Atlanta, Saturday, February 3, 6:00 a.m.
Ma’am? We’re here. Ma’am? This is the airport. Ma’am?”
Susannah woke up, momentarily disoriented. She’d fallen asleep, finally. Too bad that it had been in the backseat of a taxicab and not in her hotel bed. “I’m sorry. I’ve had a long night.” She paid him and slid from the backseat. “Thank you.”
“No luggage?”
“No, I’m actually here to rent a car.”
“You’ll have to take a shuttle to any of the rental car joints.”
“I wasn’t thinking.” When she’d left her hotel room, she’d had one purpose-to escape the faces of the hundreds of runaways she’d been searching for nearly three hours. But there was no escape. She still saw the faces, some happy, some miserable.
All gone. What a waste. Of potential. Of hope. Of life.
She’d started out comparing each face to M. Jane Doe, but at some point her mind had wandered and she realized it was Darcy Williams’s face she saw in each picture.
Rattled, she’d pushed away from her computer. She’d needed a break and a car if she was going to get to Dutton for Sheila Cunningham’s funeral. So here she was.
“I can drive you there,” the cabbie said. “Get back in.”
She got back in, shivering. “Thank you.”
“It’s okay.” The cabbie was quiet as he drove the short distance to the rental car row. But when he stopped the cab, he sighed loudly. “Lady, this ain’t none of my business, but I think you gotta right to know. We’ve had a tail since we left the hotel.”
Annoyance had her frowning. Another reporter. “What kind of car?”
“Black sedan, tinted windows.”
“How original,” she said tightly and he glanced up in his rearview mirror.
“I just thought… maybe you were running from somebody.”
Only from myself. “I don’t think they’re dangerous. Probably just a reporter.”
He squinted at her as he took her money. “Are you some kind of a celebrity?”
“No, but thank you for telling me they’re back there. It was kind of you.”
“I got a daughter your age. She travels all the time for her job and I worry.”
Susannah smiled at him. “Then she’s a lucky girl. Take care.”
As he drove away she looked back. Sure enough, the black sedan hovered back, but definitely close enough to be seen. She’d turned to go inside the rental car office, when the sedan began to move, slowly. Susannah backed up, one step, then two, then stopped. The sedan wasn’t stopping. Instead, it continued by at a slow roll, and a shiver of apprehension raced down her spine.
Georgia license DRC119. Committing it to memory, she turned again for the rental car office, then it clicked. She whirled, her heart pounding, but the sedan was gone.
DRC. Darcy. It might have been simply a coincidence. Except for the number. One-nineteen. Six years ago, on January nineteenth, was the day she’d found Darcy, beaten and bloodied and very, very dead. And thirteen years ago, on January nineteenth, she’d woken in a hidey-hole covered in whiskey, raped and terrified.
Charles smiled. He’d finally gotten her attention. Susannah had always been the aloof one, sophisticated. At least that’s what everyone thought. But he knew better.
He’d always known there was a dark side to Susannah Vartanian. He could always tell. There was a look. A smell. An aura. He’d tried to lure her, all those years ago, but she’d gotten away, far away. At least that’s what she thought. But he knew better.
He knew everything about little Susannah Vartanian. Everything.
Wouldn’t the world be shocked by what he knew? Tsk, tsk, naughty girl. He chuckled. Soon he’d have her, one way or another. But he’d play with her a little first.
He waited until she exited the rental car garage, driving a sensible sedan. Nothing flashy for the good Vartanian girl. He pulled out behind her, knowing she saw him. He followed her to a Wal-Mart. Well, she had left New York the morning before with only the clothes on her back, so a little shopping trip made sense.
Staying back just far enough, he waited until she parked and started walking into the store before gliding past her one more time. He laughed aloud. The look on her face was priceless.
Charles had planned to wait one more year before taunting her with the DRC license plates, making it an even seven since Darcy’s death, but Susannah was here and vulnerable and he’d be a fool to waste the moment. When she was in the store, he parked, having no fear that she would call the police. She’d never tell what happened on January 19, either time. He opened his ivory box, this time pulling out one of his greatest treasures, a simple photograph. But it was so much more. It was a moment in time, frozen forever.
A younger version of himself smiled in black and white, standing next to Pham. Pham was old in the picture and knew he was nearing death even then. But I was blissfully unaware he was so sick. I was simply enjoying the day. Pham had been a big believer in enjoying the day but he’d also preached patience. The patient bird breakfasts on the juiciest worm.
But Charles believed in the American ideal of striking while the iron was hot, and over time, Pham had come to see the usefulness in the concept as well. An amazing team, the revered Buddhist monk and his Western bodyguard were admitted to homes everywhere they went. Whether Pham told fortunes, held healing services, or simply dealt in the fine art of blackmail, the homes in which they stayed were always much poorer after they’d departed.
I miss you still, my friend. My mentor. He wondered what Pham would have done if Charles had died first, as Toby had. Then Charles laughed aloud. Pham would have been whoever and done whatever would have made him the most money on that day, as if it were no different than any other. Pham was all about cold, hard cash.
Charles no longer needed the money, so his enjoyment at Susannah Vartanian’s expense was purely pleasure. Pham would have approved.
Atlanta, Saturday, February 3, 6:15 a.m.
Dr. Felicity Berg glanced up briefly when Luke entered, then again focused on the body on the table. “I was wondering when you’d get here. I was about to call you.”
“I’ve been a little busy,” Luke said, unoffended at her brusque tone. He liked Felicity, although many considered her cold. Luke imagined many considered Susannah cold as well, but he wondered how many people truly knew her. “What have you got so far?”
“A hell of a mess,” she snapped, then sighed. “Sorry. I’m tired. I know you are, too.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t had to look at this all night,” he said softly. “You okay, Felicity?”
Her swallow was audible in the quiet. “No.” Then she continued in a businesslike tone, “You have five females, all between the ages of fifteen and twenty. Two suffer from extreme malnutrition. Victim two and victim five here on the table.”
“We think we have an ID on number five,” Luke said. “Kasey Knight. Her parents are coming to do an ID. They should arrive sometime around two.”
Felicity abruptly looked up, horrified. “They want to see her? Luke, no.”
“Yes.” Luke came closer, steeling himself, then swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. “Can’t you… Can you make her look any… better?”
“Can you convince them not to look at her? I can do a DNA ID in twenty-four hours.”
“Felicity, they’ve been waiting two years. They need to see her.”
She stood glaring at him, then her sob broke the silence. “Goddammit, Luke.” She stepped back, crying, her bloody gloved hands held stiffly in front of her. “Dammit.”
Luke pulled on a pair of gloves, pushed her goggles up to her forehead, then dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “You’ve had a long night,” he said quietly. “Why not go home and get some rest until the parents get here? She’s the last one, right?”
“Yeah, and I’m almost finished with her. Fix my goggles, would you?”
Luke did so, then stepped away. “I won’t tell anyone,” he said conspiratorially, and her laugh was watery and self-conscious.
“I don’t usually let them get to me, but…”
“I feel the same way. So what can you tell me besides two were malnourished?”
She set her shoulders, and when she spoke, it was all business again. “Victim five, Kasey Knight, has gonorrhea and syphilis.”
“But the rest don’t?”
“Right. Victim one has sickle cell, so that might help narrow down her ID. Victim two has had her arm broken, in the last six months. It wasn’t set very well. The other arm had radial fractures and looks like the events occurred in the same time period. I’d assume the breaks are due to abuse.” She looked up again, her brows bunched. “It’s weird. The two emaciated girls had high levels of electrolytes in their blood. And I found needle marks in their arms-like someone had administered fluids via IV.”
“We found IV bags in the bunker and some syringes and needles.”
“So this doctor that was killed, Granville. He was treating them?”
“I’m wondering if he wasn’t trying to get them ready for resale. Anything else?”
“Yeah. I saved the best for last. Come here.”
He came closer as she gently rolled the body of Kasey Knight to one side. He squinted, then bent closer to see the small area high on the right hip and his jaw tightened. “A swastika.” He looked up. “Is that a brand?”
“It is. All of them have one, same place, on the right hip. Size of a dime.”
Luke straightened. “Neo-Nazis?”
“There’s a bag over on the counter that might help.”
Luke held it up to the light. It was a signet ring with the AMA snake symbol. “So?”
“It came off Granville’s finger.”
“Okay. He was a doctor, this is the AMA symbol. Not to be obtuse, but so?”
Her brows lifted. “It’s got a false front. Trey found it by accident when he was taking it off the good doctor. There’s a little button on the side.”
Luke flicked it and inside the bag, the top of the ring swung open revealing the same swastika design. “I’ll be damned. Did this make those brands?”
“I don’t think so. The design is set too deep and there doesn’t appear to be any cellular residue on the surface, but the lab can tell you for certain.”
“I’ll see if I can track down this design. Felicity, one of the others can do the ID.”
“I’ll do it.” Carefully she pulled the sheet to cover Kasey Knight. “I’ll see you at two.”
Atlanta, Saturday, February 3, 7:45 a.m.
Susannah stood at the door to Luke’s office, willing her hands not to shake. After the black sedan had disappeared, she’d rented her car and driven to the local Wal-Mart to buy toiletries. Then she’d driven back to the hotel, growing more rattled with every mile, because DRC119 had appeared in the store parking lot, on the highway as she was driving back, even passing by the hotel as she gave her keys to the valet.
For a split second she wondered if Al Landers had told someone, but she instantly dismissed the possibility. Besides, if Al had known she visited Darcy’s grave every year, someone else might, too. She had to find out who’d registered that license plate.
Luke. She trusted him. So she’d stopped the valet, taken her car, and driven here.
She knocked and he looked up from his computer, the surprise in his dark eyes quickly followed by interest. For a moment their gazes locked and her mouth grew dry. Then his eyes grew shuttered and polite and the moment was broken. “Susannah?”
It didn’t matter if she wasn’t sure how she felt about his interest, she thought, because it would disappear if he knew the truth. He wouldn’t want me anymore. No decent man would. “I met Leigh coming in from her break and she walked me up.”
“Come in.” He moved a stack of folders from the chair on the other side of his desk. “I have some time before our morning meeting, so I’m doing paperwork from yesterday. Have a seat. I’ve been meaning to call you all night, but things got crazy. We got to Borenson’s cabin last night and he was gone. There was evidence of a struggle.”
Her chin jerked up as she sat down. “Do you think he’s dead?”
He slouched in his chair. “The struggle was a few days ago, minimum. If he’s wounded somewhere, it won’t be good. He’d have to have lost a lot of blood by now.”
“A few days ago was before all this broke loose with Granville. You were still tracking O’Brien then.”
“I know, but I can’t ignore it. He was connected thirteen years ago. He could very well be connected now.” He frowned. “Speaking of connected, did you notice any kind of mark or scar or anything on Jane Doe?”
“Like what?”
He hesitated. “Like a swastika.”
For the second time in two hours Susannah’s blood ran ice cold. “No. She was gowned and under a sheet by the time I saw her in ICU.” Good, you’re staying calm. “I would’ve thought the hospital would have pointed something like that out.”
“Me, too, but they were a little busy yesterday saving her life.”
“I suppose they were. Why not just ask them today?”
“Because.” He hesitated again. “Because someone tried to kill Beardsley last night.”
“Oh my God. Are you sure?”
“I have the crime lab’s analysis right here. Someone tampered with his IV.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. He had a bad few moments there, but he’s fine.”
“What about the girl? And Bailey?” And Daniel?
“And Daniel?” he asked quietly, with only a trace of reproach.
Which I deserved. “And Daniel. Are all of them all right?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure who I can trust. I hoped you’d seen a mark on Jane Doe.”
Her heart was pounding, but her voice was calm. “What’s the significance?”
“Every girl in the morgue has one branded on her hip.”
She swallowed hard, forcing her heart back down to her chest. It’s not possible. This is not happening. But it was possible. It was happening. Tell him. Tell him now.
In a minute. First, DRC119. “So it was Granville’s mark.”
“It appears so. But, you came all the way down here. What can I do for you?”
Calm, Susannah. “I hate to bother you with this, but a car followed me this morning.”
His dark brows crunched. “What do you mean?”
“I went to the airport to rent a car this morning. I’m going to Dutton for Sheila Cunningham’s funeral today.”
“Sheila Cunningham. I’d almost forgotten about the funeral,” he murmured, then looked back at her. “So what happened with the car that was following you?”
“I took a cab from the hotel to the airport, and a black sedan followed me. I went to the store afterward and it followed me there, too. I have to admit… I was a little rattled.” Utterly unnerved. “Can you run a check on the license plate?”
“What is it?”
“DRC119. It wasn’t the normal layout, you know, with the peach in the middle. All the characters were together.”
“A vanity plate, you mean.”
“Yeah. I guess so.” Holding her breath, she waited as he typed it into his computer. And waited some more as he stared at the screen, his expression inscrutable. Finally she could stand it no longer. “Luke?”
He looked up, eyes guarded. “Susannah, do you know a Darcy Williams?”
Don’t you dare run away this time. “She was my friend. Now she’s dead.”
“Susannah, the vehicle is registered to Darcy Williams, but the picture in her DMV record… it’s yours.”
Her throat closed. No air came in. No words came out.
“Susannah?” He lurched to his feet and came around his desk to take her shoulders in his hands, his grip firm. “Breathe.”
She sucked in a breath, nauseous. “There’s something you need to know.” Her voice was no longer calm. “It’s the swastika. I have one. On my hip. It’s a brand.”
He exhaled carefully. His hands remained on her shoulders, kneading. “From the assault thirteen years ago.” It wasn’t a question. It should have been.
She gently pulled away and walked to the window. “No. It happened seven years later. On January nineteenth.”
“One-nineteen,” he said. “Like the license plate. DRC119.”
“January nineteenth was also the day of my assault by Simon’s gang.”
In the glass, she watched him go still. “Susannah, who was Darcy Williams?”
She leaned her forehead on the cool glass. Her head burned, but the rest of her was ice cold. “Like I said. She was my friend and now she’s dead.”
“How did she die?” he asked gently.
She kept her eyes fixed on the parking lot below. “I’ve never told this. To anyone.”
“But somebody knows.”
“At least three people. And now you.” She turned around, met his eyes. “Whoever followed me today knows. Last night I found out my boss has known since it happened. Part of it anyway. The other person is the detective who led the investigation.”
“Investigation into what?”
“Darcy was murdered in a cheap hotel room in Hell’s Kitchen. I was in the next room.” She kept her eyes on his, an anchor. “I was in law school at NYU. Darcy was a year or so younger, a waitress in the West Village. We’d meet in a bar. That night, we’d met some guys.”
“In Hell’s Kitchen? Did you go there often?”
She hesitated for a fraction of a heartbeat. “It was a one-night thing.”
Liar. Liar. Liar.
Shut up. I have to keep something secret.
“But something happened,” he said.
“I passed out. I think the guy put something in my drink. When I woke up, I was alone and…” I had sticky thighs. He hadn’t used a condom. “My hip burned like fire.”
“The brand.”
“Yes. I got dressed and knocked on the room next door, where Darcy was. The door just… swung open.” And suddenly she was there again. Blood. Everywhere. On the mirror, on the bed, on the walls. “Darcy was crumpled in a heap on the floor. Naked. She was dead. She’d been beaten to death.”
“So what did you do?”
“I ran. I ran to a phone booth two blocks away and called 911. Anonymously.”
“Why anonymously?”
“I was in law school. I was clerking in the district attorney’s office. If I’d gotten mixed up in that kind of scandal…” She looked away. “I sound like my mother. She used to say that to my father when Simon would screw up. ‘We just can’t have a scandal, Arthur.’ And my father would go ‘fix’ it.”
“You are not like your parents, Susannah.”
“You have no idea what I am,” she shot back, then stopped, startled. She’d said the same thing to Daniel. Word for word.
Why did you come back? he’d asked.
The others will testify, she’d told him. What kind of coward would I be not to do the same? He’d insisted she wasn’t a coward and she’d nearly laughed in his face. You have no idea what I am, Daniel. And he didn’t. She’d like to keep it that way, but her secrets were leaking out, one by one.
“What are you then?” Luke asked quietly.
She drew a breath, returned the conversation to the past. “I was a coward.”
His eyes flickered. He’d caught her parry. “You called 911. That was something.”
“Yeah. Then I followed up with another anonymous call to the detective who’d landed the case. I described the guy who’d picked Darcy up at the bar and gave him the bar’s address. He said he’d need to verify some things, and for me to call him back in four hours. I did, and he was watching for me to make the call.”
“You used the same phone booth.”
“All three times.” She forced a taut smile. “That’s why we catch so many bad guys, Agent Papadopoulos. They do stupid things.”
“Luke,” he said levelly. “My name is Luke.”
Her taut smile faded. “Luke.”
“Then what happened?” he asked, as if she weren’t telling him something sordid.
“Detective Reiser caught the guy based on my leads. He was able to corroborate independently once he knew where to start. He didn’t need to bring me in, but told my boss, I think more to cover his ass. So my reputation, and my career, were saved.”
“It’s a good reputation, a good career. Why are you beating yourself up over this?”
“Because I was a coward. I should have faced the guy who killed Darcy then.”
“So you’re facing Garth Davis now? To make up for what happened then?”
Her lips thinned. “That seems to be the popular conclusion.”
He slid his finger under her chin, nudging until she met his eyes again. “What about the other guy?” he asked, his eyes intense. “The one that drugged you.”
She lifted a shoulder. “He left. I never saw him again. I got over it.”
“Did he rape you?” he asked, his voice carefully controlled.
She remembered the blood, the stickiness of his semen on her thighs. “Yes. But I went to that hotel room willingly.”
“Did you hear what you just said?” he asked, his tone just shy of a snarl.
“Yes,” she hissed. “I hear it every time I think it. Every time I tell a victim she didn’t deserve to be raped. But this was different, dammit. It’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because it happened to me,” she cried. “Again. I let it happen to me again and my friend died. My friend died and I was a coward and ran away.”
“So you deserved to be raped?”
She shook her head, wearily. “No. But I didn’t deserve justice either.”
“You Vartanians are so fucked up,” he said, the fury snapping in his black eyes. “If your father weren’t already dead, I’d be tempted to kill him myself.”
She raised up on her toes, holding his gaze. “Stand in line.” She took a step back, pulled her emotions into check. “So, what does this mean? The same night my friend is murdered in New York, I get assaulted and branded. Six years later five homicides are branded with the same symbol in beautiful, scenic Dutton. Connected? I vote yes.”
She watched him bank his fury, partitioning it away. “Let’s see it,” Luke said.
Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
“Let’s see it. How will we know if it’s the same symbol?”
“Show me yours first and I’ll tell you if they’re the same.”
“Mine are in the morgue,” he snapped. “For God’s sake, Susannah, I saw you in your bra yesterday. My meeting started a few minutes ago. Just do it. Please.”
He was right, of course. This was no time for modesty and she had no right to it anyway, given what she’d just disclosed. “Close your eyes.” Rapidly she unzipped the skirt and pushed her underwear down far enough to show him. “Look.”
He crouched, staring at the mark, then closed his eyes. “Zip back up. It’s the same design. Slightly larger in diameter.” He straightened, eyes still closed. “You decent?”
“Yeah. So, now what? Somebody here in Atlanta knows about Darcy. Somebody in Dutton has a swastika brand. Did that same someone brand me and kill my friend? If so, who and why?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that we need to start looking at white supremacy groups.”
“Because of the swastika? Maybe, maybe not.”
He stopped, his hand on the knob of his office door. “Why not?”
It was easier to think details than dwell on an act she could not change. “My brand isn’t a German swastika. This swastika is bent at the tips. It’s a symbol used in many Eastern religions.” She lifted her brows. “Including Buddhism.”
“So we’re back to Granville’s thích.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I can research it for you if you want.”
“Yes. Sit here and do it while I’m in my meeting. I’ll come back for you.”
“I can’t stay. I’m meeting Chloe Hathaway at nine.”
“She’s here in the eight-o’clock meeting. She can meet with you when we’re done. It’ll save her a trip to your hotel.”
“But my confession is on my laptop. I left it in my hotel room.”
“We have a small army of stenographers out there answering calls from the tip line,” he said impatiently. “We’ll pull one of them in to take your statement. I have to go.”
“Luke, wait. My boss, Al-he was going to sit in on the meeting.” Her lips curved in a self-mocking smile. “For moral support.”
His eyes softened. “Call him then, and tell him to come down. But I don’t want you driving around by yourself until we understand who that person was in the black sedan. It all fits. We just have to figure out how.” He hesitated. “I’ve tried to keep your name out of the investigation until you gave your statement.”
“Why?” she managed, knowing what was coming. He’s going to have to tell. Everyone will know what I’ve done. And what I have not. It was what she deserved.
“You deserve your privacy. Just like you deserve your justice.”
She swallowed, his choice of words striking her hard. “Tell them whatever you need to. Tell them about thirteen years ago. Tell them about Hell’s Kitchen, Darcy, and the brand. I’m so damn tired of my privacy. It’s been choking the life out of me for thirteen years.” She lifted her chin. “So tell them all. I don’t care anymore.”
RidgefieldHouse, Saturday, February 3, 8:05 a.m.
Bobby picked up the phone on the first ring. “Is it done?”
Paul sighed. “It’s done.”
“Excellent. Go to bed, Paul. You sound tired.”
“Y’think?” Paul asked sarcastically. “I’m on duty tonight, so don’t call me.”
“Got it. Sweet dreams. And thanks.”
Bobby flipped open the cell, checked the photo of the eight-year-old boy whose mother was about to discover that nobody disobeyed Bobby and walked away unpunished. The note was to the point. Obey or he’ll die, too. Bobby hit send. And it was done. “Tanner, can you get my breakfast, please?”
Tanner appeared from the shadows. “As you wish.”