The Survivors Club (30 page)

Griffin just shrugged. “He says it’s the only way. We have a sexual-sadist predator running around who for all intents and purposes
is
Eddie Como. We don’t have prints, we don’t have DNA, we don’t even have a description. And according to David Price, the real College Hill Rapist will kill another girl by tonight unless we let David have a three-hour hardship leave to visit your granddaughter.”

Griffin turned abruptly on Tom. “For God’s sake, Mr. Pesaturo, why didn’t you and Vinnie kill the little prick when you had the chance? He impregnated your thirteen-year-old daughter. That wasn’t enough for you?”

“We didn’t know.” Tom was positively moaning. “And Meg was so confused, believing that she really loved him, I worried about what it would do to her if he suddenly disappeared. Then after his arrest . . . when we all learned what he was really like . . . Meg locked herself in her room and cried until she was sick. Couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, had horrible nightmares. We just wanted to get her through. So we vowed never to mention his name again. We would pretend it had never happened. David was going away after all. The papers said he’d never get out, never see the light of day . . .”

“We started lying,” Laurie murmured. “And in our lie, there was no David Price. There was just Molly, our new daughter. Everything was so nice that way. So much easier to believe.”

“Well, welcome back to the real world, Mrs. Pesaturo. Where there is a monster named David Price. And he probably is working hand in hand with a serial rapist. Why do you think Meg was the College Hill Rapist’s
first
victim?”

Tom moaned again. “David wanted revenge. After what
he
did to Meg, he wanted revenge . . .”

“Yeah, Mr. Pesaturo. And knowing Price, he’s just getting started.”

CHAPTER 33

Jillian

S
ERGEANT
G
RIFFIN AND
D
ETECTIVE
F
ITZ WENT UPSTAIRS
to look through Meg’s room for any hint of where she might have gone, while Tom and Laurie remained sitting in the family room, their bodies drained, their faces shell-shocked.

“It’s going to be all right,” Jillian said firmly. “The police are starting to make genuine progress now. It’s going to be all right.”

“Meg,” Laurie whispered.

“We’ll find her. She probably just ran out to do some errands, maybe grab some lunch.” But that didn’t sound like Meg, and Jillian knew it. Conscientious Meg always told her parents where she was going. Cautious Meg never spent much time out alone.

“He can’t see Molly,” Tom muttered. “Can’t. Just . . . can’t.”

“It’s going to be all right,” Jillian repeated. “Everything will work out fine.” She turned to her mother. “Mom, maybe you can show Tom some more pictures from your singing days. I need to go upstairs and talk to Sergeant Griffin.”

Her mother tapped her left finger somberly, a soldier accepting her mission. The look on her face made Jillian’s heart tighten in her chest. She gave Libby’s hand a quick, reassuring squeeze. Funny how in the last twenty-four hours, Jillian felt that she had finally taken the first step forward with her life. Funny how in the last twenty-four hours, it would appear that Griffin had taken at least three steps back.

There was an air about him now. A crackle of barely concealed anger. If he stood in front of a punching bag, she thought, he would easily tear it to shreds. And then he would stomp on the torn, tortured bits while the tendons corded in his neck and the menace in him grew and grew and grew.

He’d said he’d tried to kill David Price the day of his arrest. Two fellow detectives had gotten in Griffin’s way. Seeing his fury now, she wondered how they could’ve been so brave. And she wondered what those two men had looked like five minutes after the encounter.

She squared her shoulders and headed up the stairs.

She heard Detective Fitz’s voice first. He was down the hall, apparently asking Toppi some questions in Molly’s room. Jillian bypassed that door and headed to Meg’s bedroom, where she found Griffin standing in front of Meg’s small, white-painted desk. His powerful shoulders filled the window, blocking the light.

In spite of herself, Jillian couldn’t take another step forward. She remained in the doorway, where she cleared her throat.

He turned slowly, Meg’s calendar held between his hands. “This is an official police investigation, ma’am. Get out of the room.”

“I’m not in the room.”

“Jillian,” he growled.

“Griffin,” she replied, and now she did step forward. She came right up to him, where she could see that his hands were shaking, his blue eyes had turned jet black and his jaw was set so tight, he had to be grinding his teeth.

“They were just trying to protect their family,” she told him quietly. “Laurie and Tom, they never meant anyone any harm.”

“Tell that to the ten other families. The mothers and fathers who had to file through the morgue, looking at videotape because the real remains of their children were too gruesome for even seasoned professionals to see. Tell that to the detectives who went through peer counseling just to get those images out of their head.”

“They didn’t know, Griffin. Nobody knew. Isn’t that why you’re so angry? Because their mistake reminds you of your own, and that just pisses you off all over again.”

He literally snarled. She had never seen a human being do that before. He snarled at her, raw and savage, and in the depths of his rage, she also saw his pain. It gave her the courage to raise her hand and place it gently on his chest.

“It’s different this time. It’s going to be okay.”

“How do you know? You’ve never met Price. You don’t know just how much he enjoys a good game. And that’s all this is to him: a game. Another way to pass the time until he gets his ass out of jail. Which I think he’s going to do shortly after six this evening if I don’t magically figure everything out.”

Jillian didn’t say anything.

“What do you know, anyway?” His tone picked up in hostility. “You and your little Survivors Club. What a joke that name turned out to be. It’s the Liars Club, that’s what it is. Each one of you hoarding your precious little secrets, and in the meantime real people are out there dying. Real people are getting hurt because you women won’t tell the police everything.”

She still didn’t speak.

“What do you even know about Meg, anyway?” he went on relentlessly. “According to her own parents she once considered herself in love with a man who’s a convicted serial killer. How do you know she isn’t
still
in love? Ever think of that? Her rape was the least traumatic. Hardly a bruise on her. You always considered her lucky, but maybe she was simply in cahoots with Price all along. Her rape was staged, her amnesia is staged. She’s part of Price’s game, too, and right now, she’s off doing things to help good old lover boy.”

“No.”

“No? You’re sure? Absolutely, positively sure?”

“Yes.”

“Why, Jillian, you suddenly have that much faith?”

And she replied firmly, “I do.”

He closed his eyes. “Goddammit,” he muttered hoarsely.

“I know,” she whispered. “I know. She needs you, Griffin. I don’t know where Meg is. But she’s not helping David Price. She’s not in cahoots with the College Hill Rapist. She’s a young girl who’s already had two very bad breaks in life, first being seduced by a pedophile, then being attacked by a sexual predator. And maybe her rape was the least violent, but the police have said all along that’s not uncommon for the first attack. The College Hill Rapist used her as a trial run, and unfortunately for all of us, it went so well, he unfettered his anger even more. Also, based on what her parents just said, her total amnesia finally makes some sense. How is she supposed to remember the truth when her life doesn’t have any? Her sister’s really her daughter, her first love is a perverted killer, and her parents are also grandparents. For God’s sake, I can’t even keep that all straight.”

He opened his eyes, peered at her curiously. “You care for her that much, Jillian?”

“Yes,” she answered honestly. “I do.”

He stepped away, placed the calendar back on the desk, and seemed to stare at the clean surface without seeing much. Was he thinking of David Price again? Except further back, to the days they had once been friends? It sounded as if he had genuinely liked David Price once. Maybe he had believed in him, too.

“How is Carol?” he asked abruptly.

“The doctors took her off the respirator this morning. Apparently that’s a positive sign her body is starting to recover. Of course, no one will know how much she will recover until we see how much she has recovered.”

“Has she regained consciousness?”

“No.”

“Dan?”

“They say he hasn’t left her side.”

“Probably can’t,” Griffin muttered. “Minute he leaves the hospital, some of Vinnie’s boys are due to break his legs.”

“I had a conversation with Vinnie about that.”

He looked at her in surprise. “Trying to save the world, Jillian?”

“I protect what’s mine,” she said evenly. “Though I have it from good sources that I can’t protect everyone all of the time. I’ve decided, however, that it’s still good to try. Besides, Libby asked me to.”

“You bailed Dan out? Paid his debts at your mother’s request?”

“No. I convinced Uncle Vinnie that my mother would consider it a huge favor if he forgave the rest of Dan’s debt. Then she smiled at him, and that took care of that. Then I told him
I
would consider it a huge favor if he arranged it so Dan could never borrow money again. Vinnie thought that was cruel, so naturally he liked the idea.” She hesitated. “Griffin . . .”

He looked at her.

She took a deep breath. “I know no one wants to say it, but what if . . . What if negotiating with David Price is the best idea?”

“No way!”

“Please! Hear me out. You said yourself he knows the College Hill Rapist’s real identity. Are you sure of that?”

“The man is a natural-born liar and a natural-born predator. So, no, I’m not sure of anything.”

“But you’re taking his allegations seriously.”

“He knew about the DNA,” Griffin said curtly. “He knew when we got the DNA analysis back on Sylvia Blaire it would point to Eddie Como. Plus there’s Meg. It’s too much of a coincidence that the rapist’s first victim would also be Price’s first conquest. And there’s me, of course, the detective who put David Price away, and who is now leading the supposed College Hill Rapist homicide investigation. Well, shit!” Griffin’s eyes widened. “Of course, an assassination at the state courthouse. Hey, good news everybody, three days later, I finally know why poor Eddie Como is dead.”

“Why?”

“To bring me in on the case, of course. Because if Como dies
at
the courthouse, it’s automatically state police jurisdiction.” Griffin smiled bitterly. “Leave it to David to send only the bloodiest invite to his party.”

Jillian closed her eyes. Oh God, she had never heard of a man as evil as David Price. It pained her, then, to say what she had to say next. She opened her eyes. She peered at Griffin intently, trying to get him to see the truth, even if it hurt. “So David Price must be involved. And if he does know the name of the College Hill Rapist . . . Griffin, I know you don’t want to deal with him. I know
I
would give anything to keep such a man away from Molly. But as you said, real people are dying out there. And if you’re not any closer to knowing the real identity of the College Hill Rapist . . . David only wants three hours,” she whispered. “Surely saving even one life is worth giving David Price three supervised hours on the outside. Won’t you at least consider it?”

Griffin’s hard-lined face was no longer mottled red. Instead, his expression went dangerously cold.

“The press is going to agree with you,” he said softly. Menacingly.

“The press is not always wrong.”

“And the public will call the mayor, and the mayor will call the governor and the governor will call my superintendent, and David Price will get his way.”

“But you’ll get the College Hill Rapist!”

“Do you really think so, Jillian? How will we know if the name Price gives us is the right one? How will we know it’s not another patsy? And even if it is the right man, how will we build the case? We have no prints, no hair, no fiber, no DNA. We could arrest him today, only to let him go tomorrow.”

“D’Amato is good. He’ll come up with some sort of charge to buy you time. You can put things together. It worked before.”

“When Providence arrested an innocent man?”

She lost some of her composure. Poor Eddie Como. The true impact of his innocence hadn’t sunk in yet. She wasn’t ready for it to sink in. She tried again. “At least an arrest will start the ball rolling.”

“Price has offered us nothing,” Griffin argued quietly. “It’s what he does best. He gives you ashes, but makes it sound like prime rib. Face it, he’s the perfect criminal for this day and age—sound-bite ready for network news and cable TV.”

“Griffin, all those girls, those poor, poor girls . . .”

Griffin was silent. She thought maybe she’d finally gotten through to him, and then he started to speak.

“I’m going to tell you something, Jillian. Something very few people know. I’m going to tell you, and then I don’t want you to mention it ever again. Do you agree?”

Jillian got a chill. She had a feeling she should say no. She had a feeling this is how it felt to make a deal with the devil. She nodded helplessly.

“Eighteen months ago, when we arrested David Price, I went down into the basement of his home. I saw ten tiny mounds where he buried his victims beneath the dirt floor. I saw the mattress where he raped them and I saw the paraphernalia he used to torture them. But I still didn’t attack him. I called CIU to process the scene. I ordered him put into handcuffs, and I got on with the business at hand. This was a big arrest in a big case. We were all taking it very seriously.”

Griffin’s eyes were locked on hers. “Price started talking. Making conversation really, as he stood there cuffed between Detectives Waters and O’Reilly. How he met the kids, how he kidnapped the kids, what he did to them. It was hard. We were professionals, but what he said, and so calmly, too, it wore on you. But it was also incriminating, a bona fide confession, so we let him talk while Waters started recording him. And then, then Price switched topics. He stopped talking about the kids. He started talking about Cindy.”

Griffin paused. Jillian simply stared at him. She had the horrible thought she was going to wish she had never heard what he had to say next.

“In the last two weeks of Cindy’s life,” Griffin said quietly, “it was obvious she wasn’t going to make it. The cancer had eaten her from the inside out. She couldn’t walk, couldn’t sit up, couldn’t even raise her hand. I brought her home as we’d agreed, set her up in a special bed in the family room, and got a hospice worker to come over and help out. Cindy could still blink her eyes, and that’s how we would talk. I would ask her questions and she would blink once for yes and twice for no. Much like your mother. I, uh”—he swallowed, his voice finally growing husky—“I used to ask her if she loved me, at least ninety times a day, just so I could see her blink. Just so I would know she was still that much alive. I was working the damn Candy Man case, of course. I could make a lot of the phone calls from home, process the paperwork . . . But sometimes I’d have to go out, and sometimes the hospice worker also needed a break, and sometimes, sometimes David would come over.

“That’s right.” He nodded. “Our good friend and helpful neighbor, ‘we’re going to beat this thing’ David Price, would come over and sit with Cindy. As the saying goes, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

“But now we’re down in the basement, with that mattress and that workbench and those dark, tiny waves. Now we’re down in the basement and David is telling me exactly what he did those afternoons he sat with Cindy. Exactly what he did to my wife.”