9 Kill for Me

by Karen Rose

  “Checking runaway sites for Jane Doe. I spent about three hours on this last night.”

  “We have people checking all those sites. Why don’t you sit back and go to sleep?”

  “Because she’s mine,” Susannah said quietly. “Besides, your people only have pictures of her face all bruised up with her eyes closed. I saw her eyes open. I might see something they don’t see. And I’ll go crazy if I don’t have something to do.”

  “That I understand. What did you find out about swastikas this morning?”

  “Not much earthshaking. The swastika is used in Hinduism, Jainism, and Buddhism. In all cases, it’s a religious symbol and can represent anything from evolution of life to good luck and harmony. It can mean something different depending on whether it’s right or left facing. Mine faces right, which is strength and intelligence. Facing left,” she said wryly, “it means love and mercy.”

  Luke considered it. “None of the brands faced left.”

  “I didn’t think so. The Nazi swastika does point right, however.”

  “So this could still be tied to a neo-Nazi group.”

  “Possibly, but I don’t think so. The Nazi form is very straight and almost always presented at a forty-five-degree angle. The ends are never bent.”

  He glanced at her. “Why did you never get yours removed?”

  “Penance, I suppose.” She hesitated, then shrugged. “And nobody was ever going to see it, so it didn’t matter.”

  He frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I don’t plan to show it to anyone ever again.”

  His frown deepened. “At the beach, or in a relationship?”

  “Either.”

  There was a finality in her tone. “Why not?”

  She made an annoyed noise. “You’re a very nosy man, Agent Papadopoulos.”

  “Luke,” he said, more sharply than he’d intended, and she shrugged again, making him angry. “Earlier I was kind. Now I’m nosy.” He waited, but she said no more. “Is that all you’re going to say?”

  “Yes. That’s all.”

  He was relieved when his cell buzzed in his pocket. He’d been about to lose his temper, and that was the last thing either of them needed right now. “Papadopoulos.”

  “Luke, it’s Leigh. I have some phone messages for you. Is this a bad time?”

  Yes. “No, it’s a fine time,” he said. “What is it?”

  “First is from the Knights. You’re supposed to meet them at two, but they won’t be here until three-thirty. Second, I got a match to your Ashley C-s name. A Jacek Csorka in Panama City, Florida, filed a missing-person report on his daughter. She’s been missing since this past Wednesday. She’s not quite eighteen.”

  “Can you give me the number? Actually, give it to Susannah.” He handed the phone across the car. “Can you copy down the phone number she gives you?” Susannah did and Luke took his phone back. “What else?”

  “Alex called. Daniel’s awake.”

  He took his first easy breath in hours “Excellent. What about Jane Doe?”

  “Still asleep.”

  “Can’t have everything, I guess. What about tips on the hotline?”

  “Hundreds of calls, but nothing credible.”

  “Thanks, Leigh. Call me as soon as Jane Doe wakes up. No change on Jane Doe,” he said to Susannah when he’d hung up. Her eyes stayed locked on her computer screen. “Maybe Jane Doe’s not in there, Susannah.”

  “No, she asked for her mom yesterday. Her mother must have loved her. I can’t see a mother not doing everything she can to find her daughter.”

  There was yearning in her voice he wondered if she heard. It cut at his heart. “I have another nosy question.”

  She sighed. “What?”

  “Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

  She frowned. “That’s not funny.”

  “I didn’t mean it to be. In college, before Darcy, did you have a boyfriend?”

  “No,” she said coldly, but he was undeterred.

  “In high school, before Simon and Granville, did you?”

  “No,” she said, angry now.

  “And since Darcy?”

  “No,” she thundered. “Will you stop? If this is what I have to listen to so I can stay alive, then just throw me to the evil Rocky and be done with it.”

  “Why didn’t you?” he asked, ignoring her tantrum. “After Darcy, why didn’t you?”

  “Because,” she snapped, then her shoulders sagged. “You want my soul, Agent Papadopoulos?” she asked wearily, and for once he didn’t correct her. “Fine. God knows I don’t deserve it. More importantly, no decent man deserves it either.”

  “Am I decent?” he asked softly.

  “I’m afraid so, Luke,” she said, so sadly it broke his heart.

  “So you’ll be alone forever? Is that the penance you’ll pay?”

  “Yes.”

  Luke shook his head, unwilling to accept it. “That’s wrong, Susannah. You’re paying for something that was done to you. You were the victim.”

  “You don’t know what I was,” she said bitterly.

  “Then tell me. Talk to me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I need to know. I want to help you.” He sucked in a breath. “I want to know you. Dammit.” His hands clenched the steering wheel, kneading it. “The first time I saw you . . . I wanted to . . . know you.” He, normally good with the words women wanted to hear, was stumbling. “I wanted you,” he finished quietly.

  She said nothing for a long moment. “You don’t want me, Luke. Trust me.”

  “Because you had a one-night stand? So the fuck what?”

  “Not one,” she whispered so softly he nearly missed it. Then she swallowed hard. “I really don’t want to talk to you anymore. This is hard enough. Please.”

  It was the desperate tremble in her voice that made him stop pushing her. “All right. Will you dial the number Leigh gave you?”

  She did, and he talked to Mr. Csorka, who planned to leave right away from Florida, bringing DNA samples from his daughter Ashley. Luke was hoping for his first positive ID on one of the missing girls. Mr. Csorka would arrive sometime after six this evening.

  Luke went over every detail of the case in his mind, trying to fill the silence in the car, but every few minutes he’d glance at her, wishing he knew what to say. In the end, he honored her request, and said nothing. When they arrived at the hospital in Atlanta, he hoped she’d say something, but she closed her laptop without a word and walked away.

  Feeling very sad and helpless, he let her.

  He’d parked so he could go in and visit Daniel, but his cell buzzed again.

  “Luke, it’s Nate. I’ve been looking at the pictures on Mansfield’s computer.”

  Luke felt a spear of guilt. “I’m so sorry to have left you with this, Nate. I’ve got time before Kasey Knight’s parents arrive. Let me talk to Daniel and then I’ll come help you.”

  “Actually, I found something,” Nate said, his voice energized. “Come now.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Atlanta, Saturday, February 3, 1:25 p.m.

  Susannah had intended to go straight to Jane Doe, but her feet slowed as she walked past Daniel’s room. He was alone, awake, and propped up on the pillows.

  Their eyes locked, his intensely blue. She didn’t know what to say or what he’d do. Then he held out his hand and the dam inside her burst. Stumbling forward she grabbed his hand and he pulled her close. Burying her face against his shoulder, she wept.

  Awkwardly he brushed her hair and she realized he was crying, too.

  “I’m so sorry, Suze,” he rasped. “I can’t go back. I can’t change what I did.”

  “Neither can I.”

  “You didn’t do anything,” he said fiercely. “I should have protected you.”

  “And I should have told you,” she murmured, and he went still.

  “Why didn’t you?” he whispered, his voice anguished. “Why didn’t y
ou tell me?”

  “Simon told me not to. He told me that you were gone and . . .” She shrugged. “Simon said lots of other things. He liked to play mind games.”

  “I know. Just like Dad.” He sighed. “I should have guessed. Both of them were always so much crueler to you. When I took care of you, it seemed to get worse.”

  “So you stayed away,” she murmured.

  “I shouldn’t have.”

  I forgive you. Say it. Say the words. But they stuck in her throat. “It’s done, Daniel,” she said instead. “I understand.” It was the best she could do.

  She rose, averting her face as she searched for tissues. She wiped her face, then sat next to his bed. Then she winced. “Yikes. The nurses are going to be mad at me.”

  He smiled weakly. Her makeup had stained his hospital gown and the red clay from her dress had streaked the sheets. “You’re dirty, kid.”

  “I fell down, kind of. I went to Sheila Cunningham’s funeral.”

  He blinked in surprise. “You did?” he asked, and she nodded.

  “I met Gretchen French. She sends her regards and her thanks.” She lifted one shoulder. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she stops in after they finish with her in the ER.”

  His eyes widened. “Gretchen’s in the ER?”

  She told him what had happened and he was stunned. “My God. Kate Davis helped us find Mack O’Brien. She told us Garth’s wife had split with the kids because she was afraid for her life. I thought with Mack and the others dead she’d be safe, but now . . .”

  “I guess Kate took issue with us accusing Garth. Daniel, I need to say some things and I need you to listen. Yesterday I told you that you didn’t know what I was.”

  “I know. I didn’t understand then. I still don’t.”

  “I’m going to tell you and if you want me to go, I will. But I realized standing next to Sheila’s grave that if you’d died yesterday, I would be all alone. I don’t want to be.”

  “I won’t leave you again,” he said harshly.

  One side of her mouth lifted sadly. “Well, let’s see how you feel when you hear the story. You’d hear it all from Luke at some point, but I’d rather you hear it from me.”

  Atlanta, Saturday, February 3, 1:25 p.m.

  Luke found Nate Dyer in The Room, the place they used to view the vile material that made decent people gag. Am I decent? he heard himself ask Susannah.

  I’m afraid so, Luke. And she thought she wasn’t, because she’d done a one-night stand. Or more. He’d get her to tell it, if for no other reason than for her to hear a decent person tell her that she wasn’t hopeless. That she did deserve her soul.

  But Susannah would have to wait. No matter how long he’d put this off, Luke had known he’d return to The Room as soon as he’d recognized Angel’s face yesterday.

  The Room was windowless, with one door. Only those with a need to know, a need to see, were admitted. Luke wished he didn’t have the combination as he punched in the code. He’d spent far too many hours here. And a little more of you dies each day.

  Yeah. Steeling his spine, Luke pushed the door open. “Hey, Nate.”

  Nate looked up, no smile on his face. “You need to sit down for this.”

  Luke did, preparing for the sick twisting of his stomach that occurred every time he opened a new Web page or viewed a new collection of obscenity. All the preparation, though, never made it easier. “Okay. I’m ready.”

  “I’ve only started looking at the material from Deputy Mansfield’s computer,” Nate said. “The guy had five external hard drives, Papa. Each drive is five hundred gig.”

  “Hundreds of thousands of pictures,” Luke murmured.

  “This stash will keep us busy for months. The computer forensics guys imaged all the hard drives and I picked up the copies just a few hours ago. Mansfield’s hard drives are organized. A lot of the folder names are phrases. He’d marked one ‘Fine Young American Flesh, Inc.’ This is what I found inside.”

  Luke sat in front of Nate’s computer and began scrolling through the pictures. Each was a girl, provocatively posed. Each was nude and each held a small American flag in one hand and in the other, a symbol of the state from which she came.

  Each picture was labeled with a name and a profile and a “personal message” from the girl. “ ‘Hi, I’m Amy,’ ” Luke read. “ ‘I was born and raised in Idaho.’ ” Amy clutched a potato some sick bastard had computer-enhanced to resemble male genitalia. There was Jasmine, raised in sunny California, and Tawny, raised in Wisconsin. Each girl was smiling seductively, and Luke wondered what had been done to them to force the smile.

  “There’s a price list at the end,” Nate said.

  “It’s a catalog,” Luke said dully.

  “Exactly. And the logo for the company is the swastika with the bent ends.”

  “Buy American,” Luke said. “I had a feeling we’d be looking at supremacist groups.”

  “Look on page twenty-four.”

  Luke did. “It’s Angel.” But they’d named her Gabriela.

  “And page fifty-two.”

  Luke’s pulse spiked. “It’s Jane Doe. They call her Honey. I called her that last night. That’s why she got so agitated. Are there other editions, earlier ones?”

  “Yeah, two more. Looks like the catalogs are done quarterly, and this one is dated about two months ago. Luke, further on in this catalog are the two girls that were with Angel on the Web site we shut down eight months ago.”

  “We lost track of those girls. Couldn’t find them anywhere on the Web.”

  Nate pointed to the screen. “Now, we know where they went.”

  “So either Mansfield was somehow involved with that Web site or he knew who was. How else could he get all three girls?”

  “Don’t know. George and Ernie are coming in so I can grab some sleep. Maybe they’ll find something that’ll take us to the perv that ran the site. I’d give a lot to get my hands on him.” Nate searched Luke’s face. “You look as tired as I do. Get some rest.”

  “No. I’ve got an hour before I meet Kasey Knight’s parents. Give me one of those hard drives.” He sat in front of a computer and closed his eyes, mentally preparing.

  “You need anything? Lunch, maybe?” Nate asked, and Luke realized he hadn’t eaten since Leo’s eggs almost twelve hours before.

  “Yeah, I forgot to eat.”

  “You always do,” Nate said, and gave him a container from their small fridge. “Moussaka.”

  Luke blinked at it. “How . . .”

  Nate smiled. “Your mother came by with food for the office yesterday. She was worried we weren’t eating right with you off helping Daniel Vartanian’s case.”

  Luke’s heart squeezed. I love you, Mama. “She’s a good woman, my mama.”

  “And a damn good cook. Eat, Papa. Then search. Your eyes are faster than mine.”

  So, armed with his mama’s moussaka, Luke sat down to view the stuff of which his nightmares were made. He scanned the directory, looking for any name that popped out. Some of the folder names were more self-explanatory than others. Whips and Chains, No Means Yes, Boys Will Be Boys . . . Luke had a pretty good idea of what he’d find in those folders. Then his eyes froze on one of the names.

  Sweetpea, my ass. He clicked it open and his heart rose to choke him. Slowly he put the plastic container of food aside. “Oh my God. Nate, come here.”

  Nate peered over his shoulder. “Horrible quality pictures.”

  They were, grainy and blurry and off center. “Mansfield probably took them with a cell phone or hidden camera. Look, it’s Granville. With a girl.”

  “What’s he doing?” Nate leaned closer, then sighed. “Aw, fuck, Papa.”

  “Goddamn bastard.” Luke scrolled, each photo more vile than the last. Granville had tortured these girls, unspeakably. And Mansfield had somehow captured it all.

  “What does Sweetpea, my ass mean?” Nate asked, pulling up a chair.

  “You know about the rape c
lub, right?”

  “Thirteen years ago. Daniel’s brother Simon was the ringleader.”

  “Not exactly,” Luke said. “We think Granville was the leader, but Simon was his partner. Daniel talked to the widow of one of the men who’d been in the club and she told him all the boys in the club had nicknames. Mansfield was Sweetpea.”

  “Why the ‘my ass’ part?”

  “I don’t know. Everything went to hell and Daniel got shot before I could get any more information. I’ll go see him and find out, but my guess is that Mansfield took these pictures as protection, in case he needed to hold something over Granville’s head.”

  Luke continued paging through the photos, then stopped, and what little he’d eaten threatened to come back up. It was Angel. In all the vile perversion he’d witnessed, what Luke now stared at might be the worst. “Aw, hell, Nate.”

  Nate closed his eyes. “Shit.” He swallowed hard, pursing his lips. “Shit.”

  “We missed something, Nate,” Luke said, his voice as dead as he felt inside. “We didn’t catch those assholes who ran the Web site, but Granville and Mansfield managed to. That’s why those three girls dropped off the face of the earth all of a sudden. Granville had them here. Doing that to them. How did they get them?”

  “I don’t know. But if it’s on one of these five hard drives, we’ll find it.”

  Five hard drives. Twenty-five hundred gig. A hundred thousand pictures. “Dammit.”

  “We’ll figure it out, Luke.”

  “In time for the five girls Granville’s current partner took with him?” Luke said bitterly. “We’ve been at this for twenty hours and nothing fits. We’ve got a missing judge and swastika brands. We’ve got a name, Rocky, that means absofuckinglutely nothing. We’ve got a six-year-old homicide in New York and thirteen-year-old rapes, and they’re somehow connected. And we’ve got a girl who won’t goddamn wake up and tell us what happened.” He looked away, his temper a second away from explosion.

  Beside him, Nate drew a careful breath. “And we’ve got a dead girl named Angel who we should have saved,” he said quietly.