Say Goodbye

SEVENTEEN

DELILAH ROSE MOVED FAST FOR A PREGNANT GIRL IN four-inch heels. Despite her claims of returning to work, she bypassed five clubs, weaving her way in and out of the long blocks with the practice of a woman who knew her way around.

Huffing and puffing behind her, Kimberly and Sal were forced to hold back, blending into the crowds of young people swelling the doorway of each establishment, then fighting their way free only to latch onto the fringes of the next party strolling up the block. Inevitably, the group would veer off from Delilah’s route, leaving the investigators exposed and vulnerable until the next foursome came along.

Delilah had her head down, hands clutching her ragged blue coat closed. She alternated between a near sprint and sudden dead halts, where she glanced every which way with the heightened paranoia of a woman living on the edge.

She went up one side of the block, made a hard right, only to come back down the other side. To flush out quarry? Throw the diligent off her tracks? Kimberly was beginning to get dizzy with the effort of keeping up while simultaneously keeping out of sight, when suddenly, Delilah homed in on a banged-up Mazda wedged between two four-wheel-drive trucks.

The girl fished underneath the Mazda, finally pulling out a magnetic case bearing keys, and Kimberly felt her heart sink.

“Damn, she has a car.”

“I thought the police picked her up the first time at the MARTA station.”

“Well, apparently that taught her a lesson, because now she’s driving.”

Delilah had the door open, was sliding behind the wheel.

“Now what?” Kimberly muttered, holding her left side, which had begun to cramp from the exertion.

“Look,” Sal said rapidly, glancing at her rounded belly. “You go back for my car. I’ll stick with her. These city blocks with a light on every corner…Hell, you can pretty much walk ’em as fast as you can drive ’em. With any luck, I can keep her in sight until you can rendezvous with the vehicle.”

He tossed her the keys just as Delilah pulled out. Sal scrambled to follow, dashing for the intersection. Kimberly headed back as quickly as she could, gasping in spite of herself and hoping she didn’t throw up.

Mac was right, dammit. In another month, it would be all she could do to waddle down the hall.

Now she pressed her hand against her side and promised Baby McCormack a pony if she’d just hang in there five more minutes. Baby McCormack kicked her, so apparently the child already had Mac’s sense of humor.

She made it to Sal’s car. Did not throw up. Slid into the driver’s seat, then floundered with the ignition, the seat belt, the unfamiliar setup. She was still shaky and panting, not at all like her normal cool, calm self. Pulling out, she cut off another vehicle and earned a blare from a horn and a loud screw you!

She careened north, driving with one hand, working her cell phone with the other. Sal gave her an intersection, but when she peeled over to pick him up, Delilah was no longer in sight.

“Where?” Kimberly started.

“Just headed for the highway,” Sal gasped. “North. Quick. Find the gas.”

She found the gas and Sal went flying back into the passenger seat. He grabbed his seat belt and they resumed the hunt.

Hitting the GA 400, Kimberly shot into the middle lane and floored it. Sal glued his eyes to the right, Kimberly to the left.

Which is why they almost ran over Delilah’s blue Mazda coming up the middle. At the last minute Kimberly saw her, hit the brakes, and dropped way back. She ducked into the right-hand lane, whipping into the exit lane like the normal run-of-the-mill asshole who didn’t know where she was going. At the last minute, she jerked back into northbound traffic but with two other cars between them and Delilah’s vehicle.

“Where do you think she’s going?” Sal wanted to know.

“No idea. Did you ever get her address from Sandy Springs PD?”

“Yeah. Apartment complex, but when I rang the unit number, the fat Hispanic guy who answered the door had never heard of anyone named Delilah Rose. I’m gonna go out on a limb, and say the hooker lied.”

“What about her prints?”

“Nothing in AFIS.”

“Huh,” Kimberly grunted. “In other words, we still don’t know jackshit about her. Clever girl.”

Sal held up his notepad. “Ahh, but now I can run her plates.”

“Good work, Sal. Good work.”

Delilah had her turn signal on. Whatever else Kimberly thought of Delilah, she was a conscientious driver. Didn’t speed, followed the rules. Made it very easy to follow her. It helped that Kimberly knew GA 400 like the back of her hand. Atlanta, Sandy Springs, Roswell, and Alpharetta all formed a line heading up the central thoroughfare. There were times Kimberly felt she spent her entire day driving up and down the 400. Her and the rest of Atlanta.

Delilah exited and a minute later Kimberly followed suit.

The little blue Mazda headed through an office park, into a residential area. It all looked vaguely familiar to Kimberly, but she couldn’t place it. The road was wide, double lanes separated by a divider. Delilah stayed to the right. So did Kimberly.

Traffic was thinning out now, the hour nearing midnight. Half a dozen cars became four, then three, then finally just Sal and Kimberly, twenty yards behind Delilah.

“Shit,” Sal murmured.

“Shhh,” Kimberly told him. “It’s dark. She can only see our headlights. As long as we don’t do anything stupid, we should be able to get away with it.”

Delilah was slowing down. Kimberly dropped back, too. She was looking out her window, frowning. She would swear she should know where she was. The line of overgrown bushes, the skeletal trees.

And then all of a sudden, she knew. She was coming at it from the opposite direction, but there was no doubt in her mind.

Just as Delilah Rose made the hard turn onto the dirt road where Tommy Mark Evans had died.

Kimberly drove past the lane, then killed her lights and pulled over. “Get out of the car,” she whispered urgently. “Time to walk.”

Sal had his glove compartment opened, was rifling through the depths until he found a flashlight. “We can’t take the car?”

“It’s a dirt road. No traffic. No way she won’t notice us. But I think it’s the end of the line for her as well. Only thing down this country lane is a crime scene.”

Sal’s eyes widened as he connected the dots. “This is the road where Tommy Mark Evans was shot? But why would Delilah…”

“Yeah. Exactly. Why would Delilah? If we move fast enough, hopefully we’ll find out.”

They both tucked their flashlights into their sleeves, pointing them straight down, where a narrow beam of light could discreetly illuminate the ground without giving away their position. Sal had already started running. Kimberly rubbed her side and grimly followed suit.

The road was deeply rutted, washed out in places from the deluge of rain they’d had in the fall, dotted with small rocks and clumps of dirt. They had to weave their way around, trying to move silent and sure even as Sal twisted his ankle and Kimberly tripped over a downed tree limb.

Kimberly could see a faint glow straight ahead. Headlights from a running car. One car, two cars, she couldn’t be sure. It occurred to her that Delilah might be meeting someone at this spot, and the most likely person would be the subject who had shot Tommy Mark Evans. If that was the case, they should assume the UNSUB was armed and dangerous, the type of person who wouldn’t take the unexpected arrival of two special agents particularly well.

What had she told Mac just last night? She wasn’t throwing herself into any shoot-outs, she had voluntarily removed herself from serving high-risk warrants. He should trust her to keep herself safe as she’d done for the past four years.

It came to her, the way the truth liked to come to people when it was ill-timed and unappreciated: She shouldn’t be doing this. She was an ass.

Her footsteps faltered but it was already too late. Sal was flying down the dirt road, trusting her to have his back.

Kimberly pulled out her gun and prayed for the best.

Fifty yards. Forty. Thirty. This close it became apparent it was only one car, twin headlights forming a singular spotlight on the white cross, much as Kimberly’s car had done last night.

Slowing to a half-jog, flashlights off, they slid along the edge of the road, moving nearly shoulder to shoulder so they could communicate by touch, feel.

Twenty yards. Ten.

Delilah Rose finally came into view, her back illuminated by the headlights. She was standing in front of the cross. Her hands appeared to be clutched in front of her. Her shoulders were heaving.

Sal’s touch on Kimberly’s arm. Pointing to the other side of the road. She nodded, then dashed across the open road to the relative cover of the bush-shrouded side. Keeping even with Sal as they homed in, closer, closer. Two bird dogs on the scent.

At the last minute, Kimberly looked up. Nothing.

Gazed side to side. All was clear.

A last glance behind her.

The road formed a long black tunnel of night, swallowing up civilization, a lonely place to die.

Sal counted down on his fingers. Five, four, three, two, one.

He stepped into the puddle of light, gun still down at his side, but finger on the trigger.

Delilah gasped, turned. Her hands flew to her tear-stained face.

“Delilah,” Sal said evenly.

The girl started crying. And in those heartfelt sobs, Kimberly finally understood.

“Hey, Sal,” she said. “Meet Ginny Jones.”

“You don’t understand,” the girl was saying. “You can’t call me by that name. I’m Delilah Rose. It’s the only reason I’m still alive.”

Sal and Kimberly had loaded Delilah back into her car, this time with Kimberly at the wheel. They had returned to the main road, where Sal picked up his vehicle, then continued on to a late-night pharmacy where they could easily blend in with other parked cars. Now they had Delilah sitting in the backseat of Sal’s Crown Vic, while both of them homed in on her from the front. The cramped quarters were even tighter than the usual interrogation room, and much more effective.

“Why’d you tell us Ginny Jones was missing?” Kimberly asked the girl. “If we’re not supposed to know that name, why bring it to our attention?”

Delilah/Ginny wouldn’t look at Kimberly. She was staring down at her lap, twisting the hem of her jacket over and over again.

“I’m the only one left alive,” she whispered. “One by one, bit by bit…” Her head finally came up. “I wasn’t lying before. I do want better for my baby. I want this…I need this to end. I thought, if I could just get someone to pay attention. To care about us. I’m just so tired.”

“What is this?” Sal pressed gently. “Start at the beginning, Delilah. Tell us what happened, and maybe we can help.”

“It’s my fault,” the girl rambled. “He pulled over. I accepted the ride. I had no idea. Some guys get violent, you know. Gotta slap a girl around to get their rocks off. But this guy…He doesn’t want to hit a girl. He wants to own her. Destroy her. And then he kills her. That’s what makes him happy. Breaking you.”

Sal and Kimberly exchanged glances. Sal got his mini-recorder going. Kimberly took the lead.

“When did you accept his ride?”

“Lifetime ago,” Delilah replied dully.

“Winter, spring, summer, fall?”

“Winter. February. My mom had locked me out, least I thought so, and I was cold. He appeared in his fancy SUV. I thought I’d gotten lucky.”

“What year, Delilah?”

The girl frowned, seemed to have to think about it. “Long time. One, two…two years ago. Before graduation. I was going to go to beauty school. Everyone thought I was a loser, but I had plans. I was gonna be a hairstylist.”

“So it’s February 2006,” Kimberly supplied. “It’s late at night…”

“After eleven.”

“You’re…”

“Couple blocks from my house. Walking. On the main road, you know.”

“Your mother locked you out?”

The girl’s lips twisted. “I was with Tommy. Missed curfew. The jackass.” Her mouth trembled, she looked as if she was going to cry again, but caught herself, pulled it together. “Mom said if I messed up again, she was gonna teach me a lesson. I got home, things were locked up tight. I thought she’d finally gone and done it. So I hit the road.”

“So you’re walking, it’s cold, and a vehicle appears. What kind of vehicle?”

“I already told you. A black Toyota FourRunner with silver trim. Limited Edition.”

“And the driver?”

“Dinchara, like I said. Red hat, Eddie Bauer clothes, fancy SUV. Why does everyone assume that just because I’m a hooker, I can’t tell the truth?”

Kimberly decided to ignore for a moment that, in fact, Ginny had lied several times. “So you first met him two years ago?”

“Yeah.”

“When he picked you up.”

“Yeah.”

“What happened next, Ginny?”

The girl’s eyes glazed over. She shivered, looking at pictures only she could see. “He played a tape.”

“A tape?”

“Yeah, in his car. It was a recording…of my mom, dying. He made me listen to it again and again. Her screaming and screaming and screaming. And giving him my name. Goddamn bitch. Right up until the bitter end, she couldn’t do nothin’ right. Goddamn, pathetic, miserable, sorry bitch.”

Ginny sniffled, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. She curved her other hand around her belly, rubbing her thumb absently over her unborn child. Making silent promises to her baby? Wondering if she could do any better than her own mother had?

“What happened to your mother, Ginny?”

The girl frowned at Kimberly. “He killed her, I told you that.”

“Did you see anything? Where he did it? What about her body?”

“No, I just heard the tape. Trust me, that was enough.”

“And then?”

“Then he smiled. He said, ‘Your turn’s next.’ He said, ‘Welcome to the collection.’”

“What’d you do, Ginny?”

“I bargained, that’s what I did,” the girl said hotly. “I talked my sorry ass off. Promised him the best goddamn blow job of his life. But that made him laugh. ‘ ’Course you’re gonna do that, Ginny,’ he said. ‘You’re gonna make all my dreams come true. Then I’m gonna carve your skin from your scrawny white neck and feed you to my pets.’

“He brought out this knife like I’d never seen before. Long and thin and silver. A filleting knife he called it. And then, God help, I did do everything he asked of me, while he sliced up my arms and legs, all these bloody little cuts all over the place that hurt. Damn, they hurt. Then he pulled out a jar.

“Inside was a long-legged black spider with bright red markings. ‘Black widow,’ he told me. ‘Venom is fifteen times more powerful than rattlesnake venom. Bite itself doesn’t hurt. In fact, some people don’t feel a thing. At first. Then you get this sharp pain in your belly, I’m talking solid, double-you-right-over stomach cramps. And you start to sweat at the same time your mouth goes completely dry. Your eyes swell shut. The soles of your feet start to burn, your muscles catch on fire.’

“‘You spend days in agony. Hunched over, convulsing, vomiting, praying for death. There is an antivenin, but that’s assuming I have a change of heart and take you to the hospital, and what are the odds of that?’ He grinned at me. ‘Normally, the female black widow indulges her violent instincts by eating her mate. But I’ve discovered that the smell of blood gets her quite excited. Why don’t we find out?’

“He started unscrewing the cap and I…I begged. I’d do anything he wanted. Anything at all. And then I realized, I was dead. Because my mother had said all those same things and look at what he’d done to her.

“Just as he removed the cap, it came to me. Begging was what turned him on. More I screamed, more I sealed my fate. So I shut up. And when that black widow came creeping out the jar one leg at a time, I took her right into my palm and let her sit. I talked to her. I thought of her as a pet and you know what…It worked. She crawled up my arms and touched my lips with her legs. She was gentle, you know. Almost curious.”

Ginny touched her mouth with her own fingers as if in memory.

“Then, real coolly, I lifted her off and replaced her back in her jar. And I looked the man in the eye and I said, ‘She’s beautiful. Show me another.’

“He flipped me on my back and fucked the living daylights out of me. So goddamn hard I thought he’d break my ribs. Then, when he was done, he sat back in the driver’s seat, lit up a cigarette, and I knew I’d survive. I just had to learn to really like spiders.

“We struck a deal. I’d hook for a living. He’d take fifty percent of the money. I’d keep my mouth shut. He’d let me live.” Ginny’s mouth twisted in a sour smile. “And that’s how it’s been. Once a month, he shows up. Quick fuck, pay up, and we’re done for another month.”

“He’s your pimp?” Kimberly asked incredulously.

Ginny gave her a look. “Pimps provide protection services. Dinchara doesn’t protect. Some guy beats the shit out of me, stiffs me on the money, what does Dinchara care? He’s more like an enforcer, shaking me down once a month. So that no matter how hard I work, I’ll never get ahead. No matter what I do, I’ll never escape. He kept his first promise, right? I’m a specimen in his collection. My terrarium is a little larger than most, but it’s a cage just the same, and he and I both know I’m not getting out.”

“Anyone ever witness one of these transactions? You paying him?” Sal wanted to know.

“’Course not! He’s not an idiot.”

“Anyone see the two of you together?”

Ginny shrugged. “He comes into the clubs, that’s how he finds me. Just like any customer. People have seen him, but I doubt too many have seen him, if you know what I mean.”

“He have other girls?” Kimberly asked evenly.

Ginny hesitated, her gaze averted again. “I’m not sure.”

“Not sure, or won’t tell? Come on, Ginny. We’ve come this far. In for a penny, in for a pound.”

“Hey, remember the terms of the deal. Living means keeping your mouth shut.”

“Too late. You already started talking. Now it’s in your own best interest to give us enough to help.”

“Girls don’t talk! They just…disappear.” Ginny suddenly looked up. “How come the police don’t know? How can you not figure out what’s going on out there? Every month, another girl vanishes. And no one says boo! It’s like we really are nothing but insects, and he can devour as many of us as he wants, and no one gives a damn. A million flies die, and a million more are born the next day. You should know these things. You should care about us!”

“How many girls?” Sal pressed.

“A lot!”

“Can you give me names? Dates? I need specifics.”

“Then ask around! I’m not doing your fucking job for you. I’m already risking my neck!”

“What happens to the girls?” Kimberly quizzed, voice rising from the other side, keeping Ginny off balance.

“I don’t know.”

“He picks them up in his SUV?”

“I would guess.”

“Takes them home?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been to his house. All our transactions take place in his FourRunner. I already know too much as it is.”

“But the bodies, Ginny,” Kimberly kept on her. “If all these girls are being picked off by one man as you claim, what happens to their remains?”

“I don’t know!” Ginny cried again, but her gaze was sliding away. “Isn’t that your job? Why am I supposed to know everything?”

“Forget it,” Kimberly declared, sitting back, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re right. You don’t know squat. Let’s send her back, Sal. She’s worthless. We’ll drive her back to the club, drop her off in front. Maybe if she’s lucky, no one will notice.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“I mean, she’s not even that good a liar.”

“Hey!” Now Ginny’s eyes were red-hot. “I’m plenty good enough. I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

Kimberly suddenly jerked forward into the girl’s face, forcing her to fall back. “Is that what this is, Ginny? A con? In your own words, you’re nothing but a player, looking for a way out. Why should we believe you? Missing girls? Spiders? Please, this is more Stephen King than true crime. What’s with you, anyway? You keep calling me and calling me, and yet you refuse to tell me anything useful.”

“Calling you?” Ginny shook her head again. “I already told you. I haven’t seen Dinchara since we last spoke. I haven’t had any reason to call you.”

“Come on, dialing me up, making me listen to that audio recording of your mother-”

“You heard the tape?” The girl seemed genuinely surprised, then perked up. “So you know, then! You know I’m not making this up! He really is killing people. You heard the tape, you can arrest him!”

“Who’d you give my number to, Ginny?”

“I didn’t, I swear! I’d be killed for just having a fed’s business card on me. Like hell I’m broadcasting the info.”

“Then who called me?”

“I don’t know!”

“Yes, you do!”

“No, I fucking don’t!”

“Yes, you fucking do!”

Kimberly sat back. Both she and Ginny were breathing hard. She slanted a frustrated glance at Sal. He took over the reins.

“Ginny,” he said, “what happened to Tommy?”

The girl folded. Her shoulders slumped, her tough veneer collapsed.

“I happened to Tommy,” she said wearily. “Everyone has to give a name. He demands it. It has to be the name of someone you love. He’d already got my mom, remember? Tommy was all I had left.”

“Did you see Dinchara shoot Tommy?”

“No. But I know he did it. Minute I saw the story on the news. What else could’ve happened?”

“Tommy into drugs?” Sal asked it evenly.

Ginny scowled at him. “Tommy? No way. He was Mr. Squeaky Clean. Hell, he even thought he loved me. Dumb stupid jerk.” Her hand was fiddling at her neck, where once upon a time, she might have worn a ring, dangling on a chain.

“Is that why you gave me the class ring?” Kimberly spoke up. “To lead me to Tommy?”

“You said you needed evidence. Well, there you have it. Tommy’s murder is unsolved. Plus you heard my mother’s tape. Now, throw Dinchara’s ass in jail.”

“Nothing would make us happier,” Sal said. “All we need is his name.”

Ginny gave him a look. “You think I know his name? Why the hell would he be so stupid as to tell me something like that? You’re not getting it. He has the control. He has the power. I’m just a bug he hasn’t gotten around to killin’ yet.”

Kimberly sat back, pursed her lips. She regarded Ginny for a long moment, wondering if just by staring she could catch a glimpse of what was really going on under the surface. On the one hand, Ginny had made the first contact with the police, and claimed to want justice. On the other hand, she never really told them much. By her own admission, she was brave enough to let a black widow waltz up her arm, but not courageous enough to bolt the minute Dinchara let her go. She was savvy enough to have survived a serial killer for the past two years, but she’d never managed to notice his license plate or any identifying characteristics.

She was more hostile than helpful. A bigger liar than an informant. A manipulator more than an ally.

And yet, as the saying went, she was the best they had.

“So,” Kimberly stated. “Guy killed your mother, your boyfriend, and maybe a couple of your friends. Seems like you’d want to get even. Have a little justice, set yourself free.”

“Of course I do-”

“Unless, of course, you plan on paying him half your income forever. How’s that gonna work once the baby is born, anyway? Think he’ll babysit? Volunteer to watch the kid so you can go out and hustle?”

“Hey, I am never letting him near my child!”

“And he’ll quietly accept that?”

Ginny looked like she might finally cry.

“Seems to me,” Kimberly continued, “best option is definitely to throw his sorry ass in jail.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!”

“But you know, without a name, license plate, personal information…”

She let her voice drift. Ginny didn’t rush to fill in the blanks. So Kimberly went with plan B. She shrugged. “Well, there is one last option. I mean, if you’re serious about catching this guy.”

Ginny perked up. “What? How? Just tell me what I gotta do.”

“We’ll wire you up. You arrange a meeting with Dinchara, and we’ll use his own statements to nail him to the wall.”