9 Kill for Me

by Karen Rose

  “A scratch.” It was a lie, but he was more worried about Susannah. “How are you?”

  “I’m okay,” she said, which was also a lie. She was pale but alert as she examined the walking stick. “The top comes off.” She worked it free, then sucked in a breath. Inside was a swastika brand, the same size she wore on her hip. “He was there that night.” She looked at Charles’s backpack. “I want to see what’s inside. I need to know.”

  “And you will know,” Chase said. “As soon as the crime lab is done with the scene, the ME is done with the bodies, we take statements, and you both get checked out at the ER. And don’t even consider arguing with me. I knew Grant had a gun to your head, but I had to pretend nothing was happening to keep Houston off guard.” And the haggard exhaustion in his eyes was testament to how hard that had been.

  “I’m sorry, Chase,” she said. “You’re right. Luke needs medical attention first. I’ve waited thirteen years to understand. I can wait a few hours more.”

  Atlanta, Monday, February 5, 5:30 p.m.

  “Knock, knock,” Susannah said, and Monica Cassidy looked up, smiling.

  “Mom, look.”

  Mrs. Cassidy stood, considerably more relaxed than the last time they’d seen her. “Susannah, Agent Papadopoulos, come in. What happened to you two?”

  Luke’s arm was in a sling after receiving twenty stitches to what he’d called “just a scratch.” Susannah had a black eye and a broken rib, courtesy of her fight with Bobby.

  “We tangled with the bad guys,” Susannah said lightly.

  Monica’s eyes went wary. “And?”

  Susannah sobered. “We kicked their sorry asses.”

  Monica’s lips curved. “And sent them to hell?”

  “Forever and ever,” Luke said. “The woman who was transporting Genie and the man you heard in the bunker that day. Both gone to hell without a key.”

  “Good,” Monica said. “What about Becky’s little sisters?”

  Luke’s smile faded. “We’re still looking. They’d moved away. I’m sorry.”

  Monica swallowed. “I know you can’t save them all, Agent Papadopoulos, but could you look real hard? Please?”

  Luke nodded. “I give you my word.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “But we have good news,” Mrs. Cassidy said, patting Monica’s hand. “We got a call from Agent Grimes in Charlotte an hour ago.”

  “They found my dad. His car was at the bottom of a lake, but he managed to get out of the car and swim to shore.”

  “He was found with no identification,” Mrs. Cassidy said. “Some Good Samaritan took him to the hospital and he was unconscious until this morning. He’s on a ventilator, too, so he couldn’t tell them anything. One of Agent Grimes’s colleagues took his photo to all the area ER’s until he found him.”

  “Agent Grimes said the man who hurt my father was the subject of an ongoing investigation,” Monica said, “and he couldn’t tell us anything yet. Can you?”

  Luke nodded. “The man’s in custody. As soon as I leave here, I’ll call Agent Grimes and tell him. I’m glad your dad is okay, Monica. You’re looking pretty good, too.”

  “They let me out of ICU this morning. I might get to eat some real food soon.” Her smile faltered. “Thank you, so, so much. If you two hadn’t come along . . .”

  Susannah squeezed her hand. “But we did. You’re a survivor. Don’t look back.”

  Monica nodded soberly. “I won’t if you won’t. Don’t feel guilty anymore, Susannah.”

  Susannah’s throat tightened. “I’ll try.” She kissed Monica’s forehead. “Stay well.”

  “You did that, even when you thought I didn’t know you were there,” Monica whispered. “But I knew. Thank you.”

  Susannah managed a smile. “Don’t be a stranger, kid.”

  Luke rubbed his hand over Susannah’s back. “We have a debriefing in a half hour, so we need to go. If any of you need us for any reason, don’t hesitate to call.”

  They were quiet until they got to Luke’s car. “Did you mean it?” she asked.

  He frowned, confused. “What?”

  “You told Monica you’d keep searching for Becky’s little sisters. Did you mean it?”

  “I gave her my word,” Luke said quietly. “So yes, I meant it.”

  “Does that mean you’re going back to Internet Crimes?”

  “Yeah. This case was supposed to be just a break, but I had to go back into The Room regardless. Maybe it’s meant to be. At least for now.” His eyes grew dark. “Did you mean it or was it part of the secret coded message?”

  She knew what he meant. When she thought Bobby was going to kill her, telling him she loved him had seemed good and right and necessary. Now . . . “As much as I know how. But that might not be good enough for you.”

  “Susannah, hearing you say something that stupid makes me want to scream. You have so much good in you, so much that not even Arthur Vartanian and Charles Grant could turn you. Don’t ever say that you’re not good enough. Never again.”

  “It scares me,” she murmured. “I don’t know how to be with someone. But I want to learn.”

  “I want to teach you.” He kissed her cheek. “Come or we’ll be late for the unveiling.”

  He hadn’t said the words back. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed, so she made her tone light. “They’d better not open Grant’s box before we get there.”

  “After everything you’ve been through, I’m sure they wouldn’t dare.”

  Dutton, Monday, February 5, 6:00 p.m.

  Luke was quite right. Everyone was gathered around the table, faces sober. Pete, Talia, Nancy, Chase, Ed, Chloe. Susannah had come to trust them all with her life over the last few days. There was an empty seat next to Chloe. Someone had draped a black scarf over the chair, for Germanio. The sight of it made Susannah’s chest ache.

  Charles Grant’s ivory box sat on the table. Stacked next to the box were the journals that had belonged to Arthur Vartanian and the notebooks Luke told her they’d found in Charles Grant’s home. And next to those lay a simple manila envelope.

  Susannah took the seat next to Luke. “Have you looked in Mr. Grant’s box?”

  “Ed did,” Chase said, “to be sure nothing would explode, literally or figuratively.”

  Ed’s expression was carefully blank, giving away nothing.

  “What’s in the envelope?” Luke asked.

  “It’s from Borenson,” Chase said. “He left instructions that if he died suspiciously or went missing, his safe-deposit box should be turned over to the authorities.”

  “That was the key we found in Granville’s firebox,” Nancy said. “We think Grant sent Toby Granville to find the file, but Toby only found the key. It fits Borenson’s safe-deposit box in a Charleston bank. And it’s why Charles Grant tortured Borenson. He wanted to know where the papers were kept. They incriminate everyone.”

  “Borenson’s attorney only learned of his disappearance this morning,” Chase said, “and dropped this off while we were all in Dutton. Borenson’s papers detail the ongoing rivalry between Arthur and Charles and throw in a few extras like the real death certificate for the body that was buried in Simon’s grave and proof of Charles Grant’s real identity, courtesy of Angie Delacroix. Looks like she had an ace up her sleeve, too.”

  “It would have been nice if they’d come forward when it mattered,” Susannah said quietly. “Before dozens of people died. Did you arrest Angie?”

  “We did,” Chloe said. “She participated in Charles Grant’s extortion, willingly or not.”

  “And we convinced Paul Houston to tell us what he had on Leigh,” Pete said grimly.

  Susannah’s stomach clenched at the mention of Paul Houston. “How?”

  “How did we get him to tell?” Pete asked.

  “Yes.”

  Pete glanced at Chloe, who was looking up at the ceiling. “Paul might have tripped on the way to the car . . . once or twice.
He was cryin’ so hard over Charles, you know. Couldn’t see where he was going.”

  “It’s so sad when dirty cops have two left feet,” Chloe murmured.

  “Ain’t it, though?” Pete said, still grimly. “About two years ago three little kids were killed when they were hit by a speeding vehicle. The kids were in a crosswalk, the car ran a light and didn’t stop. Paul Houston caught the case.”

  Luke blew out a breath. “That was Leigh?”

  “Yeah.” Pete shook his head. “Houston found her pretty quickly, but told her he wouldn’t arrest her and strung her along until he needed her. That was this week.”

  “We showed Houston’s picture to Jeff Katowsky,” Chloe said, “the guy who tried to kill Captain Beardsley. He identified Houston as the cop who busted him. Same song as Leigh. Houston didn’t book him in exchange for future favors.”

  “Did Houston keep a journal?” Susannah asked sarcastically.

  Pete’s smile was wry. “No, but he’s willing to talk. He’s scared of Georgia jail.”

  “And of New York jail,” Chloe added. “Al Landers plans to charge him with rape. Yours. You never got to confront Granville or Simon, but you can confront Houston.”

  Talia leaned forward. “But only if you want to.”

  Susannah felt every muscle in her body grow still. “Oh, yes. I want. Thank you.”

  Everyone was quiet for a moment, then Chase pointed to the ivory box. “Open it.”

  Her hands steady, Susannah pulled on the gloves Ed offered and took the lid off the box. Then looked up with a frown. “Chess pieces? That’s all?”

  Ed shook his head. “There’s a spring mechanism under the queen. Push it.”

  She opened it. “His dog tags.” She pulled them out, let them dangle. “Ray Kraemer.”

  “And a slug,” Luke murmured. “Looks old. Maybe the one Ellis shot into his leg.”

  “Maybe. A photo.” Susannah’s breath caught. “It’s Mr. Grant, younger, with an older Asian man in robes. Oh my God. Mr. Grant’s got the walking stick.” She turned the picture over. “ ‘Ray Kraemer and Pham Duc Quam, Saigon, 1975.’ ”

  Nancy studied it. “That’s Grant’s handwriting. I’ve been reading his journals all day.”

  “I got Ray Kraemer’s and Michael Ellis’s military records,” Chase said. “Kraemer was captured in ’67, Ellis in ’68. It was thought Ellis was captured by the Vietcong while trying to desert, but nobody was sure. He found an army camp after escaping the POW camp. He’d been lost in the jungle for three weeks. Because they couldn’t prove he’d deserted, he was honorably discharged. Kraemer was listed MIA. Until today.”

  “Mr. Grant was still there in 1975, according to this photo,” Susannah said. “He came back the next year, became Paul’s tutor. What did he do in between? Who is this man?”

  “They look like they’re friends,” Luke said, then passed the photo around.

  “We found robes similar to these in Charles’s closet,” Pete said. “Recently worn.”

  “Here’s the Asian man again,” Susannah said, unfolding a frail piece of paper. “But not in the same robes. It looks like an advertisement. It’s got his name, then thây bói.”

  “I had it translated while you were in the ER,” Ed said. “Pham’s a fortune-teller.”

  “Why would Mr. Grant keep this?” Susannah asked, frowning.

  “Because in addition to extorting money for secrets, Grant told the fortunes of a number of the wealthy women in Dutton,” Nancy said. “He kept records of how much they paid him, what he’d told them. Sometimes he paid out money to third parties to make the fortunes come true. Susannah, your mother was one of his clients.”

  “Makes sense. Arthur said my mother was afraid of Grant’s ‘Asian voo-doo.’ ”

  “Arthur’s journal says Borenson provided a fake death certificate for Simon the day before you heard that Simon was dead,” Nancy said. “Grant’s journal says that he read for your mother the day before Simon’s ‘death,’ that great tragedy was coming.”

  “Because Arthur was going to tell her Simon was dead. Borenson must have told Grant,” Susannah said, pulling out more folded paper. “These are almost like playbills.”

  Ed took them from her gently. “This one says this Pham person is a healer. This one says he channels spirits. This says they’re charging admission to hear him speak.”

  “A flim-flam man,” Pete said, casting an arched brow at Nancy.

  Nancy groaned. “Flim-flam Pham? Geeze, Pete.”

  Susannah’s mouth turned up, then sobered abruptly. “Another journal.” It was small, hardly bigger than her palm. “The writing is so small.” She squinted. “The first entry is December 1968. ‘Today I realized I would not die. But I never want to forget the rage I feel. The man gave me this journal, so I’ll write it all down and never forget. Someday I’ll have revenge, against the USA for abandoning me in that hell-hole and against Mike Ellis. He’ll wish he’d turned that gun on his own head instead of my leg.’ ”

  She skimmed. “Ray Kraemer dug the bullet out of his own leg after Ellis left him for dead. He crawled through the jungle till he passed out. When he woke up he was in a hut, burning up with fever, being cared for by a Vietnamese man. ‘I never thought I’d be grateful to one of them, but this guy has taken care of me. I still don’t know why.’ ”

  She flipped ahead. “ ‘His name is Pham. He gives me food and shelter. After a year in one of their hell-holes, I’m finally full and dry. I thought Pham was a doctor, or maybe a teacher, or a priest. I realized today that Pham is a con artist. A chameleon. He has an uncanny ability to pick up on what people need him to be. He gives them something meaningless that makes them happy, then robs them blind. We ate well tonight.’ ”

  “And so it began,” Chase said quietly, but Susannah was still reading.

  “ ‘Today I finally understood why Pham saved me. I am his bodyguard. I stand taller than his enemies. Today a man attacked Pham, calling him a thief. It was true, of course, but still unacceptable. I grabbed the man by the collar. Without breaking stride, Pham told me to kill him, so I broke the man’s neck and tossed him aside. It felt good. Powerful. Nobody in this town will bother Pham again.’ ” She turned pages. “It keeps going, detailing their travels, adventures, all the people Ray Kraemer kills for Pham.” She cringed, horrified. “Dozens and dozens of people. My God.”

  Luke took the book from her hands and flipped toward the end. “ ‘Pham is sick. It won’t be long now. He said I should go home, find the man who left me to die. I want to kill him, but Pham says there are better, wiser ways. Find what a man loves best, then take it from him.’ Three days later he writes, ‘Pham is gone.’ It starts back up again a week later. ‘It is long past time for me to go home. Ellis wanted to get home, to find his son. I will find Ellis and his son will die. Ellis will watch. I will have my revenge.’ ”

  “But he didn’t kill Paul,” Chloe said. “Why not?”

  Susannah reached into the drawer, felt a bent photo in the back. She tugged it free. It was Grant with a young Paul. “I think he grew to care for Paul. Everything here is from his life before he became Charles Grant, except that picture.”

  Talia sighed. “In his own way I guess Charles loved him.”

  Luke shook his head hard. “No. Charles possessed him. He used him. He manipulated him for his own purposes. That wasn’t love.”

  Talia’s eyes widened at the vehemence in Luke’s tone. “Okay . . .”

  But Susannah understood. Luke had promised to teach her. That had been his first lesson. No, not his first. He’d been teaching her about love and decency all along. She squeezed his knee under the table. “You all gave me the support I needed when I’d reached a crossroads, and I want to thank you.”

  Ed was sober. “That sounds like good-bye, Susannah. Are you going home?”

  “To New York? No. There’s nothing for me there.” She huffed a chuckle. “And certainly not to Dutton. I’ve had enough of that town for a lifetime
.”

  “Haven’t we all?” Chase asked wryly. “What will you do?”

  “Well, Daniel and I have a lot of catching up to do.” Under the table Luke held her hand tight. “There’s the issue of all the people my . . . that Arthur extorted over the years. There needs to be righting of those wrongs. Restitution. I’ll need a good civil attorney.” Wryly she looked at Chloe. “And a criminal attorney, too, I suppose.”

  “We’ve dropped the concealed-weapon charge in return for your cooperation in the resolution of Arthur Vartanian’s crimes.” Chloe smiled. “You had a good lawyer.”

  Susannah’s pulse settled along with her stomach. “Thank you.”

  Beside her, Luke let out a quiet sigh of relief. “Thank you, Chloe.” He stood. “My mother said she’s made dinner for an army and to invite anyone who wants to come.” He looked down at Susannah with a smile that warmed her, inside and out. “There will be time for restitution tomorrow. Tonight we celebrate.”

  Dutton, Thursday, February 8, 2:45 p.m.

  It had been a quiet funeral service, few media and fewer mourners in attendance. A handful of deputies who’d served under Frank Loomis bore his coffin. There were no official honors, no twenty-one-gun salute, no taps.

  Daniel sat in a wheelchair, pale and sober, Alex behind him and Susannah at his side. Luke held her hand until it was over.

  “He was my father,” Susannah murmured. “And I never knew him.”

  Daniel looked up at her, muted grief in his eyes. “He was a far better father to me than Arthur, Suze. I’m sorry you never knew him.”

  Frank Loomis had one other mourner. Angie Delacroix stood off to the side, also pale and sober. A uniformed officer stood behind her.

  Susannah squeezed Daniel’s hand. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Luke walked with her and she was grateful for him. Hand in hand, they stopped in front of Angie Delacroix. “Miss Angie,” Susannah said, “I need to know. Did you tell me the truth that night?”