8 Scream for Me

  She knelt, feeling around the baseboards. “I found the hidey-hole off my closet one night when I was hiding from Simon. I’d huddled up against the wall and I must have pushed the right way because the panel opened and I rolled behind the wall.” She steadily worked as she talked. “I wondered if all the closets had these hidey-holes. One day when I thought Simon was gone, I tried to see if I could open his.”

  The flat finality with which she’d said it twisted his stomach. “He caught you.”

  “At first I didn’t think he had. I heard him thumping up the stairs and I ran to my room. But he had,” she said, quietly now. “When I woke up with a whiskey bottle in my hand, it was inside my hidey-hole. He’d stuffed me in there.”

  Alex smoothed her hand down his arm and he realized he’d been holding her hand too tightly. He let go, but she held on, comforting him.

  Daniel cleared his throat. “He knew about your hiding place.”

  Susannah shrugged with a matter-of-factness that broke his heart. “There was nowhere to hide,” she said. “Later, he showed me the picture he’d taken of me with . . .” Again she shrugged. “He told me to stay out of his affairs. After that, I obeyed him.” She pushed the panel and it gave way. “After he died, I just wanted to forget.” She leaned into the hole, then reappeared, dragging a dusty box. Luke took it from her and put it on Simon’s slashed-up bed. “Thank you,” she murmured and gestured to the box. “I think that’s what you’re looking for,” she said.

  Now that he had them, Daniel was almost afraid to look. His heart beating hard, he lifted the lid. And wanted to throw up.

  “Dear God,” Alex whispered beside him.

  Friday, February 2, 2:50 p.m.

  “Come on.” Bailey tugged the girl’s hand, dragging her through the dark hallways. Beardsley had pointed this way. He couldn’t be wrong. Beardsley. Her heart clenched hard. He’d given up his freedom . . . for me. Now he’d die. For me.

  Concentrate, Bailey. You have to get out of here. Don’t let that man have given up his life in vain. Focus. Find the door. After another few minutes, she saw light.

  Light at the end of the tunnel. She almost laughed, but dragged the girl harder with a spurt of new energy. She opened the door, expecting a loud alarm or barking dogs.

  But there was silence. And fresh air and trees and sunshine.

  And freedom. Thank you, Beardsley.

  And then it all shattered. Standing in front of her was Frank Loomis. And he had a gun in his hand.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Dutton, Friday, February 2, 2:50 p.m.

  The box was filled with photographs and drawings Simon had made. Some Daniel recognized as identical to the pictures his father had burned, but there were many more. Hundreds more. Grimly, he pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket and began to pull the pictures from the box. These photos showed the faces of the young men as they’d committed their obscenities, and somehow they’d managed to make some of their lewd acts seem consensual, just as Annette O’Brien had said. He tightened his jaw as he shuffled through each handful. He’d known what he would see, but the reality was far worse than he’d imagined. He stared at the boys’ faces, horrified and physically ill.

  “They’re laughing,” Alex whispered. “Goading each other on.”

  Rage surged, and with it a pagan urge to choke the life from their vile, despicable bodies. “Jared O’Brien and Rhett Porter. And Garth Davis,” he said harshly, remembering how concerned the mayor had been that night at Presto’s Pizza when he’d demanded answers about the man murdering the women of Dutton. “Sonofabitch. He was at Presto’s. He let Sheila serve him food, all the while knowing what he’d done.”

  “Throwing the book at Garth Davis will feel damn good,” Luke said grimly.

  Daniel moved to the next picture. “Randy Mansfield.” He thought about the bad news he’d had from Chase as he’d waited outside the house for Luke, Susannah, and Alex. Mansfield had raped young girls. Now Daniel knew he was a killer, too.

  Beside him, Alex flinched when he showed the next picture. Wade. With Alicia.

  “I’m sorry,” Daniel said, sliding the picture to the back. “I didn’t want you to see it.”

  “I already had,” she said in a low voice, “in my mind.”

  Daniel continued shuffling through the photos, then came to a dead stop when he saw Susannah. Young. Unconscious. Violated. His hands jerked, reflexively flipping it over, and he stared at the back of the hideous photo, his emotions churning.

  He’d left her here, alone. Unprotected. With Simon. Who’d done . . . this. His roiling stomach heaved. He hadn’t known back then. But it didn’t change the fact that it had happened. Simon had allowed . . . No, he’d encouraged those animals to violate his own sister. My sister. She’d been scared and abused and I did nothing.

  Bile burning his throat and tears burning his eyes, he slid the picture into his suit pocket, away from the others. He looked away. “I’ll burn it,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m sorry. God. Suze.” His voice broke. “I’m so sorry.”

  Nobody said a word. Then Susannah took the picture from his pocket and put it with the others. At the back of the stack, but with the others all the same.

  “If I’m going to take my self-respect back, I have to stand with them,” she said with a calm that cut him in two. Unable to reply, Daniel only nodded.

  Luke moved to his side and took over the task of sorting through the pictures while Daniel gathered his composure. He and Luke worked on in silence, and by the time they’d finished, they’d identified five young men, monsters all.

  “Garth, Rhett, Jared, and Randy,” Alex said quietly. “And Wade. That’s only five.”

  “Number six was Simon, who took the pictures,” Daniel said, frustration eating at his control. “But we still don’t have the seventh. Goddammit.”

  “I thought Annette said they had pictures of everyone,” Alex said. “That that was how Simon kept control.”

  Luke stripped off his gloves. “Maybe she was wrong.”

  “She was right about everything else.” Daniel forced his mind to think, to piece together what he knew. “But someone else had both keys to that box, or we would have found the pictures in there. The last access to the safe-deposit box was six months after Simon left twelve years ago.” Daniel pointed to the box. “These pictures have been here all this time, so we have to assume there were at least two sets to begin with.”

  Luke nodded, understanding. “Simon lied about everyone being equally implicated. He had a partner. The seventh boy.”

  “Whose name we still don’t have,” Daniel said bitterly. “Dammit.”

  “But you have Garth and Randy,” Alex said urgently. “Bring them in. Get them to talk. Get them to tell you where they put Bailey.”

  “I already did,” Daniel said, putting the top back on the box. “While I was waiting for you to get here, I had Garth’s tail pick him up.” He hesitated, dreading what he had to tell her. “But Mansfield . . . Alex, the agent who was following him is dead.”

  Alex paled. “Mansfield killed him?”

  “It looks that way.”

  Anger flashed in her eyes. “Dammit, Daniel. You knew about Mansfield yesterday. I begged you to pick him up. If—” She cut off the rest of her accusation, but it still hurt.

  “Alex, that’s not fair,” Luke murmured, but she shook her head hard.

  “Now Mansfield knows you know what he’s done,” she said raggedly. “If he has Bailey, he’ll kill her now.”

  Daniel wouldn’t insult her intelligence by denying her words. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Her shoulders sagged in defeat and his heart clenched. “I know,” she whispered.

  Luke picked up the box. “Let’s get this back to Atlanta and start questioning Garth. He knows who the seventh boy was. Let’s get him to roll.”

  “I’ll give my statement,” Susannah said, glancing at her watch. “My flight’s at six.”

  She was following Luke
out the door when Daniel got hold of himself. “Suze. Wait. I need . . . I need to talk to you. Alex, can you give us a minute?”

  Alex nodded stiffly. “Can I have your keys? I’ve got a migraine coming on and my Imitrex pen is in my purse.”

  He could see the pain behind her eyes and wished he could erase the stress that had put it there. Instead, he fished out his keys. “Stay with Luke.”

  Her jaw clenched as she snatched the keys from his hand. “I’m not stupid, Daniel.”

  “I know,” he murmured after she was gone. It didn’t change the fact that he worried about her constantly. Like he should have worried about Susannah, back then. Daniel forced himself to look into his sister’s eyes. They were carefully blank. She looked delicate. Fragile. But he’d learned that Susannah, like Alex, was neither delicate nor fragile. “What made you come back?” he asked, and she lifted a slim shoulder.

  “The others will testify. What kind of coward would I be not to do the same?”

  “You’re not a coward,” he said fiercely.

  Her lips curved sardonically. “You have no idea what I am, Daniel.”

  He frowned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  She looked away. “I have to go,” was all she replied as she turned to go.

  “Susannah, wait.” She turned back, and he forced himself to ask the question he needed to know. “Why didn’t you tell me? Call me? I would have come to get you.”

  Her eyes flickered. “Would you have?”

  “You know I would have.”

  Her chin lifted, reminding him of Alex. “If I’d known that, I would have called. You left, Daniel. You got away. The first year you were at college, you never came home, not once. Not even at Christmas.”

  He remembered that first year of college, the overwhelming relief of getting away from Dutton. But he’d left Susannah to the wolves. “I was selfish. But if I’d known, I would have come back. I’m so sorry.” The last was a helpless plea, but her expression didn’t soften. There was no contempt in her eyes, but neither was there forgiveness.

  He’d thought he’d needed atonement, to bring justice and closure to Simon’s victims. Now he just wanted forgiveness from the one person he could have saved, but didn’t.

  “It is what it is,” she said evenly. “You can’t change the past.”

  His throat thickened. “Then can I change the future?”

  For several seconds she said nothing. Then she shrugged. “I don’t know, Daniel.”

  He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. He wasn’t sure what he had the right to ask for. She’d given him honesty, and that was a start. “All right. Let’s go.”

  “Are you all right?”

  Alex glanced up at Luke as she found her migraine medicine in her purse. For a few hours, she’d had hope of finding Bailey. Now that hope was dashed. “No, I’m not. Turn around, Luke.”

  His black brows bunched. “What?”

  “I have to shoot this in my thigh and I don’t want you seeing my underwear. Turn around.” Coloring slightly, he complied, and Alex lowered her slacks enough to jab the pen in her bare thigh. She adjusted her clothes, then looked at Luke’s back. Even from behind him she could tell he was scanning the countryside, alert and watching.

  Mansfield was still out there, and he’d killed one man. Maybe more. A shiver ran down her back as the hairs on her neck lifted. It was probably just the house scaring her, she thought. Mansfield was probably miles away. Still, as she’d told Daniel, she wasn’t stupid. She looked at Daniel’s keys in her hand and knew what she’d do.

  “Can I turn around?” Luke asked.

  “No.” Alex opened Daniel’s trunk, retrieved her gun, and awkwardly slipped it behind her waistband. She closed the trunk, feeling no safer. “Now you can turn around.”

  Luke did so, giving her a pointed look. “Keep your eyes open if you need to use it. I’m sorry about your stepsister,” he added quietly. “So is Daniel. Really.”

  “I know,” she said, and remembering the hurt in his eyes, she knew it was true. He’d done his job, but Bailey would be dead just the same. Nobody wins. She was spared further reply by the emergence of Daniel and Susannah from the house. She gave him his keys and he locked the front door.

  “Let’s go back,” Daniel said, his expression flat, and Alex wondered what Daniel and Susannah had discussed—and what they had not.

  Friday, February 2, 3:00 p.m.

  Frozen in place, Bailey waited for Loomis to give her away. Her heart pounded like a wild thing. So close. She’d come so close . . . Beside her, the girl started to cry.

  Then, to her shock, Loomis put his finger over his lips. “Follow the trees,” he whispered. “You’ll find the road.” He pointed to the girl. “How many more in there?”

  Bailey clenched her eyes shut. All gone. “None. He killed them all. All except her.”

  Loomis swallowed. “Then go. I’ll go get my car and meet you by the road.”

  Bailey held the girl’s hand tight. “Come on,” she whispered. “Just a little bit longer.”

  The girl still cried softly, but Bailey couldn’t let herself feel sympathy. She couldn’t let herself feel anything. She just needed to keep moving.

  Now that was interesting, Mack thought, watching Loomis point Bailey and the other girl toward freedom. The man was actually doing his job. For once in his life Frank Loomis was actually serving and protecting. He waited until Loomis was a few feet away before stepping into his path. He held his gun steady and Loomis stopped dead.

  Loomis’s eyes rose to his face, recognition instantly dawning. “Mack O’Brien.” His jaw tightened. “I guess it goes without saying that you’re not in prison anymore.”

  “Nope,” Mack said cheerfully. “One-third served.”

  “So it’s been you, all along.”

  There was satisfaction in his smile. “All along. Give me your guns, Sheriff. Oh, wait, you’re not a sheriff anymore.”

  Loomis’s lips thinned. “I’m being investigated, not tried.”

  “Like there’s a difference in this town? Give me your guns,” he repeated deliberately. “Or I’ll kill you where you stand.”

  “You’re going to anyway.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe you can help me.”

  Loomis’s eyes narrowed. “How?”

  “I want Daniel Vartanian here. I want him to see this operation firsthand and to catch them red-handed. If you give him all this and Bailey, that should be enough to influence your trial. I mean, investigation.”

  “That’s all I have to do? Get Daniel here?”

  “That’s all.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  He pointed at Bailey and the girl, picking their way through the woods on bare and bloody feet. “I raise the alarm and Bailey and the girl die.”

  Loomis’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a sonofabitch.”

  “Thank you.”

  Dutton, Friday, February 2, 3:10 p.m.

  “How’s your headache?” Daniel asked.

  “I hit it in time. I’m fine,” Alex said, keeping her eyes on the window where Dutton’s Main Street wound by. She should apologize to him, she knew. She’d hurt him when he was just doing his job. But, dammit, she was angry. And helpless, which made her even angrier. Not trusting her voice or her words, she kept her mouth firmly closed.

  After another few minutes of silence Daniel hissed a curse. “Could you just yell at me, please? I’m sorry about Bailey. I don’t know what else to say.”

  The wall holding her fury broke. “I hate this town,” she gritted from behind clenched teeth. “I hate your sheriff and the mayor and everyone that should have done something. And I hate—” She broke it off, breathing hard.

  “Me?” he asked quietly. “Do you hate me, too?”

  Trembling, eyes burning, she rested her forehead against the car window. “No. Not you. You were doing your job. Bailey got caught in the cross fire. I’m sorry for what I said. This isn’t your fault.” She turned her fac
e so that the window cooled her flushed cheek. “I hate myself,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “I should have said something back then. I should have done something. But I curled up into a little ball and hid it all away from the world.”

  His fingertips brushed against her arm, then fell away. “Last night you said we couldn’t blame ourselves,” he said.

  “That was last night. This is today, when I have to think of a way to tell Hope her mommy’s never coming home.” Her voice broke and she didn’t care. “I don’t blame you, Daniel. You played this exactly the way you had to. But now I have to go on and so does Hope. And that scares the hell out me.”

  “Alex. Please look at me. Please.”

  His expression was one of tortured misery and her heart broke even more. “Daniel, I don’t blame you. Really. I don’t.”

  “Maybe you should. I’d prefer it to this.”

  “To what?”

  His hands clenched the wheel. “You’re pulling away from me. Last night it was we have to go on. Today you’re back to doing it all by yourself. Dammit, Alex. I’m here and nothing for me has changed in the last hour. But you’re pulling away from me.” He flinched. “Goddammit,” he swore bitterly and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, sending plastic gloves everywhere. “Vartanian.”

  He went still and immediately the car began to slow. “How?” he demanded.

  Something was wrong. More wrong, anyway. Daniel pulled to the shoulder as she nervously picked up the scattered gloves, tucking them into her own jacket pocket.

  “Where?” he bit out. “No fucking way. I come with backup or I don’t come at all.” His jaw cocked. “No, I don’t guess I do trust you. At one time I did. But not anymore.”

  Frank Loomis. Alex leaned closer, trying to overhear. Daniel was patting his pockets. “Can you get me a pen?” he asked, and she dug one from her purse. He pulled his notebook from his shirt pocket. “Where exactly?” He scribbled an address with a frown. “I’d forgotten about that place. That at least makes sense. Okay. I’m coming.” He hesitated. “Thank you.”

  He did an abrupt U-turn, making Alex grab for something to hold on to. “What is it?” she asked, afraid to hear the answer.