A Killer's Watch (18 page)

“Ethan, check her pulse,” Jeri ran to Allison, leaving Ethan
to handle Diana.

“She’s alive, but I think she’s been drugged,” Ethan
answered, after lifting Diana’s eyelids.

“Same here,” Jeri struggled with the tape. “I need a knife.”

“I’ll check Monique’s bag. Back in a flash.” Ethan ran from
the room.

Jeri resisted the urge to try and awaken the girls. It would
be better for them to wake up in the hospital, rather than still tied to the
bed. Glancing around, she saw the three cameras, all with red lights blinking.

“You’ll regret this, you son of a bitch,” she told one,
looking straight into the lens. Grabbing the tail of her shirt, she pressed the
button on each camera to stop the feed, careful not to smudge any fingerprint
that may still be there. Not that Grant was that stupid.

Hearing someone pounding down the hall, she looked out the
door to see Ethan carrying blankets, and what looked like a hunting knife.
Monique was prepared for anything, apparently.

“It’s the best I could find,” he said, handing her one of
the blankets. “The ambulance is ten minutes out.”

“The son of a bitch had all three cameras recording. I shut
them down,” Jeri told him as they covered the girls. “I’ll cut the tape, you
send for forensics.”

“I’ll tell Monique to have Graham Grant placed under arrest
first,” Ethan growled as he left the room.

“You’re safe now,” Jeri crooned to Allison as she sliced the
tape loose from the bed. She didn’t try to remove it from the girl’s wrists and
ankles altogether, the EMT’s could do that without hurting her. “Everything is
going to be all right, now.”

She repeated the phrases as she freed Diana, believing that
the girls could hear her, even if they had been drugged. Somehow, in some part
of their psyche, she had to believe that they knew they were safe.

The girls never stirred, but Jeri kept talking, running her
hand over Diana’s forehead, then Allison’s, soothing them with a gentle touch,
and calming reassurances. She knew what the girls would face after this was
over, knew too well the trauma of remembering the torture, the assaults, and
the feelings of helplessness. If there was any way she could spare them that
future, she would. But she couldn’t.

Anger roiled within her at the way Grant had kept them. Tied
to the bed, naked, completely vulnerable. Even as she attempted to soothe them
with her words, she seethed at Graham Grant on the inside, promising to give
him exactly what he deserved.

She heard the gurneys clamoring down the stone staircase,
and knew that help had arrived. Watching over each girl as they were loaded
onto the stretcher, then carefully carried to the waiting ambulance, Jeri kept
up her monologue, telling them that they were safe, that they would be okay.

Ethan came to stand beside her as the ambulance pulled away.
He’d watched her take care of the girls as if they were her own, and wondered
if she knew how strong her mothering instincts had become.

“Where’s forensics?” Jeri asked as the ambulance pulled
away.

“On the way. I wanted the FBI, not the local team. Grant’s
been arrested, but they’ll be holding him at the station, until we arrive. I
told them that no one speaks to him but you.”

“I’m sure that his attorney will have something to say about
that,” Jeri said wryly.

“Probably, once we allow him to make that call. By the way,
you should notify the girl’s moms. I’m sure they will want to be at the
hospital.”

“Yes, yes I will. Then we can head to the station. Monique
and Chloe can wait here, until the forensics team arrives.”

“Make the calls, I’ll get them down here.” Ethan squeezed
her shoulder, resisting the urge to take her in his arms. There would be time
enough for that, later.

Jeri stepped off to the side and searched for Trudy Wells’
phone number. The frantic woman answered on the first ring.

“Mrs. Wells? This is Jeri Forbes. I have wonderful news.”

“I demand to speak with my attorney!” Graham Grant kept his
voice calm, though he wanted to pound his fist on the table.

“Certainly, Mr. Grant. We’ll get right on that for you,” the
young officer placed a cup of water on the table, then quickly left the room.
He’d been ordered to take care of Grant until the FBI arrived. Ordered to be
polite, and agreeable, but that was all.

“Idiot,” Graham breathed, not willing to let them know that
they were getting to him. He’d been in the interrogation room for over two
hours. No windows, stale air, at best, and one overhead fluorescent light that
flickered in time with an annoying buzz, every two minutes. He understood that
they were trying to break him, even before the interrogation began. It wouldn’t
work.

Staring at the glass wall in front of him, he made sure to
maintain a pleasant façade, while his mind clicked over the checklist of
precautions he’d taken from the very beginning.

First, there was no way anyone could trace the video feeds
back to him. The firewalls he had in place were beyond state-of-the-art, not to
mention the servers he had routed all over the world. Even with the cameras
they found in the cellar, they would not be able to track the footage.

Next, he had always worn gloves upon entering the cellar. No
fingerprints to find on the outside door, the lock, or the interior switches.

Wearing gloves inside the cellar, no matter what he was doing,
was also routine. Wearing a hood during filming, as well as whenever he visited
the girls, was also a part of his safety structure. No visuals, no
fingerprints. He was certain.

It was possible that the forensics team would find a stray
hair, or skin cells, but they would not be able to prove that he’d deposited
them in recent days. He played in the cellar as a child, visited with his
father during his teen years, so he was covered, should the need arise. Anson
had also mentioned something about DNA transference in one of his tutorials. A
relatively new defense, but effective, nevertheless. How could they possibly
prove that Thomas had not picked up one of his stray hairs, or even skin cells,
via transference, then deposited them in the cellar? They couldn’t.

He was safe from every possible tie to the cellar.

Next, he moved on to the truck. Each time he had transported
a girl, he’d used plastic to line the truck bed. Subsequently, he had disposed
of the plastic in various seclude
d
dumpsters.
Confident that the material was long gone, he considered the truck tracks,
leading to the cellar. Of course, Thomas availed himself of his truck, whenever
necessary. As house manager, it was necessary for Thomas to pick up supplies.
Graham had left hairs he found in Thomas’s brush inside the truck cab to
solidify his story.

Finally, Graham moved to the weakest link in the account of
his innocence; the laptop. Hidden in the safe, Graham was confident that the
officers searching his home would never realize that the wall panel moved. It
was virtually impossible to detect, unless you knew where to look. And why
would they search, with a desktop computer, and a laptop, sitting in plain
sight in his office? They wouldn’t. He was sure of it.

After recapping his security protocols, he felt better. They
would never pin this on him, never. He’d even taken extra precautions to point
the finger to Thomas by leaving a few of his belongings in the cellar. A shirt,
a handkerchief, a pair of scissors, all of which he had taken from Thomas’s
things, before sinking them in the river, next to his body.

The authorities had every reason to blame Thomas for these
horrible crimes, and no reason to blame him. Once his lawyer got him out of
here, he could dispose of the laptop properly, eliminating the only thing that
tied him to anything.

Assuming his lawyer ever arrived. With the monthly retainer
Benson’s firm charged, he expected for the man to be waiting at the station.
But hours had passed, and the cretin had not shown his face.

Surely Mother called him. Graham frowned at the possibility
that Belinda had been so distraught at his arrest, that she had completely
forgotten to contact Benson.

Could she be that useless?

As they led him out in handcuffs, he told her to call
Benson, that this was a mistake, that he was not responsible.

Did she listen?

He would never forget the look on his mother’s face, when
the FBI bitch ordered his arrest.

“They found the girls, arrest him.” Spoken in her soft
French accent, the order had a lilting quality that made it sound pleasant.

His mother stared, mouth hanging open, eyes wide, as the
officer mirandized him as he placed him in cuffs.

“What’s happening, why are you doing that?” she’d asked, her
expression confused and clueless.

“Your son is under arrest for kidnapping, Mrs. Grant. We
found the two missing teenagers tied to a bed in the cellar.” The French bitch
spoke to his mother calmly, but her eyes flashed fire at him. He could feel the
heat of her gaze, even now.

“Kidnapping? Two girls? Graham would never do such a thing,
never!”

His mother’s protests had been genuine, and heartfelt.

“Of course I didn’t do this, Mother. Please don’t worry,
everything will be straightened out soon. Call Benson, have him meet me at the
station.”

He hadn’t heard her response, only saw her fallen face, as
they led him from the room.

Had she come to her senses? Had she contacted their
attorney?

~~~

“He doesn’t seem the least bit perturbed,” Ethan commented
as he and Jeri observed Graham Grant through the two-way mirror.

“Sure he is, watch his left pinky finger. It jerks, every
time the light flickers. And notice how stiff he’s holding himself, not at all
like the gracious host I met earlier today. But his eyes are the true tell, see
how they narrow, then dart from side to side? His mind is whirring, probably
coming up with ways to pin this on the butler.”

“According to forensics, someone left a man’s shirt in the
cellar, starched white, like the one Monique described Thomas as wearing. There
were also strands of hair, and a handkerchief with DNA. Another thing, they
found a pair of scissors on the tool tray in the operating room. The scissors
were the only item in the place with fingerprints. Imagine that.”

“Sounds like a frame-up to me,” Jeri nodded, grinning. “This
should be fun, let’s do it.”

“After you,” Ethan followed her from the viewing room, to
the interrogation room. His role was one of silent observer, this was Jeri’s
show, all the way.

“Mr. Grant, I’m so sorry that we’ve kept you so long,” Jeri
began, smiling as she sat down across from him. “Oh, my, they left you cuffed?
Ethan, please remove Mr. Grant’s handcuffs. Mr. Grant, this is my partner,
Ethan Barnes.

“Pleasure,” Ethan smiled disarmingly as he unlocked the
chains.

“Yes, thank you.” Graham was more than a little confused by
the genial treatment. He’d expected angry accusations, at the very least.

“Would you like coffee, or something cold to drink? I can’t
imagine that the water is worth drinking here,” Jeri rolled her eyes, as if
sharing a private joke with him.

“Coffee would be nice, thank you. I would also like to speak
with my attorney. I haven’t yet been offered a phone call.”

“I told you that these idiots were incompetent,” Jeri said
to Ethan, her voice barely above a whisper, but loud enough for Graham to hear.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Grant. Here, feel free to use my phone.” Jeri reached into
her back pocket, then slid the phone across the table.

“I’ll get that coffee,” Ethan told them, then left the room.

Feeling more confident that the FBI agents were treating him
as a man of his stature deserved, Graham relaxed somewhat as he reached for the
phone.

“Thank you,” his tone relayed his superiority.

“Of course,” Jeri smiled, leaning back in her chair. “But
it’s a shame, really, to waste the effort. Once you call your attorney, we
can’t speak with you any longer, until he arrives. Then the conversation
becomes much more formal, not as pleasant, I’m afraid.” Jeri crossed her legs
and sent him her warmest smile. “At the moment, we only have a few questions,
then we can set this matter aside. But please, if you feel the need for an
attorney, be my guest.”

Graham’s hand froze on the phone. Could this be real? Could
he get himself out of this, and be on his way? Calling an attorney did make him
seem guilty. And truthfully, he knew as much about the law, in these matters,
as Benson. Why not handle it himself?

“Well, then. If you only have a few questions, then I’m
happy to answer them. But first, I have one. Why did the officer arrest me? Am
I being charged with kidnapping, or not?”

“Arrest you? Oh my goodness, did he really?” Jeri looked
shocked. “I told him to bring you in for questioning, standard procedure. After
all, we found the girls on your property.” She seemed apologetic.

“Yes, well, I can’t imagine how they came to be in my
cellar. Unless Thomas was more than a thief.”

There it was, Grant’s first lobby to blame the butler. Right
on schedule.

Jeri nodded as Ethan rejoined them.

“Here you are, Mr. Grant. Can I get you anything else?”

“No, no thank you,” Graham ignored the packets of sugar and
cream, opting to drink the coffee black.

“Mr. Grant was just telling me that he had no idea that the
girls were in the cellar. He thinks that perhaps Thomas, the butler who ran off
last night, may be the culprit.”

“Is that right?” Ethan sat next to Jeri, then smiled at
Grant.

“Yes, it’s the only thing that makes sense,” Graham
answered. “Obviously, Thomas was a sick, sick man. We’re lucky to be rid of
him.”

“The girls will be fine, by the way,” Jeri offered. “I’m
sure that you meant to ask.”