by Karen Rose
“The social worker would have given her clean clothes and shoes.”
“Those were the clothes the social worker took from Hope’s preschool. Hope’s teacher said Bailey always kept a clean set in Hope’s cubby. They said Bailey was a good mom, Mer. They were shocked when the social worker told them Bailey had disappeared. The school director said Bailey would never leave Hope alone like that.”
Meredith lifted her brows. “Does she suspect foul play?”
“Yeah, the preschool director did. She told that to the cops.”
“So what do the cops say?”
Alex clenched her teeth. “That they’re following every lead, but that junkies disappear every day. It was a standard ‘leave us alone’ response. I couldn’t get anywhere with them on the phone. They just ignored me. She’s been gone three days and they haven’t declared her a missing person yet.”
“Junkies do disappear, Alex.”
“I know that. But why would the preschool director lie?”
“Maybe she didn’t. Maybe Bailey was a good actress or maybe she had a good spell of sobriety but went back on the juice. For now, let’s focus on Hope. You said the social worker told you she’d been coloring all night?”
“Yes. Nancy Barker, she’s the social worker, said it was all Hope had done since they’d taken her from the closet.” The closet in Bailey’s house. Panic began to well, as it did every time she thought of that house. “Bailey still lives there.”
Meredith’s eyes widened. “Really? I thought it would have been sold years ago.”
“No. I checked the property records online. The deed’s still in Craig’s name.” The pressure in Alex’s chest increased and she closed her eyes, focusing on quieting her mind. Meredith’s hand closed over hers and squeezed.
“You okay, kid?”
“Yeah.” Alex shook herself. “Stupid, these panic attacks. I should be past this.”
“Because you’re superhuman,” Meredith said blandly. “This place was the site of the worst disaster of your life, so stop beating yourself up for being all too human, Alex.”
Alex shrugged, then frowned. “Nancy Barker said the house was a mess, piles of trash on the floor. The mattresses were old and torn. There was rotten food in the fridge.”
“That I would expect from a junkie’s house.”
“Yes, but they found no clothes for Hope or Bailey. None. Clean or dirty.”
Meredith frowned. “Based on what the preschool said, that is surprising.” She hesitated. “Did you go to the house?”
“No.” The word shot from Alex’s lips like the crack of a bullet. “No,” she said more evenly. “I haven’t. Yet.”
“When you do, I’ll go with you. No arguments. Is Craig still there?”
Focus on the quiet. “No. Nancy Barker said they tried to locate him, but nobody’s heard from him in a long time. I was listed as the emergency contact at the preschool.”
“How did the social worker know where Hope went to pre-school?”
“Bailey’s coworker told her. That’s how they found Hope-Bailey hadn’t shown up to work and her coworker was worried and went to check on her during her break.”
“Where does Bailey work?”
“She’s a hairdresser, apparently in a pretty upscale salon.”
Meredith blinked. “Dutton has an upscale salon?”
“No. Dutton has Angie’s.” Her mother used to go to Angie’s every other Monday. “Bailey worked in Atlanta. I got the coworker’s phone number, but she hasn’t been home. I left messages.”
Meredith picked up one of the coloring books. “Where did all these come from?”
Alex eyed the stack. “Nancy Barker found one in Hope’s backpack. She said Hope was staring into space, but when she gave her the coloring book and crayons, Hope started to color. Nancy tried to get her to draw on blank paper, hoping Hope would tell her something through her pictures, but Hope kept grabbing the book. She ran out of coloring books early last night and I had to pay the bellboy to go to the store and buy more. More crayons, too.” Alex stared at the box that had held sixty-four crayons, when new. It now held fifty-seven-every color except red. Every redlike crayon was gone, used down to a half-inch nub.
“She likes red,” Meredith observed.
Alex swallowed hard. “I don’t even want to consider the implications of that.”
Meredith lifted a shoulder. “It may mean nothing more than that she likes red.”
“But you don’t think so.”
“No.”
“She’s holding a red crayon now. I finally gave up and let her take it to bed with her.”
“What happened when she ran out of red crayons last night?”
“She cried, but she never said a single word.” Alex shuddered. “I’ve seen thousands of children cry in the ER, in pain, in fear… but never like that. She was like… a robot the way she cried-no emotion. She never made a sound. Not a word. Then she went into what looked like a catatonic state. She scared me so badly that I took her to the clinic in town. Dr. Granville checked her out, said she was just in shock.”
“Did he run any tests?”
“No. The social worker had told me she’d taken Hope to the ER after they found her hiding in the closet on Friday. They ran tox screens and titers to check her immunization record. She’s had all her childhood immunizations and everything else was in order.”
“Who is her family doctor?”
“I don’t know. Granville, the doctor here in town, said he’d never seen Hope or Bailey in ‘a professional capacity.’ He seemed surprised Hope was so clean and well cared for, as if he’d seen her dirty before. He wanted to give her a shot, to sedate her.”
Meredith’s brows lifted. “Did you let him?”
“No, and he got a little huffy, asking why I’d brought her at all if I didn’t want him to treat her. But I didn’t like the idea of drugging a child if you don’t need to. She wasn’t violent and there seemed no danger of her hurting herself, so I didn’t want her drugged.”
“I agree. So all this time Hope never said a word? Are we sure she can speak?”
“The preschool says she’s very talkative, big vocabulary. In fact, she can even read.”
Meredith looked taken aback. “Wow. She’s what, four?”
“Barely. The preschool said Bailey read to Hope every night. Meredith, none of this feels like a junkie abandoning her child.”
“You think foul play, too.”
Something in Meredith’s voice rubbed Alex wrong. “Don’t you?” she demanded.
Meredith was unperturbed. “I don’t know. I know you’ve always given Bailey the benefit of the doubt. But now this isn’t just about Bailey, it’s about Hope and what’s best for her. Are you going to bring her home? To your home, I mean?”
Alex thought of the little apartment she only slept in. Richard had kept the house. Alex hadn’t wanted it. But her apartment was big enough for herself and one small child. “That’s my intent, yes. But Meredith, if something did happen to Bailey… I mean, if she has changed and she’s met with some harm…”
“What will you do?”
“I don’t know yet. I couldn’t get anywhere with the police over the phone and I couldn’t leave Hope alone to go in person. Can you stay with me for a few days? Help me with Hope while I check this out?”
“I had all the appointments with my most critical patients moved to Wednesday before I left. I have to fly back late Tuesday night. It’s the best I can do for now.”
“It’s a lot. Thank you.”
Meredith squeezed her hand. “Now go get some sleep. I’ll sleep here on the sofa. If you need me, wake me up.”
“I’ll sleep in there with Hope. I’m just praying she sleeps through the night. So far she hasn’t slept more than a few hours at a time, then she wakes up and colors. If she needs you, I’ll let you know.”
“I wasn’t talking about Hope needing me. I was talking about you. Now go to sleep.”
C
hapter Two
Atlanta , Sunday, January 28, 10:45 p.m.
Daniel, I think your dog is dead.” The voice came from Daniel’s living room and it belonged to fellow GBI investigator Luke Papadopoulos. Luke was also quite possibly Daniel’s best friend, despite his being the reason Daniel owned the dog to begin with.
Daniel slid the last plate into the dishwasher, then went to the doorway to his living room. Luke sat on the sofa, watching ESPN. Riley the basset hound lounged at Luke’s feet, looking like he normally did. Which, Daniel had to agree, was like a dog who’d gone on to meet his Maker. “Offer him a pork chop, he’ll perk up.”
Riley opened one eye at the mention of a pork chop, but closed it again, knowing he probably wouldn’t get one. Riley was a pessimistic realist. He and Daniel got along well.
“Hell, I just offered him some of the moussaka, and he still didn’t perk up,” Luke said.
Daniel was able to visualize the results of such an irresponsible action all too well. “Riley can’t have your mom’s cooking. It’s way too rich and that’s bad for his stomach.”
“I know. He got into some leftovers while you were gone up north and he was staying with me.” Luke winced. “It wasn’t pretty, trust me.”
Daniel rolled his eyes. “I’m not paying your carpet-cleaning bill, Luke.”
“It’s okay. My cousin owns his own carpet-cleaning business. I got it taken care of.”
“If you knew, then why for God’s sake did you try to feed him tonight?”
Luke gently nudged Riley’s butt with the toe of his boot. “He always looks so sad.”
“Sad” in Luke’s family meant “feed me.” Which explained Luke’s showing up on Daniel’s doorstep tonight with a full Greek meal when Daniel knew full well he’d had to break a date with his on-again-off-again flight attendant girlfriend to do so. Mama Papadopoulos had been worried about Daniel since he’d returned from Philadelphia the week before. Luke’s mama had a kind heart, but Mama Papa’s food did not agree with Riley, and Daniel did not have a cousin with his own carpet-cleaning business.
“He’s a damn basset hound. They all look that way. Riley’s not sad, so stop feeding him.” Daniel sat in his recliner and whistled. Riley trotted over and plopped at his feet with a huge sigh, as if the four-foot trek had tired him out. “I know how you feel, boy.”
Luke was quiet a moment. “I hear you pulled a tough one tonight.”
Daniel’s mind immediately conjured the victim in the ditch. “You could say that.” Abruptly he frowned. “How did you hear about that already?”
Luke looked uncomfortable. “Ed Randall called. He was worried about you. Your first day back and you pull a case like the Arcadia woman.”
Daniel swallowed his irritation. They all meant well. “So you brought me food.”
“Nah, Mama had that all prepared before Ed called. She’s worried about you, too. I’ll tell her you ate a second helping and that you’re doing all right. So, are you all right?”
“I have to be. There’s work to be done.”
“You could have taken more time off. A week’s not that much, considering.”
Considering he’d had to bury his parents. “When you add in the week I was in Philly looking for them, I’ve been out for two weeks. That’s long enough.” He leaned over to scratch Riley’s ears. “If I don’t work, I’ll go crazy,” he added quietly.
“It wasn’t your fault, Daniel.”
“No, not directly. But I knew what Simon was a long time before now.”
“And you thought he was dead for the last twelve years.”
Daniel conceded the point. “There is that.”
“If you ask me, I’d say your father carried most of the blame. After Simon, of course.”
Seventeen people. Simon had taken seventeen lives, with one old woman still holding on in cardiac intensive care in Philadelphia. But Daniel’s father had not only known Simon was evil, he’d known Simon was alive. Twelve years ago Arthur Vartanian had banished his younger son and told the world he’d died. He’d even buried a stranger in the family plot and erected Simon’s tombstone, leaving Simon free to roam, doing whatever he wished, as long as it wasn’t under the Vartanian name.
“Seventeen people,” Daniel murmured, and wondered if they weren’t the tip of the iceberg. He thought of the pictures that were never far from the front of his mind. The pictures Simon had left behind. The faces flashed before his eyes like a slide show. All female. Nameless victims of rape.
Just like the victim today. He had to see that the Arcadia victim got a name. That she got justice. It was the only way he’d stay sane. “One of the Arcadia officers mentioned a similar murder thirteen years ago. I was working on checking it out when you got here. It happened in Dutton.”
Luke’s brows came way down. “Dutton? Daniel, you grew up in Dutton.”
“Thanks. I’d forgotten that fact,” Daniel said sarcastically. “I looked in our database back at the office when I filed my report earlier tonight, but GBI didn’t investigate, so it wasn’t there. I called Frank Loomis, the sheriff in Dutton, but he hasn’t returned my call yet. And I didn’t want to call one of the deputies. If it hadn’t been anything, I would have added fuel to the fire. Bastard reporters are crawling all over the damn place.”
“But you did find something,” Luke pushed. “What?”
“I searched online and found an article.” He tapped the laptop he’d set on the coffee table when Luke had arrived with the food. “Alicia Tremaine was found murdered in a ditch outside Dutton on April 2, thirteen years ago. She was wrapped in a brown wool blanket and her facial bones were broken. She’d been raped. She was sixteen.”
“Copycat killer?”
“I was thinking that. With all the news about Dutton the past week, maybe somebody found that article and decided to re-create it. It’s a theory. Trouble is, these old online articles don’t have pictures. I was trying to find a photo of Alicia.”
Luke shot him a long-suffering glance. A computer expert, Luke was often appalled at Daniel’s lack of what he considered basic computer skills. “Give me the laptop.” In less than three minutes Luke sat back with a satisfied, “Got it. Take a look.”
Daniel’s heart thudded to a stop. It couldn’t be. It was his tired eyes playing tricks. Slowly he leaned forward and blinked hard. But she was still there. “My God.”
“Who is she?”
Daniel jerked a glance back to Luke, his pulse now racing. “I know her, that’s all.” But his voice sounded desperate. Yes, he knew her. Her face had haunted his dreams for years, along with the faces of all the others. For years he’d hoped they’d been faked. Posed. For years he’d feared they were real. That they were dead. Now he knew for sure. Now one of the nameless victims had a name. Alicia Tremaine.
“You know her from where?” Luke’s voice was firmly demanding. “Daniel?”
Daniel calmed himself. “We both lived in Dutton. It makes sense that I knew her.”
Luke’s jaw went hard. “Before you said you ‘know’ her, not ‘knew.’ ”
A spurt of anger burned away some of the shock. “Are you questioning me, Luke?”
“Yes, because you’re not being honest with me. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I have.” He stared at her face. She’d been beautiful. Thick hair the color of caramel spilled over her shoulders and there had been a sparkle in her eyes that hinted at mischief and fun. Now she was dead.
“Who is she?” Luke asked again, his voice quieter. “An old girlfriend?”
“No.” His shoulders sagged and his chin dropped to his chest. “I’ve never met her.”
“But you know her,” Luke countered cautiously. “How?”
Straightening his spine, Daniel walked behind the bar in the corner of his living room, pulled the Dogs Playing Poker painting from the wall, revealing a safe. From the corner of his eye he saw Luke’s brows go up. “You have a wall safe?” Luke asked.
“Vartanian
family tradition,” Daniel said grimly, hoping it was the only tendency he shared with his father. He dialed the combination and pulled out the envelope he’d stored there on his return from Philly the week before. He picked Alicia Tremaine’s picture from the stack of the others just like it and handed it to Luke.
Luke flinched. “My God. It’s her.” He looked up, horrified. “Who is the man?”
Daniel shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Luke’s eyes flashed fire. “This is sick, Daniel. Where the hell did you get this?”
“My mother,” Daniel said bitterly.
Luke opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Your mother,” he repeated carefully.
Daniel sat down wearily. “I got the pictures from my mother, who’d left-”
Luke held up his hand. “Wait. Pictures? What else is in that envelope?”
“More of the same. Different girls. Different men.”
“This one looks like she’s been drugged.”
“They all do. None of them are awake. There are fifteen of them. That doesn’t count the pictures that are obviously cut from magazines.”
“Fifteen.” Luke blew out a breath. “So tell me how your mother gave them to you.”
“More like she left them for me. My father had the pictures first and-” Luke’s eyes widened and Daniel sighed. “Maybe I should start from the beginning.”
“That would be best, I think.”
“Some of this I knew. Some my sister Susannah knew. We didn’t put it together until last week, after Simon was dead.”
“So your sister knows about these, too?”
Daniel remembered Susannah’s haunted eyes. “Yes, she does.” She knew much more than she’d told, of that Daniel was certain, just as he was certain that she’d suffered at Simon’s hand. He hoped she’d tell him in her own time.
“Who else?”
“Philly PD. I gave Detective Vito Ciccotelli copies. At the time I thought they were part of his case.” Daniel leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes on Alicia Tremaine’s face. “Simon was the first owner of the pictures. First that I know of, anyway. I know he had them before he died.” He glanced over at Luke. “The first time he died.”
