“So what did you do?”
“I ran. I ran to a phone booth two blocks away and called 911. Anonymously.”
“Why anonymously?”
“I was in law school. I was clerking in the district attorney’s office. If I’d gotten mixed up in that kind of scandal…” She looked away. “I sound like my mother. She used to say that to my father when Simon would screw up. ‘We just can’t have a scandal, Arthur.’ And my father would go ‘fix’ it.”
“You are not like your parents, Susannah.”
“You have no idea what I am,” she shot back, then stopped, startled. She’d said the same thing to Daniel. Word for word.
Why did you come back? he’d asked.
The others will testify, she’d told him. What kind of coward would I be not to do the same? He’d insisted she wasn’t a coward and she’d nearly laughed in his face. You have no idea what I am, Daniel. And he didn’t. She’d like to keep it that way, but her secrets were leaking out, one by one.
“What are you then?” Luke asked quietly.
She drew a breath, returned the conversation to the past. “I was a coward.”
His eyes flickered. He’d caught her parry. “You called 911. That was something.”
“Yeah. Then I followed up with another anonymous call to the detective who’d landed the case. I described the guy who’d picked Darcy up at the bar and gave him the bar’s address. He said he’d need to verify some things, and for me to call him back in four hours. I did, and he was watching for me to make the call.”
“You used the same phone booth.”
“All three times.” She forced a taut smile. “That’s why we catch so many bad guys, Agent Papadopoulos. They do stupid things.”
“Luke,” he said levelly. “My name is Luke.”
Her taut smile faded. “Luke.”
“Then what happened?” he asked, as if she weren’t telling him something sordid.
“Detective Reiser caught the guy based on my leads. He was able to corroborate independently once he knew where to start. He didn’t need to bring me in, but told my boss, I think more to cover his ass. So my reputation, and my career, were saved.”
“It’s a good reputation, a good career. Why are you beating yourself up over this?”
“Because I was a coward. I should have faced the guy who killed Darcy then.”
“So you’re facing Garth Davis now? To make up for what happened then?”
Her lips thinned. “That seems to be the popular conclusion.”
He slid his finger under her chin, nudging until she met his eyes again. “What about the other guy?” he asked, his eyes intense. “The one that drugged you.”
She lifted a shoulder. “He left. I never saw him again. I got over it.”
“Did he rape you?” he asked, his voice carefully controlled.
She remembered the blood, the stickiness of his semen on her thighs. “Yes. But I went to that hotel room willingly.”
“Did you hear what you just said?” he asked, his tone just shy of a snarl.
“Yes,” she hissed. “I hear it every time I think it. Every time I tell a victim she didn’t deserve to be raped. But this was different, dammit. It’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because it happened to me,” she cried. “Again. I let it happen to me again and my friend died. My friend died and I was a coward and ran away.”
“So you deserved to be raped?”
She shook her head, wearily. “No. But I didn’t deserve justice either.”
“You Vartanians are so fucked up,” he said, the fury snapping in his black eyes. “If your father weren’t already dead, I’d be tempted to kill him myself.”
She raised up on her toes, holding his gaze. “Stand in line.” She took a step back, pulled her emotions into check. “So, what does this mean? The same night my friend is murdered in New York, I get assaulted and branded. Six years later five homicides are branded with the same symbol in beautiful, scenic Dutton. Connected? I vote yes.”
She watched him bank his fury, partitioning it away. “Let’s see it,” Luke said.
Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
“Let’s see it. How will we know if it’s the same symbol?”
“Show me yours first and I’ll tell you if they’re the same.”
“Mine are in the morgue,” he snapped. “For God’s sake, Susannah, I saw you in your bra yesterday. My meeting started a few minutes ago. Just do it. Please.”
He was right, of course. This was no time for modesty and she had no right to it anyway, given what she’d just disclosed. “Close your eyes.” Rapidly she unzipped the skirt and pushed her underwear down far enough to show him. “Look.”
He crouched, staring at the mark, then closed his eyes. “Zip back up. It’s the same design. Slightly larger in diameter.” He straightened, eyes still closed. “You decent?”
“Yeah. So, now what? Somebody here in Atlanta knows about Darcy. Somebody in Dutton has a swastika brand. Did that same someone brand me and kill my friend? If so, who and why?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that we need to start looking at white supremacy groups.”
“Because of the swastika? Maybe, maybe not.”
He stopped, his hand on the knob of his office door. “Why not?”
It was easier to think details than dwell on an act she could not change. “My brand isn’t a German swastika. This swastika is bent at the tips. It’s a symbol used in many Eastern religions.” She lifted her brows. “Including Buddhism.”
“So we’re back to Granville’s thích.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I can research it for you if you want.”
“Yes. Sit here and do it while I’m in my meeting. I’ll come back for you.”
“I can’t stay. I’m meeting Chloe Hathaway at nine.”
“She’s here in the eight-o’clock meeting. She can meet with you when we’re done. It’ll save her a trip to your hotel.”
“But my confession is on my laptop. I left it in my hotel room.”
“We have a small army of stenographers out there answering calls from the tip line,” he said impatiently. “We’ll pull one of them in to take your statement. I have to go.”
“Luke, wait. My boss, Al-he was going to sit in on the meeting.” Her lips curved in a self-mocking smile. “For moral support.”
His eyes softened. “Call him then, and tell him to come down. But I don’t want you driving around by yourself until we understand who that person was in the black sedan. It all fits. We just have to figure out how.” He hesitated. “I’ve tried to keep your name out of the investigation until you gave your statement.”
“Why?” she managed, knowing what was coming. He’s going to have to tell. Everyone will know what I’ve done. And what I have not. It was what she deserved.
“You deserve your privacy. Just like you deserve your justice.”
She swallowed, his choice of words striking her hard. “Tell them whatever you need to. Tell them about thirteen years ago. Tell them about Hell’s Kitchen, Darcy, and the brand. I’m so damn tired of my privacy. It’s been choking the life out of me for thirteen years.” She lifted her chin. “So tell them all. I don’t care anymore.”
Ridgefield House, Saturday, February 3, 8:05 a.m.
Bobby picked up the phone on the first ring. “Is it done?”
Paul sighed. “It’s done.”
“Excellent. Go to bed, Paul. You sound tired.”
“Y’think?” Paul asked sarcastically. “I’m on duty tonight, so don’t call me.”
“Got it. Sweet dreams. And thanks.”