The Survivors Club

  And David Price, reformed sinner for the day, said, “I’m sorry, Maureen, but I don’t think I should tell you that.”

  “Come on, David. You want to make good. You want to help the public. Here’s your chance.”

  “I should tell the police and only the police.”

  “But according to you, David, the police don’t believe you.”

  “I know. And it’s sad, very sad, Maureen, because I received a new letter just this morning. The College Hill Rapist went a whole year without attacking a woman because he wanted to kill Eddie first and wrap up his plan. Now he’s done that. Now he’s ready to make up for lost time. I’m pretty sure . . . No! I’m absolutely certain he’s going to attack another girl tonight.”

  “He’s going to strike again, tonight?”

  “I think so, Maureen. Yes, ma’am, I’m sure.”

  Maureen leaned across at the table.

  Her blue eyes were blazing. She was gripping the microphone so tightly her knuckles had gone white. She was jazzed. Her cameraman was jazzed. In the small room, they radiated pure energy. David amused himself by picturing them both dead. “David, tell us his name. You did a horrible thing once. You kidnapped little kids, you hurt children, you damaged a lot of families out there. People still remember that. There are people watching this right now, wondering why they should believe any word spoken by a monster such as you. Tell those people the College Hill Rapist’s real name. Show those people that you’re ready to make amends.”

  “I can’t.”

  “What do you mean you can’t?” Maureen was nearly shouting now. “Do you or don’t you know the name? Speak to me, David. Help us! According to your own words, another innocent college student is doomed to die!”

  David finally let loose. “I know his name! I want to help!” reformed sinner David wailed. “But . . . but look at me! I’m living in maximum security, Maureen. I’m living in the middle of Steel City, surrounded by the worst of the worst. And look at me! I’m only five eight. I weigh a hundred and fifty pounds. For God’s sake, do you know what it means to be so small in a place like this? Do you?”

  “What are you saying, David?”

  “Information is power, Maureen. In prison. In life. This is the only information I have. It’s my only chance at power in a place like this. God forgive me, but I can’t just give it up. I need something in return.”

  Maureen finally drew back. For the first time, she sounded genuinely disappointed. “You’ll only give up the name of the College Hill Rapist in return for something else? That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it, David? You’ll only help us if there’s something in it for you.”

  This was the tricky part. David bowed his head, then he sneaked a humble peek at his audience. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m sorry to everyone out there, too. I know it’s not right. But that’s how the system works, and I’m part of this system now. I have to play by these rules.”

  “Are you hoping to get out of prison? You raped and murdered babies, David. You buried their bodies in your basement. No matter what you know now, people are going to be uncomfortable with you getting any kind of consideration.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re a murderer, David. Let’s be honest. You’re in maximum security for a reason, and most people are grateful that you’re there.”

  David took a deep breath. “I’m a father.”

  “You’re a father?” Maureen was so shocked, she actually blinked her eyes. It was probably the first genuine emotion she’d ever shown on camera.

  “Yeah. I’m a father. I have a little girl. Five years old. Maureen, I’ve never gotten to see my little girl. Never even . . . gotten to say hi.”

  Maureen’s face grew serious again, her tone intent. “What do you want, David?”

  “I want to see my little girl, that’s all. Look, I’m not denying what you say. I know I’m never getting out of prison. I’ve made my peace with that. After the things I did, I should be grateful just to be on God’s green earth. I’ve seen the chaplain. I’m reading the Bible. While I can’t change what I have done, Maureen, I can try to be a better man from this day forth—”

  “Tell us the name of the College Hill Rapist, David.”

  “I have a daughter,” he continued relentlessly, “and she’s getting to that age where she’s noticing that she doesn’t have a father like other kids. I want her to know that it’s not her fault. I want her to know that someone loves her. I want her to know that I love her.”

  “What do you want, David?”

  “Three hours, Maureen. That’s what I want, all I want. Three hours, fully supervised, in street clothes, to go see my daughter. For the first time. For the only time. So I can tell her that I love her. So I can tell her that she’s a good girl. So I can tell her that I can’t be her father, but it’s not her fault.”

  “You want the state to release you from prison for three hours. To turn a convicted killer loose on the outside?”

  David held up his hands. “Supervised hardship leave, Maureen. Like the corrections department does for funerals, things like that. I’d be shackled, wrists and ankles. Escorted by corrections officers at all times. The police can pick where we meet, they can pick how we get there. I’ll do whatever I’m told. Greeting my daughter in leg irons with a security escort is still better than making her come here. Let’s face it, no little girl belongs here.”

  Maureen finally sat back. She was frowning but for the first time she seemed willing to consider his proposal. And if she was willing to consider it, others would be willing . . .

  “A three-hour hardship leave, fully supervised. And in return you’ll provide the name of the College Hill Rapist?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Who is your daughter, David?”

  “I won’t tell you.”

  “This daughter you love so much?”

  “My daughter exists, Maureen. Just ask any prison official. But I’m not announcing her name on public TV. I wouldn’t do that to my little girl.”

  Maureen made one last play. “Why don’t you give us the rapist’s name now, David, and in return I’ll go to work on securing a three-hour leave as you have requested. In return for doing the city such a big favor, I’m sure something could be arranged.”

  “You’re a nice lady, Maureen.”

  “Thank you, David.”

  “But I’m not that dumb.”

  “What?”

  “I get my three hours. I see my little girl. And when it’s done, I’ll turn to the first police officer I find and tell him the College Hill Rapist’s name. That’s the deal. I hope it happens, and for all of our sakes, I hope it happens soon. The College Hill Rapist is a hungry man. Come nightfall, he’ll strike again.”

  “David—”

  “Oh, and Sergeant Griffin, if you’re listening, I’ll say it again. Your delicious wife and I, we were honestly just friends.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Griffin

  GRIFFIN WAS HAVING A HARD TIME CONTROLLING HIS rage. He leaned his massive frame across the gleaming, cherry-wood desk, homed in on the young man who had the misfortune to be the sperm bank’s business manager and didn’t waste any time on words.

  “Janitor. Name. Now.”

  “I’m trying to tell you, we don’t have a janitor.”

  “Who cleans?”

  “A service.”

  “Their name. Now.”

  “I need to look it up.”

  “Then look it up, dammit!”

  The man turned hastily toward a cherry file cabinet, manicured hands fumbling with the wooden handle while he sweated through his Armani suit. Apparently there was money in infertility treatments. Lots of it.

  Fitz stood behind Griffin. Waters stood next to Fitz. Both were eyeing him carefully, but neither of them intervened.

  “Korporate Klean,” Mr. Management Money announced two minutes later.

  “Address?”

  The man handed over the manila file. Griffin fli
pped through the pages.

  “There are no names of which individuals actually handle your building.”

  “Our contract is with Korporate Klean. They figure out the staffing.”

  “How often do they come?”

  “Every night.”

  “What about daytime?”

  “When they have special projects. The inside of the windows, polishing the brass railings in the elevators and stairs. Oh, and laundry. They bring in fresh loads of linens, towels, etc., a few afternoons a week. We, uh, we like to make our patrons feel like they’re at home, and not in a clinical environment.”

  “How thoughtful of you. Who brings in the laundry?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How big is the crew that works this building?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Same people all the time?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Mr. Matthews—”

  “Our contract is with Korporate Klean, Sergeant. I’m sorry, I’m honestly trying to help. But we don’t worry about those details. You’ll have to talk to them.”

  “Thanks for the file,” Griffin snarled, and stalked out of the building.

  In the elevator, Fitz took the folder. “I’ve heard of them. Korporate Klean.”

  “The PPD has cleaners?” Waters drawled mildly. “I never would have guessed.”

  Fitz shot the skinny detective an impatient glance. “No, we investigated them once. You numbnuts should’ve heard of them, too. Korporate Klean hires mostly ex-cons.”

  “What?” Griffin stopped pacing the brass-trimmed elevator and stared at Fitz.

  He shrugged. “It’s a ‘second chance’ company, you know. Run by a couple of Ben & Jerry liberals who believe people really can reform their evil ways. Guy serves his time, gets out of prison, he’s gotta start somewhere. He goes to Korporate Klean and reenters polite society as a janitor. We’ve checked into them a few times but never found any funny business. Everyone makes good, everyone works hard, everyone plays well with others. At least that’s what the owner, Sal Green, says.”

  “Companies are willing to be serviced by a cleaning crew of former inmates?” Waters asked.

  “I don’t know how much the companies know. You heard Mr. Sperm Bank. Their contract is with Korporate Klean. Korporate Klean takes care of staffing.”

  “Oh great,” Griffin muttered darkly. “So when we ask them for a list of employees with past records, that’s going to be their entire damn company.”

  “Yeah, but not everyone’s cleaning the sperm bank.”

  Griffin’s cell phone rang. He snatched it up as the elevator hit ground floor and dumped them into the lobby. “Griffin.”

  “You saw the news?” Lieutenant Morelli asked.

  “I listened to the radio.”

  “Sergeant, we’d like you to return to headquarters—”

  “We’re onto him, Lieutenant. According to Tawnya, Eddie made several donations to a local sperm bank, which just happens to be serviced by a cleaning company comprised of ex-cons. We’re on our way to Korporate Klean as we speak. One hour, two hours, we’re going to have the perp’s name.”

  “Sergeant, in light of David Price’s involvement . . .”

  “I’m fine, Lieutenant.”

  “We appreciate your efforts, and we think it would be best—”

  Griffin thrust out his phone to Waters. “Tell the Lieutenant I’m fine.” He probably shouldn’t have growled when he said that. Waters took the phone while Griffin rolled out his neck.

  “Afternoon, Lieutenant. Uh huh, uh huh. Yeah. Uh huh.”

  Waters handed the phone back to Griffin. “She doesn’t like you much.”

  “I’m telling you, I gotta try a new cologne.” Griffin tucked his phone against his ear and opened the door to his car. “Lieutenant, we’re going to get him. Before six o’clock, and without David Price. We’re going to nail the son of a bitch.”

  And Lieutenant Morelli said quietly, “We’re making plans for a three-hour release.”

  “What?”

  “Target time is six P.M. We’re working hand in hand with the department of corrections, the state marshals and SWAT. I’ll be leading the team.”

  “Lieutenant, don’t do it. It’s what he wants. Don’t do it!”

  “Do you think I can’t handle the team, Sergeant?”

  “It’s not about you,” Griffin said, closing his eyes. “It’s not about me. It’s about David Price. Listen, the rapes started over a year ago. Think about that. That means Price has been in on this for over twelve months, twelve months of thinking, planning and scheming for this day. He’s got another agenda. And he’s had ample opportunity to get it into play.”

  “Do you think I can’t handle the team, Sergeant?”

  “The Pesaturos will never allow it,” he tried again, more desperate now. “They’re not about to have their five-year-old granddaughter serve as bait.”

  “The Pesaturos have personally requested the meeting. It was their call to the superintendent, not the other hundreds of calls,” the lieutenant added dryly, “which influenced the final decision.”

  “What? How? Why?”

  “They found a note in their mail. If David Price doesn’t see Molly, they don’t get to see Meg. The note came with a picture. Do you understand now how serious this situation has become?”

  “He’s covering all the bases,” Griffin murmured. “If the public outcry isn’t enough, pressure from the victim’s parents will definitely get the job done. Oh, and now we can’t hurt him either. You can position all the snipers you want at this meeting, but none of them can take a shot. Something happens to David at any time, and we lose Meg. Think about that, Lieutenant. He has already set up a human shield, without the human even being present. It’s fucking brilliant. That’s what one year of planning can do.”

  The lieutenant didn’t say anything right away, so she probably agreed. Sometimes, even when you knew you were being manipulated, you couldn’t avoid it.

  “It’s three P.M. now,” Morelli said quietly. “I’m starting preparations for the cover team as we speak.” And then, even more quietly, “Griffin . . . we know who we’re dealing with. I know who we’re dealing with. I’m getting the best people, I’m demanding the tightest security. I don’t want Price out of prison any more than you do. But if it does happen, if it comes to that, I’ll make sure it goes down right.”

  “We’re going to get the man’s name,” Griffin said.

  “I look forward to that call. And Sergeant—if you find the College Hill Rapist first, remember what you’ve spent the last year learning. Remember, we still need Meg.”

  CHAPTER 39

  The Victims Club

  THE MAN ENTERED THE BASEMENT. MEG HEARD THE protesting groan of the old wooden stairs, then his out-of-tune humming. He’d paid her a visit earlier. Skipped down the steps, told her to smile and turned on a bright light right before she heard the whir of an instant camera. She’d still been tilting her head up, trying to peer beneath the bottom edge of her blindfold, when he had summarily clicked the light back off and thumped back up the stairs. She was left alone in the endless dark, her arms pulled painfully over her head, the muscles in her rib cage beginning to protest.

  Now she heard him approach once again and unconsciously shrank back against the concrete wall, as if that would save her.

  “How is pretty, pretty Meg?” the man whispered. He cupped her cheek. She turned her head and he chuckled, running his fingers down her throat, dipping them beneath the collar of her shirt. “My, my, you’ve been working up a bit of a sweat.”

  With the latex gag cutting into her mouth, she couldn’t say anything and didn’t bother to try.

  “Tsk, tsk,” the man scolded, “I don’t think David’s going to like that much. Maybe before he comes, I should give you a bath. You, bound and naked in a tub. I haven’t tried that before. I think I might like it.”

  His hands were inside her shirt, on her lace
-covered breasts. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t stroke. Just let his hands rest on her chest as if to prove his point—he held the power to do anything he wanted to her body. And there was nothing she could do to stop him.

  “Well,” the man said briskly, “I have one last chore to attend to. A little present for David, one not even he’s expecting. Should be lots of fun for everyone, especially me. Wish me luck, dear. If all goes as planned, I should have a few moments to come back and play.”

  Now his fingers did move. She pressed her cheek against the dank wall. She did her best not to vomit.

  The man chuckled. “See you soon, Meg.” He kissed her on the neck. Then he resumed his toneless humming as he ascended the stairs.

  The moment she heard the door click shut, Meg released her pent-up breath. She sagged against the hard-packed dirt floor, her legs trembling, her arms screaming with savage pain. She cried a little, but her tears were short-lived. He hadn’t given her any water since her kidnapping, and she couldn’t afford the loss of moisture.

  She sniffled, she took a deep breath and then she tilted her head up toward a wall anchor she couldn’t see. When she pulled forward, nothing happened. But as she’d twisted away from the man’s fingers, she was sure she had detected the slightest wobble. If the anchor moved a little now, then maybe, over time, it would move a lot.

  It wasn’t much, but it was all she had. Meg, the human pendulum.

  David Price was coming. David Price was coming. Meg started swaying.

  Lieutenant Morelli sat in the living room of the Pesaturo home. Toppi had whisked Molly upstairs the moment the lieutenant had arrived. Now Lieutenant Morelli spread out a map on the living room floor and went straight to business. She gazed at Tom, Laurie, Jillian and Libby somberly. She told them, “This is what we’re going to do. We want the meeting in public, so we can properly monitor it, but we also want it semiprivate to reduce the risk of pedestrian interference.”