Dutton, Friday, February 2, 12:55 p.m.
Such a lure could not be resisted. He watched Frank Loomis stop on the police department steps, open his phone, and check the text message. Loomis narrowed his eyes at the darkened windows of the newspaper office, closed today due to a death in the family. Mack had to smile. The Woolfs were grieving and he was the reason. It took a long time to pay a debt sometimes. When enough time had passed, the interest was huge.
He thought killing Woolf’s sister was a good start toward making good on that debt. He’d used the Woolfs this week and he’d use them a few more times before this was over. But for now, Frank Loomis was getting into his car and driving in the right direction.
The text message had been concise: Got anon tip. Know where Bailey C is. Go 2 old O’B mill by river. Find BC + *many* others. Can’t follow up-at funl home. Wanted you 2 have 411 before Var beat you 2 it. Good luck. Signed, Marianne Woolf.
Frank was on his way. Soon, Vartanian would join him. Mansfield should already be there along with Harvard, the last pillar to fall. It had taken Mack a while to figure out who he was and when he had, even he’d been stunned.
As for Alex Fallon, he had a few ideas for drawing her out. Alex’s entire focus in the last week had been on finding Bailey. And I know where Bailey is. Once the dust from the coming events of the afternoon settled, Alex would want to believe Bailey lived. Now that Delia was dead, Mack had no more plans to leave any more bodies in ditches, until Alex, that was. Perhaps the inactivity would lure her into a false sense of security.
Then again, she’d be grieving Daniel Vartanian’s death, and grief did make people do some very unwise things. Sooner or later, she’d let her guard down, and then he’d have his final victim. His closed circle.
Friday, February 2, 1:25 p.m.
Mansfield stopped next to his desk. “Okay, Harvard, here I am.”
He looked up, eyes widening, then narrowing in a fraction of a second. “Why?”
Mansfield frowned. “Because you sent for me.”
“I did no such thing.”
Mansfield’s heart begin to pound. “I got a text on the disposable. Nobody has that number but you.”
“Obviously someone else does,” Harvard said coldly. “Let me see it.”
Mansfield handed over the phone.
“ ‘Come ASAP. DVar knows about the goods. Moving out today.’ ” His face darkened. “Somebody knows, even if Vartanian doesn’t. You were followed, you fuck-up.”
“No, I wasn’t. I’m sure of it. Initially I was, but I lost the tail.” Technically he’d killed the tail, but Mansfield saw no need to make things worse for himself. “What do we do?”
He was dangerously quiet for a moment. “We’ll take them on the boat.”
“We can only fit half a dozen on the boat.”
Harvard stood, rage coming off him in waves. “When you have something to say that I don’t already know, then speak. Otherwise keep your mouth shut. You get the healthy ones on the boat. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Dutton, Friday, February 2, 1:30 p.m.
Daniel waited until he was outside the Dutton city limits before slamming his fist onto his steering wheel. Swallowing back his temper, he dialed Chase on his cell. “The safe-deposit box was empty,” he snarled without preamble.
“You’re kidding,” Chase said. “Completely empty?”
“Not entirely. There was one little scrap of paper. It said ‘Ha ha.’ ”
“Fuck,” Chase muttered. “Did Rob Davis have a record of who last touched it?”
“Somebody with an ID that said Charles Wayne Bundy. The last time somebody was in the box was about six months after Simon died the first time. I really doubt it was Simon. He wouldn’t have dared appear in public like that, and had Davis known he was really alive, it wouldn’t have stayed a secret long.”
“But I thought Jared’s journal said that Simon had the main key.”
“Either Annette remembered wrong or Jared was mistaken, because somebody else used a copy of Simon’s key to get into the box.”
“Could Rob Davis have had a master?”
“Of course, but he seemed pretty stunned when the box was empty.”
“What did Davis say when you opened the box?”
“Before we opened it he was sweating bullets. Afterward he was relieved… and smug.”
“Well, relax. Um, I mean, really relax, because someone here wants to talk to you.”
“Tell Alex I’ll call her back. I’m too-”
“Hello, Daniel.”
Daniel’s mouth dropped open and immediately he slowed his car and pulled to the shoulder. His hands were shaking. “Susannah? You’re here? In Atlanta?”
“I’m here. Your friend Luke told me about the pictures you hoped to get from the safe-deposit box. I take it they weren’t there.”
“No, they weren’t. I’m sorry, Suze. We could’ve nailed those bastards.”
She was quiet. “I know where the pictures might be.”
“Where?” But he thought he knew and his stomach got all tight.
“The house, Daniel. I’ll meet you there.”
“Wait.” He clenched his jaw. “Not alone. Put Luke on the phone.”
“I’ll bring her,” Luke said when he took the phone. “I’ll meet you at your parents’ house. Daniel, Alex is standing here. She wants to come.”
“No. Tell her to-”
“Daniel.” Alex had taken the phone from Luke. “You stood by me when I went into my house. Let me do the same for you. Please,” she added softly.
He closed his eyes. His house was filled with ghosts, too. Not in the same way, of course, but ghosts, just the same. And he trusted Luke with his life.
But Alex was even more important than that. And because she was, he needed her there. “All right. Stay with Luke. I’ll meet you all there.”
Friday, February 2, 2:20 p.m.
“Bailey,” Beardsley hissed.
Bailey forced her eyes to open. She had the shakes, real bad. “I’m here.”
“I’m ready for you.”
In another time, another place, those words could have meant something beautiful. Now, here, it meant they were both going to die very soon.
“Bailey?” Beardsley whispered again. “Hurry.”
Oh, God, she needed a fix. Hope needs you. She gritted her teeth. “I’m ready.”
She watched as he moved huge handfuls of the dirt he’d dug away over days until there was a hole barely big enough for Hope. “I won’t fit.”
“You have to. We don’t have time for any more digging. Get on your stomach and put your feet through.” She did and he began to pull, none too gently. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.”
She almost laughed. He kept tugging, angling her this way then that. He put his hands on her hips to turn her body to pull her through, but when he came to her breasts, he stopped abruptly. Bailey rolled her eyes. She was on her stomach, half in, half out, filthy and reeking of God only knew what, and Beardsley picked now to get shy.
“Pull,” she whispered. One of his hands slid up her front, one up her back, and he maneuvered her through until he could reach her shoulders. That was even more painful.
“Turn your face to the side.”
She did, and he helped her wiggle her head through so that she didn’t get dirt up her nose. Finally she was on his side of the wall.
And seeing him for the very first time. That he was seeing her for the first time wasn’t anything she even wanted to contemplate. She stared down, ashamed of how she knew she looked. Gently he cupped her chin with a dirty hand. “Bailey. Let me see you.”
Shyly she let him lift her face and even more shyly lifted her eyelids. And she wanted to cry. Under the dirt and the grime and the blood, he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen in her life. He smiled at her, his teeth white against his filthy face. “I’m not that bad, am I?” he murmured teasingly, and the tears she fought welled and spilled.