Scream For Me

Chapter Two

Atlanta , Sunday, January 28, 10:45 p.m.

Daniel, I think your dog is dead.” The voice came from Daniel’s living room and it belonged to fellow GBI investigator Luke Papadopoulos. Luke was also quite possibly Daniel’s best friend, despite his being the reason Daniel owned the dog to begin with.

Daniel slid the last plate into the dishwasher, then went to the doorway to his living room. Luke sat on the sofa, watching ESPN. Riley the basset hound lounged at Luke’s feet, looking like he normally did. Which, Daniel had to agree, was like a dog who’d gone on to meet his Maker. “Offer him a pork chop, he’ll perk up.”

Riley opened one eye at the mention of a pork chop, but closed it again, knowing he probably wouldn’t get one. Riley was a pessimistic realist. He and Daniel got along well.

“Hell, I just offered him some of the moussaka, and he still didn’t perk up,” Luke said.

Daniel was able to visualize the results of such an irresponsible action all too well. “Riley can’t have your mom’s cooking. It’s way too rich and that’s bad for his stomach.”

“I know. He got into some leftovers while you were gone up north and he was staying with me.” Luke winced. “It wasn’t pretty, trust me.”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “I’m not paying your carpet-cleaning bill, Luke.”

“It’s okay. My cousin owns his own carpet-cleaning business. I got it taken care of.”

“If you knew, then why for God’s sake did you try to feed him tonight?”

Luke gently nudged Riley’s butt with the toe of his boot. “He always looks so sad.”

“Sad” in Luke’s family meant “feed me.” Which explained Luke’s showing up on Daniel’s doorstep tonight with a full Greek meal when Daniel knew full well he’d had to break a date with his on-again-off-again flight attendant girlfriend to do so. Mama Papadopoulos had been worried about Daniel since he’d returned from Philadelphia the week before. Luke’s mama had a kind heart, but Mama Papa’s food did not agree with Riley, and Daniel did not have a cousin with his own carpet-cleaning business.

“He’s a damn basset hound. They all look that way. Riley’s not sad, so stop feeding him.” Daniel sat in his recliner and whistled. Riley trotted over and plopped at his feet with a huge sigh, as if the four-foot trek had tired him out. “I know how you feel, boy.”

Luke was quiet a moment. “I hear you pulled a tough one tonight.”

Daniel’s mind immediately conjured the victim in the ditch. “You could say that.” Abruptly he frowned. “How did you hear about that already?”

Luke looked uncomfortable. “Ed Randall called. He was worried about you. Your first day back and you pull a case like the Arcadia woman.”

Daniel swallowed his irritation. They all meant well. “So you brought me food.”

“Nah, Mama had that all prepared before Ed called. She’s worried about you, too. I’ll tell her you ate a second helping and that you’re doing all right. So, are you all right?”

“I have to be. There’s work to be done.”

“You could have taken more time off. A week’s not that much, considering.”

Considering he’d had to bury his parents. “When you add in the week I was in Philly looking for them, I’ve been out for two weeks. That’s long enough.” He leaned over to scratch Riley’s ears. “If I don’t work, I’ll go crazy,” he added quietly.

“It wasn’t your fault, Daniel.”

“No, not directly. But I knew what Simon was a long time before now.”

“And you thought he was dead for the last twelve years.”

Daniel conceded the point. “There is that.”

“If you ask me, I’d say your father carried most of the blame. After Simon, of course.”

Seventeen people. Simon had taken seventeen lives, with one old woman still holding on in cardiac intensive care in Philadelphia. But Daniel’s father had not only known Simon was evil, he’d known Simon was alive. Twelve years ago Arthur Vartanian had banished his younger son and told the world he’d died. He’d even buried a stranger in the family plot and erected Simon’s tombstone, leaving Simon free to roam, doing whatever he wished, as long as it wasn’t under the Vartanian name.

“Seventeen people,” Daniel murmured, and wondered if they weren’t the tip of the iceberg. He thought of the pictures that were never far from the front of his mind. The pictures Simon had left behind. The faces flashed before his eyes like a slide show. All female. Nameless victims of rape.

Just like the victim today. He had to see that the Arcadia victim got a name. That she got justice. It was the only way he’d stay sane. “One of the Arcadia officers mentioned a similar murder thirteen years ago. I was working on checking it out when you got here. It happened in Dutton.”

Luke’s brows came way down. “Dutton? Daniel, you grew up in Dutton.”

“Thanks. I’d forgotten that fact,” Daniel said sarcastically. “I looked in our database back at the office when I filed my report earlier tonight, but GBI didn’t investigate, so it wasn’t there. I called Frank Loomis, the sheriff in Dutton, but he hasn’t returned my call yet. And I didn’t want to call one of the deputies. If it hadn’t been anything, I would have added fuel to the fire. Bastard reporters are crawling all over the damn place.”

“But you did find something,” Luke pushed. “What?”

“I searched online and found an article.” He tapped the laptop he’d set on the coffee table when Luke had arrived with the food. “Alicia Tremaine was found murdered in a ditch outside Dutton on April 2, thirteen years ago. She was wrapped in a brown wool blanket and her facial bones were broken. She’d been raped. She was sixteen.”

“Copycat killer?”

“I was thinking that. With all the news about Dutton the past week, maybe somebody found that article and decided to re-create it. It’s a theory. Trouble is, these old online articles don’t have pictures. I was trying to find a photo of Alicia.”

Luke shot him a long-suffering glance. A computer expert, Luke was often appalled at Daniel’s lack of what he considered basic computer skills. “Give me the laptop.” In less than three minutes Luke sat back with a satisfied, “Got it. Take a look.”

Daniel’s heart thudded to a stop. It couldn’t be. It was his tired eyes playing tricks. Slowly he leaned forward and blinked hard. But she was still there. “My God.”

“Who is she?”

Daniel jerked a glance back to Luke, his pulse now racing. “I know her, that’s all.” But his voice sounded desperate. Yes, he knew her. Her face had haunted his dreams for years, along with the faces of all the others. For years he’d hoped they’d been faked. Posed. For years he’d feared they were real. That they were dead. Now he knew for sure. Now one of the nameless victims had a name. Alicia Tremaine.

“You know her from where?” Luke’s voice was firmly demanding. “Daniel?”

Daniel calmed himself. “We both lived in Dutton. It makes sense that I knew her.”

Luke’s jaw went hard. “Before you said you ‘know’ her, not ‘knew.’ ”

A spurt of anger burned away some of the shock. “Are you questioning me, Luke?”

“Yes, because you’re not being honest with me. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I have.” He stared at her face. She’d been beautiful. Thick hair the color of caramel spilled over her shoulders and there had been a sparkle in her eyes that hinted at mischief and fun. Now she was dead.

“Who is she?” Luke asked again, his voice quieter. “An old girlfriend?”

“No.” His shoulders sagged and his chin dropped to his chest. “I’ve never met her.”

“But you know her,” Luke countered cautiously. “How?”

Straightening his spine, Daniel walked behind the bar in the corner of his living room, pulled the Dogs Playing Poker painting from the wall, revealing a safe. From the corner of his eye he saw Luke’s brows go up. “You have a wall safe?” Luke asked.

“Vartanian family tradition,” Daniel said grimly, hoping it was the only tendency he shared with his father. He dialed the combination and pulled out the envelope he’d stored there on his return from Philly the week before. He picked Alicia Tremaine’s picture from the stack of the others just like it and handed it to Luke.

Luke flinched. “My God. It’s her.” He looked up, horrified. “Who is the man?”

Daniel shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Luke’s eyes flashed fire. “This is sick, Daniel. Where the hell did you get this?”

“My mother,” Daniel said bitterly.

Luke opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Your mother,” he repeated carefully.

Daniel sat down wearily. “I got the pictures from my mother, who’d left-”

Luke held up his hand. “Wait. Pictures? What else is in that envelope?”

“More of the same. Different girls. Different men.”

“This one looks like she’s been drugged.”

“They all do. None of them are awake. There are fifteen of them. That doesn’t count the pictures that are obviously cut from magazines.”

“Fifteen.” Luke blew out a breath. “So tell me how your mother gave them to you.”

“More like she left them for me. My father had the pictures first and-” Luke’s eyes widened and Daniel sighed. “Maybe I should start from the beginning.”

“That would be best, I think.”

“Some of this I knew. Some my sister Susannah knew. We didn’t put it together until last week, after Simon was dead.”

“So your sister knows about these, too?”

Daniel remembered Susannah’s haunted eyes. “Yes, she does.” She knew much more than she’d told, of that Daniel was certain, just as he was certain that she’d suffered at Simon’s hand. He hoped she’d tell him in her own time.

“Who else?”

“Philly PD. I gave Detective Vito Ciccotelli copies. At the time I thought they were part of his case.” Daniel leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes on Alicia Tremaine’s face. “Simon was the first owner of the pictures. First that I know of, anyway. I know he had them before he died.” He glanced over at Luke. “The first time he died.”

“Twelve years ago,” Luke supplied, then shrugged. “Mama read it in the paper.”

Daniel’s lips thinned. “Mama Papa and millions of her closest friends. It doesn’t matter. My father found these pictures and threw Simon out of the house, told him if he ever came back he’d turn Simon over to the police. Simon had just turned eighteen.”

“Your father. The judge. He just let Simon go.”

“Good old Dad. He was afraid if the pictures became public, he’d lose the election.”

“But he kept the pictures? Why?”

“Dad didn’t want Simon ever coming back, so he held the pictures as insurance, blackmail. A few days later my father told my mother that he’d received a phone call, that Simon had died in a car crash in Mexico. Dad went down there, brought the body home, had it buried in the family plot.”

“But it’s an unidentified man almost a foot shorter than Simon.” Luke shrugged again. “It was a good article-had lots of details. So how did your mother get these?”

“The first time she found them in Dad’s safe. That was eleven years ago, a year after Simon ‘died.’ She found the pictures and some drawings Simon had made from them. My mother rarely cried, but she cried about those pictures. I found her that way.”

“And you saw the pictures.”

“Only a glimpse. Enough to suspect at least some of them were real. But my father came home then and was so angry. He had to admit he’d had them for a year. I said we should turn them over to the police, but my father refused. He said it would be bad for the family name and Simon was already dead, so what was the point?”

Luke was frowning. “The point? Like, the victims? That was the point.”

“Of course it was. But when I tried to take the pictures to the police, we got into it.” Daniel clenched his hands into fists, remembering. “I almost hit him. I was so mad.”

“So what did you do?” Luke asked quietly.

“I left the house to cool down, but when I came back, my father had burned the photos in the fireplace. They were gone.”

“Obviously not gone.” Luke pointed to the envelope.

“He must’ve had copies somewhere else. I was… stunned. My mother was telling me it was for the best and my father was standing looking so smug and superior. I lost it. I hit him. Knocked him down. We had a terrible fight. I was on my way out the front door when Susannah came in the back. She’d missed the reason for the fight and I didn’t want her to know. She was only seventeen. Turned out she knew more than I thought. If we’d talked then…” Daniel thought of the seventeen bodies Simon had left behind in Philadelphia. “Who knows what we might have averted?”

“Did you tell anyone?”

Daniel shrugged, disgusted with himself. “Tell them what? I had no proof and it was my word against that of a judge. My sister hadn’t seen any of it and my mother would never have crossed my father. So I said nothing and I’ve regretted it ever since.”

“So you left home and never came back.”

“Not until I got the call from the Dutton sheriff two weeks ago that they were missing. It was the same day I found out my mother had cancer. I just wanted to see her once more, but she’d already been dead for two months.” Killed by Simon.

“So how did you get these pictures now?”

“This past Thanksgiving my parents found out Simon was still alive.”

“Because the blackmailer up in Philly had contacted your father.”

Daniel’s eyes widened. “Wow, that really was some article.”

“Got that off the Internet. Your family’s hot news, boy.”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “Wonderful. Well, Dad and Mother went up to Philly to find Simon. Mother wanted to bring him home, certain he’d been some amnesia victim or something. Dad wanted to reinforce his blackmail, so he took the pictures with him to Philly. Eventually Mother realized Dad was never going to let her see Simon.”

“Simon would have told her that your father had known all along that he was alive.”

“Exactly. Then Dad disappeared. He must have found Simon because Simon killed him and buried him in a deserted field with all his other victims. Simon contacted my mother and she was planning to meet him. She knew she could be walking into a trap but she didn’t care.”

“Because she was dying of cancer and had nothing more to lose.”

“Yes. She opened a mailbox for me at one of those mailbox stores. Inside the box were these pictures. She’d left them in the event Simon did kill her.”

“You said Ciccotelli up in Philly had copies. Does he know you kept the originals?”

“No. I made the copies I gave him.”

Luke’s eyes widened. “You copied these at a regular copy machine?”

“No,” Daniel scoffed. “After I found the pictures at the mailbox store, I bought a copier-scanner. I had a few hours before Susannah arrived from New York, so I went back to my hotel room, set the scanner up to my laptop, and made the copies there.”

“You set up a scanner all by yourself?”

“I’m not completely inept,” Daniel said dryly. “The guy in the store showed me how.” He looked back at the picture of Alicia’s assault. “I’ve had nightmares about these girls for years. Since I got the pictures back a week ago, I’ve been memorizing their faces. I promised myself that I’d find out what part Simon had in getting these pictures, then I’d find the girls and tell them Simon was dead. I never dreamed the first ID would be dumped in my lap this way.”

“So you didn’t know Alicia Tremaine at all?”

“No. She was five years younger than me, so I never would have known her at school and I was away at college when she was murdered.”

“And none of these guys in the pictures are Simon?”

“No. All the men have both their legs. Simon was an amputee. Plus Simon was a good bit taller than any of these guys. I haven’t seen any tattoos or any other identifying features or marks on any of the pictures.”

“But now you have one of the victims’ names, which is more than you had before.”

“True. Now I’m wondering if I should tell Chase about the pictures.” Chase Wharton was Daniel’s CO. “If I do, he could take the Arcadia case away from me, along with any investigation of these pictures. I really want to solve both of these cases. I need to.”

“It’s atonement,” Luke murmured and Daniel nodded.

“Yes.”

Luke lifted a brow. “You’re assuming no one was ever arrested for Alicia’s murder.”

Daniel straightened abruptly. “Can you check?”

Luke was already typing into the laptop. “Police arrested Gary Fulmore a few hours after they found Alicia’s body.” He typed again, his keystrokes rapid. “Gary Fulmore was found guilty of sexual assault and murder in the second degree the following January.”

“It’s January now,” Daniel said. “Coincidence?”

Luke shrugged. “That’s what you need to find out. Look, Danny, it’s pretty cut-and-dried that Simon didn’t kill that woman in Arcadia. He’s been dead himself a week.”

“And this time I watched him die myself,” Daniel said grimly. In fact, I helped. And he was glad that he had. He’d done the world a service in ensuring Simon was dead.

Luke’s eyes flickered in sympathy. “And they caught the man who murdered Alicia. Who knows, maybe this is Fulmore.” He pointed to the rapist in the picture. “And most important, you aren’t solving the murder of Alicia Tremaine. You’re solving the murder of the woman in the Arcadia ditch. If it was me, I wouldn’t mention the pictures just yet.”

Viewed logically, Luke’s argument made perfect sense. Or maybe he just needed it to. Either way, Daniel blew out a sigh that was mostly relief. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

Luke raised a brow. “For this, you owe me a lot more than one.”

Daniel looked down at Riley, who hadn’t moved a muscle the entire time. “I took your dog and saved your sex life. That’s good for one hell of a lot, Papa.”

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault that Denise wouldn’t live with Brandi’s dog.”

“Which Brandi only got because of you.”

“Brandi thought a detective should have a bloodhound.”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “Clearly Brandi’s assets were not in her brain.”

Luke grinned. “Nope. But in her defense, my apartment has a weight limit. A bloodhound would have been too big. We settled on Riley there.”

“I should have given him back to you when Denise split,” Daniel grumbled.

“Which was two years and six girlfriends ago,” Luke pointed out. “I think you’ve developed an attachment to good old Riley.”

Which of course Daniel had. “All I know is you’d better not be feeding him any more of your mama’s food or you will get him back. Then you’ll be praying that your next girlfriend likes basset hounds and that your mama likes your girlfriend.”

Luke’s revolving door of girlfriends was a constant source of angst for poor Mama Papa. Most of them she didn’t care for, but she had never given up hoping Luke would settle down with one of them and give her grandchildren.

“I’ll just remind her you haven’t had a date in years,” Luke said smugly, getting up from the sofa. “She’ll be so busy finding you a nice Greek girl that she won’t have time to worry over me.” He opened the door, then turned back, his expression serious. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Daniel. Even if you’d reported those pictures ten years ago, no one could have done anything without the evidence.”

“Thanks, man. That helps.” It really did.

“So what are you going to do next?”

“Now, I’m gonna walk Riley. Tomorrow, I’ll follow the evidence on the Arcadia homicide like normal. And I’m going to check out Alicia Tremaine, see if any of her family or friends remember anything. Who knows, it might turn up something. Tell Mama Papa thanks for the food.”

Dutton, Sunday, January 28, 11:30 p.m.

“I’m sorry I haven’t come before,” Mack murmured as he sat on the cold ground. The marble at his back was even colder. He wished he could have come here during the daytime when it was warm and sunny, but he couldn’t be seen next to her headstone. He didn’t want anyone to know he was back, because once they knew, they’d know all-and he wasn’t ready for that yet.

But he’d needed to come to her, just once. He’d owed her so much more than he’d given her. It was his greatest regret. He’d failed her in nearly every way. And she’d died, without him by her side. It was his greatest fury.

The last time he’d stood here had been under a blazing summer sun, three and a half years ago. He’d worn shackles and a suit that didn’t fit. They hadn’t let him out to sit at her deathbed, but they had allowed him one afternoon for her funeral.

“One fucking afternoon,” he said quietly. “Too damn late.”

He’d had everything stolen from him-his home, his family’s business, his freedom, and finally his mother-and all he’d been allowed was one fucking afternoon, too damn late to do anything but simmer in his rage and vow his retribution.

Across his mother’s grave his sister-in-law had stood crying, holding one of her little boys by the hand and the other on her hip. His jaw clenched just at the thought of Annette. She’d cared for his mother in her final days while he’d been locked up like an animal, and for that he’d always be beholden. But for years his brother Jared’s wife had harbored a secret that should have been the ruin of those who’d ruined their family. For years Annette had known the truth, but she’d never said a word.

He vividly remembered the explosion of rage when just nine days ago he’d found and read the journals she’d kept so carefully hidden. At first he’d hated her, adding her to his retribution list. But she’d cared for his mother, and one of the lessons he’d learned in his four years behind bars was the value of loyalty and the karma of a good deed done. So he’d spared Annette, allowing her to go on living her miserable little life in that miserable little house.

Besides, she had to take care of his nephews. Their family name, such as it was, would live on through his brother’s sons.

His own name would soon become inextricably linked to murder and revenge.

He would exact his revenge and then disappear. How to disappear was one of the other things he’d learned in prison. Disappearing wasn’t as easy as it once was, but it still could be done, if one had the right loyal contacts, and if one was patient.

Patience was the most important thing he’d learned while inside. If a man bided his time, a solution would become clear. Mack had bided his time for four long years. In that time he’d followed the Dutton news while he’d plotted, schemed, and studied. He’d strengthened his body and his mind. And his rage had continued to simmer and stew.

When he’d walked through the prison’s front gates a free man one month ago, he’d known more about Dutton than any of its residents knew, but he still didn’t know how to best punish those who’d ruined his life. A bullet to their heads was too fast, too merciful. He’d wanted something painful and lasting, so he’d bided his time a little longer, lurking about town like a shadow, watching them, charting their movements, their habits, their secrets.

And then, nine days ago, his patience had paid off. After four years of simmering, his plan had come together in minutes. Now, the curtain had risen. He was on his way.

“There are so many things you never knew, Mama,” he said softly. “So many people you trusted who’d already betrayed you. The pillars of the town are more evil than you ever contemplated. The things they’ve done are far worse than anything I’d ever dreamed of doing.” Until now. “I wish you could see what I’m about to do. I’m about to stir up the dirt in this town, and everyone will know what they did to you and to me and even to Jared. They’ll be ruined and humiliated. And the people they love will die.”

Today they’d found the first one, at the bike race, just as he’d planned. And the lead investigator was none other than Daniel Vartanian himself. Which added a whole new layer of meaning to the game.

He lifted his eyes and peered through the shadows to the Vartanian family plot. The police tape was gone now and they’d filled in the grave that until nine days ago everyone had thought held the remains of Simon Vartanian. Now the Vartanian family plot had two new graves.

“The judge and his wife are dead. The whole town came out for the double funeral on Friday afternoon, just two days ago.” The whole town, as opposed to the sad little group that had gathered at his mother’s graveside. Annette, her boys, the reverend, and me. And the prison guards, of course. Couldn’t forget about them. “But don’t fret. Not many came out of respect for the judge and Mrs. Vartanian. Most of them really came to gawk at Daniel and Susannah.”

Mack, on the other hand, had watched the double service from far enough away so he could watch the whole town. They had no clue what was coming. “Daniel was back to work today.” Which had been his fondest hope. “I thought he’d take more time off.”

He ran his hand over the blanket of grass that covered her. “I guess family means more to some people than others. I couldn’t have gone back to work so fast after your funeral. Of course, I wasn’t given the choice,” he said bitterly.

He lifted his eyes again to the Vartanian plot. “The judge and his wife were killed by Simon. We thought he was dead, all these years. Remember, you made me and Jared come and stand by his grave. I was only ten, but you said we had to show respect for the dead. But Simon wasn’t dead. Nine days ago they dug him up and Simon wasn’t buried in Simon’s tomb. That was the day we heard Simon had killed his parents.”

It had also been the day he’d finally figured out how to exact his revenge. The day he’d found the journals Annette had kept hidden for so long. Nine days ago had been a very good day, all in all.

“Simon really is dead now.” It was too bad that Daniel Vartanian had beaten him to it. “But no worries, the empty grave won’t go to waste. Soon a Vartanian son will be buried in the family plot.” He smiled. “Soon, a lot of people’ll be gettin’ buried in Dutton.”

How fast the cemetery got filled would depend on how smart Daniel Vartanian really was. If Daniel hadn’t yet linked today’s victim to Alicia Tremaine, he soon would. Add an anonymous tip to the Dutton Review and by tomorrow morning everyone in town would know what he’d done. Importantly, the ones he wanted to know, would. They’d wonder. Sweat. Fear.

“Soon they’ll all pay.” He stood and took a last look at the headstone that bore his mother’s name. If all went well, he’d never be able to come back. “I’ll get justice for us both if it’s the last thing I do.”

Monday, January 29, 7:15 a.m.

“Alex. Wake up.”

Alex opened the bedroom door at Meredith’s hiss. “No need to be quiet. We’re both awake.” She pointed to Hope, who sat at the bedroom desk, her bare feet swinging inches from the ground, her bottom lip between her teeth in concentration. “She’s coloring.” Alex sighed. “With red. I got her to eat a little cereal.”

Meredith stayed in the doorway, dressed in her running clothes and clutching a newspaper in one hand. “Good morning, Hope. Alex, can I see you out here?”

“Sure. I’ll be just outside the door, Hope.” But Hope gave no indication she’d heard. Alex followed Meredith into the sitting room. “When I woke up she was sitting at the desk already. I have no idea how long she’d been awake. She didn’t make a sound.”

“I wish I didn’t have to show you this.” Meredith held out the newspaper.

Alex took one look at the headline, then sank onto the sofa as her legs gave out. Background noise faded until all she could hear was her own pulse pounding in her ears. MURDERED WOMAN FOUND IN ARCADIA DITCH. “Oh, Mer. Oh, no.”

Crouching, Meredith met her eyes. “It might not be Bailey.”

Alex shook her head. “But the timing’s just right. She was found yesterday and had been dead two days.” She made herself breathe, made herself focus on the rest of the article. Please, don’t be Bailey. Be too short or too tall. Be a brunette or a redhead, just don’t be Bailey. But as she read, her pounding heart began to race. “Meredith.” She looked up, panic shooting like a geyser. “This woman was wrapped in a brown blanket.”

Meredith grabbed the paper. “I only read the headline.” Her lips moved as she read. Then she looked up, her freckles standing out against her pale cheeks. “Her face.”

Alex nodded numbly. “I know.” Her voice was thin. The woman’s face had been beaten beyond recognition. “Just like…” Just like Alicia.

“My God.” Meredith swallowed. “She was…” She looked over her shoulder to where Hope sat, coloring as furiously as before. “Alex.”

She’d been raped. Just like Alicia. “I know.” Alex stood up, willing her knees not to buckle. “I told the Dutton police something terrible had happened, but they wouldn’t listen.” She straightened her spine. “Can you stay with Hope?”

“Of course. But where are you going?”

She took the newspaper. “This article says the investigation is being led by Special Agent Daniel Vartanian, GBI. GBI’s the state crime bureau and they’re in Atlanta, so that’s where I’m going.” She narrowed her eyes, back in control. “And by God, this Vartanian better not even consider ignoring me now.”

Monday, January 29, 7:50 a.m.

He’d expected the call ever since he’d picked his paper up from his front porch this morning. Still, when the phone rang, he was angry. Angry and afraid. He snatched the receiver, his hand trembling. But he kept his voice neutral. Even a little bored. “Yeah.”

“Did you see?” The voice on the phone was as unsteady as his own hand, but he wouldn’t allow the others to see his fear. One sign of weakness and the others would fall like dominoes, starting with the one who’d taken a stupid risk in calling him like this.

“I’m looking at it right now.” The headline had grabbed his attention. The article had grabbed his gut and squeezed, leaving him nauseated. “It’s nothing to do with us. Say nothing and it will just go away.”

“But if somebody starts asking questions…”

“We say nothing, just like we did then. This is just some copycat. Act naturally and everything will be fine.”

“But… this is really bad, man. I don’t think I can act naturally.”

“You can and you will. This has nothing to do with us. Now stop whimpering and get to work. And don’t call me again.”

He hung up, then read the article again. He was still angry and afraid. He wondered how he could have been so very stupid. You were just a kid. Kids make mistakes. He picked up the photo on his desk, staring into the smiling face of his wife with their two children. He wasn’t a kid any longer. He was an adult with far too much to lose.

If one of them broke, if one of them told… He pushed away from his desk, went to the bathroom, and threw up. Then pulled himself together and got ready to face his day.

Atlanta , Monday, January 29, 7:55 a.m.

“Here. You look like you need this more than I do.”

Daniel smelled the coffee and looked up as Chase Wharton sat on the corner of his desk. “Thanks. I’ve been looking at these missing persons printouts for an hour and I’m starting to see double.” He gulped down a swallow, then winced when bitter dregs slid down his throat. “Thanks,” he repeated, far less sincerely, and his boss chuckled.

“Sorry. I had to clear the bottom of the pot before I made a fresh one and you really did look like you needed it.” Chase looked at the stack of printouts. “No luck?”

“No. We got no hits on her prints. She’s been dead two days, but that doesn’t mean that’s when she disappeared. I’ve gone back two months and nobody stands out.”

“She might not be from around here, Daniel.”

“I know. Leigh’s requesting missing person reports from departments in a fifty-mile radius.” But so far their clerk hadn’t found anything either. “I’m hoping she’s only been gone the two days and nobody’s missed her, since it was the weekend. It’s Monday morning. Maybe somebody will report her today when she doesn’t show up for work.”

“We’ll cross our fingers. Are you going to have an update meeting today?”

“At six tonight. By then Dr. Berg will have done the autopsy and the lab will be finished with the crime scene.” He drew a breath. “Until then, we’ve got other problems.” From under the stack of printouts, he pulled the three pages that had been waiting for him on the fax machine when he’d arrived that morning.

Chase’s face darkened. “Sonofabitch. Who took that picture? What paper is this?”

“The guy that took the picture is the same one that wrote the article. His name is Jim Woolf and he owns the Dutton Review. You’re looking at today’s headline.”

Chase looked startled. “Dutton? I thought this victim was found in Arcadia.”

“She was. You might want to sit down. This could take a few minutes.”

Chase sat. “All right. What’s going on, Daniel? Where did you get this fax?”

“From the sheriff in Arcadia. He saw it when he stopped to get his coffee this morning. He called at six a.m. to let me know, then faxed me the article. From the angle of the picture, he’s thinking Jim Woolf was sitting in a tree watching us the whole time.”

Daniel studied the grainy photo and his anger surged again. “Woolf has got all the details in there that I would have held back-the victim’s broken face, her being found wrapped in a brown blanket. He didn’t even have the decency to wait until they’d finished zipping her body bag. Luckily Malcolm’s blocking most of his shot.” Her body was hidden, but her feet were visible.

Chase was grim. “How the hell did he get through your barricade?”

“I don’t think he got through, not if he was sitting in the tree Corchran thinks. There’s no way we wouldn’t have seen him climbing that tree.”

“So he was there before you got there.”

Daniel nodded. “Which at a minimum means that somebody tipped him off. Worst case, it could mean he tampered with the scene before we got there.”

“Who called this in? I mean initially?”

“Biker in the race. He said he called 911 without ever getting off his bike. I already filed a warrant to check his cell phone records to see if he called anyone else first.”

“Vultures,” Chase muttered. “Call this Woolf guy. Make him tell you who told him.”

“I’ve called him four times this morning, but there’s no answer. I’ll drive to Dutton today to question him, but I’m betting he’ll hide behind the First Amendment and won’t reveal his source.”

“Probably. Hell.” Chase flicked the fax like it was a bug. “This Woolf guy could have been the one to put her there.”

“That’s occurred to me, although I have to doubt it. I went to high school with Jim Woolf and knew his family. He and his brothers were always quiet, nice kids.”

Chase glared at the photo. “I think it’s safe to say he’s changed.”

Daniel sighed. Hadn’t they all? There was something about Dutton, Georgia, that brought out the worst in people. “I guess so.”

Chase held up his hand. “Wait. I still want to know why Dutton? If this crime happened in Arcadia, why tip off this Woolf guy in Dutton?”

“The victim yesterday was found in Arcadia, in a ditch, wrapped in a brown blanket. A similar crime happened in Dutton thirteen years ago.” Daniel showed him the article on the murder of Alicia Tremaine. “Her killer is now serving life in Macon State.”

Chase grimaced. “God, I hate copycat killers.”

“I don’t like the original ones too much either. At any rate, I’m thinking somebody saw the body earlier, remembered the Tremaine connection, and leaked the Arcadia story to Jim Woolf. It could have been the biker or anybody else on that race course. I talked to the race officials when I was trying to figure when the body had been put in the ditch to begin with and one of them said he’d ridden the course Saturday and hadn’t seen anything. I believed him because the guy wore glasses with Coke-bottle lenses.”

“But if he was riding earlier, others might have been, too. Dig deeper.” Chase frowned. “But what’s this about the Tremaine connection? I don’t like you being on a case that involves Dutton. Not right now.”

Daniel had been ready for the argument. Still, it left his palms clammy. “Simon didn’t kill this woman, Chase. There’s no conflict here.”

Chase rolled his eyes. “Hell, Daniel. I know that. I also know the names Dutton and Vartanian together make the brass real nervous.”

“That’s not my problem. I haven’t done anything wrong.” And maybe someday he’d believe his own words. For now, he just needed Chase to believe them.

“Okay. But as soon as you hear a whisper of a bad Vartanian, you’re gone, okay?”

Daniel smiled wryly. “Okay.”

“What are you going to do next?’

“Identify this woman.” He tapped the photo of the victim. “Find out who told Jim Woolf what and when, and… follow up on Alicia Tremaine. I’ve left a few messages with the sheriff down in Dutton. I want to get a copy of the police report from the Tremaine case. Maybe there’s something in it that can help me now.”