“He never tried to—” Gabriel searched her face for an answer to the question he couldn’t ask. Had no right to ask.
She read his expression and shook her head. She thought she’d known how deep the humiliation ran. She was wrong. Speaking just above a whisper, she said, “He tried once. When I was twenty-three. He was fifty.” The words stumbled over one another, and she recalled his hands seeking. A touch. A push. A clench. A rejection. He’d thrown her into the bedroom wall, breaking her arm. “I didn’t do it right. It didn’t work. After that, he barely touched me, unless I made a mistake.”
Understanding much more, Gabriel froze at her last statement. His eyes darkened. “He beat you.”
“Sometimes.” She had promised herself the truth. Hadn’t she demanded the same of Lindy? “Usually, he was more careful than that. Words. Sarcasm. Accidental bruises. Shallow cuts.” In her lap, she twisted the silver ring with its solitary stone and squeezed her eyes tight. “When I made him really angry, it was worse. Fists or his feet. Once, I tried to move out of the house. He caught me.”
Her throat closed over a sob, and he gathered her deeper into his embrace, sickness as strong as the wrath churning inside. “Oh, God, Erin.”
“I learned to see the signs. I never tried to run again. Not until the day I went into the cellar.”
She’d thought about that decision every day since, wondering what would be if she’d ignored the tug of inquisitiveness. Would she be Analise or Erin? Would she be whole? Would Nathan be alive? She’d never know, she accepted fatalistically. Because she’d defied him, had crept down to the cellar and opened the door, never realizing she was changing everything.
CHAPTER 22
“Nathan had gone to Milan for a conference. He was due home that night. We’d had a fight. I made him angry.” Erin twisted her fingers together, her voice a dull whisper. “I was selfish. Always whining about something.”
“Erin, don’t.”
“No. I wasn’t selfish. But that day, I had to make things right with him. Before he left, he threatened to send me away. I had nowhere else to go. There was just Nathan. He liked wine. The house had a cellar, and he kept his own stock. I wasn’t allowed downstairs.”
“Why not?”
A short, brittle laugh was her answer. “I was exploring the house one day, when he was out. I fell and broke a 1952 Château Latour. That was the first time he gave me a concussion.”
Gabriel’s mouth tightened, wanting to curse, knowing he couldn’t. Quietly he asked, “How old were you?”
Erin splayed her fingers wide, palms up, as though perplexed. “Seventeen. I’d just graduated from Callenwolde. Nathan invited me to live with him. I thought—I was afraid that he would—But he didn’t. I had my own room. On the top floor.”
“What happened when you went to the cellar?”
“I never really cared about wine. But I wanted his favorite. Pétrus. The cellar was so dark, so cold. All the labels looked the same and it took me a while to find the bottles. They were on the far wall.” She remembered the smell of oak and grapes, the pungent aroma of reds. The crisp scent of whites. Closing her eyes, she brought her clasped hand to her throat. “It was warmer by the wall. I was afraid the climate control had failed. If his wine was ruined, he’d blame me.”
She’d searched the walls for a switch or a box, not sure of what she was seeking. “Tucked away, behind the row of bottles, I saw a door. There was a faint red light. I went to it and I heard a strange noise. I thought it was the unit, understand?”
“Yes.” Gabriel captured her cold hands, warming them. Her voice had grown thinner, fainter. He had to lean close to hear. “I understand.”
“I turned the knob. There was a sound.” Her shoulders began to shake. “A swish through the air. And a slap. Then I heard the noise again. It was a scream.”
The door had been heavy when she pushed at it. Then it opened, swinging silently on its hinges. Her eyes tried to adjust to the light, the deep red that seemed to pulse through the room. The noises were louder, more discernible. Like a woman’s screams.
From the doorway, she could make out a figure standing and a second one that appeared to be suspended from the ceiling. Chains rattled on walls; moans undulated in waves of torment and delight. Lights danced over leather and steel. In the room she’d never seen, bodies writhed in pantomimes of delight. Nathan stood before them, the whip dripping with crimson. She blinked, unable to accept what she saw.
“Nathan stood there. There were others on the floor. They were all naked. The swishing sound was a whip. The leather kept striking the woman and she’d scream. But not in pain. It sounded like—”
“Ecstasy.” Gabriel felt the shudder course through her. “Did he see you?”
“No. The area was too dark. He was too engrossed. I don’t know how long I stood there watching him beat her. Everywhere. But then I noticed she wasn’t moaning. Not crying. Not screaming. Her head was limp. There was blood on her mouth. Oh.”
“Finish it, Erin.”
She lifted her hands to cover her own mouth. Jagged pain scraped nerves already throbbing from the dark recollections. “He was hitting her so hard, so brutally. They were all enjoying it. They didn’t notice that she was gone, I thought.” She swallowed, the motion painful. “Then he cut her down, Gabriel. Laid her on the floor. And they did things to her. Terrible things.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.” She stared at him fiercely. “I did nothing. I watched them, frozen. Then one of them saw me. I don’t know if it was a man or woman. But I saw those eyes focus on me and it broke the spell. I ran.”
“To where?”
“I had nowhere left to go except the cabin.”
“Cabin?”
“Once a year, Nathan would take me to the mountains in Northern California. He had a house there. I didn’t know where else to go. I ran until I found a taxi.” Voice brittle, she curled against the solid strength that was Gabriel. “I was so pathetic.”
She had watched Nathan kill a woman and done nothing. All the way to the cabin, she’d thought about calling the police, but she did nothing once more.
She’d tumbled out of the cab and wandered to the edge of the plateau. The welcoming distance to the deep thickets below. Hesitant steps and the tumble of stones into nothing. “I stood there, and I don’t know what I planned to do. I just wanted it to be over.”
His embrace trembled then, and she breathed deeply, determined to forge to the end. “I was there for two days. I walked in the forest, sat on the cliffs, and thought about everything my life had become. I was alone truly for the first time in decades. That second night, a storm moved in.”
Erin fell silent again, and Gabriel brushed the top of her head with an encouraging kiss.
“I was out in the forest, running for the cabin. Nathan called my name.” Remembering the scene, she frowned. “He’d always been beautiful. Not the way you are. You’re sculpture. He was more illusory, an artist’s rendering. The wind whipped the leaves into a frenzy behind him.
“He grabbed my wrist. I tried to pull free and he threw me into a tree. I could hear the bone splinter.” She rubbed at the old wound. “I got to my feet and ran for the cabin. He chased me inside.” Erin stared at the ring she’d taken from him after he died. “We fought. He had a gun in his pocket. I made him angry and he dropped it. I grabbed it and we struggled for the gun. It went off. I’d shot him, just before I passed out.”
In a cool voice, banked with helpless fury, he questioned. He had no option but to question. To make her see her truth. “Why didn’t you call the police?”
“The phones were out.” She raised earnest eyes to meet his gaze. “When I came to, he was dead.” Honesty prompted the last fragment of admission. About how she’d sacrificed humanity for survival. She braced herself for loss. The way Gabriel held her, the solid warmth of his hands on hers, the respect she’d seen in the deep gray eyes she adored.
She’d come too far
to spare either of them with a final lie. So the horrible explanation streamed out unchecked, and she let it flow. “I didn’t want to go to jail. Suddenly, I felt selfish. My tormentor was gone and a new life was possible for me and I didn’t know if I could lose it. So I hid the body. Then I ran.”
His reaction rippled through her. Unable to bear his disgust, she stood.
“Where did you go?” The question was flat. Deliberately so. Gabriel knew himself well enough to conceal the murderous rage thumping at his heart. To release it would terrify her, and he vowed he would never make her fear him.
Which meant he couldn’t touch her, because if he did, the tenuous control he was fighting for would snap. He would rail against the parents who had abandoned her, against Sebastian, who had left her in an evil man’s clutches.
Instead, he circled around her and walked carefully over to the bar. Whiskey splashed into the bottom of a crystal snifter. He tossed the liquor down, grateful for the heat. His hands weren’t quite steady as he poured a second shot. “Erin. Where did you go after that night?”
“I went to Sebastian.” With her back to him, she didn’t see his knuckles tighten on the crystal, didn’t hear the glass stem break. Oblivious, Erin fought the urge to ask him what he thought of her. Didn’t his reaction clearly spell it out? Tenderness was for victims. Not for women who committed murder.
“Sebastian.” Repeating the name, Gabriel swept the glass into a paper towel and dumped the ruined snifter into the trash. “I thought he hated you.”
“I thought so, too, but he was the only one I could call. After the storm ended, he came to California. He—” She stopped, unwilling to betray. “He helped me.”
Swiftly, wanting the interrogation finished, she described the months afterward. Ashamed, she didn’t tell him about the nightmares and the new fear of storms. “Eventually, I was able to get new papers. Identification. Passport. Doctorate.”
His voice was gruff as he asked, “Why did you come to New Orleans?”
She wouldn’t humiliate herself by begging for reassurance. Briskly she finished her explanation. “Mrs. Cain used to tell me about magnolias.”
“And the position at Burkeen?”
“Maggie told me.”
“Either the killer followed you here or your showing up was a lucky break.”
Erin shrugged and wished for a glass of whatever Gabriel was drinking. “Yes.”
Gabriel stepped from behind the bar. “We should get back to the police station. Sylvie will wonder what happened to us.”
“Sure.” Erin gave him wide berth as she made her way to the door. He pulled it open for her, brushing against her. Feeling her shy away, Gabriel shoved it wide.
“I’m not him,” he snarled, unable to stem the frustration. Instantly, though, he turned from her, trying to find control. What did she see in him, he wondered, disgust eating a hole in him. Did she see Nathan when he snapped at her? When they fought, did she truly believe he would strike her? The fury crested again. Why couldn’t she see he was nothing like the monster who’d terrorized her? Spinning back to her, he said softly, “I wouldn’t hurt you, Erin.”
Her head came up, the eyes dry and tearless. She shook her head ruefully. “I know. But I can’t say the same. I am a liar, Gabriel. Like you said.”
“Erin—”
She twisted the ring that seemed to burn into her skin. “And I have left bodies behind me. I was so desperate to save myself, I let him have them.”
“You were scared,” Gabriel reminded her. “Bernard isn’t killing because of you. Didn’t you tell Sylvie that he’d already likely killed before? You showed up in New Orleans, and he suddenly had an audience. That’s all.”
“That’s not all. He knows about Nathan and me. About my murdering him.”
“It was self-defense,” he countered flatly.
“I took a human life. It doesn’t matter why. What matters is that I’m guilty, just like Nathan. Just like Kenneth, if he’s the one.”
CHAPTER 23
They returned to the police station in an icy silence. Sylvie brought them to her office and summoned Captain Sanchez. Without speaking, they took up their positions in the straight-backed chairs.
Seconds later, a golden bear of a man, with massive hands and a shining bald pate, filled the doorway and glowered at them. A thin black mustache ran below a bulbous nose reddened by nature. The sober navy suit strained across shoulders layered with muscle and fat. At his belt, flesh strained against the leather, creeping over the top. Shoes, polished as high as his head, reflected the dim light. “This is the young lady with the neat little theory?”
“This is Dr. Abbott. And you know Gabriel Moss.”
“Yes, I do. Which is why I’m not hard-pressed to imagine this tale is a concoction to make her famous and his paper successful. I’ve got half a mind to make up a reason to arrest them.”
Gabriel leaped to his feet and shoved Erin behind him in a single defensive move. He balanced on the balls of his feet, prepared to attack. Mixed with fear and loathing for a dead man and the living one who dared to threaten her, his voice was guttural. “Try it.”
“Mr. Moss,” Captain Sanchez said, “I can’t let her run around terrifying the city. At best, she’s a liar. At worst, she’s crazy.”
“No. What’s scaring you is that you know she’s right and that your department almost missed this one, Sanchez.”
The captain advanced into the office. The confined space became claustrophobic. “Watch what you say, Moss. Your paper couldn’t stand up to a sigh, much less a libel suit.”
“Gabriel’s got an excellent reputation. You’re just mad he did that exposé last year.” Too weary to stomach machismo in a battle with vain chivalry, Sylvie folded her arms over her ample chest. Neither man noticed that Erin remained upright by sheer force of will. Sylvie could, and because of what she understood to be true, she’d defend. For now. “We do have nine unexplained deaths that Dr. Abbott and Mr. Moss may help us solve,” she challenged Sanchez. “You insult her, Captain, and we may lose our only chance to solve the ones we can.”
Sanchez whisked around to confront Sylvie, not an easy feat for a man who nearly scraped the low ceiling. “Are you bargaining for her, Detective?”
“Absolutely. She’s the only link we have to the murders.” Sylvie wandered to her desk and lowered her impressive bulk into the creaking leather. “I’d wager that if you tried to make her a scapegoat, Gabe would skewer you on the front page of the Ledger so badly, the mayor would have your badge by his second cup of coffee.”
The thought of a visit from the mayor stilled the angry retort trembling on Sanchez’s tongue. He understood the value of a good bargain. His political aspirations demanded them. And the meddlesome Detective Iberville had a point. This case could introduce him to a national audience. With his sights on a nice white house in the East, it wouldn’t hurt to find friends everywhere.
“I won’t have you hauled in right now. However, I do expect your cooperation with this investigation of Dr. Bernard. It had better be good.” The hearty bass that won over voters brooked no argument. He pierced Gabriel with flat obsidian eyes. “I don’t want to read another word about this in your paper.”
“Then don’t pick up the morning edition,” Gabriel retorted. “The daily edition comes out tomorrow. Headline on the ABC Serial Killer.”
“I’ll slap you with an injunction.”
Gabriel snorted. “I’ll meet you in court.”
Sanchez knew it was an empty threat. He’d been filled in on the particulars of the ABC Murders by Sylvie late yesterday when Harmon Turner’s daughter turned up in the morgue. The Ledger had been feeding the story for a while, and his detective swore the man they had in custody was the likely culprit. Though he hated being last on the bus, he was along for the ride.
He couldn’t lose, he thought. If the serial killer turned out to be a hoax, he’d fire the detective with mixed loyalties and a poor sense of humor. If they found
it to be true, he’d be spotlighted on news magazines from around the country.
But he couldn’t make the upstart newsman’s job too simple. “I don’t like a word I read and I go straight to the Chronicle. Give them exclusive access to autopsy reports and case files. Maybe take them on a tour of the murder sites with the detectives on the case.”
“You sonofabitch.” Gabriel had to admire the coldblooded threat. “You know I don’t write trash. Can you say the same about the Chronicle?”
“No comment.” Because Sanchez remembered similar fights with Lincoln Moss, his dark eyes softened, though his tone remained cool. “I’m not as convinced as Detective Iberville.” He cut his gaze to Erin, who shot out a dented chin, which wobbled despite her efforts. Grudging respect tugged at the corner of his unsmiling mouth. He didn’t give in. “I don’t trust you, lady. But you did come to us with this first. That counts for something.”
“It counts for everything. She risked a lot coming here.” Tucking his arm around her stiffened body, Gabriel brought her flush along his side. “We want this man as badly as you do. Worse. We’ll work with Detective Iberville to stop him.”
Sanchez looked around the dim, cramped office and at the motley gang crowded inside. He harrumphed loudly. “You’ll work with me, too. Let’s go to my office and see what we can coordinate.” Without a backward glance, he stalked out of the office.
Sylvie circled from behind her desk to follow.
Gabriel stopped Erin and tilted her face up to his. “You up for this? If not, say the word and I’ll take you home. I can handle it from here.” He searched the shadowed eyes, trying to read what lay deep inside.
Erin straightened. His protective arm fell away. One more loss, but she would hold. “I can do this. I have to.”
“You have a choice.” He carefully kept his voice devoid of inflection. He wanted her to understand that it was her decision. To know he’d always give her one. She smiled at him, if the tremulous curve could be called a smile.
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