Kill for Me (10 page)

Ed’s brows went up. “And why is the cabin so important?”

“Because Granville had a mentor thirteen years ago. Someone who was teaching him to manipulate others, to control their responses. The cabin’s owner could be a link to the mentor. Davis won’t give up that information until he sees his kids.”

“You think this mentor is his partner?” Nancy asked.

“Maybe.” Luke shrugged. “Either way, it’s the best we’ve got right now.”

“What about Granville’s wife?” Pete asked. “She’s still in the wind.”

“I checked the airports for her, too, but she hasn’t taken any planes,” Luke said. “Chase, let’s get photos of Mrs. Granville to all the bus stations.”

“Daniel grew up in Dutton,” Chloe said. “Maybe he knows about this cabin.”

“He’s still unconscious, isn’t he?” Pete asked.

“Sedated actually. But his sister might know,” Luke said. “I’ll ask her.”

Chase nodded. “Sounds like we have a plan. Let’s—”

“Wait,” Ed said. “What about Mack O’Brien?”

Chase frowned. “He’s dead. Daniel killed him.”

Luke drew a breath. “Oh my God, you’re right, Ed. Remember, Mack O’Brien found out about the rape club because he stole his brother’s journals from Jared’s widow. We never found where Mack hid the journals. Jared’s widow told Daniel that he wrote about each rape in detail. What if he also wrote about the one night they went to the cabin? What if those journals have the same information Garth Davis refuses to tell us?”

Chase smiled, a genuine smile for the first time all night. “Find them.” He pointed to Pete. “You find Davis’s wife, just in case we don’t find those journals. She had to have left a trail. Nancy, you get back to Mansfield’s and as soon as the bomb squad disables the detonator, you search that house from top to bottom. Ed, keep searching the bunker. Nate, you’d be helping us a lot if you could track Angel.”

“And I’ll interview Beardsley again,” Luke said. “He might remember something now that he’s had a chance to recover.”

“Then let’s go. Be back here tomorrow at eight a.m. And be careful.”

Chapter Seven

Atlanta, Friday, February 2, 10:15 p.m.

T
hat’s her,
Rocky thought, relieved she’d come a little early. The shift didn’t change for a while. Nursey must have left early and her step was brisk as she walked toward her car. Not the step of a woman who’d just committed her first murder and not a good sign at all. Rocky was now responsible for making sure this nurse killed the girl. It was a test, she knew. If she succeeded, she’d earn her way back into Bobby’s good graces.

She pulled next to the nurse and slowed to match the woman’s pace. “Excuse me.”

“Not interested,” the nurse snapped.

“Yes, you are. Bobby sent me.”

The nurse stopped abruptly and turned, fear in her eyes. But no guilt. Rocky sighed. “You didn’t do it, did you?”

The nurse stiffened. “Not exactly.”

“What does that mean, not exactly?”

Desperate fury flared in the woman’s eyes. “It means I didn’t kill her,” she hissed.

“Get in.” Rocky drew the pistol from her pocket and pointed it. “Draw a breath to scream and it will be your last,” she said calmly, even though her heart was pounding.
Please get in. Please don’t make me shoot.
The nurse obeyed, shaking visibly, and Rocky let herself breathe.

“Are you going to kill me?” the woman whispered hoarsely.

“Well, that depends. Start by telling me exactly what ‘not exactly’ means.”

The nurse stared straight ahead. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill her. But I made sure she wouldn’t talk to anyone else.”

“Else? What do you mean, anyone
else
?” Shit.

“She had two visitors tonight. A man and a woman.”

Bailey and Beardsley.
Damn that Granville
. Rocky had had no idea he’d brought them to the bunker until Bobby’d confronted her with it—and her lie.
You said they were dead. You said you were sure. You lied to me. This girl could ruin us all.

She’d thought fast, but her lie that she
had
checked but simply missed the girl’s thready pulse hadn’t been good enough. Rocky resisted the urge to waggle her jaw. Bobby had hit her hard. Her jaw wasn’t broken, but it throbbed like a bitch.

Still, she knew she’d hurt a lot more if the girl talked. The damage would be worse depending on which girl had escaped. Angel had been there the longest, but Monica was the boldest.
Don’t let it have been Monica.
“Who were the visitors?”

“He was GBI. Special Agent Papa-something. Papadopoulos. The woman was the one who found her, down at that bunker on the river. Her brother is also in ICU.”

Rocky blinked. “Susannah Vartanian found the girl on the side of the road?”

Wonderful
. It was, actually. Rocky didn’t know why, but Bobby hated Susannah Vartanian. There was a photo of the judge’s daughter next to Bobby’s computer with a red X penned through her face. Dealing with Susannah might be a way to regain favor. At a minimum the guaranteed wrath that would be generated when Rocky shared this tidbit of news might take some of the heat off herself.

“Did the girl say anything to Susannah?”

“I heard that she only got a few words out when they first found her, that someone had ‘killed them all.’ I assumed this meant the girls they found in the bunker.” The nurse glanced nervously from the corner of her eye. “I heard it on the news.”

She’d seen Granville kill the others.
This was very bad
. “And later, in the hospital? What did she say then?”

“Nothing. She still has her breathing tube in. They used a letter board and found out her name started with M. But their time was up and they had to leave.”

Monica
. This was going from bad to worse.
I should have shoved her in the boat. I should have made room. I should never have left her behind.
“What else?”

“The GBI agent asked her if she knew a girl named Ashley and she blinked ‘yes.’ ”

Ashley?
How the hell had Papadopoulos known about Ashley? What more did he know? She kept her voice level. “So how did you keep her from saying any more?”

The nurse sighed out a breath. “I put a paralytic in her IV bag. When she wakes up, she won’t be able to open her eyes, blink, move, or say anything.”

“How long will it last?”

“About eight hours.”

“And what had you planned to do then?” Rocky asked sharply, then laughed bitterly. “You hadn’t planned to do anything, had you? You were going to run.”

The nurse looked straight ahead, her throat working. “I can’t kill her. You have to understand. GBI posted a guard outside the ICU, 24/7. He checks every ID. The minute she stops breathing alarms will go off. They’ll catch me.” Her jaw cocked slightly. “And when they do, what should I tell them? Your description? What kind of car you drive? Your name, maybe? I don’t think you want that, either.”

Panic mixed with rage. “I should kill you right now.”

The nurse’s lips curved. “And in eight hours your Jane Doe’s paralytic will wear off and she’ll sing like a bird. What will she tell the cops? Nothing about me. She didn’t see me.” Her head turned slightly. “Did she see you?”

Maybe. Dammit, yes
. In that last moment at the bunker. She’d stared at her face, memorizing every feature. The girl had to die, before she spoke to anyone.
And Bobby can’t find out I was so damn careless
. “How long before she’s out of ICU?”

Satisfaction and relief flickered in the nurse’s eyes. “She’ll stay in ICU until the breathing tube is removed and they won’t do that until they’re certain she can breathe on her own. Whoever beat her up did too good a job. She’s got four broken ribs on her right side. Her lung is collapsed. She’ll be in the hospital for several days, at least.”

Rocky ground her teeth. “How long before she’s out of ICU?” she repeated.

“I don’t know. If she weren’t paralyzed, maybe in twenty-four or forty-eight hours.”

“How long can you keep her paralyzed?”

“Not long, a day or two, max. The staff will start to suspect and someone will order an EEG. The paralytic will show up.” Her chin lifted. “And I’ll probably be caught—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rocky interrupted. “Then you’ll tell on me and we all go to jail.”

Heart racing, Rocky considered her options. The situation was rapidly snowballing from bad to worse to devastating.
Bobby can’t find out about this.
She’d made enough mistakes today. One more fuck-up and . . . her stomach rolled over. She’d seen the results of Bobby’s “employee separation.” She swallowed hard. The last guy who messed up this badly was separated from his head. There had been a lot of blood.

So much blood. She could run. But realistically she knew there was nowhere to hide. Bobby would find her and . . . She made herself focus, made herself remember everything she knew about Monica Cassidy. And a plan began to form.
I can fix this.
It would work. It would have to. Unless she was prepared to walk into the ICU and smother the girl herself, which she was not. “All right. This is what I want you to do.”

Atlanta, Friday, February 2, 11:15 p.m.

This statement is hereby given freely by Susannah A. Vartanian and is witnessed by Chloe M. Hathaway, Assistant State’s Attorney.
Sitting at the desk in her hotel room, Susannah’s hands paused on her laptop and she reread the statement she’d prepared. In it were all the details she recalled from that day thirteen years ago, from the most sordid to the most benign. She and Chloe Hathaway had traded voicemails, but they’d meet tomorrow morning to discuss Susannah’s statement and subsequent testimony.

Subsequent testimony
. It sounded so brisk, so impersonal . . . so like somebody else’s life.
But it’s not. It’s mine
. Restless, Susannah pushed away from the desk. She would not change a word. Not this time. This time she’d do the right thing.

It was just a matter of time before her involvement in what the media had already dubbed “The Richie Rich Rapists” hit the news. She’d already spied someone with a camera taking pictures as she’d checked in to the hotel. They must have followed Luke Papadopoulos’s car when he’d driven her from the hospital.

Luke. She’d thought of him often this day, each time a little differently. He was big, strong enough to carry Jane Doe up a steep hill without breathing hard, but he’d been so gentle with the girl. Susannah knew there were gentle giants out there, but in her experience they were rare. She hoped the woman in Luke’s life appreciated his value.

That he’d have a woman in his life was a given. Coupled with his dark good looks, the man vibrated with an intensity most women would find sexually enticing. Susannah was honest enough to admit that she did, that her stomach had gone all tight when he’d stood so close in the ICU, and that she’d thought about pressing her mouth to his jaw.

But Susannah was smart enough not to get involved. Ever. Involvement led to questions, and questions ultimately would require answers. She wasn’t prepared to give answers to Luke Papadopoulos or anyone else. Ever.

Still, she remembered the devastation in his black eyes when he’d come out of the bunker. And even then he’d held her up when her own legs buckled. He felt things deeply, but seemed able to partition those feelings away to focus on what needed to be done. She respected that because she knew just how difficult it was to do.

Luke had dropped her off at the hotel without further argument, respecting her wishes, even though he disagreed. Then he’d gone on his way to meet with his team, focused and intense, which seemed to be his resting state.

She envied him. Luke Papadopoulos had things to do, important things, while she’d been sitting on her hands all day. In reality that was less than accurate. She’d had a very busy morning and afternoon. It was the evening that had been empty as she’d sat waiting, powerless, with too much time to think. Tomorrow, she’d do something. She’d sit with the girl with no name, because there was no one else to do so.
Because she’s my responsibility.
But first she’d give her statement to Chloe Hathaway.

She glanced at the newspaper she’d bought in the hotel lobby. The headlines screamed of a serial killer at large in Dutton.
Old news
. But below the fold was an article on the Dutton dead, as of the day before. One name caught her eye. Sheila Cunningham. They shared a bond, she and Sheila. Tomorrow Sheila would be laid to rest and Susannah knew she needed to be there. So tomorrow she’d stand in the Dutton cemetery once again.

Tomorrow would be a
difficult
day.

Her stomach growled, mercifully derailing her thoughts and reminding her of the time. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast and room service was late. She’d picked up the phone to check its status when there was a knock at her door.
Finally.

“Thank y—” Her mouth fell open. Her boss stood outside her door. “Al. What are you doing here? Come in.”

Al Landers closed the door behind him. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“How did you know to come here? I didn’t tell you my hotel.”

“You’re a creature of habit,” Al said. “Every time you travel you stay in this hotel chain. It was just a question of calling around until I found the right one.”

“But you came to my room. Did the front desk give that information?”

“No. I overheard a reporter trying to bribe the concierge for your room number.”

“I guess this was bound to happen. Vartanians are big news in Atlanta right now.” Simon had made sure of that. “So did the concierge tell him?”

“Yes, that’s how I knew your room number. So I reported him to the manager. You may want to consider a different hotel the next time you come to town.”

When this was over, there wouldn’t be a next time
. “You said you wanted to talk.”

Al looked around. “Do you have anything to drink?”

“Scotch in the minibar.” She poured him a glass and sat on the arm of the sofa.

He went to her desk and glanced at her laptop screen. “I’m here because of that.”

“My statement? Why?”

He took his time answering, first sipping at the scotch, then downing it in a gulp. “Are you sure . . . very sure you want to do this, Susannah? Once you are cast in the role of a victim, your life, your career will never be the same.”

Susannah went to the window and stared out at the city. “Believe me, I know. But I have my reasons, Al. Thirteen years ago I was . . .” she swallowed hard, “. . . raped. A gang of boys drugged me, raped me, and poured whiskey all over me, just like they would do to fifteen other girls over the course of the next year. When I woke up, I was shoved in a little hidey-hole behind my bedroom wall. I thought it was my secret hiding place, but my brother Simon knew about it.”

Behind her she heard Al’s careful exhalation. “So Simon participated?”

Oh, yes.
“Simon was the team captain.”

“Wasn’t there anyone you could tell?” he asked carefully.

“No. My father would have called me a liar. And Simon made sure I didn’t tell a soul. He showed me a picture of me being . . . you know.”

“Yeah,” Al said tightly. “I know.”

“He said they’d do it again. He said there was nowhere I could hide.” She drew a breath, the terror as fresh as if thirteen years had not passed. “He said I had to sleep sometime, that I should stay out of his affairs. So I did. I never said anything. And they went on to rape fifteen others. They took pictures of all of us. Kept them as trophies.”

“Do the police have these pictures now?”

“GBI does. I found them this afternoon, in Simon’s hidey-hole. A whole box full.”

“So the GBI has incontrovertible proof. There’s only one of those bastards left, Susannah. Why put yourself through this now?”

Anger bubbled and she whirled to face the man who’d taught her so much about the law, the man who’d been a shining example. The man who’d been everything Judge Arthur Vartanian had not. “Why are you trying to talk me out of doing what’s right?”