by Karen Rose
“Apparently, Charles Grant had been trying to blackmail my father out of the money he’d blackmailed from the defendants in his courtroom.” Her lips curved bitterly. “It’s ironic in a totally twisted way,” she murmured, then went still, her dread confirmed.
“That prick Grant came by tonight with pictures of Simon fucking Susannah. I was supposed to be ashamed. Incest. I told Grant to go to hell and take his pictures with him, that Susannah got what she deserved. Plus, she’d never go to the cops, the girl doesn’t have the guts. So again I won. Charles left with his tail between his legs, threatening me, like always. ‘You’ll regret this. Simon will do something so terrible even you won’t be able to get him off.’ Yeah, right. And he’s gonna get me and my little dog, too. I told him he could have Susannah. I have no use for her. He said, ‘Thank you.’ ”
Susannah closed her eyes. Tears splashed on her hands and she hastily wiped them away. “I’m going to damage the evidence.”
Talia pressed a tissue into her hand, then took a tissue for herself. “I’m so sorry, Susannah,” she whispered unsteadily.
Abruptly Susannah laughed, bitterly. “This is evidence against nobody. We can’t prove that Charles Grant did anything more than know about my . . . assault.”
“He instigated it,” Talia said fiercely. “I know it.”
Susannah shook her head, objectively. “But it’s not proof.”
The two of them sat quietly for a long moment, then Talia looked over at her. “It sounds like your father and Mr. Grant were in an all-out war, with Judge Borenson a pawn they traded. But then, nothing happened. No fireworks, no accusations. Borenson retires to the hills, Grant goes on teaching, your father goes on judging and they both go on extorting. No murdering rampages.” Talia paused. “Not until Simon rose again.”
Susannah let the words sink in and then it was clear. “The three of them had some kind of a truce.” Her hands no longer trembled as she flipped pages. She knew what she’d find. She flipped past Alicia Tremaine’s murder and Gary Fulmore’s trial in Borenson’s kangaroo court. “My mother pushed Frank Loomis to manipulate evidence, but Grant’s hand is in this as well. Toby Granville was Charles Grant’s protégé. If the truth came out about Alicia’s assault, Toby would have been charged, imprisoned.”
“So Grant pushed Borenson to look the other way, to ignore sham evidence.”
“I think so. Then Marcy Linton gets arrested and the battle comes to a head. Maybe my father knows Mr. Grant’s involved with Marcy or maybe it’s just really bad karma, but Grant uses what he’s got on Borenson to get Marcy a new trial and reduced sentence.”
“Your daddy wasn’t happy. So how did they achieve this truce?”
Susannah turned to a year after Alicia Tremaine’s murder, to the day Simon “died.” “The day Simon disappeared, I heard him and my father arguing. My father had found the pictures, the ones Daniel ended up using to track down the victims of Simon’s rape club. My father told Simon either he’d turn him in or Simon had to disappear. A few days later we heard Simon was dead. He’d run to Mexico and had a car accident.”
“But Simon wasn’t dead.”
“No. My father made it look like he was because he knew my mother would never stop looking for him unless she believed he was dead. My father went away and came back with a coffin he said held Simon’s remains. There’d been a Mexican autopsy and the body inside was burned beyond recognition. But they still needed a death certificate, signed by an ME.”
“I read that the body inside the coffin was under six feet tall and Simon was six-six.”
“No ME would have mistaken that body for Simon’s, even with the charred skin.” She held out the book for Talia to see. “Arthur recorded receipt of one death certificate, signed by the ME, who was also the town doctor.”
“The ME was complicit.”
“Had to have been. The date Arthur says he received the death certificate was the day after Simon disappeared. The day before we got word Simon had died in Mexico.” Susannah was unsurprised and stunned all at once. “They all knew Simon was alive.”
“So after he sells the death certificate, Borenson retires and goes into seclusion.”
“My father had neutralized the threat and Mr. Grant had to back down, again. A few months later I went to New York, to college.”
“But Charles Grant wouldn’t let you go,” Talia murmured. “You were his.”
“I can only guess he’d influenced Marcy over the years until she sought me out. I guess she would have hated me because of what my father did to her and her family.”
Talia’s sigh was heavy and sad. “Now we have our connection. I’ll call Chase and give him the update. Gather up the journals and I’ll help you carry them out to the car.”
Talia rose and walked to the foyer to make her call, but Susannah simply sat motionless, staring at the journals. So much pain, so much misery. All for greed, for mastery. It was a damn game to them. And I was their pawn.
Wearily she brought the journals and ledgers up from the deep floor safe, then stared. Beneath the ledgers were bundles of cash. Lots of cash. “Talia? Come h . . .”
The word trailed off as Susannah looked over her shoulder and her heart stuttered to a stop. Talia wasn’t standing in the doorway. Bobby was. She wore a malevolent grin and in her left hand she held a gun with a silencer. “Welcome home, little sister.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Dutton, Monday, February 5, 1:20 p.m.
Charles Grant sat in a folding chair at Janet Bowie’s graveside service, his hands somberly folded atop his walking stick. At the other funerals he’d had ringside seats, but today he and the two old men from the barbershop bench had been relegated to the back. Which was better, actually. From here he could see everyone. From here, he could surreptitiously check his cell phone when it buzzed in his pocket.
It was a text message. From Paul, he hoped, saying Daniel Vartanian and Alex Fallon were ensconced in the interrogation room in his basement. But disappointment speared. It was the throwaway cell he’d given Bobby last night. Disappointment abruptly became anticipation. The text read SHOWTIME.
Bobby had Susannah. I have to get out there. He feigned a wince, clenching his walking stick. “My sciatica,” he murmured to Dr. Fink, the dentist, on his right. He rose stiffly, grimacing in affected pain. “I need to move.” He did so, murmuring apologies as he moved through the crowd. It was finally time to see Susannah die.
But then he’d have to deal with Bobby. He’d lost control of her, so he’d have to kill her. He rubbed the head of his walking stick. Just like I killed my Darcy six years ago.
Dutton, Monday, February 5, 1:30 p.m.
“Goddammit,” Luke snapped. Bobby was not hiding in Charles Grant’s house.
Pete looked around Grant’s living room. “Ready to start tearing out the walls?”
“Not quite. At least Grant’s still at the cemetery.” Germanio had confirmed that ten minutes before. “He still doesn’t know we’re here or that we’re on to him.”
They’d approached in stealth, difficult when the media had converged on Dutton for Janet Bowie’s funeral. He and Chase had debated having Dutton’s new sheriff secure Grant’s house in the event Bobby had been hiding, but they couldn’t be certain there weren’t more dirty deputies who’d alert Bobby or Grant. Instead, Luke once again called on Arcadia’s Sheriff Corchran, who’d put himself and a trusted deputy on silent patrol.
Corchran had also told Luke’s team how to approach without getting snarled in the funeral traffic. Luke’s hopes had been high entering Grant’s modest frame house off Main Street. Now . . . he could only hope the house itself would hold an answer.
His team waited impatiently. “The warrant covers Bobby’s whereabouts and the crimes in the bunker.” It had been the best Chloe had been able to do. “Keep looking.”
The team scattered, Pete going upstairs, Nancy down. Luke tackled the living room, but there was nothing to indicate this man was any
thing other than what he purported himself to be—a retired high school English teacher.
Luke stared at one wall. And a community theater director. The wall held playbills from productions Grant had directed, including a school production of Snow White in which he’d cast Bobby in the lead. Luke thought of little Kate Davis being “thoughtlessly” cast as a squirrel, earning the nickname “Rocky.” How thoughtless had it been? Garth had told them that Bobby had “made Kate beautiful.” Destroying Kate’s self-esteem only to build her back up was a great way to guarantee loyalty.
Grant’s bookshelves sagged under the weight of hundreds of books, and Luke began checking each one. Homer, Plutarch, Dante . . . He sighed. Nothing but a lot of words.
“Luke!” Nancy called from the basement, urgency in her voice. “Come and see.”
Luke took the stairs two at a time. “Is it Bobby?”
Nancy stood by a steel-reinforced door set in a wall of concrete. “No, it’s a bunker, just like the one we found in Mansfield’s basement,” she said. “Mansfield used his to store his guns, ammo, and kiddie porn. Charles Grant . . . well, look for yourself.” She opened the door and the smell was intolerable. The sight was worse.
It was a torture chamber, with shackles in the walls and shelves of carefully sorted knives. In the middle of the room was a raised slab, making Luke think of Frankenstein’s lab. On the bed was a man. Or he’d been one, before he’d been carved into ribbons.
“Borenson’s dead.” Luke crossed the threshold and stared. In the corner were an easy chair and a lamp on a doily-covered table. “My God. Grant sat there and watched.”
Nancy pointed to a CD player on the small table. “While he listened to Mozart.”
Luke studied Borenson’s body. “What did Borenson have or know that Charles Grant wanted? He was tortured over a period of time. Some of these cuts look days old.” He backed out of the room. “Close the door so we can breathe. Good work, Nancy.”
“Thanks. This bunker was hidden.” She shut the heavy steel door, then pulled a second pocket door from the wall. “It looks like a real wall when it’s pulled all the way across. Mansfield had his sliding wall half open, so we found his bunker fast. When I saw this wall I knew it was the same. There might be other hidden rooms in this house.”
“Bobby could still be here, hiding. Keep looking.” Luke climbed the stairs, but before he had a chance to dial Chase, his phone began buzzing. It was Chase, and from the road noise, he was in his car. “It doesn’t look like Bobby’s here,” Luke said, “but Borenson’s body is. He’s been tortured. Germanio can arrest Charles Grant.”
“Contact Germanio, have him make the arrest. Did you find anything on Bobby?”
“No, but we’re still looking.” Luke heard a tenseness in Chase’s voice that had his pulse scrambling. “Is Susannah all right?” The thought of her facing that house again made him sick. But Talia believed they’d found a connection to Darcy, so Chase had okayed it. Luke didn’t think he could have, so it was a good thing Chase was in charge.
“She’s fine,” Chase said. “It’s that cop Agent Grimes saw in Charlotte, Paul Houston. We got his photo. Luke, it’s the guy Susannah described to the sketch artist.”
Luke’s jaw dropped. “What? An Atlanta cop raped Susannah in New York?”
“That’s what it looks like. But there’s more. This morning Paul Houston was assigned to guard Daniel’s house when he got home from the hospital. Houston specifically requested it.”
Luke’s blood ran cold. “Oh my God.”
“Daniel’s fine. I called him as soon as I knew. Apparently there was a problem with his dog making a mess in his house. Your mother called one of your cousins.”
Luke exhaled in relief. “Nick. He’s got a carpet-cleaning business. Is he all right?”
“He’s fine. He hadn’t gotten there yet, so Daniel and Alex went to stay with your mother. Your mother’s fine, too. Everybody’s fine, except me. I’m working with APD’s IA, but I want this guy watched now, so I drove out to Daniel’s. Five minutes ago Houston got a call on his cell phone and left. I’m following. He’s headed west, driving very fast.”
“Toward us.”
“Maybe. I’ve pulled together a tag-team pursuit, so he won’t detect the tail. I’m hoping he’s going to meet Bobby. Call Susannah, make sure she knows about him. Finish your search and stay within the limits of the warrant. I don’t want Charles Grant slipping off our hook. I’ll call you when I know where Paul Houston is going.”
Dutton, Monday, February 5, 1:30 p.m.
Bobby couldn’t stop grinning. Susannah was exactly where she wanted her, kneeling. That Susannah was kneeling next to piles of cash was the sugar on top.
“Where is Agent Scott?” Susannah asked stonily.
Bobby had to hand it to her. After the initial shock, Susannah didn’t show a flicker of fear. “She’s not dead, if that’s what you’re asking. I didn’t even shoot her. Yet.”
Susannah’s eyes narrowed. Gray eyes, Bobby thought, not blue like our father’s. Or like Daniel’s or Simon’s and mine.
“How much money is in the safe?”
Susannah shrugged coolly. “Couple of thousand. Maybe more. Take it and go.”
Bobby smiled. “I will. But first you’re going to open every safe in this house.”
Susannah’s chin lifted. “Open them your goddamn self.”
Bobby’s foot shot out, kicking Susannah under the chin. She landed on her back, Bobby’s foot on her throat. “I said,” Bobby snarled, “you’ll do it.” Bobby applied pressure to her throat, aiming her gun at Susannah’s head. “Now get up. The next time you give me lip, I put a bullet in Agent Scott.”
Bobby grabbed a fistful of Susannah’s hair and yanked her to her feet. To her credit, Susannah didn’t whimper. The little woman had proven to be tougher than she looked and not to be underestimated. Bobby shoved her out of the study, past Talia Scott, who was only half conscious after being tasered, gagged, handcuffed, and hog-tied.
Halfway up the stairs, Bobby heard a faint ringing and Susannah stopped short. “That’s my cell. It’s probably Agent Papadopoulos. If I don’t answer it, he’ll worry.”
Bobby considered it. Once she’d killed Susannah, she’d have to kill Papadopoulos sooner or later. He was the kind of man who wouldn’t rest until she, Bobby, was punished, especially if Susannah was dead. Which she soon would be.
However, Bobby preferred to deal with Papadopoulos at a time and place of her own choosing. Dealing with two small women was one thing. Papadopoulos was a big man and would likely come with a posse of his own. “Does your cell phone have a speaker?”
“Yes.”
“Then answer it.” Bobby knelt next to Agent Scott and put the gun to her head. “Be very careful what you say, little sister, or her blood will be on your hands.”
Bobby had the satisfaction of watching Susannah grow pale.
“It’s stopped ringing,” she said.
“Then call him back. Tell him you found the records you were looking for. Tell him that you and Agent Scott are starting back to Atlanta. And be convincing.”
Susannah reached for her purse.
“Uh-uh-uh,” Bobby scolded. “I remember your purse from yesterday.”
“I’m not armed,” she said quietly. “Not anymore.”
“Well, I’m not taking any chances. Bring the purse here and dump it on the floor in front of me. Do it now.” Susannah obeyed and Bobby looked through her things. No gun. “Fine. Put out your hands.”
Susannah glanced at Agent Scott, then held out her hands. Bobby found the sound of snapping cuffs satisfying. “Now call your man. Use the speaker.”
Susannah obeyed once more. “Luke, it’s me. Sorry, I wasn’t close to my phone.”
There was a sigh of relief. “I was getting nervous. Where are you?”
“At Mama and Daddy’s, but not for much longer. Talia and I found what we were looking for, so we’re just about to head back to Atlanta.”
“You found the records, then? A connection back to Darcy Williams?”
“We sure did. I’ll see you back at the office.”
“Susannah, wait. Am . . . am I on the speaker phone?”
“Yeah, I’m sorry. My arms are pretty full, so I hit the hands-free button.”
“Where is Talia?”
“Out at the car,” she improvised, and Bobby nodded approval. “She took a load of books we found in Daddy’s office. Ledgers and diaries.”
“Then why are your hands full if Talia’s got all the books?”
Susannah faltered. “I . . . I’ve got a box,” she said, injecting a note of brightness into her voice, “filled with some of Mama’s things that I want to keep.” She hesitated. “I love you, Lukamou,” she said quietly. “I’ll see you later.” She hung up, her hands trembling.
“How sweet,” Bobby said with a sneer. With her strong arm she dragged Agent Scott to a crawlspace beneath the stairs and locked her in, then on second thought, opened the door and shot her in the leg. Scott’s cry was muted by the tape on her mouth. Bobby cast an amused glance at Susannah, who looked as horrified as she’d hoped. “Leigh Smithson gave the rundown on the GBI team. She said Talia Scott was extremely formidable and not to be underestimated. A veritable Houdini at escaping.”
“You shot her,” Susannah said furiously. “She was no threat to you.”
“Like I said, I’m not taking any chances. A shot in the leg will slow her down if she decides to run. Now get up those stairs and start remembering the birthdays of all the Vartanian relatives I never got to meet. We have four more safes to open.”
“Six,” Susannah said dully. “There are six.”
Luke hung up, barely breathing, trying vainly to remain calm. “No. Pete. Pete.”
Pete came running, a bound notebook in his big hands. “Look what I found behind Grant’s bedroom closet. The wall had a sliding panel, just like in the movies. There have to be a hundred bound volumes just like this one. What’s wrong?”
