by Karen Rose
Luke looked up from his laptop. “Jared O’Brien is the right age. He graduated the same year Simon did, from the private school.”
“So far we have Garth and Jared who went to the private school,” Luke said, “Wade, Rhett, and Randy who went to the public, and Simon who attended both.”
“If O’Brien was a drunk, he could have been a liability,” Chase said. “Let’s get a profile on him, as discreetly as possible. Until then, we don’t approach anyone in his family. I don’t want to tip anyone off. We still need to find the other living man, so find me connections. See if anybody else has withdrawn a hundred grand from their kids’ college fund recently.”
“She said he had affairs,” Ed said suddenly. “Kate Davis. She said that her sister-in-law said she could ignore Garth’s affairs, but not endangering her children. Didn’t Bailey’s friend say she thought she was seeing a married man?”
“Bailey could have been waiting for Garth that night,” Luke agreed. “I can see Mansfield beating her up long before I see Garth Davis doing it.”
“If Garth Davis and Bailey were having an affair, I’d expect to find his prints somewhere in that house,” Chase said. “If he came in to attack her, it’s less likely. It would be nice to know which is guilty of assault versus garden-variety infidelity.”
“We took prints from the bathroom and the kitchen,” Ed said. “But none of them came up in AFIS.”
“Neither Garth nor Randy have a record, so I wouldn’t expect their fingerprints to be in AFIS,” Chase said. “But both are city employees, so they have to have prints on file somewhere.”
“I’ll check, or we could just ask Hope, right, Daniel? Yo. Daniel.” Ed snapped his fingers.
Daniel was still thinking of Kate Davis’s final words. “Whoever killed these four women is attacking a place in time. Kate said her childhood was gone.”
“So?” Chase asked.
“I don’t know. It just nags at me. I wish there was someone I could trust to tell me how things really were then.” He stilled. “Maybe there is. I saw my old English teacher my first day back in town. He said something about only fools thinking they could keep secrets in a small town. He told me not to be a fool. I was so busy thinking about bodies and Woolf and the paper, I didn’t listen. I think I’ll pay him a visit tomorrow.”
“Discreetly,” Chase warned.
“Excuse me.” They all turned to find Alex standing at the door. “I saw Leigh walk Kate Davis out, so I thought it was okay to come back.”
She’d been crying. Before Daniel knew it, he was on his feet, his hands on her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just talked to my ex. He has Bailey’s key. What do you want him to do with it? He says he can FedEx it if you want.”
“We want,” Chase said from the table. “Leigh can give you the address.”
She nodded and slipped from Daniel’s hands. “I’ll call and tell him.”
He watched her go, feeling unsettled and unhappy about it. Focus, Vartanian. He sat back down and made himself think. “Wade had a key,” he said.
“What was it to?” Chase asked.
“I assume it was to wherever they’d hidden the pictures,” Daniel said. “But Simon had the pictures, in my father’s house. That’s how my father found them. What if Simon also had a key?”
“Was a key found with Simon’s things when he died?” Luke asked.
“Not the first time, but my father might have found it first. If Simon took it with him, maybe it’s with all the things they found in his house in Philadelphia. I’ll call Vito Ciccotelli and find out.”
Dutton, Thursday, February 1, 7:00 p.m.
“Alex, just tell me.”
Yanked from her thoughts, Alex looked over at Daniel, who stared at the highway before them. His hands clutched the wheel and his face was set more sternly than she’d seen in days. “Excuse me?”
“We’re nearly to Dutton. You haven’t said a word since you talked to your ex and you’d been crying. He must have said something more than ‘Yes, Alex, I have the key.’ ”
His tone was so harsh she blinked. “What do you think he said?”
“I don’t know.” His words were spaced deliberately. “That’s why I asked.”
She stared at his profile, briefly lit by passing headlights. A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“Are you going back?” he asked before she could formulate an answer.
“Back where? To Ohio?” Understanding dawned. “Or to Richard?”
His jaw tightened further. “Yes. Either.”
“No, I’m not going back to Richard. He’s married.”
“It didn’t stop him from cheating before.”
“No.” Alex was starting to get annoyed. “But I wouldn’t do that, even if he would. What kind of person do you think I am?”
He exhaled. “I’m sorry. I was out of line.”
“Yes, you were. And I’m not sure if I’m royally pissed or flattered.”
He touched her arm with his fingertips. “Be flattered. I like that better than pissed.”
She sighed. “Okay, but only because being pissed takes more energy than being flattered. I told him about you. He was worried about everything that was going on down here. I told him I was in good hands.”
She hoped she’d see him smile, but he did not. “You never said if you were going back to Ohio.”
It was what had had her deep in thought. “What do you want me to say?”
“That you’ll stay here.”
She drew a deep breath and held it. “Part of me wants to say yes, because you’re here. Part of me wants to run in the other direction, and that part has nothing to do with you. My worst memories are here, Daniel. That scares me.”
He was quiet for a moment. “But you’d consider staying?”
“Would you consider going?”
“To Ohio?” He said it like it was Outer Mongolia and she chuckled.
“It’s not a bad place. You can even get grits.”
One side of his mouth lifted. “Scrapple, too?”
She made a face. “If you insist, I know a place that serves it. But that’s just nasty.”
He smiled then, and her heart lifted. “I agree. I would consider it.”
Again she held her breath. “Scrapple or Ohio?”
His smile faded, his expression becoming sober. “Yes. Either.”
A full minute of silence passed. “That feels good, and right. But I don’t want to make you any promises until I’m firm on my feet again.”
“All right.” He squeezed her hand. “I do feel better now.”
“I’m glad.”
They passed Dutton’s Main Street and Alex’s stomach began to churn. “We’re almost there.”
“I know. Whatever it is, whatever you remember, we’ll deal with it together.”
Dutton, Thursday, February 1, 7:30 p.m.
“This house is a steal at four-fifty.” Delia Anderson patted her bouffant-do. “It won’t last long in this market at that price.”
He opened a closet, pretended to care. “My girlfriend buys out the store every time she goes shopping. This would never be enough closet space for her.”
“I have two more listings,” Delia said. “Both have enormous walk-in closets.”
He gave one last turn. “But this house does have . . . something,” he said. “It’s so cozy and private.”
“That it is,” Delia agreed a shade too eagerly. “There aren’t many houses available with this much property.”
He smiled. “We like to have parties. Sometimes they get a little wild.”
“Oh, Mr. Myers.” She giggled, an unattractive sound coming from a woman her age. “Privacy is such an underrated consideration in the purchase of a new home.” She paused at a mirror that hung in the foyer and again patted her helmet-head of hair. “Why, this place is so private, you could have an open air rock ’n’ roll show in the backyard and no neighbors would complain about the noise.”
&n
bsp; He stepped behind her and smiled into the mirror. “Exactly my thoughts.”
Her eyes widened in alarm and her mouth opened to scream, but too late. Quick as a wish, he had his knife to her throat. “In case you haven’t guessed already, my name is not Myers.” He leaned in and whispered his name in her ear and watched her wide eyes glaze over with horror as recognition seeped past all that hairspray. “Let me introduce you to a new concept, Miz Anderson. Accrued interest on an unpaid debt.”
He pushed her to the floor and quickly bound her hands behind her back. “I sure hope you like to scream.”
Dutton, Thursday, February 1, 7:30 p.m.
“So did Simon have a key?” Ed asked from the back of the surveillance van.
Daniel slipped his phone into his pocket. “Yeah. Vito Ciccotelli said there were five keys found in Simon’s things. He’s sending them all first thing tomorrow. Now if we can only figure out what they open.” A movement on Ed’s screen had him straightening. “Looks like Mary is ready.”
“Mary had me set up the camera in Alex’s old bedroom,” Ed said. “Since we found her ring there, we thought it made sense.”
His hands clenched, Daniel watched as the door opened and Mary led Alex in.
“What time is it?” Mary asked her.
“Late. It’s dark and there’s lightning. Thunder and lightning.”
“Where are you?”
“In bed.”
“Sleeping?”
“No. I’m sick. I have to get up to go to the bathroom. I’m sick.”
“So what happened?”
Alex was standing at the window. “Someone’s there.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s Alicia. She sneaks out sometimes. Goes to parties.”
“Is it Alicia?”
Alex leaned toward the window. “No. It’s a man.” She flinched. “It’s Craig.”
“Why did you flinch, Alex?”
“The lightning is bright.” She grimaced. “My stomach hurts.”
“Is Craig still out there?”
“Yes. But now there’s someone else. Two people, carrying a bag between them.”
“Is it heavy or light?”
“Heavy, I think.” She flinched again, then sucked in a breath. Then stared blankly.
“What is it? More lightning?”
Alex nodded. Hesitated. “He dropped it.”
“He dropped the bag?”
“It’s not a bag, it’s a blanket. It fell open.”
“And what do you see in the lightning, Alex?”
“Her arm. Her hand. It just fell out onto the ground.” She was worrying the ring finger on her right hand, tugging as if a ring were there. “I can see her hand.” She relaxed slightly. “Oh, she’s just a doll.”
Daniel felt a chill slide down his back and remembered Sheila sprawled like a Raggedy Ann doll in the corner of Presto’s Pizza.
“She’s a doll?” Mary asked.
Alex nodded, her eyes blank, her voice eerily matter-of-fact. “Yes. She’s just a doll.”
“What do the men do?”
“He grabs her arm, puts it back in the blanket. Now he’s got it again and they’re running around the house.”
“What’s happening now?”
She frowned slightly. “My stomach still hurts. I’m going back to sleep.”
“All right. Come with me, Alex.” Mary led her to a folding chair and began to bring her out of it. Daniel could tell the moment she was cognizant of her surroundings. She blanched and hunched her shoulders.
“It wasn’t a doll,” she said tonelessly. “It was Alicia. They were carrying her in the blanket.”
Mary crouched in front of her. “Who, Alex?”
“Craig and Wade. Wade was the one who dropped his end. It was her arm. It . . . it didn’t look real. It looked like a doll.” She closed her eyes. “I told my mother.”
Mary glanced into the camera, then back at Alex. “When?”
“When she was in bed crying. She kept saying ‘a sheep and a ring.’ I thought I’d had a dream. A premonition, maybe. I told her about the doll and she got upset. I told her it was ‘just a doll, Mama.’ I didn’t know she’d seen the blanket, too.” Tears began to seep from Alex’s closed eyes. “I told her and she told Craig and he killed her.”
“Oh, God,” Daniel whispered.
“She’s felt guilty all this time,” Ed said softly. “Poor Alex.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Alex,” Mary said.
Alex was rocking, a barely discernible movement. “I told her and she told him and he killed her. She died because of me.”
Daniel was out of the van before she finished the sentence. He ran to the bedroom and pulled her into his arms. She came willingly, almost bonelessly. Like a doll.
“I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.”
She was still rocking, a terrifying little keening sound coming from her throat. He looked up at Mary. “I need to get her out of here.”
Mary nodded sadly. “Be careful on the stairs.”
Daniel urged Alex to her feet and again she came willingly. He put his hands on her shoulders and gave her the smallest of shakes. “Alex. Stop it.” At the crack of his voice, her rocking stilled. “Now, let’s go.”
Atlanta, Thursday, February 1, 10:00 p.m.
“Your aim was better tonight,” Daniel commented as he pulled into his driveway.
“Thank you.” She was still subdued, still numb. Only when he had taken her to Leo Papadopoulos’s target range had she regained some measure of control. The paper target had suffered as it became everyone she’d come to hate over the last few days. Craig most of all, but also Wade and Mayor Davis and Deputy Mansfield and whoever had stirred all this up to begin with by viciously murdering four innocent women.
And even her mother and Alicia. If Alicia hadn’t snuck out that night . . . And if her mother hadn’t lost control . . .
And, and, and . . .
She had aimed better. She’d held that gun steady and she’d fired until the magazine was empty. Then she’d reloaded and done it again and again until her arms were sore.
“I’ll get your shopping bag out of the trunk,” he said when the silence had become too great. “You can hang your new clothes in my closet if you want.”
She hadn’t bought that much today, just a few blouses and a few pairs of slacks. Still, hanging them in his closet felt too intimate . . . too much when she was so raw inside. But he looked expectant, so she nodded. “All right.”
He popped the trunk and she expected he’d shut it quickly, but he didn’t. The trunk stayed up as thirty seconds became a minute. She got out and sighed. Frank Loomis stood in the shadow of the trunk lid and he and Daniel were engaged in fierce whispers.
“Daniel,” she said, and he whipped around to look at her.
“Go up to the house,” he ordered. “Please.”
Too numb and weary to argue, she did as he asked and from his front porch watched the two men argue. Finally Daniel slammed the trunk closed loudly enough to wake the entire neighborhood and Frank Loomis stalked back to where he’d parked his car and drove away.
His shoulders heaving with the furious breaths he drew, Daniel turned and came up the sidewalk, a dark cast to his face. With jerky movements he opened the door and shut off the alarm. Alex watched him, remembering how they’d come together against that door the night before.
But Daniel only locked the door, reset the alarm, and started up the stairs, not even looking back to see if she followed. His command to do so was implicit in his body language, so she did. When she got to his bedroom her shopping bags were on his bed and he stood at his dresser, yanking at his tie.
“What happened?” she asked quietly.
He shrugged out of his coat and his shirt, flinging them to a chair in the corner, before turning, bare-chested, his fists on his hips. “Frank is being investigated by the state attorney’s office.”
“As well he should be,” she said,
and he nodded.
“Thank you.” His chest expanded and fell. “He’s angry with me. He blamed me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t care.” But it was obvious he did. “What made me mad is that he used our friendship to try to get me to influence the SA. Friendship. Biggest crock of bullshit I’ve heard in years.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
“Stop saying that,” he snapped. “Stop saying thank you and I’m sorry. You sound like Susannah.”
His sister, who had her own pain, he’d said. “You talked to her?”
“Yeah.” He looked away. “I talked to her. For all the damn good it did.”
“What did she say?”
His head whipped up and his eyes bored into hers. “ ‘I’m sorry, Daniel. Good-bye, Daniel.’ ” Pain flashed in his eyes, so intense she felt it press against her own chest. “ ‘You were gone, Daniel,’ ” he added in a snarl, then dropped his head, and his shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be yelling at you of all people.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, too tired to stand. “Why not me of all people?”
“Everywhere I turn, I see lies and betrayal. The only one who’s done neither is you.”
She didn’t agree, but wouldn’t argue the point. “Who did you betray?”
“My sister. I left her in that house. Where we grew up. I left her with Simon.”
Understanding dawned, and with it a pity and tenderness that made her ache for both Daniel and his sister. “Not all Simon’s victims went to the public school, did they?” she asked, remembering how he’d tensed at Talia’s words in the afternoon meeting.
Again his head shot up. He opened his mouth. Closed it. “No,” he finally said.
“You didn’t do it, Daniel. Simon did. It wasn’t your fault any more than it was my fault my mother decided to take on Craig herself. But we think it’s our fault, and that’s not going to be easy for either of us to get through.” He narrowed his eyes and she shrugged. “Shooting lots of bullets at that paper man gives a person a certain clarity of thought. I was only sixteen, but my mother was an adult who’d stayed with Craig Crighton entirely too long to begin with. Still, I gave her information that pushed her to the edge. Logically, it’s not my fault, but for thirteen years I told myself it was.”