“Because earlier in the day Simon had told me to be home. He said he had a friend coming who wanted to ‘meet’ me. I was only eleven, but even then I understood what that meant. It was a good thing I’d hid. The boy said he’d take Simon to his tick, but he wanted to visit my room first. He was very angry when I wasn’t there.”
“Who?” Luke asked. “The boy or Simon?”
“Both.”
“Simon didn’t know about the hidey-hole at that point?”
“I guess not, but I’m not sure. He might have known, but let me think he didn’t so I’d think I was safe. Simon was big on mind games like that. Being able to manipulate his opponent’s responses would have been very attractive to him.”
Luke frowned. “What the hell is a tick anyway? Like an insect?”
“I don’t know. I tried looking it up in the library the next day, but couldn’t find it. And I couldn’t risk asking anyone.”
“Why not?” Alex asked warily.
She hesitated, then shrugged. “Because my father would have found out.”
“Your father wouldn’t let you talk to librarians?” Luke asked, very carefully.
“My father wouldn’t let me talk to anyone.”
Luke opened his mouth, then closed it again, opting against saying whatever was on his mind. “Okay. So is it possible the boy that day was Toby Granville?”
“Highly possible. Toby and Simon were friends back then. Simon had just lost his leg and most of the kids were spooked by his prosthesis, but Toby thought it was cool.”
“So let’s assume it was Toby. He had a mentor, a teacher. Someone who instructed him in the art of manipulation. The other he belonged to. His tick. It’s something.”
“That was years ago,” Susannah said doubtfully. “That person may not even be alive. And if he is, he might not be Granville’s partner.”
“True,” Luke said. “But until our warrant for Granville’s house is signed or Jane Doe wakes up, it’s all we’ve got.” He took out his cell phone. “Susannah, call Chase and tell him what you told us. Ask him to start researching ‘tick.’ ”
Susannah obeyed, taking her laptop from her briefcase. Chase had gone to meet Daniel’s helicopter. By the time she’d explained to his clerk, her laptop was awake.
“Any word on Daniel?” Alex asked expectantly.
Susannah shook her head, quelling the pitch of her stomach. He’s strong. He’ll be fine. The girl’s status should worry her more. “Not yet. Chase’s clerk said the helicopter is expected to land in about fifteen minutes. Until then, we can keep busy.”
Luke glanced at her laptop. “What are you doing?”
“Your research. I have a wireless card.”
He looked impressed. “Cool. So google ‘tick’-with a k, c, and ck-and ‘master.’ ”
“I already did.” She waited impatiently, then frowned at the result. “Well, ‘tik’ is crystal meth in South Africa. And it means ‘land and sky’ in Cambodian. But nothing else pops. Unless…” Cambodian jogged another memory to the front of her mind, a page from a college textbook.
“Unless?” Luke prompted.
“Unless it’s just pronounced ‘tick,’ ” Susannah said, revising her search. Pronounced tick master, she typed and nodded at the result. “It’s a Vietnamese word, spelled t-h-í-c-h. A respectful title for a Buddhist monk.” She looked at Luke, dubious. “But Buddhism is all about peace and harmony. That would have to be one hell of a twisted monk.”
“True, but one twisted monk is a hell of a lot more than we had a half hour ago.” His brows lifted. “Well done, grasshopper.”
She pushed back the sudden flutter of pride. “Thank you.”
Dutton, Friday, February 2, 6:00 p.m.
Charles turned off his police scanner and sank against the cushions of the sofa in his upstairs parlor. He’d known this day was coming. Still, the news was hard to bear.
Toby Granville was dead. Dead. His jaw hardened. Dead at the hands of an amateur like Mack O’Brien. Mack had shown imagination and cruelty, but no finesse. Which was why Mack was dead, by a bullet from Daniel Vartanian’s gun. At least Toby had not died at Daniel’s hands. That would have been impossible to bear.
Toby. He’d been such a brilliant boy. Always seeking, searching. Always experimenting. Philosophy, mathematics, religion, human anatomy. Toby had been first in his class at med school. Why wouldn’t he be, when he’d done his own dissections right in Charles’s own basement? No cadavers for Charles’s protégé. No, sir. Charles had provided his pupil with live subjects and Toby had derived such joy from their use.
Charles thought of the subject strapped to the table in his basement at this very moment. Toby hadn’t finished with him. The subject still had secrets to spill. I guess I’ll have to finish him myself. Anticipation shivered down his spine despite his sadness.
Because Toby was dead, and under the most dire of circumstances. There would be no proud funeral procession, no well-attended service in the church, no tears in Dutton’s cemetery. Toby Granville had died in shame and would receive no honors after death.
Charles stood. So I’ll see you off, my young friend. From his closet he pulled the robe that had first caught Toby’s attention. Donning it, he lit the candles around the room, sat in the special chair he’d had made just for his sessions with Toby. The boy had been so easy to lure, yet so hard to keep. But Toby had served his master well.
Charles began the intonations that meant less than nothing to him, but that had opened the world of the occult to a thirteen-year-old with a thirst for knowledge and for blood. Charles believed none of it, but Toby had and it had made him sharper, crueler. Perhaps, ultimately, it had fed his mental instability. Farewell, Toby. I will miss you.
“Now,” he murmured aloud. “Who can I find to take your place?” There were always others, waiting, anxious to serve. Charles smiled. To serve me, of course.
He rose, blew out the candles, and put the robes away. He’d use them again very soon. His clients who wished to see signs and portents liked him to dress the part.
Atlanta , Friday, February 2, 6:45 p.m.
Luke stood at the glass, staring into the interview room where two men sat at the table in silence. One was Dutton’s mayor, Garth Davis, the other, his attorney. Garth’s unsmiling face was bruised and the right sleeve of his coat was dusty with red Georgia clay.
Luke glanced over at Hank Germanio, the agent who’d arrested Davis earlier that day. “Did he resist arrest?”
Germanio shrugged. “Not too much.”
Luke thought of Susannah and Alex’s twin sister and all the other women Garth Davis had violated thirteen years before and was relieved he hadn’t been the one to arrest the man. One little bruise wasn’t nearly enough. “Too bad.”
“I know. I kinda wished he had.”
“Has he said anything?”
“Only to ask for his lawyer. Slimy little SOB. The lawyer, too.”
Luke checked his watch. “Chloe said she’d meet me here.”
“And she has.” State’s Attorney Chloe Hathaway closed the outer door. She was a tall, curvy blond with an eye for style, but anyone who believed that’s all she was, was mistaken. A shrewd mind ticked behind her pretty face, and Luke was happy she was on this case. “Sorry I’m late. I’ve been drafting your warrants for Granville’s, Mansfield ’s, and Davis ’s houses and businesses.”
“Are they signed?” Luke asked.
“Not yet. I wanted my boss to check them over. I don’t want anything being excluded when you all finally search. The fact that you have a doctor, a deputy, and a lawyer-turned-mayor presents all kinds of confidentiality issues depending on how you search and what you find. I don’t want any evidence slipping through our fingers.”