Georgia license DRC119. Committing it to memory, she turned again for the rental car office, then it clicked. She whirled, her heart pounding, but the sedan was gone.
DRC. Darcy. It might have been simply a coincidence. Except for the number. One-nineteen. Six years ago, on January nineteenth, was the day she’d found Darcy, beaten and bloodied and very, very dead. And thirteen years ago, on January nineteenth, she’d woken in a hidey-hole covered in whiskey, raped and terrified.
Charles smiled. He’d finally gotten her attention. Susannah had always been the aloof one, sophisticated. At least that’s what everyone thought. But he knew better.
He’d always known there was a dark side to Susannah Vartanian. He could always tell. There was a look. A smell. An aura. He’d tried to lure her, all those years ago, but she’d gotten away, far away. At least that’s what she thought. But he knew better.
He knew everything about little Susannah Vartanian. Everything.
Wouldn’t the world be shocked by what he knew? Tsk, tsk, naughty girl. He chuckled. Soon he’d have her, one way or another. But he’d play with her a little first.
He waited until she exited the rental car garage, driving a sensible sedan. Nothing flashy for the good Vartanian girl. He pulled out behind her, knowing she saw him. He followed her to a Wal-Mart. Well, she had left New York the morning before with only the clothes on her back, so a little shopping trip made sense.
Staying back just far enough, he waited until she parked and started walking into the store before gliding past her one more time. He laughed aloud. The look on her face was priceless.
Charles had planned to wait one more year before taunting her with the DRC license plates, making it an even seven since Darcy’s death, but Susannah was here and vulnerable and he’d be a fool to waste the moment. When she was in the store, he parked, having no fear that she would call the police. She’d never tell what happened on January 19, either time. He opened his ivory box, this time pulling out one of his greatest treasures, a simple photograph. But it was so much more. It was a moment in time, frozen forever.
A younger version of himself smiled in black and white, standing next to Pham. Pham was old in the picture and knew he was nearing death even then. But I was blissfully unaware he was so sick. I was simply enjoying the day. Pham had been a big believer in enjoying the day but he’d also preached patience. The patient bird breakfasts on the juiciest worm.
But Charles believed in the American ideal of striking while the iron was hot, and over time, Pham had come to see the usefulness in the concept as well. An amazing team, the revered Buddhist monk and his Western bodyguard were admitted to homes everywhere they went. Whether Pham told fortunes, held healing services, or simply dealt in the fine art of blackmail, the homes in which they stayed were always much poorer after they’d departed.
I miss you still, my friend. My mentor. He wondered what Pham would have done if Charles had died first, as Toby had. Then Charles laughed aloud. Pham would have been whoever and done whatever would have made him the most money on that day, as if it were no different than any other. Pham was all about cold, hard cash.
Charles no longer needed the money, so his enjoyment at Susannah Vartanian’s expense was purely pleasure. Pham would have approved.
Atlanta , Saturday, February 3, 6:15 a.m.
Dr. Felicity Berg glanced up briefly when Luke entered, then again focused on the body on the table. “I was wondering when you’d get here. I was about to call you.”
“I’ve been a little busy,” Luke said, unoffended at her brusque tone. He liked Felicity, although many considered her cold. Luke imagined many considered Susannah cold as well, but he wondered how many people truly knew her. “What have you got so far?”
“A hell of a mess,” she snapped, then sighed. “Sorry. I’m tired. I know you are, too.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t had to look at this all night,” he said softly. “You okay, Felicity?”
Her swallow was audible in the quiet. “No.” Then she continued in a businesslike tone, “You have five females, all between the ages of fifteen and twenty. Two suffer from extreme malnutrition. Victim two and victim five here on the table.”
“We think we have an ID on number five,” Luke said. “Kasey Knight. Her parents are coming to do an ID. They should arrive sometime around two.”
Felicity abruptly looked up, horrified. “They want to see her? Luke, no.”
“Yes.” Luke came closer, steeling himself, then swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. “Can’t you… Can you make her look any… better?”
“Can you convince them not to look at her? I can do a DNA ID in twenty-four hours.”
“Felicity, they’ve been waiting two years. They need to see her.”
She stood glaring at him, then her sob broke the silence. “Goddammit, Luke.” She stepped back, crying, her bloody gloved hands held stiffly in front of her. “Dammit.”
Luke pulled on a pair of gloves, pushed her goggles up to her forehead, then dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “You’ve had a long night,” he said quietly. “Why not go home and get some rest until the parents get here? She’s the last one, right?”
“Yeah, and I’m almost finished with her. Fix my goggles, would you?”
Luke did so, then stepped away. “I won’t tell anyone,” he said conspiratorially, and her laugh was watery and self-conscious.
“I don’t usually let them get to me, but…”
“I feel the same way. So what can you tell me besides two were malnourished?”
She set her shoulders, and when she spoke, it was all business again. “Victim five, Kasey Knight, has gonorrhea and syphilis.”
“But the rest don’t?”
“Right. Victim one has sickle cell, so that might help narrow down her ID. Victim two has had her arm broken, in the last six months. It wasn’t set very well. The other arm had radial fractures and looks like the events occurred in the same time period. I’d assume the breaks are due to abuse.” She looked up again, her brows bunched. “It’s weird. The two emaciated girls had high levels of electrolytes in their blood. And I found needle marks in their arms-like someone had administered fluids via IV.”
“We found IV bags in the bunker and some syringes and needles.”
“So this doctor that was killed, Granville. He was treating them?”
“I’m wondering if he wasn’t trying to get them ready for resale. Anything else?”
“Yeah. I saved the best for last. Come here.”
He came closer as she gently rolled the body of Kasey Knight to one side. He squinted, then bent closer to see the small area high on the right hip and his jaw tightened. “A swastika.” He looked up. “Is that a brand?”
“It is. All of them have one, same place, on the right hip. Size of a dime.”
Luke straightened. “Neo-Nazis?”
“There’s a bag over on the counter that might help.”
Luke held it up to the light. It was a signet ring with the AMA snake symbol. “So?”
“It came off Granville’s finger.”
“Okay. He was a doctor, this is the AMA symbol. Not to be obtuse, but so?”
Her brows lifted. “It’s got a false front. Trey found it by accident when he was taking it off the good doctor. There’s a little button on the side.”
Luke flicked it and inside the bag, the top of the ring swung open revealing the same swastika design. “I’ll be damned. Did this make those brands?”
“I don’t think so. The design is set too deep and there doesn’t appear to be any cellular residue on the surface, but the lab can tell you for certain.”