had to find out. With fingers that trembled, he dialed Susannah’s number at work. He knew all her numbers by heart. After five rings, he heard her voice.

  “You’ve reached the voicemail of Susannah Vartanian. If this is urgent, please—”

  Daniel hung up and called her assistant. He knew the assistant’s number by heart, too. “Hi, this is Agent Vartanian. I need to speak to Susannah. It’s urgent.”

  The assistant hesitated. “She’s not available, sir.”

  “Wait,” Daniel said before the woman hung up. “Tell her I have to speak to her. Tell her it’s a matter of life and death.”

  “I’ll tell her.”

  A minute later, Daniel heard Susannah’s voice again, live this time. “Hello, Daniel.” But there was no joy in her greeting. Only wary distance.

  His heart hurt. “Suze. How are you?”

  “Busy. Being out of the office for so long, I had stacks of work waiting for me when I got back. You know how that goes.”

  They’d buried their parents, but immediately after the funeral Susannah had flown back to New York and he hadn’t talked to her since. “I know. Have you seen the news from down here?”

  “Yes. Three women, found dead in ditches. I’m sorry, Daniel.”

  “Four, actually. We just found the fourth. Jim Woolf’s little sister.”

  “Oh, no.” He heard pain and surprise in her voice. “I’m sorry, Daniel.”

  “We have something the news hasn’t reported yet, but will soon. Suze, it’s the pictures.”

  He heard her exhale. “The pictures.”

  “Yes. We’ve identified all the girls.”

  “Really?” She sounded truly shocked. “How?”

  Daniel drew a breath. “Alicia Tremaine was one of them. She was the girl murdered thirteen years ago, the one all these new murders are copying. Sheila Cunningham was another. She died in what we’re supposed to think was a robbery of Presto’s Pizza two nights ago. Some of the others Alicia’s sister has identified.” He’d tell her about Alex a different time. This call would not be one either he or Susannah would want to remember. “We’ve started interviewing them. They’re all around thirty years old now.” Same as you, he wanted to say, but didn’t. “They’re all telling the same story. They fell asleep in their cars. When they woke they were fully clothed, and—”

  “And holding a whiskey bottle,” she finished woodenly.

  His throat closed. “Oh, Suze. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because you were gone,” she said, her voice suddenly angry and harsh. “You were gone, Daniel, and Simon wasn’t.”

  “You knew it was Simon?”

  When she spoke again, she was back in control. “Oh, yes. He made sure of it.” Then she sighed. “You don’t have all the pictures, Daniel.”

  “I don’t understand.” But he was very afraid he did. “Are you saying there was one of you?” She said nothing and he had his answer. “What happened to it?” he asked.

  “Simon showed it to me. He told me to stay out of his affairs. He told me I had to go to sleep sometime.”

  Daniel closed his eyes. Tried to speak past the constriction in his chest. “Suze.”

  “I was afraid,” she said, speaking now in a logical, cool voice, and he thought of Alex. “So I stayed out of his way.”

  “What affairs of his had you been in before?”

  She hesitated. “I really need to go now. I’m late for court. Bye, Daniel.”

  Daniel carefully hung up the phone, wiped the moisture from his eyes, then got up and prepared his mind to talk to Jim and Marianne Woolf. Jim would be grieving his sister, but grief or no grief, Daniel was going to get some answers.

  Atlanta, Thursday, February 1, 1:30 p.m.

  Alex stood at the glass, Meredith beside her. On the other side of the glass, Mary McCrady had relaxed Hope so that she was actually speaking in full sentences.

  “Maybe she was finally ready to talk,” Alex said.

  Beside her, Meredith nodded. “You helped.”

  “I could have made th
ings worse.”

  “But you didn’t. Every child is different. I’m sure Hope would have been ready to talk soon either way. But she needed to feel safe and loved and you did that.”

  “I should have made her feel safe and loved before.”

  “Maybe you weren’t ready before.”

  Alex turned her head to study Meredith’s profile. “Am I now?”

  “Only you can answer that, but if the look on your face was any indication . . . I’d say yes.” She chuckled softly. “Heck, if he hadn’t looked back at you the same way, I might have wrestled you for him.”

  “It was that obvious?”

  Meredith met her eyes. “In the dark wearing a blindfold. You got it bad, girl.” She turned back to the glass. “At least Hope’s talking to the artist this time. Between her description and the pictures Mary got from that guy who works with Daniel, we might at least get a lead on who did this.”

  Alex drew a breath. “Even if we never get Bailey back.”

  “We may not, Alex. You need to start coming to grips with that.”

  “I am. I have to. For Hope.” Her cell phone jingled in her purse and Alex grabbed it, frowning at the caller ID. It was an Atlanta number, but no one she knew. “Hello?”

  “Alex, this is Sissy, Bailey’s friend. I couldn’t talk to you before. Not on my phone. I had to wait until I could use a pay phone. Bailey told me that if anything happened to her that I should talk to you.”

  “Then why didn’t you?” Alex asked, more sharply than she’d intended.

  “Because I have a daughter,” Sissy hissed. “And I’m scared.”

  “Has someone threatened you?”

  Her laugh was bitter. “Does a letter under my front door saying ‘Don’t say a word or we’ll kill you and your daughter’ count?”

  “Did you contact the police?”

  “Hell no. Look, I told Bailey to pack her things and move in with me. She was going to, the next day. She called me Thursday night, said she had their things packed and loaded in her car. She said she’d see me the next day. But she never came to work.”

  “So you went to the house and found Hope in the closet.”

  “Yes. The house was trashed and Bailey was gone. There’s one other thing. Bailey told me that she’d mailed you a letter. That I was supposed to tell you that.”

  “A letter. Okay.” Alex’s mind was spinning. “Why didn’t she just come that night?”

  “She said she was meeting someone. That she’d come when she finished.”

  “You don’t know who she was meeting?”

  Sissy hesitated. “She was seeing a man. I think he might have been married. She said she needed to say good-bye. I have to go now.”

  Alex looked at Meredith, who was impatiently waiting. “Bailey mailed me a letter the day before she disappeared.”

  “Who’s been getting your mail?”

  “One of my friends from the hospital.” She hit Letta’s speed dial on her cell phone. “Letta, it’s Alex. I have a favor to ask.”

  Dutton, Thursday, February 1, 2:30 p.m.

  Daniel’s conversation with the Woolfs had not gone well. Jim Woolf had lawyered up and Marianne had just slammed the door in his face. He’d gotten back to his car when his phone buzzed. “Vartanian.”

  “Leigh told me you called,” Chase said. “I’ve been in a meeting with the captain for the last two hours. What’s the news?”

  “I went to Sean Romney’s house and interviewed his mother. Apparently Sean was below average in cognitive ability as the result of a birth defect. He was too trusting and willing to please, according to Mrs. Romney. Because of this, she kept closer tabs on him than her other kids. Guess what she found in his room two days ago?”

  “I have no idea, but you’re going to tell me right now, aren’t you?”

  Chase sounded cranky and Daniel guessed his meeting with the captain had gone even less well than his visit with Marianne Woolf.

  “A disposable cell phone. It wasn’t in his room and the cops didn’t find it on his body, but Mrs. Romney had written down the numbers in his call log. The number for his incoming calls matches the call Jim Woolf got Sunday morning.”

  “Yes,” Chase hissed. “Does it match any of the incomings on the cell you found on the pizza parlor guy, Lester Jackson?”

  “Unfortunately no, but we finally have a solid connection.”

  “I wish you’d told me this before I went into my meeting,” Chase grumbled.

  “Sorry,” Daniel said. “How bad is it?”

  “They wanted you off the case, but I convinced them otherwise,” Chase said dryly.

  Daniel let out a breath. “Thanks. I owe you.” His phone beeped and he glanced at the caller ID. “It’s Ed. I gotta go.” He switched calls. “Hey, Ed. What do you know?”

  “Lots,” Ed said, clearly pleased. “Come to Bailey’s and you’ll know lots, too.”

  “I’m just leaving the Woolfs’, so I’m not far. I’ll see you in twenty.”

  Atlanta, Thursday, February 1, 4:50 p.m.

  “Alex. Wake up.”

  Alex twisted out of sleep, a warm mouth meeting hers. “Umm.” She kissed him back, then leaned back against the sofa in the break room where she’d drifted off. “You’re back.” She blinked her eyes open. “What time is it?”

  “Almost five. I have a team meeting, but I wanted to find you first.” Kneeling on one knee next to the little sofa, he gave her an appraising glance. “Did you get your clothes back from the bungalow?”

  “No. Shannon, the agent who was there last night, said they’d been slashed.” She shrugged. “So I went shopping.”

  He frowned. “I thought—”

  She patted his cheek. “Relax. Chase had one of the agents ‘accompany’ me.”

  “Which one?”

  “Pete Haywood.”

  Daniel smiled, relieved. “Nobody messes with Pete.”

  “I should think not.” The man had been bigger than Daniel and built like a tank.

  “Nobody tried anything?”

  “Nobody even looked at me cross-eyed.” She struggled to sit up and he easily lifted her. “I got a call from my friend Letta.” Alex had called him with Sissy’s revelation earlier in the afternoon. “She said there was no letter from Bailey.”

  “It should have arrived already.” His brow creased. “How long since you moved?”

  “A little more than a year. Why?”

  “The post office only forwards mail for about a year. Did Bailey know you’d moved?”

  “No.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s probably at Richard’s house. I’ll call him.”

  “Where are Hope and Meredith?”

  “Back at the safe house. Hope was exhausted after she and Mary were done, so Meredith took them both back. Hope was able to pick out two of the pictures, then Mary showed her a bunch of different hats and asked Hope to pick out one that matched the hat she drew on Bailey’s assailant the other night. Hope picked a hat just like the one they wear in the Dutton sheriff’s office.”

  He nodded soberly. “I know. I stopped by the team room on my way to find you.” He rose and held out his hand. “Come. We need to talk to you.” He pulled her to her feet and, sliding his arm around her waist, walked her to a conference room with a big table. Around the table were Luke, Chase, Mary, and a woman she hadn’t yet met. “I think you know everyone except Talia Scott.”

  Talia was a little woman with a sweet smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Alex.”

  “Talia’s been interviewing all the women in the pictures.”

  And Alex could see the day had taken its toll. Although Talia’s smile was sweet, her eyes were weary. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” She looked at the table and saw the two pictures Hope had identified.

  Garth Davis, the mayor, and Randy Mansfield, the police deputy.

  “What did they say when you arrested them?”

  Chase shook his head. “We haven’t arrested them.”

  Alex’s mouth f
ell open in disbelief, then anger started to rise. “And why not?”

  Daniel smoothed his hand over her back. “That’s what we wanted to talk to you about. We don’t know which of them abducted Bailey. Maybe both.”

  “So arrest them both and sort it out later,” she said from between gritted teeth.

  “At this point,” Chase said patiently, “it’s the word of a four-year-old against two men who are respected in the community. We need evidence before we can bring them in.”

  He said the words as if she were four years old herself. “This is insane. Two men can abduct a woman and beat her head in and you won’t do anything?” She whipped her gaze up to Daniel. “You were there at the pizza parlor. Garth Davis walked up to our table and a minute later, Hope’s smearing sauce all over her face like blood.” The memory had surfaced as soon as she’d seen the picture. “Garth Davis kidnapped Bailey. Why is he walking free? Why haven’t you even brought him in for questioning?”

  “Alex—” Daniel started, but she shook her head.

  “And Mansfield . . . he’s a cop. He has a badge and a gun. You can’t just let him roam free while you figure all this out. Everything he’s ever done has to be suspect. I mean, he shot the guy who tried to kill me after the guy killed Sheila Cunningham. Isn’t that enough evidence? What does it take to get arrested in this goddamn state?”

  “Alex.” Daniel’s voice was sharp, then he sighed. “Just show it to her, Ed.”

  Ed moved a box filled with books, revealing a silver flute. Alex’s mouth dropped open. “You found the flute Bailey was playing.”

  Ed nodded. “We sent out a team with metal detectors and found it behind a fallen log. It had been buried under about a half inch of dirt and a pile of leaves.”

  “Where Bailey hid Hope.” She glared at them all, her breath hitching in her chest. “While those men beat her senseless, until her blood soaked the ground.”

  “Alex.” Daniel bit her name out. “If you can’t hold it together, you’ll have to leave.”

  She stopped, still furious, but now embarrassed as well. Chase only talked to her like a four-year-old. Daniel treated her like one. But perhaps he’d had a right. She was closer to hysteria than she’d ever been. She drew on her control and nodded. “I’m sorry,” she said coolly. “I’ll hold it together.”