by Karen Rose
How do I get out of here? There was only one door at the top of the short staircase and it was locked. She’d tried it already. And even if she did manage to open the door, there was that skinny creepy butler, Tanner, who carried a gun.
Outside there was a guard. She’d seen him when they’d brought them in yesterday. He carried a bigger gun. It was no use. I’ll die here. I’ll never go home.
Stop. You will not die. She got on her hands and knees and began to feel her way around. Her jaw clenched against the pain in her hand where she’d caught an exposed nail when she’d been shoved down the stairs. Just ignore it and look for a way out.
The first wall was cinderblock, as was the second and third.
But the fourth wall . . . Ashley’s fingers brushed against something rough. Brick. Someone had bricked in this wall. That meant there was something on the other side. A door? A window?
So what? It’s brick. Solid brick. Discouraged, Ashley slid down, her back against the wall. She wrapped her arms around her knees. She couldn’t claw her way through brick.
She’d need a sledgehammer to bust through or a file to chip at the mortar. She had neither. Slowly she lifted her hand. But there was an exposed nail on the stairs.
But they might hear me chipping at the mortar.
So what? If they hear you, they’ll just drag you out sooner. Her future would be the same unless she got away. So you might as well try.
Never say try. She conjured the voice of her coach. Set your goal. Then do it.
“So do it, Ashley,” she whispered. “Do it now.”
Chapter Eleven
Atlanta, Saturday, February 3, 9:20 a.m.
Is it complete?” Chloe asked as Susannah reviewed the stenographer’s transcript. Al Landers sat at her side, silent. His hand gripped hers, supportive.
“Yes,” Susannah said. “Give me a pen before I change my mind.”
“It’s not too late, Susannah,” Al murmured, and she smiled at him.
“I know, but this is bigger than just me, Al. This is all tied up in what happened in that bunker. Five girls are still missing. I have to do this.”
“Thank you,” Chloe said. “I can only imagine how difficult this has been.”
Susannah huffed a wry chuckle. “Difficult. Yeah. That about sums it up.”
“How long before the press gets hold of this?” Al asked.
“We won’t tell them,” Chloe said. “We never disclose the names of victims of sexual assault, but it’s going to get out. One of the other victims, Gretchen French, has already mentioned scheduling a press conference. She wants to control her announcement.”
“I don’t know her,” Susannah said. “I suppose I will, soon enough.” She rose and tugged the short skirt, trying to cover another inch of her legs. “We should give Agent Papadopoulos his office back. And I have to get to that funeral. I wish it had been scheduled for noon. The department stores don’t open till ten and I didn’t have time to shop for clothes this morning.” She’d been too unnerved to do so, had there been time.
Chloe frowned. “You look fine.”
“I look like a teenager, but my clothes were ruined yesterday and this is all I have. I wish I had something more sober to wear. It is a funeral. This feels disrespectful.”
Chloe studied her a moment. “I’m way too tall, so my suits won’t fit you, but I have a short black cocktail dress that might hit you below the knee. You could use a belt to cinch the waist. I only live a few minutes away. I’ll run home and get it for you.”
Susannah opened her mouth to politely decline, then changed her mind. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” When she was gone, Susannah turned to Al. “Thanks for being here.”
“I wish I’d known the rest of it. I would have been there years ago.”
“Excuse me.” Luke stuck his head in. “I saw Chloe leave. Are you finished?”
“We are.” She rose. “Luke, this is my boss, Al Landers. Al, Special Agent Luke Papadopoulos. He’s a friend of my brother Daniel.”
“You’re the guy I saw in the hotel hall last night,” Al said as they shook hands. “What are you doing to catch this guy in the black sedan?”
“We’re setting up surveillance at the funeral this afternoon,” Luke said. “And we’d like to talk to the guy who was convicted for Darcy Williams’s murder.”
“I can arrange an interview. What about the other guy, Susannah?” Al looked grim. “The one who assaulted you. Did he know Darcy’s killer?”
Susannah’s cheeks grew hot. “No. They were strangers, too.”
“How do you know for sure?” Luke asked gently, and his implication hit her hard.
“I guess I don’t,” she said. “How stupid were we?”
“Pretty damn stupid,” Al said sadly. “What were you thinking, Susannah?”
“I wasn’t.” She looked away, crossing her arms over her chest. “I met Darcy when she was a waitress in the West Village and I went to NYU. One night I went in for some carryout and we started talking. Turned out we had a lot in common. Both of us had bad relationships with our fathers and mothers who didn’t protect us. Darcy had run away at fourteen, done drugs, the whole nine yards.”
“Whose idea was it to meet the men?” Al asked, and again her cheeks heated.
“Darcy’s. She hated men and then, so did I. She said she wanted to be in control for once. She wanted to be the one to leave the guy in the middle of the night without a thank you. I was appalled at first. Then . . . I just did it.” And the second time was easier. And the third time a dark thrill. By the fourth time . . . it shamed her to even think of it.
Al and Luke were looking at each other oddly. “What?” she asked.
“What if Darcy was put up to meeting you?” Luke asked, his voice still gentle.
Susannah’s mouth fell open. “Oh my God. I never . . .” Her arms went limp at her sides. “That’s crazy.”
“Didn’t you think it odd that both assaults happened on the same day?” Al asked.
Susannah blew out a breath. “Of course. But I’d gone to that hotel of my own free will.” By then it had become a dark obsession. “I chose that date specifically. It was supposed to be my declaration of independence. Later, I told myself it was . . . an omen. God’s punishment, call it what you want. I’d royally erred and I was paying the price. The date was a message. Clean up or else. It sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”
“You were a victim,” Luke said. “Twice. You weren’t thinking like an ADA, you were thinking like a human being who had to make sense of something horrific. There isn’t any sense to it, though. Bad things sometimes happen to good people. Period.”
I wasn’t a good person. I wasn’t. But she nodded gravely. “I know.”
Luke’s dark eyes flickered and she knew he hadn’t bought her easy acceptance of his words. “What about the man who assaulted you? Can you describe him?”
“Of course. I’ll never forget his face. But what will that help? It was six years ago. The trail went cold a long time ago.”
“We’ll still sit you down with a sketch artist, just in case this guy is still around and involved with that black sedan.” He turned to Al. “How can I talk to Darcy’s killer?”
“Michael Ellis,” Susannah murmured.
Luke frowned. “What did you say?”
“Michael Ellis,” Al supplied. “Darcy’s killer. Why?”
Luke scraped his palms down his stubbled face. “We found two passports in Granville’s firebox. Both had his photo, but neither had his name. One name was Michael Tewes. The other name was Toby Ellis.”
“Sonofabitch,” Al muttered. “Granville set this up.”
“Either with black sedan man or he told him later,” Luke confirmed. “Sonofabitch.”
Susannah sat down, her heart in her throat. “It was all planned,” she said tonelessly, dropping her eyes to her lap. “I was set up. They’ve been laughing at me. All this time.”
Luke crouched in front of her, taking her c
old hands in his warm ones. “Granville’s paid. This other guy will, too. Does the name Rocky mean anything to you?”
She shook her head. “No. Should it?”
“We think that’s Granville’s partner’s name.” He gave her hands a squeeze.
She looked up, met his eyes, another thought taking root, just as crazy as the others. But this wasn’t crazy. It was reality. “Simon stalked me. In New York.”
“What do you mean?” Luke asked.
“Daniel didn’t tell you?” she asked, and he shook his head. “When we were in Philadelphia the detectives had several sketches of Simon. He’d become very good at disguise, one of which was an old man. It was how he lured his victims. I recognized the picture. I sometimes saw the old man when I was walking my dog in the park. It was Simon. He’d sit five feet from me and chat, and I never knew it was my own brother.”
“But Simon can’t be Granville’s partner,” Luke said. “Simon’s dead.”
“I know. But . . .” She sighed. “I don’t know what.”
Luke squeezed her hands. “Just try to relax and keep your eyes open at the funeral. I’m going to be there, too.” He looked at Al over his shoulder. “You’re going?”
“You couldn’t stop me,” Al said grimly.
“Good. We can use all the eyes we can get.”
Ridgefield House, Saturday, February 3, 9:45 a.m.
Bobby hung up the phone, feeling elation and trepidation in equal measures. Paul’s analysis had been spot on as usual and now, after a minimum of persuasion, Bobby had a new informant on the GBI team. But the informant’s information was unsettling. Beardsley not only had lived, he’d talked. The police knew about Rocky. After the nerve she’d shown today, this was Rocky’s final straw.
“Mr. Charles is here to see you,” Tanner said from the doorway.
Meddling old man. “Show him in, Tanner. Thank you.”
Charles came in, dressed in a black suit, his ivory box under one arm. “I thought I’d stop by.” He patted the box. “Maybe play a game of chess.”
“I’m not in the mood for games.” Bobby gestured to a chair. “Sit. Please.”
Charles’s lips twitched condescendingly. “What’s stuck up your craw?”
“DRC119,” Bobby said, and had the pleasure of seeing Charles blink in surprise for the first time ever.
But he recovered quickly, his smile returning. “How did you know?”
“I have a source on the GBI team investigating the incident at the bunker.” Bobby suspected the GBI mole was holding out, but there had been enough information shared to establish an action plan.
“My star pupil,” Charles said mildly.
“Don’t change the subject. Were you driving that black sedan?”
“Of course. I didn’t want to miss the expression on her face.”
“What if you’d been stopped? Caught?”
“Why would I have been stopped? I wasn’t speeding.”
Bobby frowned. “That was an unacceptable risk.”
Charles’s expression went from genial to glacial. “You’re behaving like an old woman.” He leaned forward until their eyes locked. “I taught you better than that.”
Chastised and feeling five years old, Bobby looked away.
Charles settled in his chair, satisfied. “What else did your GBI mole tell you?”
“Beardsley heard Granville talking about Rocky, by name,” Bobby said, subdued. I hate you, old man.
“By Rocky or by her name?”
“Well, by Rocky, but that’s still too close for me.”
“I agree. What will you do?”
Exactly what you’d do. Kill her. “I’m not sure yet.”
Charles nodded, his expression now disapproving. “I drove by Randy Mansfield’s house. It’s still standing.”
Bastard. Just rub it in. “Yes, I know.”
“Why is it still standing?” He lifted his brows, reproach in his eyes. “It’s not like you to miss a detail as important as that.”
Bobby wanted to squirm. “I didn’t miss a detail. My guy didn’t do the job correctly.” And for that Chili Pepper would die as soon as he was located. GBI was already looking for him. I need to find him first. God only knew what Pepper would tell them.
“Then you failed.”
Bobby started to speak, then looked away again, deflated. “Yes. I did.”
“So what happened?” Charles asked, more kindly, in the way one rewarded a dog with affection after punishing it for bad behavior.
I hate you. “Mr. Pepper got too technical. In both houses he left a firebomb with a timing device, then wired the house to blow if the cops went in before the timer went off. The cops tripped the wire at Granville’s, which alerted them to the bombs at Mansfield’s. The bomb squad disabled both devices at Mansfield’s before they could blow.”
“There were cops all over Mansfield’s place when I drove by.”
“I know, but all they’ve found is his gun collection and his library of kiddie porn.”
“His father was so smart,” Charles lamented. “Randy was such a disappointment.”
“I know. Granville’s house burned to the ground. The only thing they found was his fire safe with his fake passports inside.”
“Why didn’t your firebug just use gas and a match?”
“I don’t know. I’ll ask him when I find him.”
“But you know where Mr. Pepper is now,” Charles said.
No, but I’m not about to admit that to you. “Of course. Just like I know where Garth and Toby’s wives are, right now.” Which was, fortunately, very true. “The cops think the wives can lead them to the infamous Rocky, who they believe is Granville’s partner and the brains of the operation.”
“And what else?”
Bobby hesitated. “Did you know Susannah Vartanian was raped by Granville’s club thirteen years ago?”
Charles lifted a shoulder. “Let’s just say it was a . . . private performance.”
“Susannah Vartanian just signed a statement accusing Garth Davis of rape.”
“Interesting,” was all Charles replied. “Anything more?”
“You obviously knew about the incident with Darcy Williams.”
“Obviously. And what else?”
“Nothing.” Except that Susannah would be at Sheila Cunningham’s funeral today. And that there were probably a dozen things the GBI mole had not mentioned.
And I’m scared. There were too many unexpected and unwelcome developments. This had the feel of an iceberg lurking beneath the water. Impact was certain and imminent. Bobby hated to be scared. Charles could always sense fear.
Charles stood up, his lips curled in disgust. “I have to be going.”
“Where?”
“The Cunningham girl is being buried today,” he said. “I would be remiss were I not to attend.” He stepped closer, his shadow falling over Bobby’s chair. And he waited.
Despite sincere efforts to not meet his eyes, Bobby finally looked up, and as always, could not look away. I hate you, old man.
“You disappoint me, Bobby. You are afraid. And that, more than anything else, makes you a failure.”
Bobby wanted to speak, but no words would come and Charles laughed bitterly.
“Your ‘guy’ did not fail at Mansfield’s house, Bobby. Your ‘personnel’ inside the hospital did not fail. Your assistant did not fail. You did. You sit in this relic of a house, believing you are pulling strings.” Contempt dripped from his voice. “That you are a master. But you are not. You sit here, hiding from the world. And from your birthright.”
Charles leaned forward. “You wish you were a master, but you’re no more than a shadow of what you might have been. All you command is a chain of mobile whorehouses that pander to truckers on the interstate. You play at being a high-priced ‘purveyor of fine flesh,’ but you’re nothing more than a glorified pimp. You were much more interesting when you were a high-priced whore yourself.”
Bobby’s heart was
pounding. Say something. Defend yourself. But no words came and Charles’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “Have you found out why Susannah came back? Of course you haven’t. You’ll let her slip away, back to New York City, so far away.” He whined the last three words, mocking. “You could have gone to New York at any point and had your revenge, but you obviously don’t want it badly enough.”
Charles stepped back and Bobby’s eyes followed, like a bird hoping for the smallest morsel. I hate you, old man. Charles shoved his ivory box of chess pieces under his arm. “I’ll not return until you can show me you deserve my respect.”
Charles left and Bobby sat stewing. But Charles had been right. I’ve become insulated. Completely out of touch. The decision was clear. “Tanner! I need you. I’m going out. You need to help me dress.”
Tanner frowned. “You think this is a good idea?”
“I do. Charles was right. I’ve been hiding here for two days, pulling weak strings that keep snapping. I don’t have a lot of time. Where is that trunk of old clothes?”
“You’re going to wear your mother’s clothes? Bobby. That’s so wrong.”
“Of course I’m not going to wear Mother’s clothes, she was too short.”
“And she had hideous fashion sense.”
“Well, that, too. Grandmother was taller. Her stuff should fit. Where is Rocky?”
“Off licking her wounds, I would imagine.”
“Find her. She’s going with me. But first she’s going to show me all the girls she has in the pipeline. Glorified pimp, my ass. Charles will eat those words. But I have given Rocky too much power. I’ll oversee the new acquisitions from here on out.”
Tanner’s eyes gleamed. “I know all her passwords and screen names.”
Bobby blinked. “How?”
Tanner shrugged. “I’m a thief and always will be, but I keep up with technology. I sent a Trojan to her computer that logs all her keystrokes. I know every mark she’s been cultivating for the last six months and where they live.”
“You wily old man. I always underestimate you.”
“Yes, you do.” But he smiled as he said it.