“I’ll see if I can track down this design. Felicity, one of the others can do the ID.”
“I’ll do it.” Carefully she pulled the sheet to cover Kasey Knight. “I’ll see you at two.”
Atlanta , Saturday, February 3, 7:45 a.m.
Susannah stood at the door to Luke’s office, willing her hands not to shake. After the black sedan had disappeared, she’d rented her car and driven to the local Wal-Mart to buy toiletries. Then she’d driven back to the hotel, growing more rattled with every mile, because DRC119 had appeared in the store parking lot, on the highway as she was driving back, even passing by the hotel as she gave her keys to the valet.
For a split second she wondered if Al Landers had told someone, but she instantly dismissed the possibility. Besides, if Al had known she visited Darcy’s grave every year, someone else might, too. She had to find out who’d registered that license plate.
Luke. She trusted him. So she’d stopped the valet, taken her car, and driven here.
She knocked and he looked up from his computer, the surprise in his dark eyes quickly followed by interest. For a moment their gazes locked and her mouth grew dry. Then his eyes grew shuttered and polite and the moment was broken. “Susannah?”
It didn’t matter if she wasn’t sure how she felt about his interest, she thought, because it would disappear if he knew the truth. He wouldn’t want me anymore. No decent man would. “I met Leigh coming in from her break and she walked me up.”
“Come in.” He moved a stack of folders from the chair on the other side of his desk. “I have some time before our morning meeting, so I’m doing paperwork from yesterday. Have a seat. I’ve been meaning to call you all night, but things got crazy. We got to Borenson’s cabin last night and he was gone. There was evidence of a struggle.”
Her chin jerked up as she sat down. “Do you think he’s dead?”
He slouched in his chair. “The struggle was a few days ago, minimum. If he’s wounded somewhere, it won’t be good. He’d have to have lost a lot of blood by now.”
“A few days ago was before all this broke loose with Granville. You were still tracking O’Brien then.”
“I know, but I can’t ignore it. He was connected thirteen years ago. He could very well be connected now.” He frowned. “Speaking of connected, did you notice any kind of mark or scar or anything on Jane Doe?”
“Like what?”
He hesitated. “Like a swastika.”
For the second time in two hours Susannah’s blood ran ice cold. “No. She was gowned and under a sheet by the time I saw her in ICU.” Good, you’re staying calm. “I would’ve thought the hospital would have pointed something like that out.”
“Me, too, but they were a little busy yesterday saving her life.”
“I suppose they were. Why not just ask them today?”
“Because.” He hesitated again. “Because someone tried to kill Beardsley last night.”
“Oh my God. Are you sure?”
“I have the crime lab’s analysis right here. Someone tampered with his IV.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. He had a bad few moments there, but he’s fine.”
“What about the girl? And Bailey?” And Daniel?
“And Daniel?” he asked quietly, with only a trace of reproach.
Which I deserved. “And Daniel. Are all of them all right?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure who I can trust. I hoped you’d seen a mark on Jane Doe.”
Her heart was pounding, but her voice was calm. “What’s the significance?”
“Every girl in the morgue has one branded on her hip.”
She swallowed hard, forcing her heart back down to her chest. It’s not possible. This is not happening. But it was possible. It was happening. Tell him. Tell him now.
In a minute. First, DRC119. “So it was Granville’s mark.”
“It appears so. But, you came all the way down here. What can I do for you?”
Calm, Susannah. “I hate to bother you with this, but a car followed me this morning.”
His dark brows crunched. “What do you mean?”
“I went to the airport to rent a car this morning. I’m going to Dutton for Sheila Cunningham’s funeral today.”
“Sheila Cunningham. I’d almost forgotten about the funeral,” he murmured, then looked back at her. “So what happened with the car that was following you?”
“I took a cab from the hotel to the airport, and a black sedan followed me. I went to the store afterward and it followed me there, too. I have to admit… I was a little rattled.” Utterly unnerved. “Can you run a check on the license plate?”
“What is it?”
“DRC119. It wasn’t the normal layout, you know, with the peach in the middle. All the characters were together.”
“A vanity plate, you mean.”
“Yeah. I guess so.” Holding her breath, she waited as he typed it into his computer. And waited some more as he stared at the screen, his expression inscrutable. Finally she could stand it no longer. “Luke?”
He looked up, eyes guarded. “Susannah, do you know a Darcy Williams?”
Don’t you dare run away this time. “She was my friend. Now she’s dead.”
“Susannah, the vehicle is registered to Darcy Williams, but the picture in her DMV record… it’s yours.”
Her throat closed. No air came in. No words came out.
“Susannah?” He lurched to his feet and came around his desk to take her shoulders in his hands, his grip firm. “Breathe.”
She sucked in a breath, nauseous. “There’s something you need to know.” Her voice was no longer calm. “It’s the swastika. I have one. On my hip. It’s a brand.”
He exhaled carefully. His hands remained on her shoulders, kneading. “From the assault thirteen years ago.” It wasn’t a question. It should have been.
She gently pulled away and walked to the window. “No. It happened seven years later. On January nineteenth.”
“One-nineteen,” he said. “Like the license plate. DRC119.”
“January nineteenth was also the day of my assault by Simon’s gang.”
In the glass, she watched him go still. “Susannah, who was Darcy Williams?”
She leaned her forehead on the cool glass. Her head burned, but the rest of her was ice cold. “Like I said. She was my friend and now she’s dead.”
“How did she die?” he asked gently.
She kept her eyes fixed on the parking lot below. “I’ve never told this. To anyone.”
“But somebody knows.”
“At least three people. And now you.” She turned around, met his eyes. “Whoever followed me today knows. Last night I found out my boss has known since it happened. Part of it anyway. The other person is the detective who led the investigation.”
“Investigation into what?”
“Darcy was murdered in a cheap hotel room in Hell’s Kitchen. I was in the next room.” She kept her eyes on his, an anchor. “I was in law school at NYU. Darcy was a year or so younger, a waitress in the West Village. We’d meet in a bar. That night, we’d met some guys.”
“In Hell’s Kitchen? Did you go there often?”
She hesitated for a fraction of a heartbeat. “It was a one-night thing.”
Liar. Liar. Liar.
Shut up. I have to keep something secret.
“But something happened,” he said.
“I passed out. I think the guy put something in my drink. When I woke up, I was alone and…” I had sticky thighs. He hadn’t used a condom. “My hip burned like fire.”
“The brand.”
“Yes. I got dressed and knocked on the room next door, where Darcy was. The door just… swung open.” And suddenly she was there again. Blood. Everywhere. On the mirror, on the bed, on the walls. “Darcy was crumpled in a heap on the floor. Naked. She was dead. She’d been beaten to death.”