9 Kill for Me

by Karen Rose

  Until Susannah. And she doesn’t want anyone. No, that wasn’t true. She didn’t trust anyone. No, that wasn’t true, either. She’d trusted him today, came to him when she was afraid. Leaned on him in the cemetery.

  Susannah didn’t trust herself. He listened to the sobs behind him and thought about the brown smudges on Daniel’s hospital gown. Susannah’s makeup. It was a good sign.

  The sobs behind the closed door quieted, the door opened, and Mr. Knight cleared his throat. “We’re ready to talk to you now, Agent Papadopoulos.”

  Mrs. Knight looked up, her face ravaged. “Have you caught the man that did this?”

  “Not all of them.”

  Both Knights flinched. “There was more than one?” Mr. Knight asked, horrified.

  Luke thought of the Sweetpea pictures. “We know of two. They’re both dead.”

  “Did they suffer?” Mrs. Knight demanded, her teeth clenched.

  “Not enough,” Luke replied. “We’re still looking for the third man.”

  “You have a lot of agents on this case?” Knight asked.

  “More than a dozen agents, which doesn’t count all the support personnel answering the tip hotlines. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a few questions for you.”

  The Knights sat up straighter. “Of course,” Mr. Knight said. “We’re ready.”

  “Was Kasey involved in any relationships that worried you? Boys, school friends?”

  Mrs. Knight sighed. “The police asked us this then. She had a group of girls she’d been friends with since the fourth grade. The night she disappeared she’d gone to a sleepover. The girls said they went to sleep and when they woke up she wasn’t there.”

  “The police were suspicious,” Mr. Knight said wearily. “But the police couldn’t get any of the girls to tell them what happened.”

  “Give me the girls’ names.”

  “Are you going to make them tell?” Mrs. Knight asked, her voice thinning.

  “I’m going to talk to them,” Luke said. “Here’s my card. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to call me. And I’ll call you as soon as we know more.”

  Mr. Knight stood, his expression drawn. “We want to thank you. At least we can bury our child.” He helped his wife to her feet and she leaned against him.

  “We need to confirm your identification. Did you bring the articles that I requested?”

  Mrs. Knight nodded shakily. “Kasey’s things are in the car.”

  “Then I’ll walk with you.” Luke did so, and waited while Mr. Knight opened his trunk. “I know it doesn’t help, but I am so very sorry.”

  “It does help,” Mrs. Knight whispered. “You care. You’ll find him, the one that did this to our Kasey, the one that still walks free. Won’t you?” she added fiercely.

  “I will.” Clutching their daughter’s belongings in the shoebox in his hand, Luke watched them drive away. He thought of the four unidentified bodies in the morgue, of the five girls still out there, of Jane Doe lying in a hospital bed. I must.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dutton, Saturday, February 3, 3:45 p.m.

  Charles glared at the telephone when it rang for the tenth time in an hour. Damn reporters. Every one of them wanted a new angle on the shootings of Kate Davis and Gretchen French. As if he’d toss them even a crumb. Not.

  This call he’d answer, he thought when he saw the caller ID. “Paul, where are you?”

  “In Raleigh. Bobby’s out of control. Just thought you should know.”

  There was a sharp edge to Paul’s voice. “What’s in Raleigh?” Charles asked.

  “The father of the girl that escaped from the bunker. Rocky kidnapped the girl’s sister and made it look like the sister had run here, to her daddy.”

  “So Bobby’s cleaning up Rocky’s mistakes. That shows responsibility.”

  “It shows loss of control,” Paul snapped. “Dr. Cassidy didn’t have to die.”

  “I’ll go down to Ridgefield House and have a little talk with Bobby.”

  “Good, because I’m sick and tired of fetching for your star pupil. Bobby thinks I work for money. I came this close to saying I only work for you. That you set this whole thing up. That I only pretend to be Bobby’s errand boy because you told me to. I’m tired of this, Charles. I mean it.”

  Paul had always gotten snide when he was tired, ever since he’d been a boy. “You’re not my pupil, Paul. You’re my right hand, so relax. Get a hotel and take a nap. Call me when you’re back in Atlanta.”

  “Fine, just yank Bobby back into line, will you?”

  “I certainly will.” He paused meaningfully. “Thank you, Paul.”

  Paul sighed. “You’re welcome, sir. I’m sorry I was rude.”

  “Apology accepted. Get some rest.” Charles hung up, doubly annoyed. First Bobby missed Susannah Vartanian, and from only twenty feet away. And now, wasting resources like Paul. I taught you better than that. It was time for a refresher course.

  Atlanta, Saturday, February 3, 4:00 p.m.

  One of Monica’s eyelids was open. It was a strange sensation, being able to see the ceiling through only one eye. Her nurse came in and Monica wanted to scream.

  The nurse had another syringe in her hand. Her eyes were no longer red and swollen, but she was tense. The nurse brushed her eyelid closed. “I’m not going to kill you,” she murmured close to her ear. “But I can’t take a chance on you saying anything to the police until my son is out of danger. This should be the last one.”

  Monica felt the warmth of the nurse’s body as she bent low again, whispering in her ear. “When this one wears off, I’ll be gone. Do not trust anyone. Believe me. There is someone else in this hospital that works for the people who hurt you. Yesterday they tried to kill one of the others that escaped from the bunker. The man.”

  Beardsley. He’d helped them escape from the bunker. Bailey had told her so, when they’d been in the woods. Monica had heard the nurses talking during the day. He’d been rushed into ICU during the night, but was lucky. They’d saved him and he was sent back to a regular room. With a guard.

  “As soon as you’re out of ICU, you’ll be vulnerable,” the nurse continued. “I’ve tried to keep you alive as long as I could. But my son is in danger. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you anymore. I think you can trust Susannah and Nurse Ella. Now I have to go.”

  Raleigh, North Carolina, Saturday, February 3, 4:15 p.m.

  Special Agent Harry Grimes looked around the Raleigh office of the North Carolina State Bureau of Investigation fondly. He’d been transferred to the Charlotte office the year before and missed the staff, especially his boss, who’d taught Harry so much.

  His old boss was at a new desk, having been recently promoted to special agent in charge. Harry knocked and an instant grin lit Steven Thatcher’s face.

  “Harry Grimes. How the hell are you? Come in, come in.”

  “Hope I’m not interrupting,” Harry said as Steven came around the desk, hand outstretched in welcome.

  “No, no.” Steven grimaced. “Just paperwork.”

  “Comes with the new desk, huh?”

  “Yeah, but I’m home more and Jenna likes that, especially with another baby on the way.” Steven pointed to a chair. “How’s Charlotte?”

  Harry sat down. “Great. Not here, but still great.”

  Steven studied his face. “You’re not here on a social call, are you?”

  “I wish. I got a call this morning from a frantic mother. Her fourteen-year-old daughter went missing from her bed in the night.”

  Steven grew serious. “Like, abducted, or left?”

  “No sign of forced entry. The locals started out calling her a runaway.”

  “But they’re not now?”

  “No. And the confrontation wasn’t initially smooth, but they’re on board now.”

  “So bring me up to speed and tell me how I can help.”

  “This girl’s older sister went missing six months ago. She’s listed in the NCMEC databas
e as an ‘endangered runaway.’ ” He handed Steven a photo from his briefcase.

  “Beatrice Monica Cassidy,” Steven read.

  “She goes by Monica. She had what her mother considered a normal relationship. They fought about clothes and curfews and school. Then one day six months ago Monica tells Mom she’s going to visit a friend and doesn’t come home. The friend eventually confessed Monica had asked her to lie, that she was meeting a boy. By then the trail was cold. Monica was gone. Her mother insists she wouldn’t have run away.”

  “Parents normally do,” Steven said quietly.

  “I know. Apparently Monica had been spending a lot of time on the computer.”

  “Let me guess. Chat rooms and IM?”

  “Of course. Mom couldn’t bring back any of Monica’s conversations, which is where I came in. The principal of Monica’s school asked me to do a presentation for the PTO on software that can track chat room and instant message conversations. If parents install it right, the kids never know it’s there. I had a rep from the local computer store there as I always do, so that parents can buy the software that night.”

  “Smart, Harry. So many times parents plan to, and life gets in the way.”

  “Exactly. Mrs. Cassidy was there that night and bought a package because she has a younger daughter, Eugenie Marie. Goes by Genie.”

  “And as of this morning, Genie is missing.”

  “Mrs. Cassidy called all her friends, then the police. They came, took a report. Then the mom got online and read Genie’s conversations. She’s been communicating with someone named Jason through her IM account. He claims to be a college boy.”

  “You think a pedophile took her?”

  “Yeah, I do. Monica’s friends said she’d met a college boy online—named Jason.”

  Steven blinked. “That’s quite a coincidence.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Did Genie’s chat log show if she planned to meet this Jason, and where?”

  “No, there were no communications yesterday or today, but there are going to be gaps in the log when kids use their cell phones to text. The software only tracks the chats and IMs on the computer itself. I felt so sorry for this woman, Steven, so I went to the bus station and asked around. They said a kid wearing a hoodie from Genie’s high school bought a bus ticket to Raleigh in the middle of the night, so here I am.”

  “So how did you get this case, Harry?” Steven asked cautiously.

  Harry’s smile was wry. “I’m not being a cowboy, Steven. I’m officially assigned to this case. Mrs. Cassidy lives in a rural area, about thirty miles from Charlotte. The local force is small and asked us to take it after Mrs. Cassidy showed them the Jason parallel. My boss put me on the case since I’d done some of the groundwork.”

  “So why Raleigh?”

  “Her dad lives here. Dad didn’t answer my phone calls, so I made the trip. Dad isn’t home, and his car is gone.”

  “Maybe he’s just not home, Harry.”

  “He’s a doctor. Didn’t show up for his shift today and the hospital staff say that’s never happened before. He’s reliable to the point of being obsessive.”

  “You get a warrant for his house?”

  “Being signed as we speak. You wanna come with?”

  Steven nodded grimly. “Let me get my coat.”

  Ridgefield House, Saturday, February 3, 4:55 p.m.

  “Where’s Tanner?” Charles asked as Bobby took his coat.

  On his way back from Savannah, Bobby thought, but Charles had no need to know that. “Assisting me.” Bobby sat behind the desk without additional explanation. “Well?”

  Charles followed, settling himself in a chair. “You could have been caught.”

  Bobby smiled. “I know. That’s what made it fun.”

  “Where did you get that godawful dress?”

  “My grandmother’s. You said I was acting like an old woman, so I dressed like one.”

  “But you missed,” he said, and Bobby lifted a brow.

  “Au contraire. I never miss. I was taught to shoot by a U.S. Army sniper, you know.”

  “Yes, I know,” Charles said irritably. “I was there for every excruciating lesson.”

  “So you of all people know my skill. I hit what I aimed at.”

  Charles looked perplexed. “You intended to hit Gretchen French?”

  “That’s who that was?” Bobby laughed softly. “That makes it even better.”

  “You didn’t know?” he asked, incredulous.

  “Nope. I planned to hit whoever was standing closest to Susannah Vartanian the moment Rocky pulled the trigger. I’d kind of hoped to get Agent Papadopoulos, but Gretchen French is even better, under the circumstances.”

  “So what happened to the shot Rocky fired?”

  “A blank. I didn’t want her to hit anything. The girl was a lousy shot anyway. But I wanted her to believe she had. I wanted her to think she was killing Susannah Vartanian. And she pulled the trigger. She died knowing she’d obeyed me.”

  “She died thinking she’d missed.”

  “Better still. She obeyed me, yet still she failed. She deserved no less.”

  “Very good,” he said, sounding reluctantly pleased. “So what will you do next? I mean about Susannah Vartanian.”

  “I’ll deal with her a little at a time. When I’m finished with her, she’ll be more alone than I ever was. She’ll be afraid to stand next to a tree stump, afraid it’ll be blown to bits. When I finally decide to kill her, she’ll beg me to do it quickly.”

  “So when will you strike again?”

  Bobby thought about the call from the GBI mole that had come through minutes before Charles arrived. The mole’s report had been infuriating, but Bobby had decided to make lemonade from the lemon. And Charles could provide the sweetener.

  “In about an hour. I’d like to borrow your car. The black one with the Darcy plates.”

  “What do you plan to do?”

  “I plan to teach a recalcitrant employee a lesson. The nurse called GBI on me.”

  “So you’re still cleaning up Rocky’s messes?”

  Bobby frowned at his disapproving tone. “What do you mean?”

  “You have a lot of loose ends to snip. But there are other ways to do so. So much murder at once is a neon light. I taught you better than that.”

  “I know. Power in invisibility. But this is a twofer. I send a message that it’s unwise to disobey me and I strike at Susannah Vartanian again. You’ll see. Trust me.”

  Charles considered it. “In that case, yes, you may borrow my car.”

  Atlanta, Saturday, February 3, 4:55 p.m.

  “Luke, wake up. Wake up.”

  Luke’s head jerked up. He’d fallen asleep at his desk. “God,” he muttered.

  Leigh stood next to him, a worried look on her face. “It’s almost five. The team’s starting to gather in the conference room.” She handed him a cup of coffee. “High test.”

  He gulped half of it down. “Thanks, Leigh. Anything happen while I was asleep?”

  “Nope. The calls from last night are starting to taper off. Nothing relevant, not yet.”

  “You get any hits on that boat registration number Daniel remembered?”

  “Couple hundred. But I narrowed it down based on the boat only having room to carry five girls.” She handed him a piece of paper. “I just finished it. Here’s the list.”

  “Good work, Leigh. I really appreciate all the time you’ve put in this weekend. Hopefully it’ll be over soon.” Luke scrubbed his face, his beard scraping his palms. “I have to shave. Maybe that’ll help me feel human. Tell Chase I’ll be there in five.”

  Five minutes later he slumped into a chair between Chase and Ed and looked around the table. Pete and Nancy were there, as were Chloe and Nate. Talia Scott was back from the Ellijay cabin, and she and psychologist Mary McCrady looked fresher than the rest of them. “We ready to start, Chase?” he asked.

  “Yep. Germanio is stil
l hunting for Helen Granville, so we’re just waiting for you.”

  Luke straightened in his chair. “We have an ID on Kasey Knight, one of the homicides, and we may have an ID on one of the missing girls, Ashley Csorka. Her dad’s on his way from Florida with DNA samples.”

  “I’ll put a rush on the urine samples we took from the mattresses in the bunker,” Ed said. “I’ll start PCR on the samples he brings. We’ll have an ID by tomorrow this time.”

  “Good,” Chase said. “What else?”

  “Daniel saw part of the registration number on the boat as it pulled away,” Luke said. “Leigh’s narrowed possible owners down to a couple dozen.”

  Chase took the list. “We’ll check it out. Anything else?”

  “Just what Nate and I found.” He gestured to Nate.

  “We found catalogs with girls for sale—the company is Fine Young American Flesh and its logo is the swastika,” Nate said. “I was able to match photos of three of the five homicides. Kasey Knight wasn’t in any of the catalogs.”

  “How many did you end up finding?” Luke asked.

  “Just the three I’d found when you came by. Why?”

  “Because Kasey was missing for two years. At three quarterlies, the catalogs only go back a year or so.”

  “So?” Chase asked.

  “So Kasey wasn’t part of the Fine Young Flesh business,” Nate said. “But she was still in the bunker.”

  “Just another piece of the puzzle,” Luke said, and Chase sighed.

  “This puzzle is like one of those round ones that’s all yellow,” he grumbled. “Can we trace any of the pictures on Mansfield’s hard drives?”

  “We’ve got a third of ICAC working on it,” Nate said, “but twenty-five hundred gig is a lot of photos.”

  “The ones I’m most interested in are the ones Mansfield took on the sly,” Luke said. “They’re not staged, so they’re more likely to yield something useful.”

  Nate nodded. “But they’re grainy, so it’s slow going. If you don’t need me for anything else, I’ll get back to it.”