Better Off Dead (32 page)

"You think Carroll met the biker gang who
attacked us while researching his paper?" I asked.

Burly nodded. "I do. And I think if I give
Weasel the town where Carroll and Brookhouse grew up and he puts
his biker buddies on it, we'll find out that those guys are coming
over the border from Virginia."

"I warned them to close that border down
years ago," I said. No one laughed.

Helen was trembling.

"What?" I put my hand on her arm, steadying
her.

"That paper of Brookhouse's," she said. "The
one about sexual predators. Can you get a copy of it?"

Burly shook his head. "I couldn't find one
on the Web or in the college networks. Why?"

"I know what's in it," she whispered.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"One of the problems they had during my
trial was tying him into the other rapes because the details were
so different."

It hit me. "He was staging them to match old
crimes. Crimes he had studied for his paper. Ferrar was right when
he said they were being staged. He was just wrong when he thought
it was someone who had access to police files."

Bobby grunted. "This guy is sick. That's
what I'd call organized."

"It's what the FBI would call 'highly
organized'," I said. "And I think Lyman Carroll was helping
him."

"But why attack women so methodically?"
Burly asked. "I thought people like that were following horrible
impulses they couldn't control."

"Some are doing it on impulse," I said.
"Others plan. And stalk. That's where they get their satisfaction."
No wonder Brookhouse had lectured so authoritatively on the minds
of men like that. He was one of them.

"Why those women?" Helen asked, then
stopped, realizing what she was saying. "Why choose me? What did I
ever do to them?"

"It's connected to the memory loss study
Carroll did," I realized. "It must be. When I asked the nurse about
what Luke would remember when he came out of his coma, she said
Luke would not be able to recall anything for at least a day or two
before the attack." I looked at the others. They stared back.

"Don't you see?" I said. "Suppose all of the
women attacked were connected to the drug study, or maybe to
Brookhouse and Carroll personally. Like a girlfriend or some coed
they were boffing." I thought of Candace Goodnight, the
anthropology professor. Carroll's recent girlfriend. Was she still
missing? I wondered. God, which crime had been imitated with her in
the starring role? And was one of them losing control? Brookhouse?
Never. Maybe Carroll.

"Keep going," Bobby said. "We're
listening."

"Maybe these women all found out something
that could jeopardize the study in some way. It's possible they
didn't even know they had that knowledge. Destroying them through a
brutal attack and rape would be a good way to make sure they had
worse things to worry about than the study. They'd drop out of
school, quit their jobs, leave town or whatever."

"Why not just off them?" Bobby asked.

"Bobby, that's so... pedantic." He looked at
me blankly. "Not to mention, they have killed two women. And they
did a fine job of almost killing Helen." I glared at him. He got
the point.

"Sorry if I was insensitive," he mumbled
halfheartedly.

"Killing everyone would have the cops on
them and their study in a heartbeat," I explained. "Not even
Brookhouse's outraged refusal to release the list of volunteers
would hold up in a case like that. But women get attacked on campus
all the time. A college is a sexual predator's paradise. It would
take the cops a lot longer to make the connection. They might never
make it, in fact."

"But why have no men been attacked?" Bobby
asked. "You'd think some men in this new drug trial might blow the
whistle, if there were problems."

"Not if the side effects of the new drug
only affect women," I guessed. "As for the people outside the study
who might threaten them, who would that be? A secretary. That would
be a woman for sure. A girlfriend. Or some lackey with inside
information, also sure to be female. Those two men surround
themselves with women. That's why all their victims are female.
They’re the only ones in a position to know what's going on."

"You're all missing the point," Helen
interrupted bitterly. "Raping women is fun for them. Think of the
power it gives them over our lives. Over my life."

"She's right, you know," I told the others.
"They're also doing it for the power it gives them. They get a rush
out of it. And it's a way to protect the study at the same time."
Bobby looked skeptical. "Think about it, Bobby. That's why they
went into this field in the first place, all this shit about
deviance and crimes and craziness. Because it excites them. And
then they found each other, kindred spirits. Maybe they've been
working together for years."

"I can still check on that," Burly offered.
"I can trace sex crimes in all the areas where they've lived. I
just haven't been able to get around to it yet."

I nodded. "Which brings up a big point:
who's going to tell Ferrar about this?"

They all looked away.

"Fine, I'll do it," I volunteered. "God
knows I need the brownie points." This time they all looked at me.
In silence that I could read all too easily.

"No way," I said firmly. "We cannot keep
this information from the cops. What if they do it to someone
else?" I stared at Helen. "If we try to handle this ourselves and
they victimize someone else in the meantime, you'll never forgive
yourself."

"So let's take care of it quickly," Burly
suggested.

"Bobby?" I turned to my heretofore
law-abiding boss. He shrugged. "I can't believe you're going along
with this. If Brookhouse turns up murdered—and let me be the one to
say the word, because we are talking about killing another human
being—his blood will be on our hands."

"Those guys are not human beings," Burly
interrupted. Bobby grunted his agreement.

"Regardless, the first person Ferrar is
going to look to for it is me."

"We'll make sure you're far away when it
happens," Bobby said. "Leave it to us."

"Bobby, I've never seen you like this."

He wouldn't answer me. But he wouldn't look
away, either. He clearly felt justified in his conviction.

"This is a bad idea," I warned them. "You
think you can live with yourselves afterward, but don't count on
it." I thought of how I had felt when I thought I'd been the one to
shoot Luke. "Killing another person is a big responsibility. It's
going to weigh on all of you. Even you." I looked at Helen. "Even
when you have the best reason of all of us to want it done. Helen,
it's not as easy to live with as you think. It makes you just like
them. A killer. Is that what you want?"

"Casey," Burly said. "It's not like the
system has worked so far. Look at Helen. Look what that skell
Brookhouse did to her. And he not only walked away, now he's about
to make her life miserable again by dragging her name through the
mud at a civil trial. That's balls. That's scary. And that's more
than enough for me. I think he needs to be brought down. And his
friend, too."

I tried to reason with Helen. "What about
your countersuit?" I said. "Suing Brookhouse in civil court might
buy us some time. Let's just let your lawyer know what we found
out. Get his advice. What's his plan?"

It was Burly who answered for her. "He's
filing the countersuit next week. Right before Thanksgiving, so
that it makes the papers before the holiday. But Brookhouse won't
have time to respond before the courts close for the long
weekend."

"Then let's leave it to the lawyers about
what to take to the police. This information could blow the case
out of the water." I needed to be more careful in my choice of
words, I realized, given the level of blood lust running through
this crowd.

"Not good enough," Burly said. "We don't
have enough evidence for the courts. I say we take care of it
ourselves."

"Me, too. We damn sure have enough evidence
for me," Bobby butted in.

"Bobby, if Fanny heard you say that, she
would be appalled."

Wee doggies. He blew a fuse at that one.

"I don't want Fanny to hear a single word
about this, you understand?" His tone was deadly. "There are some
things that people like Fanny never need to know, and it's a
kindness to protect them from it. Fanny doesn't understand that
people like this exist in the world. And I don't want those two
scumbags in her world or her head or her prayers in any way. Keep
her out of it."

"Okay, okay. But this is still a bad idea.
Let's get the evidence instead."

"What evidence?" Burly asked. "There is
none. They're too good. They've studied the best, don't you get
it?"

"What about the names of the drug trial
participants?" I asked. "If we can find some or all of the rape
victims among them, or connect them in some way, then Ferrar can't
ignore that. That's evidence and then some."

"I've got about half of the names for you,"
Burly said, pushing another printout my way. "I can get most of the
rest tomorrow. Right now I need some sleep."

"Then let's see if we get any hits on this
half list first," I suggested. "Before we do anything we might
regret."

The room was silent.

"I guess this has been decided without me."
No one would meet my eyes. "One suggestion." I nodded toward the
window where the Mexican Posse was keeping watch. "Let's keep those
guys out of it, understand? They've got enough problems as it is. I
doubt even one of them has a green card. Don't drag anyone else
into this."

"Seems to me I told you the same thing,"
Bobby pointed out. "And look where the kid is right now. In a
hospital bed."

A silence fell over the group. My mind
flashed back to the image of Luke bleeding out on a boulder in the
moonlight. "Thanks for reminding me, Bobby."

"Let's talk about something else for a
while," Burly said, playing the peacemaker. "I do have some good
news for you."

"It better be real good," I told him.

"It is. The mystery guest for
Thanksgiving?"

"Yes?" I waited.

"I invited your grandfather. He's coming up
from Florida."

I stared at Burly. "You talked to my
grandfather?"

Burly nodded. "Sure. He has a telephone. Big
deal. I called him. We talked."

"You talked to my grandfather without
telling me?"

Burly shrugged. "I've been waiting for you
to introduce me to your family for a long time now, Casey. I just
decided it was time."

"That's nice," I said sarcastically,
ignoring the fact that now more than ever was the time when I
needed to make it plain to Burly that he was my boyfriend and that
he did matter to me. "And what did the two of you talk about?"

"You." Burly sounded genuinely perplexed.
"What else?"

I didn't know whether to kill Burly or thank
him. If my grandfather came up, I would have someone on my side.
He'd never condone taking justice into our own hands like what the
others had planned. He was honest to a fault. That's why he was so
poor. And that was what had made it so hard to face him after I got
out of prison. The law was the law in my grandfather's eyes.

"Fine," I said, playing it cool. "Invite
whoever you like. The more turkeys here for Thanksgiving the
merrier."

"What's up her ass?" I heard Bobby ask as I
stalked away to my room. That Bobby D. He has such a way with
words.

I had a bad feeling about it all. I had
taken on the case because I felt sorry for Helen. She seemed like a
broken person, unable to function, as crippled as a dove with two
broken wings. And now she was coming back to life—but only because
a lust for revenge had consumed her. I couldn't blame her. But it
made me feel as if I had never really known her. In fact, it made
me feel as if no one was who they seemed to be.

Yeah, I could do with Brookhouse being dead.
But it doesn't feel good to have blood on your hands, either
literally or figuratively, and I had no desire to be god. Nor did I
want someone I loved—like Burly—spending his years in prison.
Detective Ferrar was good and he was determined. He'd find out who
killed Brookhouse. Or never stop trying. Which was almost
worse.

And then there was the matter of not really
knowing what exactly Brookhouse had done. Or where Lyman Carroll
fit in. We didn't really know. You can't go around killing people
based on supposition.

Or could you?

As Bobby and I left to check on Luke, Burly
and Helen were getting ready to go through the boxes of materials
that some kind soul in the psychopathology department had packed
away for her after the attack. She had not gone near them since
that day, she said, preferring to let that part of her life fade
off into the past. But on the theory that the attack had been
motivated, in part, by some nugget of information she had stumbled
on about Brookhouse and Carroll, she had dragged the materials into
the living room. With Burly's help, she was ready to confront the
reminders of how she had once had a life outside the walls of her
home.

"What are we looking for?" she said as Bobby
and I headed for the front door. Burly had wheeled into the kitchen
to make her a cup of tea.

"Anything that Brookhouse or Carroll would
be anxious to have you forget," I explained, leaving her more
confused than before.

Bobby and I squeezed out past the
ever-growing crowd of macho men guarding Helen's front porch. Word
had gotten out and two younger boys had joined Hugo's posse.
Fortunately, based on close scrutiny by moi, they seemed to be
packing nothing more deadly than your average-sized six-inch
shooter. Trust me. I can take the true measure of a man at twenty
paces.

No one said a word as we walked past. Hugo
was asleep in his chair and two of his compadres were snoring
happily on the porch floor, resting up for their chance to prove
they were real men.