Karen Rose - Kill for Me

Luke slowly reexamined each cell as he passed, the horror of looking at the five dead teenagers freezing his gut all over again. Their hands and feet had been bagged by the ME, and a body bag sat neatly folded beside each body, waiting to be used.

Look away . But he wouldn’t allow himself to. He hadn’t arrived in time to save them, but the dead still needed him. Who were they? How did they get here? Had they been abducted, or like Angel, had they been victims long before arriving in this place?

Luke found the ME tech bagging one of the girls’ hands, his head bent low. In the quiet Luke heard a single muted sob that tore at his own heart.

“Malcolm?” Luke said.

Malcolm Zuckerman stilled, then placed the girl’s hand carefully at her side. When he looked up, the man had tears in his eyes. “I’ve seen a lot of shit on this job, Papa, but this… never anything like this. She can’t weigh more than eighty pounds. Her hair came out in my hand,” he whispered harshly. “What kind of animal could do this?”

“I don’t know.” Luke had seen victims just like this, way too many times, and had asked that same question, way too many times. “Have you printed them?”

“Yeah. Trey took the prints up to the lab. He’s driving the five dead guys to the morgue.” Malcolm’s smile was twisted. “He won the toss.”

“Lucky bastard. We’ll run the girls’ prints through NCMEC and cross our fingers that they’re in the system.” The National Center for Missing and Exploited Children kept the prints of missing kids in a database-when prints were available. So many parents meant to get their kids printed, but for various reasons never did. Luke had made sure his sister Demi’s six kids were printed. It was the least he could do to protect his own.

“Fingers crossed. When can we take these victims out of this place?”

“Forty-five minutes. Maybe an hour. After Chase’s press conference.”

Malcolm snorted, back to his old demeanor. “Chase’s gettin’ to be a regular celebrity. This is what… his third press conference this week?”

“With all the press conferences on the O’Brien case, this one will be his fourth.”

Malcolm shook his head. “Goddamn crazy week.”

“For all of us. I’ll let you know when it’s okay to take the bodies.”

“Luke?” It was Ed Randall, his voice muffled. “Come here, quick.”

Luke found the head of the crime lab crouched next to an empty cot frame. The mattress sat on the floor on a plastic sheet. “What is it?” Luke asked.

Ed looked up, his eyes sparkling. “A name, part of one anyway. Come see.”

“A name?” Luke crouched next to where Ed was shining his flashlight. The name had been scratched into the metal, barely breaking the rusted surface. “Ashley,” Luke murmured. “Ashley Os-that’s all she wrote. Osborne, Oswald? It’s a start.”

“I think Ashley wanted to hide that she’d done it. The etching was covered with a paste of dirt mixed with something else.”

“Something else?” Luke asked, his brows raised. “What else?”

“I’ll know when I test it,” Ed said, “but probably urine. There were definitely at least three other victims held here, Luke. Their mattresses are soaked with fresh urine.”

Luke’s nose had supplied him with the same information. “Can we get DNA from any of the mattresses or from this dirt paste you scraped off Ashley’s name?”

“Chances are fair. That they’re all postpubescent girls will make it easier.”

“Why?”

“Because the DNA from urine comes from epithelial cells shed by the skin in passing, not from the urine itself. I’ve already sent samples back to the lab for testing.” Ed rocked back on his heels. “Before you ask another question, how is Daniel?”

“He’s okay. We can visit him tomorrow.”

“Thank God. Did Daniel see anything this afternoon, before he was shot?”

“We’ll ask him when he wakes up. What else have you found here? Chase is going into a press conference in thirty minutes and needs an update.”

“A box of prefilled IV bags, a box of syringes, an old gurney, and an IV pole.”

Luke frowned. “This was some kind of hospital? That doesn’t make sense. These girls were held in filth and look like they didn’t have proper nutrition for weeks.”

“Just telling you what I found,” Ed said. “We have eight guns, seven cell phones, two homemade knives, one switchblade, and a kit of wicked-looking scalpels.”

“What about the cell phones?”

“Excepting the phones belonging to Daniel, Alex, and Loomis, all the rest are throwaways. I noted all the calls on the logs, in and out.”

Luke scanned Ed’s notes. “Mansfield and Loomis both got texts from Mack O’Brien.” He looked up. “Luring them here.”

“The only call that stood out was from Granville to a number that doesn’t match any of the others. He made it about a half hour after Mansfield ’s text from Mack O’Brien.”

Luke’s eyes narrowed. “He called his partner.”

Ed nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

“This is more than I thought we’d have. I’ll call Chase with the update. After that, I’m going to Granville’s. Pete Haywood’s doing the search of his house as soon as Chloe gets us a signed warrant. Let’s meet in Chase’s conference room at ten tonight.”

“Agent Papadopoulos!” The urgent shout came from the door, echoing in the hall.

Both Luke and Ed ran to the entrance where the state trooper beckoned. “Urgent call from an Agent Haywood. Toby Granville’s house is on fire.”

Atlanta , Friday, February 2, 8:00 p.m.

Sitting alone in the quiet of the chapel, Susannah had finally sorted through her thoughts and knew what she had to do. She’d known since that morning when she’d boarded the flight in New York. She was going to testify, lend her voice to the outcry of the others. She was going to see justice done, no matter how high the cost.

The cost would be very high indeed, but the return had dropped substantially. This morning she’d been prepared to see several men sitting at the defendant’s table. Now, after the dust had settled, there would be only one. Mayor Garth Davis was the sole survivor of Simon’s club. Only one man would face those whose lives he’d ruined.

Only one. But the cost had not dwindled an iota. Her life, her job… all would be forever changed. Still, she would testify, for the fifteen other rape victims whose lives might have been spared such pain had she spoken sooner. For the five girls Luke had found dead in that bunker, and for the ones who were still missing. For the Jane Doe who’d looked up at her like she was God. And for you, too, Susannah?

“Yes,” she murmured. “For me, too.” For my self-respect. I want my self-respect.

“Excuse me. May I sit here?”

Susannah looked up at a tall woman with dark hair and intense eyes, carrying a purse the size of Susannah’s briefcase. The chapel was empty except for the two of them. There were many other seats. Susannah opened her mouth to say no, but something about the woman’s eyes stopped her. Perhaps she needs company, Susannah thought, and silently nodded her assent.

The scent of peaches tickled Susannah’s nose as the woman sat and settled her purse on her lap. She was familiar, somehow. I’ve met her before .

“You are a Catholic?” the woman asked, surprise in her thickly accented voice.

Susannah followed the woman’s gaze to the rosary she clutched in her own hands. “Yes.” Much to her parents’ chagrin, which had been the original point years ago. “I found the rosary up by the podium. I didn’t think anyone would mind if I used it.”