Lisa Gardner - The Survivors Club

“You didn't hurt her,” Griffin said abruptly.

David Price blinked.

“You like to think you did. But you didn't. Cindy was better than you, David. Let's face it. She was better than me.”

“Ask the goddamn question!” David barked.

“Why do you want a three-hour leave, you little psychopathic shit?”

David finally sat back. For the first time since the interview started, he appeared satisfied. He glanced at Fitz, he glanced at Charpentier and then he looked at Griffin. “I want to see my daughter. No prison suits, no interview rooms. Just her and I, face-to-face. It's probably the only time I'm ever going to see her, so I want it to be good. Let's face it, man, her grandparents are never bringing her here.”

“Her grandparents?”

“Tom and Laurie Pesaturo. Or didn't Meg tell you? Molly Pesaturo is my kid. See, I didn't kill all the little girls, Griff. Some I let breed.”

Five minutes later, Griffin, Fitz and Charpentier were back in the parking lot. They were all taking in huge lungfuls of crisp, outside air. Later, they would shower until their skin was raw.

“He doesn't get out,” Griffin said flatly. “Not at six P.M., not at any time, not for three hours, not for any hours. The man doesn't get out, period!”

Griffin's arms were moving on their own volition, his left leg twitching, ears ringing. Yeah, ringing, ringing, ringing. Fuck it all, he might as well go crackers. Insanity was probably what it took to deal with the likes of David Price. He turned on Charpentier.

“I want lists, lots of lists. Names of anyone who visited, wrote, called David Price. Names of all the inmates who could've come into contact with David in any way, shape or form. Names of all known friends, families and associates of said inmates, especially those with a criminal past. And then I want a list of which of those inmates have recently been released. Got it?”

“It's going to take some time,” Charpentier said grimly.

“You have two hours. Commandeer whatever resources you need.”

Charpentier nodded. He got into his car and headed for his dank basement office. That left Griffin and Fitz alone in the parking lot.

“He doesn't get out,” Griffin said again.

“We'll work on it.”

“He doesn't get out!”

“Then find the fucking rapist!”

“Then I fucking will!” Griffin thumped the top of his Ford Taurus. Fitz pounded it right back.

Griffin yanked open the driver's-side door. “He's got a plan.”

“No shit.”

“He's thought of this. Set it all in motion. Don't be deceived by those peach-fuzz cheeks. He doesn't give a rat's ass about his daughter. He has something else in mind.”

“You think?”

“He doesn't get out,” Griffin said again. “Not now, not ever.” But as they pulled out of the maximum-security parking lot, they both saw the white Channel 10 news van roll in.

FITZ DROVE. GRIFFIN WORKED THE PHONE. HE DIALED Waters first.

“Here's the deal. David Price is claiming he knows who the real College Hill Rapist is, and he'll give us that information in return for a personal visit with his long-lost daughter, Molly Pesaturo. We have two hours to decide.”

“Huh?”

“No kidding. Look, are you still in Cranston?”

“Trolling the bars as we speak.”

“Perfect. Get a picture of Tawnya Clemente. Fuck Eddie Como. Start shopping her picture around.”

“Tawnya's picture? You think the loyal girlfriend is in on this?”

“Half of everything David says is a lie, but he's right about one thing: Eddie Como was innocent. The real College Hill Rapist set him up, used him as a patsy to commit the perfect serial crime. Now, to do that, the real rapist had to get Eddie's semen from somewhere. Tawnya's the logical place to start.”

“She conspired against the father of her child?”

“Fifty-million-dollar lawsuit, Mike. Think about it. All she has to do is sacrifice one guy. Then she-and Eddie, Jr.-never have to worry about anything, ever again.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Waters said.

“Yeah. Now, remember, you got two hours. Have fun!”

Griffin hit end, then promptly dialed the next number. Thirty seconds later, he had Sergeant Napoleon on the phone.

“Sergeant! I'm calling on behalf of Detective Fitzpatrick. He'd like you to run a few tests.”

“Uh oh,” Napoleon said.

Griffin pretended he hadn't heard him. “Detective Fitzpatrick has brilliantly deduced the source of the Eddie Como DNA. He believes Como's semen was injected into the rape victims via the douche. What do you think?”

There was a moment of silence. Fitz was rolling his eyes at the thick praise. Then Napoleon said, “Well, shit on a stick. That makes some sense.”

“It could be done?”

“Sure. You inject the semen into the douche, give the douche a little shake, then expel the contents into the body cavities.The resulting linen stains, vaginal swabs, etc., would test the same as if the douche was being used to flush the semen out. Of course, that assumes the rapist did use a condom, otherwise we'd pick up a second DNA sample as well.”

“Yeah, I'm pretty sure he used a condom. You still have the douche bags in evidence?”

“Well, you know us Providence detectives. Every now and then we do practice proper evidence handling and storage.”

“Really? Huh. Well, so much for that rumor. Okay, so you could test the inside contents of the bag, right? If there's a DNA sample inside the douche, then definitely…”

“Oh yeah. I'll look into it. For Detective Fitz, of course.”

“One last question. You said the semen sample would have to be fresh for it to test positive for spermatozoa. What about if it had been frozen?”

“You mean frozen at time of ejaculation, then thawed at time of use?”

“Okay.”

“Sure,” Napoleon answered promptly. “As long as the semen sample was frozen within seventy-two hours, the spermatozoa would be preserved until thawed again. Sperm banks do it all the time.” Then Napoleon got the full implication. “Ooooh,” he said. “How interesting. And the dead come back to life.”

“And the dead come back to life,” Griffin agreed blackly. Then muttered, “Even from beyond the grave… Thanks, Sergeant. Fitz'll be in touch.”

He flipped shut his phone just in time for Fitz to say, “We're in Cranston. Meg or Tawnya? Who do you want to hit first?”

“Meg,” Griffin said immediately. “I want to give Detective Waters time to complete his inquiry into Tawnya's social life. With any luck, he'll provide the ammo, then we'll go in for the kill.”

Fitz glanced over at him somberly. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

“No. But just for that, I'll let you go after her first.”

“Ah, I just love this job!”

“Come two hours, remember that, Fitz. Remember that.”

Griffin and Fitz pulled in front of the Pesaturo house shortly before ten-thirty. Already down to an hour and a half and they'd barely made progress. Why, then, Griffin thought, was he surprised to knock on the Pesaturos' door and have Jillian Hayes answer it.

“Sergeant,” she started.

He didn't give her time to finish. He shouldered past her and stormed down the tiny hall toward the back family room as Fitz followed suit. “I want to speak with Meg. Now!”

“She's not here,” Jillian called out behind them, scrambling to catch up.

“Where is she?”

Griffin burst into the family room. Meg's parents, Tom and Laurie, were sitting side by side on the sofa. Tom appeared sullen, Laurie had her arms wrapped protectively around Molly and had obviously been crying. Sitting opposite them were Toppi and Libby Hayes. One big happy family. Christ, just what he and Fitz needed.