Shadow of Vengeance

by Kristine Mason

  Joy dropped her gaze to the table. “No. That doesn’t make me happy at all,” she said softly. “How’d it happen?”

  Rachel hesitated at first, but when Joy finally looked at her, and she’d caught the anger and empathy in the other woman’s eyes, she spilled every detail. When she finished, she stood and grabbed a lovely basket fill with hearty greens. “So? Am I wrong to be mad at him?”

  “Hell, no. But…”

  Great. This was the point where Joy would tell her she’d blown everything out of proportion. Rather than hear what Joy had to say, she read the name off the card, then took the basket to the foyer. As she reached for another bouquet, Joy cleared her throat.

  “If you don’t sit your butt in the chair and hear me out, I’ll strap you in and make you listen.”

  “Joy, I don’t know if I want to hear what you have to say. My mind is made up. Owen threw me under the bus. He took a private moment and…just forget I even brought it up. Let’s finish with these flowers. I have work to do.”

  “No doubt he fucked up,” Joy said, her voice rising. “But turn it around.”

  “I would have never done that to him,” she countered. “If I had any concerns, I would have talked to him first, not gone behind his back.”

  “Maybe so, but let’s say you’ve got a new agent working for your company. Let’s say you realize that this new guy isn’t completely qualified to work in the field. You’re concerned he could maybe put the company or another agent at risk. What do you do?”

  With her stomach knotting and her head hurting, Rachel slumped into the chair. “I’d tell my boss,” she admitted and rubbed her temple.

  “Because?” Joy prompted.

  “Because that new agent, depending on the assignment, could get himself or one of our seasoned agents killed.” Shit. Owen had done the right thing, just in the wrong way.

  “Exactly. Because you’re not new to the company, and you have a close relationship, Owen should have come to you first. But I think, in the end, you know what he did was the right thing.” She rested her chin on the back of her hand. “Besides, you did say you didn’t think you were cut out for working in the field, right?”

  “Yes, but when I was ready, I wanted to be the one to tell my boss. I wanted it to be my decision.”

  “Well, you’re still here and still working. Finish what you started, then go to your boss. Who knows, by the time you leave Bola, you could be kicking ass and taking names. Your boss might be begging you to take on assignments.”

  Rachel smiled. At one time, she’d believed she could kick ass and take names. But fantasy and reality didn’t always mesh well. Still, Joy had a point. About her job and Owen.

  She needed to go back upstairs and work. Hell, she needed to give herself a moment to digest this entire conversation. “Thanks for listening, and for the advice.”

  “What are you going to do about Owen?”

  “I don’t know.” She picked up the final bouquet, an interesting, yet unattractive blend of rhododendron and lavender. “I need to think about it. Right now, I want to remain focused on finding Josh and stopping a killer.”

  “Shit, that thing is frickin’ ugly.” Joy nodded to the bouquet. “I have a gorgeous rhododendron bush in the backyard that I love, I even have lavender, but putting them together that way just doesn’t do them justice.”

  “Agreed. But, it’s the thought that counts.”

  Pen in hand, Joy prepared to write. “Who was so thoughtful?”

  Rachel gently moved the flowers aside and plucked out a card. “Kaylie Gallagher.”

  “Bill’s girl? What’s the card say?”

  “I’m terribly sorry for your loss. Bill was a special man.”

  Joy’s eyes filled with tears. “Sounds like that girl really liked Bill.”

  Rather than tell Joy the truth, that Bill and Kaylie had had a platonic relationship, she kept quiet and took the flowers to the foyer. When she returned to the dining room, Joy was wiping her eyes with a tissue.

  “I should have her over for dinner,” Joy said. “Bill would want us to look out for her. You know, Saturday he called me. I just got home with the groceries and didn’t have time to bullshit.” She drew in a shaky breath. “He was so excited, too. And what’d I do? Blew him off.” Regret filled Joy’s eyes. “I felt bad and tried calling him on Sunday, but he was sick…drugged. Now I wish I would have let him talk longer.”

  “You can’t beat yourself up for that.” Rachel mustered a grin despite her heavy heart. “What was he excited about anyway?”

  “Kaylie. I guess she’d just gotten to the residence hall and told Bill they should go for lunch the next day.” She smiled. “That boy had it bad. You met her, is she pretty?”

  As she brought Kaylie’s image to mind, her thoughts drifted to what the girl had told her and Owen. That the last time she’d seen or spoken to Bill was the Friday the locks had malfunctioned. “Dark hair, blue eyes…she’s kind of plain, but attractive,” she said. “Do you remember what time Bill called you Saturday?”

  “Actually, I do. It was around five and I was pissed off that running errands put me behind. I was going to make a roast, but didn’t have the time. We ended up eating leftovers.”

  “Did Bill say anything else about Kaylie? Was she there visiting a resident or just stopping by to see him?”

  “Don’t know. Like I told you, I cut him short.” Joy frowned. “Why all the questions?”

  “Just curious,” she said, and moved toward the staircase.

  “Shorty,” Joy said, her tone cautionary.

  “Seriously, Joy. It’s nothing.”

  “If you say so.” Joy eyes held the touch of suspicion as she rose from the table. “Since the boys are at the festival, I’m just doing sandwiches for dinner, unless that’s what you had for lunch.”

  Anxious to head to her room, Rachel climbed a couple of steps. “We skipped lunch.”

  “Well then, I made coffee cake this morning. Want me to bring you up a slice?”

  She raced up the steps. “Thanks, I’m good,” she called.

  “It’s only one-thirty. And you should eat something,” Joy shouted as Rachel reached her room.

  Her stomach flipped, then somersaulted as she closed the bedroom door and rushed to her laptop. She couldn’t eat anything right now, not with apprehension and unease curling through her belly. Kaylie Gallagher had lied to them. And she’d been at Stanley Residence Hall the evening Bill and the boys had been drugged. Had she left before Bill took sick and Josh and Sean had gone to the study session? If so, her cause for suspicion would lessen. The security camera in the foyer had been moved after Bill passed out, and after the boys had left. Meaning, the killer or accomplice had remained in the building.

  Although tempted to call Owen, she decided to wait until she was armed with more information, and called Adam Lynch, Wexman’s head of security, instead. Before she jumped to any conclusions, she needed to find out if Kaylie had been filmed leaving the building before the camera had been moved. If not, the little liar had just become her number one suspect.

  Hell, at this point, she’d be their only suspect.

  *

  Detective Nick Merretti shook Sheriff Deputy Dave Keppler’s hand. “Thanks again for calling us,” he said and introduced his partner, Leon.

  “Are you kidding me? For the past eighteen months, Jane…I mean, Vivian, has been a mystery we’ve all wanted to see solved.” He rapped on the hospital room door. “When I first saw her in that field…it’s a miracle she’s alive.”

  Before Nick could ask the sheriff deputy about Vivian Saunders’s attempted murder, the door opened. A pretty, young brunette greeted them. “I’m Elizabeth Cormack, Vivian’s speech therapist.”

  “Call her Bunny,” a synthesized voice said from across the room.

  He looked over the speech therapist’s shoulder to where a woman sat in a wheelchair. With gray sprinkled throughout her dark hair, and jagged scars running along her cheeks
and forehead, Vivian Saunders vaguely resembled the driver’s license photo Leon had pulled up before they’d left Detroit. Leon had also pulled up her husband’s driver’s license. Due to the acid that had melted Arthur Saunders’s flesh, he’d been completely unrecognizable and in no way looked like the thick haired, heavy set, forty-eight year old smiling man in the photo.

  “She’s right, you can call me Bunny,” the speech therapist said with a smile. As she led them toward Vivian, her smile waned. “Vivian’s been nervous about your visit.”

  Nick looked at the computer equipment in front of Vivian’s wheelchair. “Why’s that?”

  “Yesterday was the first time she’s been able to tell her story.” Bunny stood behind the wheelchair, stroked Vivian’s long hair, then rested her hands on the woman’s shoulders. “It’s not a pretty one.”

  Movement on the computer screen caught his attention, just as the synthesized voice said, “Bad.”

  “Did she just do that?” Leon asked, and moved toward the computer equipment.

  “Yes.” Bunny beamed. “I was able to get the equipment on loan. This is a state run facility and while the equipment is decent, this sip and puff technology isn’t in its budget.”

  Leon frowned. “Sip and what?”

  Bunny repeated herself, then she went on to explain how the equipment worked. “Vivian started on it yesterday and is a natural. By lunch, she was talking up a storm.” She stepped away from Vivian, then pushed a chair next to the wheelchair. “Please, Detective Merretti, have a seat. I’ll call the nurse and see if she can have more chairs brought—”

  “I’m good,” Leon said, while Dave nodded in agreement.

  “Okay, then. Vivian, are you ready?”

  The woman grunted and blinked once.

  “Good. Detective, she’s all yours.”

  Nick sat, and pulled a notepad and pen from his suit coat pocket. During the five hour drive from Detroit to Marietta, Ohio, he and Leon had discussed how they’d handle the interview. With the first real break since finding the John Doe in the motel room eighteen months ago, his heart raced with anticipation.

  Time to finally get some answers.

  “Vivian, my partner and I pulled up your driver’s license. You’re last known address is Sterling Heights, Michigan, correct?”

  He looked to the screen, but was met with a grunt instead.

  “Did you live with your husband and daughter?”

  Another grunt.

  “According to Dave, you claim your daughter killed your husband and attacked you. What is your daughter’s name and were you present when your husband was murdered?”

  Vivian captured the straw-like device with her tongue. As words developed on the screen, the synthesized voice droned from the computer speakers. “Daughter Holly. Not there. Holly told me.”

  “Can you explain what happened? I’m sure it’s difficult to work the equipment, but I’m hoping you can give me specific details. If your daughter is responsible for your husband’s death and your injuries, we need to find her.”

  “Holly home from Michigan U. Art not home. She took me dinner I woke up in field.”

  Nick read the screen to make sure he heard her correctly. “Okay, so Holly is a student at Michigan University. She was home from school. Your husband wasn’t there, so she took you to dinner, correct?”

  Vivian grunted and blinked.

  “Were you drinking alcohol or do you think she drugged you?”

  “Drugged. Drank coffee. Woke in field.”

  Nick looked to Dave. “The day you found Vivian…do you know if a tox screen was done?”

  “I have her records,” Bunny said, and picked up a tablet similar to the one his kids bought him for Christmas. Only Bunny knew how to use hers. “Yes. A tox screen was done.” She puckered her brow. “They found Rohypnol.”

  “Okay.” He focused on Vivian. “Your daughter drugged you, drove you from Michigan to Ohio, then what?”

  A tear curved over the uneven scar on her cheek. “Confused. Scared. Weak. Drag by hair to field. Stab gut.”

  “Did she talk? How did you know your husband was killed?”

  “Told me.”

  “Did she say why she killed him or how?” Without DNA evidence, there was no way to confirm Vivian’s story. But, if she knew details kept from the press, they might be able to use her statement as circumstantial evidence.

  The tears stopped as Vivian narrowed her eyes and worked the straw. “Acid head hand feet. Cut penis. Stab him. Took teeth. My fault.”

  “My fault?” he quietly repeated.

  “It’s probably the auto correct,” Bunny said.

  Vivian grunted and typed. “MY fault!!!!!”

  Nick sat at the edge of the chair. “How was his murder your fault, Vivian?”

  “Rape Holly.”

  Disgust coiled through his stomach. “Holly’s father was molesting her?”

  Another grunt. This time stronger, louder.

  “And Holly got even,” Leon said, then pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against. “You knew he was molesting your daughter and did nothing about it.”

  Nick glared at Leon. While he’d come to the same conclusion, he hadn’t planned to attack Vivian. He didn’t want her shutting down before he had all the answers he needed. “Did you know, Vivian?” he asked, and kept his tone light and empathetic.

  More tears trailed down her face. “No. Should have. Been doing to her since twelve. She twenty-two in May.”

  Bunny touched the woman’s arm. “I told you, it’s not your fault. Tell the detectives the rest.”

  Vivian released a sigh, then captured the straw again. “Art like to take Holly to Parkside motel. She went ready to kill. Found out truth. Had enough.”

  “Found out the truth about what?” Nick asked.

  “Art not real dad. Holly mine Art adopted her.”

  Nick sat back in the chair. “Okay, so Holly finds out the man she thought was her real dad, the man who had been molesting her for nearly eight years, is her adoptive father and snaps. Correct?”

  Vivian grunted.

  “She violently kills him, then lures you by taking you to dinner, drugs you, then drives you five hours from home, where she tries to kill you, too.”

  Another grunt.

  “Dave,” he said to the sheriff deputy. “Can you run Holly Saunders’s driver’s license for us? Let’s also get her social security number, any credit cards in her name, bank accounts…hopefully she’s left an electronic trail.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll call the Sheriff’s Office.”

  When Dave stepped out of the room, Nick turned to Vivian. “What your daughter did was not your fault. You can’t blame yourself for something you didn’t know about. What you can do is try and think of where Holly might go. Friends, family? I know she’s not at your house, a new family is living there.”

  During the drive, Leon contacted the owner of the three thousand square foot home. The landlord had said that the Saunders had been renting the house for two years, that they were excellent tenants until they stopped paying rent eighteen months ago. At that point, he’d gone to the house, tried contacting them, and after two months without hearing from them, sold their belongings and found new tenants.

  “We new to area,” the synthesized voice said. “Art had own business. We travel a lot. Didn’t have many friends. No family. Holly quiet. Few friends.”

  Well, that explained why no one filed a missing person’s report for either Vivian or Arthur. Nick released a sigh and hoped to God Holly wasn’t smart enough to cover her trail. While what she’d done to her mother and Arthur had been premeditated, this was—plain and simple—a revenge killing. The question was…if someone else wronged her, would she kill again?

  “What about Holly’s real dad?” Leon asked. “Vivian, you said Holly found out the truth…that Art was her adoptive father.” He shook his head. “Could be she blames him for what Art did to her, too.”

  Damn, his partner w
as good. “That makes complete sense,” Nick said, loving the new direction they were taking. “Holly finds out her real dad gave her up, only to stick her with a pedophile. If she’s making people pay for what Art did, I’d say her real dad might be next in line.”

  “But that was eighteen months ago,” Bunny countered. “She could have already…killed him and moved on to who knows where.”

  True, damn it. “We won’t know until we find him.” He turned to Vivian. “One last thing and we’ll let you rest. Who’s Holly’s real father?”

  Chapter 21

  Rachel chomped on a pencil and glanced at the clock. Four-fifteen. She’d spoken with Wexman’s head of security, Adam Lynch, two hours ago. How hard was it for the man to email the security footage from last Saturday?

  Her patience at its limit, she picked up her cell phone to call Lynch. The phone rang before she had a chance to dial. Marty O’Reilly’s number popped on the screen. Anxious to hear what the inspector had to say and hopeful they might finally have some solid evidence, she answered.

  “Jake asked me to call you directly,” Marty said.

  Hello to you too. “Great. What’d you find out?”

  “The photo was printed off a standard photo printer. The techs were able to tell what type of printer was used, as well as the brand of photo paper. Unfortunately, both are common and can be bought at just about any office supply store. Even if we find the printer, it doesn’t mean the owner was the one who used it.”

  “Did they analyze the actual photo?”

  “Yeah. They gave me a ninety-five percent confirmation that the male hanging from the wall is Josh Conway.”

  She’d met Josh several times and could give a one hundred percent confirmation, but kept her mouth shut. No need to be snarky to Marty, not when she wanted and needed his help.

  “They couldn’t tell the location,” Marty continued, “but based on the rock walls and floor, one of the techs suggested a root cellar, which are common in older homes in this area.” He paused and shuffled papers. “Okay, the rope used on Bill Baker is standard and can be found in any hardware store. Baker’s shirt had the same mineral powder on the shoulder and collar as your lab found on your brother’s clothes. So we have an obvious link there.”