by Karen Rose
“Investigation into what?”
“Darcy was murdered in a cheap hotel room in Hell’s Kitchen. I was in the next room.” She kept her eyes on his, an anchor. “I was in law school at NYU. Darcy was a year or so younger, a waitress in the West Village. We’d meet in a bar. That night, we’d met some guys.”
“In Hell’s Kitchen? Did you go there often?”
She hesitated for a fraction of a heartbeat. “It was a one-night thing.”
Liar. Liar. Liar.
Shut up. I have to keep something secret.
“But something happened,” he said.
“I passed out. I think the guy put something in my drink. When I woke up, I was alone and . . .” I had sticky thighs. He hadn’t used a condom. “My hip burned like fire.”
“The brand.”
“Yes. I got dressed and knocked on the room next door, where Darcy was. The door just . . . swung open.” And suddenly she was there again. Blood. Everywhere. On the mirror, on the bed, on the walls. “Darcy was crumpled in a heap on the floor. Naked. She was dead. She’d been beaten to death.”
“So what did you do?”
“I ran. I ran to a phone booth two blocks away and called 911. Anonymously.”
“Why anonymously?”
“I was in law school. I was clerking in the district attorney’s office. If I’d gotten mixed up in that kind of scandal . . .” She looked away. “I sound like my mother. She used to say that to my father when Simon would screw up. ‘We just can’t have a scandal, Arthur.’ And my father would go ‘fix’ it.”
“You are not like your parents, Susannah.”
“You have no idea what I am,” she shot back, then stopped, startled. She’d said the same thing to Daniel. Word for word.
Why did you come back? he’d asked.
The others will testify, she’d told him. What kind of coward would I be not to do the same? He’d insisted she wasn’t a coward and she’d nearly laughed in his face. You have no idea what I am, Daniel. And he didn’t. She’d like to keep it that way, but her secrets were leaking out, one by one.
“What are you then?” Luke asked quietly.
She drew a breath, returned the conversation to the past. “I was a coward.”
His eyes flickered. He’d caught her parry. “You called 911. That was something.”
“Yeah. Then I followed up with another anonymous call to the detective who’d landed the case. I described the guy who’d picked Darcy up at the bar and gave him the bar’s address. He said he’d need to verify some things, and for me to call him back in four hours. I did, and he was watching for me to make the call.”
“You used the same phone booth.”
“All three times.” She forced a taut smile. “That’s why we catch so many bad guys, Agent Papadopoulos. They do stupid things.”
“Luke,” he said levelly. “My name is Luke.”
Her taut smile faded. “Luke.”
“Then what happened?” he asked, as if she weren’t telling him something sordid.
“Detective Reiser caught the guy based on my leads. He was able to corroborate independently once he knew where to start. He didn’t need to bring me in, but told my boss, I think more to cover his ass. So my reputation, and my career, were saved.”
“It’s a good reputation, a good career. Why are you beating yourself up over this?”
“Because I was a coward. I should have faced the guy who killed Darcy then.”
“So you’re facing Garth Davis now? To make up for what happened then?”
Her lips thinned. “That seems to be the popular conclusion.”
He slid his finger under her chin, nudging until she met his eyes again. “What about the other guy?” he asked, his eyes intense. “The one that drugged you.”
She lifted a shoulder. “He left. I never saw him again. I got over it.”
“Did he rape you?” he asked, his voice carefully controlled.
She remembered the blood, the stickiness of his semen on her thighs. “Yes. But I went to that hotel room willingly.”
“Did you hear what you just said?” he asked, his tone just shy of a snarl.
“Yes,” she hissed. “I hear it every time I think it. Every time I tell a victim she didn’t deserve to be raped. But this was different, dammit. It’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because it happened to me,” she cried. “Again. I let it happen to me again and my friend died. My friend died and I was a coward and ran away.”
“So you deserved to be raped?”
She shook her head, wearily. “No. But I didn’t deserve justice either.”
“You Vartanians are so fucked up,” he said, the fury snapping in his black eyes. “If your father weren’t already dead, I’d be tempted to kill him myself.”
She raised up on her toes, holding his gaze. “Stand in line.” She took a step back, pulled her emotions into check. “So, what does this mean? The same night my friend is murdered in New York, I get assaulted and branded. Six years later five homicides are branded with the same symbol in beautiful, scenic Dutton. Connected? I vote yes.”
She watched him bank his fury, partitioning it away. “Let’s see it,” Luke said.
Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
“Let’s see it. How will we know if it’s the same symbol?”
“Show me yours first and I’ll tell you if they’re the same.”
“Mine are in the morgue,” he snapped. “For God’s sake, Susannah, I saw you in your bra yesterday. My meeting started a few minutes ago. Just do it. Please.”
He was right, of course. This was no time for modesty and she had no right to it anyway, given what she’d just disclosed. “Close your eyes.” Rapidly she unzipped the skirt and pushed her underwear down far enough to show him. “Look.”
He crouched, staring at the mark, then closed his eyes. “Zip back up. It’s the same design. Slightly larger in diameter.” He straightened, eyes still closed. “You decent?”
“Yeah. So, now what? Somebody here in Atlanta knows about Darcy. Somebody in Dutton has a swastika brand. Did that same someone brand me and kill my friend? If so, who and why?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that we need to start looking at white supremacy groups.”
“Because of the swastika? Maybe, maybe not.”
He stopped, his hand on the knob of his office door. “Why not?”
It was easier to think details than dwell on an act she could not change. “My brand isn’t a German swastika. This swastika is bent at the tips. It’s a symbol used in many Eastern religions.” She lifted her brows. “Including Buddhism.”
“So we’re back to Granville’s thích.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I can research it for you if you want.”
“Yes. Sit here and do it while I’m in my meeting. I’ll come back for you.”
“I can’t stay. I’m meeting Chloe Hathaway at nine.”
“She’s here in the eight-o’clock meeting. She can meet with you when we’re done. It’ll save her a trip to your hotel.”
“But my confession is on my laptop. I left it in my hotel room.”
“We have a small army of stenographers out there answering calls from the tip line,” he said impatiently. “We’ll pull one of them in to take your statement. I have to go.”
“Luke, wait. My boss, Al—he was going to sit in on the meeting.” Her lips curved in a self-mocking smile. “For moral support.”
His eyes softened. “Call him then, and tell him to come down. But I don’t want you driving around by yourself until we understand who that person was in the black sedan. It all fits. We just have to figure out how.” He hesitated. “I’ve tried to keep your name out of the investigation until you gave your statement.”
“Why?” she managed, knowing what was coming. He’s going to have to tell. Everyone will know what I’ve done. And what I have not. It was what she deserved.
“You deserve your privacy. Just like y
ou deserve your justice.”
She swallowed, his choice of words striking her hard. “Tell them whatever you need to. Tell them about thirteen years ago. Tell them about Hell’s Kitchen, Darcy, and the brand. I’m so damn tired of my privacy. It’s been choking the life out of me for thirteen years.” She lifted her chin. “So tell them all. I don’t care anymore.”
Ridgefield House, Saturday, February 3, 8:05 a.m.
Bobby picked up the phone on the first ring. “Is it done?”
Paul sighed. “It’s done.”
“Excellent. Go to bed, Paul. You sound tired.”
“Y’think?” Paul asked sarcastically. “I’m on duty tonight, so don’t call me.”
“Got it. Sweet dreams. And thanks.”
Bobby flipped open the cell, checked the photo of the eight-year-old boy whose mother was about to discover that nobody disobeyed Bobby and walked away unpunished. The note was to the point. Obey or he’ll die, too. Bobby hit send. And it was done. “Tanner, can you get my breakfast, please?”
Tanner appeared from the shadows. “As you wish.”
Chapter Ten
Atlanta, Saturday, February 3, 8:10 a.m.
Luke stopped at the door to the conference room. He was so angry he was shaking.
I didn’t deserve justice either. He’d wanted to scream, shake some sense into her. But he hadn’t. He could only do what needed to be done. So here he stood.
He’d been shocked yesterday to learn she was one of the gang’s victims. He’d been shocked even more to learn she’d been raped again. On the same date, no less.
He wondered why she hadn’t connected the two events. And he wanted to know what the hell she’d been doing, going to cheap hotels with one-night stands. And he wondered how he could possibly tell a room of other people her most intimate secrets.
“What’s wrong?” Ed came around the corner carrying a box. “You look whipped.”
“I am. What’s in the box?”
“Lots of stuff, including the keys we found in Granville’s pockets yesterday.”
Luke straightened. “Why?”
Ed’s brows waggled. “Open the door and we’ll all find out.”
The conference room table was already crowded. Nate Dyer from ICAC was there, along with Chloe, Nancy Dykstra, and Pete Haywood. Next to Nate sat Mary McCrady, one of the department psychologists. Hank Germanio sat next to Chloe, jerking his chin up when Luke entered. He’d been staring under the table, probably at Chloe’s legs. Chloe wore a look of general distaste. There was no love lost between the two.
Chase looked mildly perturbed. “You’re both late.”
“It’ll be worth it,” Ed promised.
Chase tapped the table. “Now that we’re all here, let’s get started. I asked Mary McCrady to join us. She’ll be building a psych profile of Granville’s partner. I’ll go first.” He held up a leatherbound volume in a plastic bag. “Jared O’Brien’s journal.”
Luke stared. “Where did you find it?”
“Mack’s last victim,” Ed said. “She had GPS on her car and we traced it. We found where Mack had been holed up and that journal was with his things.”
“It’s fascinating reading,” Chase said. “I did find mention of Borenson’s cabin, Luke. Seems like all the boys knew where they were once they’d arrived. Toby Granville hadn’t bothered to take any of Borenson’s personal pictures or plaques off the walls. I’ll be going through the journal today to see if we can glean any more on Granville’s mentor. More updates? Luke?”
Luke needed to lead with Susannah’s brand, but somehow he couldn’t make himself. Not yet. “I got the lab report on the fluid in Ryan Beardsley’s IV. The concentration of stimulant in his IV was enough to have killed him. Hospital security says a guy named Isaac Gamble’s ID was tracked close to Beardsley’s room.”
“We’ve got four agents out looking for Gamble,” Chase said.
“Good. When we find him, charge him with attempted murder. If they hadn’t gotten to Beardsley with the paddles when they did, he’d be dead. He’s okay now, luckily. He remembered hearing the name Rocky. We think that’s Granville’s boss.”
“ ‘Rocky’ isn’t very specific,” Nancy said doubtfully.
“Since it’s a nickname it could indicate body size, or lack thereof,” Mary said. “He could sound like Rocky Balboa. It’s a piece of the profile.”
“And it’s better than we had,” Chase said. “Beardsley also remembered hearing men digging outside the wall of his cell. The men said the name ‘Becky.’ ”
“God,” Chloe murmured. “Now we’ve got bodies outside, too?”
“I’ve got someone from the university coming out to Dutton,” Ed said. “They’re going to do a scan with ground-penetrating radar to see where the grave is.”
“Try to hang a tarp,” Chase said. “I don’t want the media seeing anything with their flyovers. We also have an ID on one of the homicides, Kasey Knight.”
“Her parents will be here by two,” Luke said. “Felicity will have her ready.”
“She’s finished the autopsies?” Ed asked.
“Yeah. Besides one of the girls’ having sickle cell, there’s nothing specific to identify any of them. She did find that the two most emaciated girls had high electrolyte levels, consistent with the IV bags we found in the bunker. One of the girls had some pretty serious STDs. Beyond that the autopsies showed nothing.”
“But one of the homicides we’ve seen before—Angel,” Chase said. “Anything, Nate?”
“I was up all night reviewing case files. I couldn’t find anything new on Angel or the two other girls she was with on the old Web site we shut down. I’ve sent a photo of her face and her description to partnering agencies. I’ll keep looking.”
Nate looked drawn and Luke understood. There were few things as emotionally draining as having to view pictures of human beings being violated. When they were children . . . It was a million times worse. “I haven’t been able to help,” Luke said, apology in his voice. “I’ll be there today to look with you.”
“I could use a break,” Nate admitted wearily. “But I can keep looking if you’re needed elsewhere. It’s not like you haven’t been busy, too.”
“We all have,” Chase said. “Pete, what did the fire investigator say?”
“He found the timing device used in Granville’s house,” Pete said, very quietly, but there was menace beneath the calm. One of his team was dead, and Pete was pissed.
Luke frowned. “I thought it was set off with a wire connected to the front door.”
“It was,” Pete said. “But this guy wanted to be certain the firebomb went off. His double planning tripped him up. The fire investigator said the mistake was a common one among arsonists. Sometimes they’ll leave an extra starter just to be certain, and one doesn’t go off, leaving the investigator with a trail to follow.”
“And we were this lucky?” Chase asked.
“We were. This arsonist left two devices, one with a timer and one connected to the door. The one with the timer wasn’t set to go off for another two hours.”
“Did the fire investigator recognize the timer?” Chase asked.
Pete nodded. “He thinks it belongs to a Clive Pepper. He’s got two priors for arson-for-hire. He goes by Chili.”
Nancy rolled her eyes. “Chili Pepper? Puh-lease.”
Pete’s eyes flashed. “Sonofbitch better hope I don’t find him first.”
“Pete,” Chase cautioned, and Pete drew a breath, his expression still menacing. “Tone it down.” Chase looked at Chloe. “Can we charge him with murder?”
She nodded once, hard. “You bet.”
“Murder,” Germanio said disbelievingly. “Why?”
Everyone but Pete and Chloe looked confused. Chase sighed. “Zach Granger died tonight.” There was a hush around the table. Even Germanio looked stunned. “He hit his head in the explosion. Apparently it caused a blood clot and . . . he’s gone.”
Nancy paled. �
��Pete, I’m so sorry.” She reached across the table and covered his clenched fists with her hands. “Not your fault, partner,” she whispered fiercely.
Pete said nothing. Luke wasn’t sure the big man could without losing it.
“So we’re charging him with murder,” Chase said. “I’m sorry, Pete.” Clearing his throat, he redirected the conversation. “Nancy, what did you find at Mansfield’s house?”
“Lots of porn,” she said grimly. “Whips and chains. Rape. Kiddie porn, too.”
Luke steeled his spine. “I’ll look through it.”
“We both will,” Nate said. “Where is it, Nancy?”
“On his computer mainly. Computer forensics is checking it out now. We also found a very well-stocked arsenal in a concrete bomb shelter in his basement. Guns and ammo and enough food to feed an entire town for a month. I’m checking through his bills and other files. Nothing’s popped so far. Except . . .” From next to her chair she grabbed an evidence bag. “I found this right before I came back for this meeting.”
“A highway atlas?” Luke asked.
“You got it.” It was the large variety, dog-eared and very well used. “He’s marked routes on the pages for Georgia, the Carolinas, Florida, and Mississippi. One hundred thirty-six routes are marked,” Nancy said. “I’ll have each route detailed. I don’t know what all the destinations are for, but I’m assuming none of it’s good.”
“We’re going to find out,” Chase said. “Good work, Nance. Hank?”
“I may have found Granville’s wife,” Germanio said. “Helen Granville bought a train ticket for Savannah.”
“Does she have family there?” Luke asked, and Germanio shook his head.
“I checked with neighbors and nobody seemed to know where her family was from. They said she was a quiet woman who didn’t say much. Almost all of them said they were shocked by all the events, except for one neighbor who said she wasn’t surprised to find that Granville was so depraved. She suspected Granville abused his wife.”