She frowned. “A cabin? No. Why?”
“I talked to Garth Davis tonight and he mentioned that they normally used one another’s houses for the… assaults, but that one night they used a cabin in the mountains. Granville made the arrangements and drove them there in secret.”
Her eyes had flickered at his hesitation. “Does Davis know who owned it?”
“I think so, but he’s not saying until we find his kids. His wife took off with them yesterday when she found out Mack O’Brien had targeted their family.”
“Garth’s cousin was murdered. I read about it in the paper.” She sat back, thinking. “My father didn’t have a cabin that I knew of. He bought a ski chalet in Vale, but to my knowledge he never used it.”
“Why did he buy it then?”
“I think to torment us, especially my mother. She wanted to go out West, but he wouldn’t take the time. He bought the chalet so they owned it, but she couldn’t use it.”
“But no cabin in the mountains here?”
“No. But I do remember him going fishing with Randy Mansfield’s father.”
“He and Mansfield ’s father were friends?”
She shrugged. “When it suited either of them. Mansfield ’s father was the county prosecutor and would come around when he had a case that wasn’t going well. They’d whisper in my father’s office and suddenly the tide would turn the prosecution’s way.”
“So Mansfield ’s father bribed your father.”
“Sure. Lots of people bribed my father. My father bribed lots of people. Blackmailed others.” Her eyes flashed. “I wanted to tell, but nobody would have believed me.”
“Who could you have told? You had no idea who wasn’t in your dad’s pocket.”
The rage in her eyes subsided. “I know. They were all in it together.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to dredge all this up.”
“It’s okay. You were asking about the cabin. When my father and Richard Mansfield went fishing, they did go to a cabin.” She looked down, thinking, then abruptly looked up, meeting his eyes. “Judge Borenson. It was his cabin.”
“I know that name. I’ve heard it recently. Can I use your laptop?”
“Of course.”
He sat down at the desk and she stood behind him, watching him type.
“Oh my God,” she murmured, reaching over his shoulder to point at the screen at the same time the words jumped out at him. “Borenson presided over Gary Fulmore’s trial.”
“The man falsely convicted for killing Alex Fallon’s twin sister thirteen years ago,” Luke muttered, focusing on the computer screen and not on her clingy sweater that brushed his shoulder or her scent that filled his head. “Coincidence?”
“No,” she murmured. “It can’t be a coincidence.” She stepped back, lowering herself to the edge of the bed. “Gary Fulmore served thirteen years for a murder he didn’t do.”
“Mack O’Brien’s older brother Jared killed Alex’s sister,” Luke told her, both relieved and disappointed at the distance she’d put between them. “But nobody else knew that back then. All the boys in the gang thought the other had killed Alicia Tremaine, because she was alive when they left her after raping her. Jared O’Brien went back, raped her again, and killed her when she tried to scream for help.”
“Frank Loomis was the sheriff then. He tampered with evidence. Framed Gary Fulmore for the murder. Why?”
“I know Daniel wants to know.”
“Frank treated Daniel like his own son, gave him his first job at the police station. Finding out Frank had done such a terrible thing must have killed him.”
Luke looked over his shoulder abruptly. “Frank treated Daniel like his own son. Could he have treated Granville the same way?”
“Frank Loomis as Granville’s thích?” she asked doubtfully. “I guess it’s possible.”
“Were Sheriff Loomis and Judge Borenson friends?”
“I don’t know. They could have been. Dutton politics forged strange bedfellows.”
Luke searched through the rest of the Borenson search hits. “He’s pushing seventy, but I don’t see a death notice, so he’s probably still alive. We need to talk to him.”
“If Borenson’s cabin was known to Granville, it could be known to whoever is his partner now.” She drew a breath. “And…”
“The girls could be there. It’s a long shot, but it is a possibility, and right now, it’s all we have.” He looked over his shoulder. “Do you know where Borenson’s cabin was?”
“Somewhere up in North Georgia. I’m sorry. I wish I knew more.”
“No, you’ve been a big help. I can find the cabin if it was in his name.” He typed in another search and sat back. “The cabin’s up past Ellijay on Trout Stream Drive.”
“That area is remote. It’ll be hard to find, especially in the dark. You’ll need a guide.”
“I’ve fished at cabins up in Ellijay. I should be able to find my own way.” Luke paused at the door, then gave in, turning for a last look. “You’re wrong, you know.”
“About what?”
His mouth was suddenly dry. “You’re not too old for that outfit. Stacie chose well.”
One side of her mouth lifted. “Good night, Agent Papadopoulos. Good hunting.”
Ridgefield , Georgia , Saturday, February 3, 12:30 a.m.
Bobby smiled at Haynes. “It’s always a pleasure doing business with you, Darryl.”
Haynes slipped his money clip back in his pants pocket. “Likewise. I have to say I’m disappointed the blonde took sick, though. I kind of had my hopes up, there.”
“Next time. I promise.”
Haynes’s lips curved into a politician’s smile. “I’ll hold you to it,” Haynes said.
Bobby walked the rich man to the door and watched as he drove away, his new purchase stowed safely on a fluffy blanket in the trunk of his Cadillac Seville.
Tanner appeared. “I dislike that man.”
Bobby smiled. “You just dislike politicians and so do I. Haynes is a good customer, and once he’s elected, we’ll have one more powerfully placed… personnel.”
Tanner sighed. “I suppose. Mr. Paul is on your business line.”
“Thanks, Tanner. You can go to bed now. I’ll ring if I need you again.”
Tanner nodded. “I’ll check on our guests before I retire.”
“Thank you, Tanner.” Bobby smiled as the old man made his way up the old stairs. Tanner had a mile-wide streak of southern gentility, despite his rather checkered past. Tanner had been Bobby’s first “personnel acquisition,” at the ripe old age of twelve. Tanner had been old even then, but still young enough not to want to spend the rest of his life behind bars. They’d forged a relationship that had lasted more than half of Bobby’s life. There wasn’t anyone Bobby trusted more. Not even Charles.
Especially not Charles. Charles was a cobra, slithering around in the underbrush, hanging from trees, waiting for the optimal moment to strike.
Shrugging back a shiver, Bobby picked up the phone. “Paul. You’re late.”
“But I got your information, plus a few extras. Take down these names. Luke Papadopoulos is lead agent on the Granville case. He’s reporting to Chase Wharton.”
“That I knew. Who’s the support staff?” Bobby frowned as Paul recited all the names. “I don’t know any of them.”
“Oh, I do,” Paul said smugly. “One of them will fit your needs nicely because one of them has a secret worth hiding. It should have been a major arrest for me, but I figured I’d just bide my time.”
“Smart. This one is more useful to us on the job than in prison.” Bobby recorded the name and the secret. “Now I’ll have a well-placed mole on the GBI team. Fantastic.”
“And if you play your cards right, not just for this case, but for years to come.”
“You did well, Paul. What about the other matter?”