Karen Rose - Kill for 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.”

“So Grant pushed Borenson to look the other way, to ignore sham evidence.”

“I think so. Then Marcy Linton gets arrested and the battle comes to a head. Maybe my father knows Mr. Grant’s involved with Marcy or maybe it’s just really bad karma, but Grant uses what he’s got on Borenson to get Marcy a new trial and reduced sentence.”

“Your daddy wasn’t happy. So how did they achieve this truce?”

Susannah turned to a year after Alicia Tremaine’s murder, to the day Simon “died.” “The day Simon disappeared, I heard him and my father arguing. My father had found the pictures, the ones Daniel ended up using to track down the victims of Simon’s rape club. My father told Simon either he’d turn him in or Simon had to disappear. A few days later we heard Simon was dead. He’d run to Mexico and had a car accident.”

“But Simon wasn’t dead.”

“No. My father made it look like he was because he knew my mother would never stop looking for him unless she believed he was dead. My father went away and came back with a coffin he said held Simon’s remains. There’d been a Mexican autopsy and the body inside was burned beyond recognition. But they still needed a death certificate, signed by an ME.”

“I read that the body inside the coffin was under six feet tall and Simon was six-six.”

“No ME would have mistaken that body for Simon’s, even with the charred skin.” She held out the book for Talia to see. “Arthur recorded receipt of one death certificate, signed by the ME, who was also the town doctor.”

“The ME was complicit.”

“Had to have been. The date Arthur says he received the death certificate was the day after Simon disappeared. The day before we got word Simon had died in Mexico.” Susannah was unsurprised and stunned all at once. “They all knew Simon was alive.”

“So after he sells the death certificate, Borenson retires and goes into seclusion.”

“My father had neutralized the threat and Mr. Grant had to back down, again. A few months later I went to New York, to college.”

“But Charles Grant wouldn’t let you go,” Talia murmured. “You were his.”

“I can only guess he’d influenced Marcy over the years until she sought me out. I guess she would have hated me because of what my father did to her and her family.”

Talia’s sigh was heavy and sad. “Now we have our connection. I’ll call Chase and give him the update. Gather up the journals and I’ll help you carry them out to the car.”

Talia rose and walked to the foyer to make her call, but Susannah simply sat motionless, staring at the journals. So much pain, so much misery. All for greed, for mastery. It was a damn game to them. And I was their pawn .

Wearily she brought the journals and ledgers up from the deep floor safe, then stared. Beneath the ledgers were bundles of cash. Lots of cash. “Talia? Come h…”

The word trailed off as Susannah looked over her shoulder and her heart stuttered to a stop. Talia wasn’t standing in the doorway. Bobby was. She wore a malevolent grin and in her left hand she held a gun with a silencer. “Welcome home, little sister.”

Dutton, Monday, February 5, 1:20 p.m.

Charles Grant sat in a folding chair at Janet Bowie’s graveside service, his hands somberly folded atop his walking stick. At the other funerals he’d had ringside seats, but today he and the two old men from the barbershop bench had been relegated to the back. Which was better, actually. From here he could see everyone. From here, he could surreptitiously check his cell phone when it buzzed in his pocket.

It was a text message. From Paul, he hoped, saying Daniel Vartanian and Alex Fallon were ensconced in the interrogation room in his basement. But disappointment speared. It was the throwaway cell he’d given Bobby last night. Disappointment abruptly became anticipation. The text read SHOWTIME .

Bobby had Susannah. I have to get out there. He feigned a wince, clenching his walking stick. “My sciatica,” he murmured to Dr. Fink, the dentist, on his right. He rose stiffly, grimacing in affected pain. “I need to move.” He did so, murmuring apologies as he moved through the crowd. It was finally time to see Susannah die.

But then he’d have to deal with Bobby. He’d lost control of her, so he’d have to kill her. He rubbed the head of his walking stick. Just like I killed my Darcy six years ago .