by Karen Rose
Ed’s eyes widened. “The guy running for state Senate on a family values platform?”
“The very same,” Chase said grimly.
“Haynes wanted a blonde,” Luke said. “And a blonde helped bring him down. Ashley Csorka’s escape changed everything.”
“How is she?” Talia asked.
“Sitting up and talking to her dad,” Luke said with a smile. “Who sends his thanks, and his wish that the man who tried to buy his child gets the same treatment in prison.”
“We have a lot to be proud of this morning. Every one of you did well.” Chase went on, soberly. “Granville killed the five girls in the bunker, but Monica told us it was at Rocky’s-aka-Kate’s command, and that Kate said, ‘Bobby said so.’ When we find her, we will be charging Bobby Davis with those five counts of homicide, in addition to the ten who’ve died directly at her hand. Add to that the attempts on the lives of Ryan Beardsley and Monica Cassidy—”
“And the abduction of God only knows how many minors and interstate forced prostitution and child pornography in that catalog we found,” Luke inserted.
“And she’s looking at about a million years behind bars,” Chase finished.
Chloe frowned. “Wait. Ten? There’s Rocky/Kate and Jennifer Ohman, the nurse.”
“And the nurse’s sister,” Susannah said.
“Okay,” Chloe nodded, “that’s three. Helen Granville is four.”
“Chili Pepper and his girlfriend make six,” Nancy said.
“The boy at the rest area and Tanner, the man who was driving the trailer, are eight,” Luke said, then looked at Pete. “And Zach Granger is nine.”
“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry, Pete,” Chloe said to Pete, distressed that she’d forgotten.
“It’s okay,” Pete said, fiercely, “but we have to catch this bitch and make her pay.”
“Tenth is the guard Corchran found dead at the back of her house,” Luke finished.
“If we count Darcy, she’s just one shy of an even dozen,” Susannah said coldly.
“And we will count Darcy,” Chase said quietly. “I’m sorry, Susannah. And there are still four missing. Judge Borenson, Monica Cassidy’s father, and Bobby’s two sons.”
Everyone was silent, then Luke sighed. “I hoped Bobby wouldn’t harm her own children, but seeing what she did to that kid today . . . She’s capable of anything.”
“So what do we know about her?” Mary McCrady asked. “My psych profile is simply a ruthless, intelligent, soulless monster. I’d like to be able to help you more than that.”
“The man driving the pickup was Roger Tanner, sixty-eight,” Luke said. “He had four outstanding warrants from the eighties—assault, larceny, and two counts of murder.”
“How does he link to Barbara Jean Davis?” Mary asked.
“The two counts of murder were Bobby’s parents,” Susannah said, “the Reverend Styveson and his wife, Terri. They were bludgeoned to death in the parsonage of the small Arkansas church where Mr. Styveson was the preacher.”
“Tanner was the church handyman,” Luke said. They’d pieced much of this together on the drive back. He’d been too tense to rest, and ended up spending most of the drive on the phone with the Arkansas PD while Susannah searched the public records. “His fingerprints were found in the house, not unusual because he was the handyman. But that’s when they discovered his record.”
“Everybody assumed he’d done it,” Susannah said, “because there were no other suspects and no sign of forced entry—and he had a key to the parsonage. Bobby suffered no injuries, even though she told police he had overpowered her.”
Luke shrugged. “The local PD says her story just didn’t match up with the evidence, but there was no evidence to implicate her. Now, knowing she’s been in league with Tanner, it makes sense that they were in it together even then. After her parents’ funeral, Tanner escaped and was never seen again. Bobby was sent to South Carolina, to live with her mother’s sister.”
“How did they end up in Dutton?” Nancy asked.
“Who knows? Maybe Bobby knew who her real father was and forced the aunt to bring her back. Maybe the aunt blamed Susannah’s mother for having the Styvesons banished and brought the girl back as a taunt. We may never know.”
“I never heard anything about Bobby’s parents being murdered or her being the daughter of the old pastor,” Susannah said. “That kind of thing gets around in a small town, but there was never a word. Even Angie Delacroix didn’t know Bobby was the Styvesons’ daughter. In school she was Barbara Jean Brown, so she took her aunt Ida Mae Brown’s last name. And Brown was the aunt’s married name, so nobody linked her with Styveson’s wife. For whatever reason, her aunt kept Bobby’s secrets well.”
“Her aunt moved away from Dutton shortly after Bobby married Garth Davis,” Pete said. “And that’s where the trail dries up. No job, no credit cards, no utilities.”
“Maybe Bobby killed her, too,” Talia said.
“But where are her two children?” Mary asked. “Who took care of her kids while she ran truck stop whorehouses and sold young girls to rich men?”
“The Davises have a nanny,” Pete said. “Immigrant lady, likely an illegal. Her English wasn’t too strong. I talked with her when I was trying to track the aunt. She worked nine to five, weekdays. She said Bobby would leave the house every day to work in her interior- decorating business. Sometimes she was asked to work nights if Bobby had a meeting and Garth wasn’t home. The nanny seemed to genuinely care for the Davis boys, and if she had any idea what Bobby was actually up to, she hid it well.”
“Her only other relatives are Garth’s uncle, Rob Davis, and his family,” Chase said.
“I asked Rob Davis if they’d seen her,” Pete said. “I never searched the house.”
“But would Rob hide Garth’s kids?” Chloe asked. “I thought they hated each other.”
“That’s what Kate told us when she came here Thursday afternoon.” A piece of the puzzle fell into place. Luke looked at Chase grimly. “Kate led us to Mack O’Brien.”
Chase rubbed his forehead. “We were played like a cheap harmonica.”
“Kate would have wanted the spotlight off of Garth and the rest of the club, because the closer Daniel got to exposing them, the closer we got to their bunker operation. Kate gave us Garth so that she and Bobby could keep their secrets. We were played.”
“Kate also told us that Garth’s wife had fled with the children after Rob Davis’s grandson was killed by Mack O’Brien,” Ed said. “Hell.”
“We took her at her word,” Luke finished.
“Why wouldn’t you?” Susannah asked reasonably. “You had no idea any of this was going on. So get a warrant for Rob Davis’s house and check for the boys.”
“Next. We got a tip an hour ago,” Chase said. “A call to my cell from Kira Laneer, Garth’s mistress, the one who works at the airport. She says she knows where Bobby is, that Garth knew all the places she might hide. She might just be angling for publicity, but I’ll assign someone to check it out, just the same. Nancy, you’re frowning. Why?”
“I’ve been thinking about Bobby. We’re saying she’s murdered ten people in the last two days. Logistically, she had to have had some help.”
“Tanner is a definite possibility for an accomplice,” Luke said. “Ashley Csorka said he ran Ridgefield House. She called him the creepy butler.”
“I don’t know,” Nancy said. “Unless the creepy butler has some major muscles, he didn’t slit the throat of Chili Pepper. Chili’s a big dude. Was a big dude.”
“Maybe she has other minions,” Pete said dourly.
“Others,” Susannah murmured. “You know, there’s another piece missing. I’m thinking about the thích. That conversation between Simon and Toby Granville happened when I was eleven years old. Bobby was twelve and still living in Arkansas.”
“And so was Tanner,” Luke said, “so it couldn’t have been him.”
“ ‘I was another’s,’ ” Su
sannah quoted softly. “There’s somebody else out there.”
“We sent the artist’s sketch based on your description up to Manhattan,” Chase said. “The ADA’s office is going to show it to Darcy’s killer. For now we focus on Bobby Davis and her two missing kids. Pete, go to Rob Davis’s and find those boys. Hank, you and Nancy search the Davis house again. Talia, find out anything you can about Bobby’s friends, now and in the past. Chloe, how much longer can we keep Garth?”
“He gets arraigned tomorrow.”
“We’ll have him followed in case he’s more involved in this than we believe. Ed?”
“We found Becky’s body buried outside Beardsley’s cell. Beaten to death.”
“So we have one more confirmed body.” Chase closed his eyes for a moment. “Get me a picture of Becky. I’ll ask the media to help identify her. And,” Chase looked at Susannah, “Gretchen French has scheduled a press conference for four this afternoon.”
“That’s right. In the Grand Hotel. She’s expecting it to be standing room only.”
“We’ll need video surveillance and security teams at the Grand, metal detector required. Bobby might be arrogant enough to come and bask in her glory.”
“Or get another shot at Susannah,” Luke said quietly.
Chase looked at Susannah again. “Where are you going next?”
“To the hospital,” she said. “There are some things I need to discuss with Daniel.”
Her paternity for one, Luke knew. Frank Loomis’s reasons for his falsifying evidence thirteen years ago, for another. “I’ll go with her. I still need to find out who tampered with Ryan Beardsley’s IV. It could be this ‘other’ that we’re looking for.”
“Fine. Be careful, everyone,” Chase said. “Keep in contact and meet back here at two-thirty for a briefing before Gretchen French’s press conference.” Everyone began to file out, but Chase signaled Luke to stay.
“Luke, you’ve been going 24/7 for the last week,” Chase said. “You found the girls.”
“Bobby’s still out there,” Luke began, but Chase waved him silent.
“I’ve got every agent in this department working to find her.”
“Are you taking me off this case?” Luke demanded, anger beginning to boil up.
“Relax. No, I’m not taking you off the case, but I want you healthy and dependable. We’ve taken the wind out of Bobby’s sails for now,” Chase said. “She’s probably regrouping. So go home, recharge. Come back better prepared to track her down.”
“All right. As soon as I’ve taken Susannah to see Daniel, I’ll go home and crash.”
Chapter Nineteen
Dutton, Sunday, February 4, 9:00 a.m.
Bobby snapped the phone shut. Her GBI mole had thought their relationship was finished, just because Bobby had lost a little ground. But secrets were still valid currency, especially now. They know who I am. It meant she had to be more careful.
She scoffed. Kira Laneer thinks she knows where I am. But that Garth had known more than Bobby thought should not be ignored. Her husband was not a stupid man. Bobby didn’t plan to take any chances with Kira Laneer.
She dialed Paul’s number. “I need you.”
“I don’t think so, sugar. I’ve been watching TV and your ass is fried. Susannah Vartanian looked cute on the news stealing your inventory right out from under you.”
Fury bubbled up. “Don’t get smart. I have a job for you.” She gave him Laneer’s address. “Make it painless. She kept Garth from pawing at me, after all.” Bobby hated Garth, hated his touch. She’d borne his two brats, fulfilling her expectations as a Davis wife. The boys, however, had been a good accessory for her suburban housewife persona, and she’d been good to them. It was smart business to keep one’s cover healthy and smiling. “Kill Kira Laneer before she tells GBI what she knows.”
“Bobby, this is too much,” Paul said. “You can’t keep killing these people.”
“Just do as you’re told or I’ll make a call to the police about you.” It was the first time she’d ever threatened to. First time she’d felt the need. Shaking, she hung up. Garth’s victims would be talking to the press this afternoon. Susannah would be there. I will be, too. That GBI had increased security was useful information, although it made things more difficult. But Bobby knew how to manage the problem. Susannah, it’s time to die.
Dutton, Sunday, February 4, 9:03 a.m.
“I told you so,” Paul said to Charles, flipping his phone shut. “She’s out of control.”
Charles filled their cups with coffee. “She could also make good on her threat, and I need you to remain where you are. You’re useful to me in the police department.”
Paul’s jaw squared. “She won’t talk if you kill her first. Or let me do it.”
Charles lifted his brows. “But I’m not finished with her yet.”
“I’m not going to kill Garth’s mistress.”
Charles regarded him mildly over his coffee cup. “Yes, you will.”
Paul’s eyes flashed. “We have no idea what the Laneer woman even knows.”
“Pillow talk,” Charles mused. “We don’t know what Garth might have told Laneer. I’ll choose where and when to divulge information.” His eyes narrowed, pleased to see Paul straightening in his chair. “I want Bobby at that press conference this afternoon.”
“Why?” Paul sounded petulant, just as he had as a small boy.
“Because that’s where Susannah will be. Bobby won’t be able to resist.”
“That’s why you wanted me to goad her about Susannah stealing her inventory.”
Charles pointed to Paul’s plate with his fork. “Eat your eggs, son. They’re getting cold. Then get over to Kira Laneer’s. You can take my car.”
Paul jabbed at his breakfast. “Let Bobby do her own damn dirty work for once.”
“I don’t want Bobby going over there to do her own dirty work,” Charles said sharply. “In her current mood, she’ll get caught and I’ll miss my live show at four.”
Atlanta, Sunday, February 4, 9:30 a.m.
Filled with uncertainty, Susannah stopped in the doorway of Daniel’s hospital room. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been in ICU and she’d been crying all over him.
Now, standing here, was an awkward moment. He lay in the bed with his eyes closed, Alex by his side reading a magazine. “How is he?” she whispered to Alex.
“He’s fine,” Daniel answered. He opened blue eyes that could be glacial, warm, or sad. Now they were warm. “I saw you on the news. You found the girls. Congrats.”
“Thank you.” Susannah sat on the edge of a chair, wanting to flee. Luke stayed behind her, his hands on her shoulders. She folded her own hands in her lap, primly. “Daniel, I have something to tell you and it’s going to be something of a shock.”
Luke gently kneaded her shoulders. “You’re making it worse. Just tell him.”
Daniel was looking up at Luke balefully. “What?” he said, carefully enunciating.
“Relax,” Luke said easily, a hint of humor in his voice. “I haven’t laid a hand on her.”
Yet. Susannah could feel the word hover in the air, and her cheeks heated, not in embarrassment or fear, but in excitement. Yet. It was seductive. Powerful. She thought of the box in his bedroom. Yet. It was a portent of things to come. But not now, she thought, preparing to deliver what would be both balm to Daniel’s heart, and a dagger.
“It’s about Frank Loomis,” she blurted.
“What about him?” Daniel asked stiffly, going very still.
“We visited Angie Delacroix early this morning, hoping for some answers, and got a lot more than we bargained for. It seems Angie has been having an affair with Frank Loomis for years. But he wouldn’t marry her, because he loved someone else. Mother.”
Daniel blinked, his lips falling open in surprise. “Our mother?”
“Yes. And, it was mutual between them, at least once.” She drew a breath, let it out. “Arthur Vartanian is not my father. Fran
k Loomis is.”
Daniel slowly sagged. He stared at Susannah, then up at Luke. “Are you sure?”
“I gave Ed a DNA sample before we came here,” she said. “We’ll know tomorrow.”
“But it makes other pieces make sense,” Luke said, briefly squeezing her shoulders.
Susannah hesitated, then took her brother’s hand. “Angie said thirteen years ago Simon did something so terrible that Frank couldn’t make it go away. She said Mother begged him to take care of ‘it’ and Frank did. For Mother.”
“So Frank falsified evidence and framed Gary Fulmore,” Daniel murmured. “And that’s why he disappeared this week. He said he needed space. He was mourning her.”
Susannah said nothing for a moment, letting her brother think, consider. And she recognized the moment he understood what she had been too stunned to comprehend in Angie’s living room. His eyes flew open and locked on hers, intense and horrified.
“Then Mother knew,” he whispered hoarsely. “She knew Simon was involved in Alex’s sister’s murder. Oh my God, Suze. She knew.”
“If not the murder,” Susannah said quietly, “then at least the rape.”
“I thought that last night,” Luke said quietly, and Susannah twisted to look up at him.
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“You were so hurt. I figured you’d get there on your own when you were ready.”
She held his gaze for another few beats, touched. Then she looked back at Daniel and stiffened her spine. “Daniel, there’s more.”
He stared at her, pale. “More?”
“Yes. Ed found a hair in the bunker office where you were shot. It . . . The DNA is a close match to yours, consistent with a half- sibling, sharing paternity.” She’d reverted to her just-the-facts prosecutor persona. It was easier that way. “You have a half-sister. Another half-sister, that is. It’s Garth Davis’s wife, Barbara Jean. She goes by Bobby.”