“You were a child,” Talia said softly. “You couldn’t have done anything.”
“I know that, just like I know I’m not responsible for Darcy’s death. But knowing is different from knowing.” Susannah kept her eyes closed. “I’d sit at the top of the stairs and listen, then they’d leave and my father-Arthur-would lock the front door.”
“What did your father do after he locked the door?”
“He’d go back into his office. Once I got brave and crept down the stairs to listen. There was a rustle, then a pop.” She looked over the room, her gaze falling on the thick Persian rug that had covered the carpet for as long as she could remember. She knew there was a floor safe in her parents’ bedroom, but that floor was hardwood and this one was carpeted. Still… She went to the Persian and pulled back the edge.
“It didn’t rustle,” Talia said, still standing in the doorway. “Pull it harder.”
Susannah did, making a whipping noise as the Persian rolled on itself. “That’s the sound.” She dropped to her knees and examined the carpet. “God, he was a wily piece of work. This carpet below is pieced.” Carefully she pulled it up. “Another floor safe.”
“Can you open it?” Talia asked.
“Probably, if I think hard enough. Arthur used to use birthdays of relatives for his combinations. He thought he was being clever and we never knew.” She tried her mother’s birthday, then Simon’s, then any others she could remember. Grandmothers, grandfathers, aunts and uncles. None worked.
“Maybe he picked something different for this safe,” Talia said. “Not a birthday.”
“Maybe, but he was a creature of habit. I guess I got one thing from him honestly.” Then she knew. “Honestly,” she murmured again, then twisted the dial and popped the door. “Daniel’s birthday. Daniel will get a kick out of that.” The judge used the birthday of the one man he couldn’t corrupt, but who tortured himself over the sins of his father.
Arthur had thought Daniel weak. He thought the same about me. The judge was mistaken, she thought as she drew out several bound ledgers and journals. Bingo.
Talia came to sit on the floor beside her. “He must have thirty years of records in here. Why not use a safe-deposit box?”
“He didn’t trust banks. Marcy should be in this one.” Flipping pages, she found the entry. “My God. He wanted seventy-five thousand dollars from the Lintons. No wonder they couldn’t come up with the money.”
“So what happened with Borenson?” Talia asked.
“Hell.” She ran her finger down the page. “He says that the girl’s ‘handler’ stepped in and threatened Borenson and he ‘folded like a house of cards.’ ”
“Handler?” Talia asked. “So she really was soliciting?”
“Sounds like it.” Susannah read on. “Marcy was soliciting, but for more than sex. It says here that she’d pick rich men who liked young girls, seduce them, then threaten to tell their wives if they didn’t pay her. She’d give the money to her handler and he’d pay her a cut.” She met Talia’s eyes. “Bobby did that for years, too, in Atlanta. Chloe told Garth Davis that she’d found the transaction records.”
“Another connection,” Talia murmured. “Does your father say who the handler is?”
Susannah read it, then read it again, then stared at the page, stunned. “He says Marcy’s handler was Charles Grant. That… that doesn’t make sense.”
“It fits. Chase called me when we were driving from the Lintons’. Luke found one of Mansfield’s pictures from the bunker-a man with a walking stick, like Charles Grant’s.”
Susannah’s eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you were so pale I thought you’d pass out, and you got paler as we got closer to this place. I figured I’d let you deal with one stress at a time.”
“You’re right, I guess. But Charles Grant?” She was still numb. “He was Daniel’s favorite teacher. He was everybody’s favorite teacher.”
“He also may be a killer. What else does the journal say, Susannah?”
Susannah kept reading, past stunned. “Little prick, trying to squeeze me. He might scare Carol with all his Asian voo-doo, but all his talk of occult and thíchs doesn’t scare me. Grant’s a fucking opportunist. He’ll use whatever it takes to get what he wants. He thought he could use Simon to get to me, but I took care of Simon’s sins. He thought he’d use Susannah to get to me. Like that was ever going to work. She’s…” Susannah faltered. “She’s nothing to me.”
“I’m sorry, honey,” Talia whispered. “You can stop now.”
“No. I need to know. But today… this… He’s turned Borenson against me and this will not stand. The next time I make a demand, the defendants will just whine to Borenson and he’ll let them off with a damn slap on the wrist. Borenson’s weak. I told him to just get rid of that upstart Legal-Aid idiot Alderman, but did he listen? Hell no. Before it was his own business when Alderman threatened him. Now, he’s cutting into mine. Dammit, this place costs money to keep. The bills are staggering. They will not cut off my income.”
Dread was pooling. “He did it for money. For this house.” And he’d known. “He knew what happened to me.” With trembling hands she flipped pages until she got to the January when she’d woken up in a hidey-hole, bruised, bleeding, forever changed.
“Apparently, Charles Grant had been trying to blackmail my father out of the money he’d blackmailed from the defendants in his courtroom.” Her lips curved bitterly. “It’s ironic in a totally twisted way,” she murmured, then went still, her dread confirmed.
“That prick Grant came by tonight with pictures of Simon fucking Susannah. I was supposed to be ashamed. Incest. I told Grant to go to hell and take his pictures with him, that Susannah got what she deserved. Plus, she’d never go to the cops, the girl doesn’t have the guts. So again I won. Charles left with his tail between his legs, threatening me, like always. ‘You’ll regret this. Simon will do something so terrible even you won’t be able to get him off.’ Yeah, right. And he’s gonna get me and my little dog, too. I told him he could have Susannah. I have no use for her. He said, ‘Thank you.’ ”
Susannah closed her eyes. Tears splashed on her hands and she hastily wiped them away. “I’m going to damage the evidence.”
Talia pressed a tissue into her hand, then took a tissue for herself. “I’m so sorry, Susannah,” she whispered unsteadily.
Abruptly Susannah laughed, bitterly. “This is evidence against nobody. We can’t prove that Charles Grant did anything more than know about my… assault.”
“He instigated it,” Talia said fiercely. “I know it.”
Susannah shook her head, objectively. “But it’s not proof.”
The two of them sat quietly for a long moment, then Talia looked over at her. “It sounds like your father and Mr. Grant were in an all-out war, with Judge Borenson a pawn they traded. But then, nothing happened. No fireworks, no accusations. Borenson retires to the hills, Grant goes on teaching, your father goes on judging and they both go on extorting. No murdering rampages.” Talia paused. “Not until Simon rose again.”
Susannah let the words sink in and then it was clear. “The three of them had some kind of a truce.” Her hands no longer trembled as she flipped pages. She knew what she’d find. She flipped past Alicia Tremaine’s murder and Gary Fulmore’s trial in Borenson’s kangaroo court. “My mother pushed Frank Loomis to manipulate evidence, but Grant’s hand is in this as well. Toby Granville was Charles Grant’s protégé. If the truth came out about Alicia’s assault, Toby would have been charged, imprisoned.”