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.