Kill for Me

Chapter Twenty-three

Atlanta, Monday, February 5, 11:05 a.m.

I hate this job,” Luke muttered. He’d been staring at the door to The Room, feeling claustrophobic before he even opened the door. The door opened and he jumped back.

A startled Nate stood in the doorway, an empty coffee carafe in one hand. “Don’t do that,” Nate said tightly. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Luke looked at the pot. “How much coffee have you had, man?”

“Too much and not enough. What are you doing here?”

“Mansfield’s hard drives. The Sweetpea files. We’re hoping Mansfield got a picture of the man Monica Cassidy heard with Granville.”

“The mysterious thích. I’ll make a fresh pot.”

Luke hesitated, the pressure on his chest suddenly so heavy it was hard to breathe.

“You won’t find him standing there,” Nate said quietly. “It’ll be easier to breathe once you step inside.”

Luke looked up, met Nate’s weary eyes. “You, too?”

“Every goddamn day.”

And a little more of you dies each day. “Make the coffee strong,” Luke said. He stepped inside and pulled up the Sweetpea files. It was harder than the first time, knowing what he’d find. But he steeled himself against the images of brutality and looked instead for details, backgrounds, shadows, anything that might belong to the occupants of the room there at that damn bunker. Anything except the victims and their suffering.

But he could never see one without the other. That was his problem. It was also, he knew, what made him good at this godforsaken job.

The door opened, closed behind him, and Nate put a mug of steaming coffee on the desk. “What are you looking for, exactly?”

“A man, probably in his sixties. Monica said Granville asked him about how the VC broke its prisoners. Monica said the man slapped Granville for asking.”

“Emotional response. You’re thinking he was a soldier, captured maybe?”

“Maybe. Susannah heard Granville mention him when she was a little girl, so he had to be living around Dutton then. I had stills made from the video of Sheila Cunningham’s funeral. Susannah said the whole town was there.” He spread the pictures out.

“Hell, half the town is over sixty, Luke.”

“Yeah. Looks like anybody with brains got out of Dodge right after high school.”

“Can you blame them?” Luke separated out the photos with older men and pinned them to the board above the monitor. “We could be looking for one of these men. Granville had access to this guy when he was a young teenager. This guy was a religious figure to Granville.”

“The whole Buddhist thing.”

“Yeah.” Luke frowned. “But there isn’t a Buddhist congregation in Dutton. I checked.”

“He didn’t have to be a real cleric,” Nate said.

“He just had to be able to have access to a teenager without it being obvious.”

“Meaning he could be a teacher, a preacher, a doctor… All the usual suspects.”

“All of which have lived there since Susannah was a little girl. I have a list of the town’s residents from when I was looking for men named Bobby on Saturday.” Luke looked over the list he’d studied the night before as Susannah lay sleeping and he could not. “I ran military checks on all the men over fifty.”

Nate looked surprised. “When did you do that?”

“Last night. It was what I was doing when you called to tell me about seeing Becky Snyder’s little sisters on the Net.”

Nate’s eyes shadowed. “Any of those men serve in ’Nam?”

“Not one. If I’d found one, I would have hauled my ass over here last night.” Instead, he’d taken a few hours of comfort in Susannah’s arms, in her willing body. Respite. He’d needed it more than he’d realized.

“Well, your ass is here now, whether it wants to be or not.” Nate pulled up a chair. “Let’s get started. Four eyes are better than two.”

Luke shot him a grateful look. “Thanks.”

Charlotte, North Carolina, Monday, February 5, 11:45 a.m.

Harry Grimes sat next to CSU tech Mandy Penn, staring at the grainy stills taken by the ATM across from Mel’s Diner where Genie Cassidy had been abducted.

“What are you looking for, exactly?” Mandy asked.

“I’m not sure.” Harry leaned forward. “That’s the kidnapper’s Volvo pulling past the camera, into the parking lot. There’s another car. It’s stopping, watching.”

“It’s a Ford Crown Vic,” Mandy said. In the distance, two figures grappled. The smaller figure was dragged to the back of the Volvo. Through each still, the Crown Vic maintained position, and Mandy whistled softly. “You’re right, Harry. He’s watching.”

“Can you zoom on the license plate?”

“I can try.” Mandy zoomed, focused, then sat back, satisfied. “There you go.”

“Excellent.” He squinted at the photo. “Is the guy in the Crown Vic talking on a cell?”

“Looks like. Maybe calling 911?”

“Nobody called 911 from that location. I checked. Can you run an ID on that plate?”

Mandy did, then went still, eyes wide. “He wasn’t calling the cops. He is a cop.”

Harry looked at her screen, stunned. “Paul Houston, Atlanta PD. He just sat there, watching while Genie was snatched.”

“Maybe the car was stolen.”

“I sure hope so. Thanks, Mandy.” Harry started back for his desk. “I owe you one.”

Springdale, Monday, February 5, noon

Talia parked in front of the house belonging to Carl Linton, Marcy Linton’s father. “You ready for this, Susannah?”

Susannah stared at the house. “Darcy told me she’d come from Queens, that her father beat her and her mother. That she’d run away from home.”

“The Lintons reported her missing when she was nineteen.”

“She’d gone to New York by then. I didn’t meet her for another two years. Why did she leave her family? Why did she target me?”

“We won’t find out sitting here,” Talia said. “Let’s go.”

Talia’s knock was met by an older man with graying hair. “Mr. Linton?” Talia asked.

“Yes.” He studied Susannah with a frown. “What do you want?”

“I’m Special Agent Talia Scott of the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. This is Assistant District Attorney Vartanian, from New York. We need to talk with you.”

His frown deepened and he opened the door. “Come in.”

A woman came from the kitchen and froze. “You’re the Vartanian woman. We saw you on the news. You shot that woman. The one who’d kidnapped all those girls.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Why are you here?” Carl Linton asked, more harshly.

Talia’s head tilted, just a hair. “We need to talk to you about your daughter, Marcy.”

Both Lintons drew shocked breaths. “Sit down,” Carl said.

Talia took the lead. “After you reported Marcy missing, did you hear from her again?”

“No,” Carl said. “Why? For God’s sake tell us what this is about.”

“Your daughter is dead, sir,” Susannah said quickly. “I’m sorry.”

Both parents sagged. “How?” Mrs. Linton whispered.

Talia nodded and Susannah drew a breath. “I grew up in Dutton.”

“We know,” Carl said coldly.

“When I was in graduate school in New York, I met a woman who said her name was Darcy Williams. She and I became friends. She told me she was from Queens, that she’d run away from an abusive family. Today I saw a photo of Marcy in her high school yearbook. She was the woman I knew as Darcy. Darcy was murdered.”

“Murdered?” Mrs. Linton had grown paler. “How? Where? When?”

“A man beat her to death.” Susannah’s stomach turned over at the pain on the Lintons’ faces. “We’d gone to a hotel in the city. When I found her… it was too late. It was six years ago, January nineteenth. Her killer confessed and is serving his sentence. I’m so sorry. If I’d known about her real family I would have told you years ago.”

Carl shook his head, denial clear in his eyes. “Why would she tell you those lies?”

“We think she may have been hired to,” Talia said quietly. “Or perhaps forced to.”

Mrs. Linton’s lips trembled. “Where is she now?”

“In a cemetery about an hour north of New York City. It’s a pretty place. Peaceful.” Susannah felt the sting of tears and pushed them back. “I thought she had no family.”

“ADA Vartanian paid for her burial,” Talia said gently.

“We want her back,” Carl said, so hostilely that Susannah blinked.

“Of course. I’ll arrange for it immediately.”

Talia put her hand over Susannah’s. “Just a minute,” she said, keeping her voice mild. “ADA Vartanian was also assaulted the night of your daughter’s murder. Later, she paid to bury your daughter from her own pocket, believing she had no family.”

Carl’s jaw went hard as stone. “We want her back,” he said, enunciating every word.

“I sympathize with your grief, sir,” Talia said. “I need to understand your hostility.”

Carl straightened abruptly. “Our daughter was taken from us, forced to do God knows what, then murdered, and you have the nerve to criticize me?”

“I’m not criticizing you,” Talia said.

“The hell you’re not.” Carl lurched to his feet, pointing a trembling finger at Susannah. “My daughter had a future, but your father took that from her. She meets you and now she’s dead. You want gratitude for a goddamn burial plot? You can go to hell.”

Susannah sat, stunned. “What did my father have to do with your daughter?”

Carl’s fists were on his hips and his face was florid. “Don’t pretend you don’t know. Don’t pretend you cared about her. I’ve had enough from Vartanians to last me the rest of my goddamn life.” He slammed the front door so hard the whole place shook.

Susannah stared after him, unable to think of a thing to say.

Mrs. Linton remained, whether by choice or simply because she was trembling too hard to move Susannah was unsure.

“Mrs. Linton,” Talia said smoothly. “What connects your daughter to Judge Vartanian? I checked her file. There were no arrests, no appearances in court.”

“She was a minor,” Mrs. Linton murmured. “Her record was sealed.”

“What was the offense?” Talia asked.

Mrs. Linton’s eyes flashed. “Soliciting. She didn’t do it. She was an honor student. She tutored kids after school. Her teachers said she’d earn scholarships. But her life was ruined because she was arrested and we couldn’t afford to keep her out of jail.”

Talia frowned. “Soliciting. You mean prostitution?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Linton said bitterly. “That’s exactly what I mean. She served six months in a juvenile facility. We couldn’t afford any less.”

A chill ran down Susannah’s spine. “You couldn’t afford less? Less what?”

“Less time,” Mrs. Linton spat. “Your father sentenced her to two years. She was only sixteen. Your father wanted money to keep her out of jail. We mortgaged our house, but he said it wasn’t enough. He said she’d still serve a whole year.”

Susannah looked at Talia, stricken. She’d known it was true, known it was happening, but she’d been too young to act. Now she was seeing the effects of her father’s handiwork. No, I’ve been seeing the effects for the last six years. Every time I close my eyes and see Darcy, dead in a pool of her own blood.

Talia patted her hand, turning all her attention to Marcy’s mother. “Mrs. Linton, this is important. You said she’d been sentenced to two years, but you paid the judge enough to get it down to a year. But Marcy served six months. What happened?”

Mrs. Linton was studying Susannah uncertainly. “Someone in the juvenile system helped her. She got a new trial, a different judge. He let her go, time served.”

“Who was the judge, Mrs. Linton?” Susannah asked, already knowing the answer.

“Judge Borenson. He’s retired now.”

Talia blew out a breath. “When did the new trial happen, ma’am?”

“Almost thirteen years ago.”

It was like a kick in the ribs. “Not a coincidence,” Susannah whispered.

“I agree,” Talia said quietly. “Mrs. Linton, who helped your daughter get a new trial?”

“A lawyer from Legal Aid.” She looked from Talia to Susannah. “A different one than Marcy had the first time. His name was Alderman.”

Susannah closed her eyes. “He represented Gary Fulmore.”

“He died soon after he got Marcy out,” Mrs. Linton said. “He had a car accident.”

“Mrs. Linton,” Talia said, “were any others involved in your daughter’s release?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’ll have to ask my husband. He’s gone for a walk. It’s what he does when he gets angry about Marcy. I’ll ask him when he comes back.”

“Thank you,” Talia said. “Here’s my card. Please call me if you remember anything, no matter how small it seems. We’ll see ourselves out.”

Susannah followed Talia, turning when Mrs. Linton said her name. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Linton said hoarsely. “For burying my daughter in a nice place.”

Susannah’s throat closed. “You’re welcome. I’ll make sure she’s moved to a nice place here. Pick the spot and let me know.”

Susannah waited for Talia to start the engine, conscious of Mrs. Linton watching them from the window. “Go back to Main Street,” she said. “But head away from town.”

“Where are we going?” Talia asked.

“To my parents’ house. Hurry, before I lose my nerve.”

Charlotte, North Carolina, Monday, February 5, 12:05 p.m.

Still reeling from the discovery of an Atlanta cop observing Genie Cassidy’s abduction, Harry called the one person he trusted to guide him through what could be a sticky situation. “Steven, it’s Harry.”

“Hey. I was just getting ready to call you.”

Harry’s heart sank. “You found Dr. Cassidy in Lake Gordon?”

“Only his car. Now we’re searching the shoreline. Harry, what’s wrong?”

“God, Steven. I’ve fallen into a mess.” He told his old boss about the Crown Vic.

“Holy hell, Harry. Are you sure?”

“That the car is registered to Houston, yes. Who’s behind the wheel I can’t say.”

“Have you called APD?”

“Not yet. I was wondering where to start. I could call the administrative office and get Paul Houston’s boss, but his boss might ask him directly. If Houston is dirty, I don’t want to risk tipping him off. I could call Atlanta’s Internal Affairs, but… hell, Steven.”

Steven was quiet a moment. “Do you trust this Papadopoulos?”

“Yeah. I think so. More than IA, anyway.”

“Then call him. Tell him what you found. Let him field the flak.”

“Seems cowardly.”

“Well, door number two is IA.”

“I’ll call Papadopoulos.”

“I thought so. Call me if you need anything more.”

Springdale, Monday, February 5, 12:25 p.m.

Talia waited until they were on the main road. “Why are we going to your parents’ house, Susannah?”

“My father kept records. Borenson came to our house often. They scratched each other’s backs.”

“But in Marcy’s case, Borenson reversed your father’s initial ruling.”

“Right after Borenson presided over Gary Fulmore’s trial, which we know was dirty. My father wouldn’t have been happy about being overruled.”

“Do you remember an argument between them?”

“No. But when Alicia Tremaine turned up dead in that ditch, my mother somehow knew Simon was involved. She went to Frank Loomis and begged him to ‘fix it.’ So he framed Gary Fulmore, a drifter who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and too high to know what was happening. Alderman was Fulmore’s defense attorney. The only evidence Loomis had was Alicia’s ring in Fulmore’s pocket and a little blood on his clothes. There were huge holes in the case. Judge Borenson should have seen. He should have seen.”

“A jury convicted Fulmore, Susannah. Borenson may not have been involved.”

“We both know a jury convicts based on the evidence they’re allowed to hear. Who knows if Borenson allowed Alderman to present a proper case?”

“And a few months later, Alderman stands before Borenson again and gets Marcy Linton released.”

“I wonder if Alderman knew Fulmore’s case was tainted and somehow threatened Borenson.” Susannah pulled her laptop from her brief- case. “I wonder how many cases Alderman won between Marcy Linton and the day he died.” Talia drove as she searched. “Looks like Alderman defended five people between Marcy Linton’s second trial and his death. He drew Borenson two of those five times and won both cases. He lost the other three.”

“Not definitive,” Talia said. “And we can’t ask him, because he’s dead.”

“Let’s say Alderman knew something-why didn’t he use it to get Fulmore off? That was a much more high-profile case. It would have been a huge feather in his cap.”

“Either Alderman didn’t find out till later or he chose to leverage what he knew on future cases.”

“That’s what I think.” Susannah stiffened as her old house came into view. The bile started to rise in her throat and she resolutely, audibly, swallowed it back.

Talia glanced over again, her expression worried. “You okay?”

“No. But we’re going in anyway. Because even if Alderman had information that Borenson ran a dirty trial, it doesn’t explain Darcy’s death and the fact that Granville’s thích was at the bunker within the last few weeks. There’s a connection. I know it.”

“My gut says you’re right. I hope we find something concrete to back it up.”

“My father kept detailed records on everything, and Daniel and I know most of his hiding places. I knew I’d have to come back here and find his records. I’ve been dreading it, just like Luke is dreading those pictures on Mansfield’s hard drive.”

“Do you have a key?” Talia asked.

Susannah nodded grimly. “Frank Loomis gave it to me after my parents’ funeral.”

Talia just sighed. “Let me call in our location, and we’ll get started looking.”

Bobby froze, her hand poised on the frame of a very expensive painting hanging in an upstairs parlor. She’d found four wall safes behind equally expensive paintings throughout the house and another safe in the floor of the judge’s bedroom. Now she slid her hand away from the frame at the sound of car doors slamming outside.

Women’s voices. Carefully she crept to the window, and nodded, satisfied. One of the women had been at the press conference the day before, standing next to the women on the stage. She was GBI. The other was none other than Susannah.

A thrill ran down Bobby’s spine. She’d been wondering how she’d force Susannah to open the safes. Now Susannah had been dumped in her lap, like a gift. She’d have to get rid of the agent, but that’s what guns were for. Bobby was well-stocked, having found a stash of weapons in the attic while searching for heirlooms. Untraceable guns, switchblades, tasers, all hidden beneath yards of Christmas garland.

Peace on earth, indeed.

Atlanta, Monday, February 5, 12:25 p.m.

Luke continued to click through each picture in Mansfield’s Sweetpea file. After an hour, all he’d seen were Granville and the victims. So many victims. He had to focus on the background detail to keep his sanity.

“He took these with a hidden camera,” Luke said, just to hear his own voice and not the cries he imagined coming from each victim as she was tortured.

“Granville’s clothes change seasonally a couple of times,” Nate said. “The angle also changes. I wonder what Mansfield had the camera hidden in.”

“I’m betting the camera was in a pen clipped to his pocket. He mostly gets shots of Granville’s torso and shoes. I wish he’d date stamped the damn things. We could have cut right to pictures taken during the last two weeks.”

“That’s the problem with all of his pictures. They’re organized by predilection, but not by time. It’ll be hard to figure out when the pictures were taken and how old the kids would even be by now.”

Luke stiffened as his mind registered a detail in the next photo. “Wait.”

Nate was leaning forward, eyes narrowed. On the edge of the picture were a man’s trousers, the legs bent at the knee. “Whoever’s wearing them was sitting down.”

“But look at the shoes.” Luke pointed with his pen. “The soles.”

Nate sucked in a breath. “One’s thicker than the other. Special shoes.”

Luke’s mind had run through all the men in the town and already come to a conclusion before his eyes lifted to the board behind the monitor to where the stills hung. He pointed to the still of the three barbershop bench men, sitting in folding chairs near Sheila’s graveside. “The one on the end, with the walking stick. His name is Charles Grant. He was Daniel’s English teacher.” Quickly he dialed Chloe. “It’s Luke. I think I have an ID on the man Monica Cassidy heard in the bunker. Charles Grant.”

“Grant?” Chloe repeated, stunned. “Isn’t he Daniel’s teacher? The one that gave us information on Mack O’Brien?”

“Just when we needed it,” Luke said bitterly. “Just like the information supplied by Kate Davis, aka Rocky.”

“This is going to kill Daniel,” Chloe said.

“Let’s get word to him, so that it doesn’t,” Luke said tersely. “I need a warrant.”

“You got a clear ID?”

“Not his face,” Luke said. “Just his shoes.”

“I don’t know if I can get you a warrant on shoes, Luke.”

“Dammit, Chloe…”

“Luke,” Nate said. He’d clicked through a few more pictures. “Look.”

The camera angle was different. “Wait,” he said and zoomed in. “How about the head of a walking stick identical to the one Charles Grant used at Sheila’s funeral?”

“Much better. You get started for Dutton. You’ll have a warrant when you get there.”

“Thanks, Chloe.” Luke hung up and dialed Chase, filling him in.

“Good work,” Chase said. “I’ll contact Germanio. They should be at the cemetery and hopefully Grant is there. Germanio can watch him while you get down there and search his house. Bobby could be hiding there. Oh, and Luke, I just hung up with that agent in North Carolina. Harry Grimes. He’s been trying your cell for over an hour.”

“My cell doesn’t work in The Room.”

“I told him that. He refused to tell me what he wanted, just that it was urgent.”

“I’ll call him. Chase, have you heard from Talia and Susannah?”

“Yes, she’s safe. Now go.”

Luke turned to Nate. “Can you send these pics to Chloe for the warrant?”

“Already done. I just e-mailed them to her. Go. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” A glance at his call log revealed six calls from Harry Grimes. Luke dialed him as he ran down the stairs toward his car. “Harry, it’s Luke Papadopoulos.”

“I have news for you. It’s sensitive and I wasn’t sure who I could trust.”

“What is it?”

“I found video of Genie Cassidy’s abduction. Someone observed the whole thing. Someone driving a Crown Vic registered to an Atlanta cop. Name’s Paul Houston.”

“A cop?” Luke didn’t have time for pause, although a major chunk of the puzzle had just fallen into place. “My God. Now it makes sense.”

“It does?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, it does.” Now he knew how Bobby was able to force Nurse Jennifer Ohman to keep Monica silent and the male nurse to try to kill Ryan Beardsley, and maybe even how she was able to force Leigh Smithson to aid her. Bobby was working with a cop. A cop would know about drug addictions and other secrets, and a dirty cop would use those to blackmail. “I’m running to an emergency. I need you to call my boss back. Tell him what you told me, fast. Thanks, Harry, we owe you one.”

“Glad to help. Good luck.”

Yeah, Luke thought as he reached his car. I need all the good luck I can get.

Dutton, Monday, February 5, 1:00 p.m.

Susannah sat in her father’s chair, frustrated. “I know he kept records, Talia, but they’re not anywhere I’ve looked. I’m going about this wrong. If he had records, he wouldn’t store them where they could be easily found.” She closed her eyes. “I remember hiding at the top of the stairs when I was little, knowing people were meeting with my father, in this office. Even then I knew there was something wrong going on.”

“You were a child,” Talia said softly. “You couldn’t have done anything.”

“I know that, just like I know I’m not responsible for Darcy’s death. But knowing is different from knowing.” Susannah kept her eyes closed. “I’d sit at the top of the stairs and listen, then they’d leave and my father-Arthur-would lock the front door.”

“What did your father do after he locked the door?”

“He’d go back into his office. Once I got brave and crept down the stairs to listen. There was a rustle, then a pop.” She looked over the room, her gaze falling on the thick Persian rug that had covered the carpet for as long as she could remember. She knew there was a floor safe in her parents’ bedroom, but that floor was hardwood and this one was carpeted. Still… She went to the Persian and pulled back the edge.

“It didn’t rustle,” Talia said, still standing in the doorway. “Pull it harder.”

Susannah did, making a whipping noise as the Persian rolled on itself. “That’s the sound.” She dropped to her knees and examined the carpet. “God, he was a wily piece of work. This carpet below is pieced.” Carefully she pulled it up. “Another floor safe.”

“Can you open it?” Talia asked.

“Probably, if I think hard enough. Arthur used to use birthdays of relatives for his combinations. He thought he was being clever and we never knew.” She tried her mother’s birthday, then Simon’s, then any others she could remember. Grandmothers, grandfathers, aunts and uncles. None worked.

“Maybe he picked something different for this safe,” Talia said. “Not a birthday.”

“Maybe, but he was a creature of habit. I guess I got one thing from him honestly.” Then she knew. “Honestly,” she murmured again, then twisted the dial and popped the door. “Daniel’s birthday. Daniel will get a kick out of that.” The judge used the birthday of the one man he couldn’t corrupt, but who tortured himself over the sins of his father.

Arthur had thought Daniel weak. He thought the same about me. The judge was mistaken, she thought as she drew out several bound ledgers and journals. Bingo.

Talia came to sit on the floor beside her. “He must have thirty years of records in here. Why not use a safe-deposit box?”

“He didn’t trust banks. Marcy should be in this one.” Flipping pages, she found the entry. “My God. He wanted seventy-five thousand dollars from the Lintons. No wonder they couldn’t come up with the money.”

“So what happened with Borenson?” Talia asked.

“Hell.” She ran her finger down the page. “He says that the girl’s ‘handler’ stepped in and threatened Borenson and he ‘folded like a house of cards.’ ”

“Handler?” Talia asked. “So she really was soliciting?”

“Sounds like it.” Susannah read on. “Marcy was soliciting, but for more than sex. It says here that she’d pick rich men who liked young girls, seduce them, then threaten to tell their wives if they didn’t pay her. She’d give the money to her handler and he’d pay her a cut.” She met Talia’s eyes. “Bobby did that for years, too, in Atlanta. Chloe told Garth Davis that she’d found the transaction records.”

“Another connection,” Talia murmured. “Does your father say who the handler is?”

Susannah read it, then read it again, then stared at the page, stunned. “He says Marcy’s handler was Charles Grant. That… that doesn’t make sense.”

“It fits. Chase called me when we were driving from the Lintons’. Luke found one of Mansfield’s pictures from the bunker-a man with a walking stick, like Charles Grant’s.”

Susannah’s eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you were so pale I thought you’d pass out, and you got paler as we got closer to this place. I figured I’d let you deal with one stress at a time.”

“You’re right, I guess. But Charles Grant?” She was still numb. “He was Daniel’s favorite teacher. He was everybody’s favorite teacher.”

“He also may be a killer. What else does the journal say, Susannah?”

Susannah kept reading, past stunned. “Little prick, trying to squeeze me. He might scare Carol with all his Asian voo-doo, but all his talk of occult and thíchs doesn’t scare me. Grant’s a fucking opportunist. He’ll use whatever it takes to get what he wants. He thought he could use Simon to get to me, but I took care of Simon’s sins. He thought he’d use Susannah to get to me. Like that was ever going to work. She’s…” Susannah faltered. “She’s nothing to me.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” Talia whispered. “You can stop now.”

“No. I need to know. But today… this… He’s turned Borenson against me and this will not stand. The next time I make a demand, the defendants will just whine to Borenson and he’ll let them off with a damn slap on the wrist. Borenson’s weak. I told him to just get rid of that upstart Legal-Aid idiot Alderman, but did he listen? Hell no. Before it was his own business when Alderman threatened him. Now, he’s cutting into mine. Dammit, this place costs money to keep. The bills are staggering. They will not cut off my income.”

Dread was pooling. “He did it for money. For this house.” And he’d known. “He knew what happened to me.” With trembling hands she flipped pages until she got to the January when she’d woken up in a hidey-hole, bruised, bleeding, forever changed.

“Apparently, Charles Grant had been trying to blackmail my father out of the money he’d blackmailed from the defendants in his courtroom.” Her lips curved bitterly. “It’s ironic in a totally twisted way,” she murmured, then went still, her dread confirmed.

“That prick Grant came by tonight with pictures of Simon fucking Susannah. I was supposed to be ashamed. Incest. I told Grant to go to hell and take his pictures with him, that Susannah got what she deserved. Plus, she’d never go to the cops, the girl doesn’t have the guts. So again I won. Charles left with his tail between his legs, threatening me, like always. ‘You’ll regret this. Simon will do something so terrible even you won’t be able to get him off.’ Yeah, right. And he’s gonna get me and my little dog, too. I told him he could have Susannah. I have no use for her. He said, ‘Thank you.’ ”

Susannah closed her eyes. Tears splashed on her hands and she hastily wiped them away. “I’m going to damage the evidence.”

Talia pressed a tissue into her hand, then took a tissue for herself. “I’m so sorry, Susannah,” she whispered unsteadily.

Abruptly Susannah laughed, bitterly. “This is evidence against nobody. We can’t prove that Charles Grant did anything more than know about my… assault.”

“He instigated it,” Talia said fiercely. “I know it.”

Susannah shook her head, objectively. “But it’s not proof.”

The two of them sat quietly for a long moment, then Talia looked over at her. “It sounds like your father and Mr. Grant were in an all-out war, with Judge Borenson a pawn they traded. But then, nothing happened. No fireworks, no accusations. Borenson retires to the hills, Grant goes on teaching, your father goes on judging and they both go on extorting. No murdering rampages.” Talia paused. “Not until Simon rose again.”

Susannah let the words sink in and then it was clear. “The three of them had some kind of a truce.” Her hands no longer trembled as she flipped pages. She knew what she’d find. She flipped past Alicia Tremaine’s murder and Gary Fulmore’s trial in Borenson’s kangaroo court. “My mother pushed Frank Loomis to manipulate evidence, but Grant’s hand is in this as well. Toby Granville was Charles Grant’s protégé. If the truth came out about Alicia’s assault, Toby would have been charged, imprisoned.”

“So Grant pushed Borenson to look the other way, to ignore sham evidence.”

“I think so. Then Marcy Linton gets arrested and the battle comes to a head. Maybe my father knows Mr. Grant’s involved with Marcy or maybe it’s just really bad karma, but Grant uses what he’s got on Borenson to get Marcy a new trial and reduced sentence.”

“Your daddy wasn’t happy. So how did they achieve this truce?”

Susannah turned to a year after Alicia Tremaine’s murder, to the day Simon “died.” “The day Simon disappeared, I heard him and my father arguing. My father had found the pictures, the ones Daniel ended up using to track down the victims of Simon’s rape club. My father told Simon either he’d turn him in or Simon had to disappear. A few days later we heard Simon was dead. He’d run to Mexico and had a car accident.”

“But Simon wasn’t dead.”

“No. My father made it look like he was because he knew my mother would never stop looking for him unless she believed he was dead. My father went away and came back with a coffin he said held Simon’s remains. There’d been a Mexican autopsy and the body inside was burned beyond recognition. But they still needed a death certificate, signed by an ME.”

“I read that the body inside the coffin was under six feet tall and Simon was six-six.”

“No ME would have mistaken that body for Simon’s, even with the charred skin.” She held out the book for Talia to see. “Arthur recorded receipt of one death certificate, signed by the ME, who was also the town doctor.”

“The ME was complicit.”

“Had to have been. The date Arthur says he received the death certificate was the day after Simon disappeared. The day before we got word Simon had died in Mexico.” Susannah was unsurprised and stunned all at once. “They all knew Simon was alive.”

“So after he sells the death certificate, Borenson retires and goes into seclusion.”

“My father had neutralized the threat and Mr. Grant had to back down, again. A few months later I went to New York, to college.”

“But Charles Grant wouldn’t let you go,” Talia murmured. “You were his.”

“I can only guess he’d influenced Marcy over the years until she sought me out. I guess she would have hated me because of what my father did to her and her family.”

Talia’s sigh was heavy and sad. “Now we have our connection. I’ll call Chase and give him the update. Gather up the journals and I’ll help you carry them out to the car.”

Talia rose and walked to the foyer to make her call, but Susannah simply sat motionless, staring at the journals. So much pain, so much misery. All for greed, for mastery. It was a damn game to them. And I was their pawn.

Wearily she brought the journals and ledgers up from the deep floor safe, then stared. Beneath the ledgers were bundles of cash. Lots of cash. “Talia? Come h…”

The word trailed off as Susannah looked over her shoulder and her heart stuttered to a stop. Talia wasn’t standing in the doorway. Bobby was. She wore a malevolent grin and in her left hand she held a gun with a silencer. “Welcome home, little sister.”