Lisa Gardner - The Survivors Club

“Address?”

The man handed over the manila file. Griffin flipped through the pages.

“There are no names of which individuals actually handle your building.”

“Our contract is with Korporate Klean. They figure out the staffing.”

“How often do they come?”

“Every night.”

“What about daytime?”

“When they have special projects. The inside of the windows, polishing the brass railings in the elevators and stairs. Oh, and laundry. They bring in fresh loads of linens, towels, etc., a few afternoons a week. We, uh, we like to make our patrons feel like they're at home, and not in a clinical environment.”

“How thoughtful of you. Who brings in the laundry?”

“I don't know.”

“How big is the crew that works this building?”

“I don't know.”

“Same people all the time?”

“I don't know!”

“Mr. Matthews-”

“Our contract is with Korporate Klean, Sergeant. I'm sorry, I'm honestly trying to help. But we don't worry about those details. You'll have to talk to them.”

“Thanks for the file,” Griffin snarled, and stalked out of the building.

In the elevator, Fitz took the folder. “I've heard of them. Korporate Klean.”

“The PPD has cleaners?” Waters drawled mildly. “I never would have guessed.”

Fitz shot the skinny detective an impatient glance. “No, we investigated them once. You numbnuts should've heard of them, too. Korporate Klean hires mostly ex-cons.”

“What?” Griffin stopped pacing the brass-trimmed elevator and stared at Fitz.

He shrugged. “It's a ‘second chance' company, you know. Run by a couple of Ben amp; Jerry liberals who believe people really can reform their evil ways. Guy serves his time, gets out of prison, he's gotta start somewhere. He goes to Korporate Klean and reenters polite society as a janitor. We've checked into them a few times but never found any funny business. Everyone makes good, everyone works hard, everyone plays well with others. At least that's what the owner, Sal Green, says.”

“Companies are willing to be serviced by a cleaning crew of former inmates?” Waters asked.

“I don't know how much the companies know. You heard Mr. Sperm Bank. Their contract is with Korporate Klean. Korporate Klean takes care of staffing.”

“Oh great,” Griffin muttered darkly. “So when we ask them for a list of employees with past records, that's going to be their entire damn company.”

“Yeah, but not everyone's cleaning the sperm bank.”

Griffin's cell phone rang. He snatched it up as the elevator hit ground floor and dumped them into the lobby. “Griffin.”

“You saw the news?” Lieutenant Morelli asked.

“I listened to the radio.”

“Sergeant, we'd like you to return to headquarters-”

“We're onto him, Lieutenant. According to Tawnya, Eddie made several donations to a local sperm bank, which just happens to be serviced by a cleaning company comprised of ex-cons. We're on our way to Korporate Klean as we speak. One hour, two hours, we're going to have the perp's name.”

“Sergeant, in light of David Price's involvement…”

“I'm fine, Lieutenant.”

“We appreciate your efforts, and we think it would be best-”

Griffin thrust out his phone to Waters. “Tell the Lieutenant I'm fine.” He probably shouldn't have growled when he said that. Waters took the phone while Griffin rolled out his neck.

“Afternoon, Lieutenant. Uh huh, uh huh. Yeah. Uh huh.”

Waters handed the phone back to Griffin. “She doesn't like you much.”

“I'm telling you, I gotta try a new cologne.” Griffin tucked his phone against his ear and opened the door to his car. “Lieutenant, we're going to get him. Before six o'clock, and without David Price. We're going to nail the son of a bitch.”

And Lieutenant Morelli said quietly, “We're making plans for a three-hour release.”

“What?”

“Target time is six P.M. We're working hand in hand with the department of corrections, the state marshals and SWAT. I'll be leading the team.”

“Lieutenant, don't do it. It's what he wants. Don't do it!”

“Do you think I can't handle the team, Sergeant?”

“It's not about you,” Griffin said, closing his eyes. “It's not about me. It's about David Price. Listen, the rapes started over a year ago. Think about that. That means Price has been in on this for over twelve months, twelve months of thinking, planning and scheming for this day. He's got another agenda. And he's had ample opportunity to get it into play.”

“Do you think I can't handle the team, Sergeant?”

“The Pesaturos will never allow it,” he tried again, more desperate now. “They're not about to have their five-year-old granddaughter serve as bait.”

“The Pesaturos have personally requested the meeting. It was their call to the superintendent, not the other hundreds of calls,” the lieutenant added dryly, “which influenced the final decision.”

“What? How? Why?”

“They found a note in their mail. If David Price doesn't see Molly, they don't get to see Meg. The note came with a picture. Do you understand now how serious this situation has become?”

“He's covering all the bases,” Griffin murmured. “If the public outcry isn't enough, pressure from the victim's parents will definitely get the job done. Oh, and now we can't hurt him either. You can position all the snipers you want at this meeting, but none of them can take a shot. Something happens to David at any time, and we lose Meg. Think about that, Lieutenant. He has already set up a human shield, without the human even being present. It's fucking brilliant. That's what one year of planning can do.”

The lieutenant didn't say anything right away, so she probably agreed. Sometimes, even when you knew you were being manipulated, you couldn't avoid it.

“It's three P.M. now,” Morelli said quietly. “I'm starting preparations for the cover team as we speak.” And then, even more quietly, “Griffin… we know who we're dealing with. I know who we're dealing with. I'm getting the best people, I'm demanding the tightest security. I don't want Price out of prison any more than you do. But if it does happen, if it comes to that, I'll make sure it goes down right.”

“We're going to get the man's name,” Griffin said.

“I look forward to that call. And Sergeant-if you find the College Hill Rapist first, remember what you've spent the last year learning. Remember, we still need Meg.”

THE MAN ENTERED THE BASEMENT. MEG HEARD THE protesting groan of the old wooden stairs, then his out-of-tune humming. He'd paid her a visit earlier. Skipped down the steps, told her to smile and turned on a bright light right before she heard the whir of an instant camera. She'd still been tilting her head up, trying to peer beneath the bottom edge of her blindfold, when he had summarily clicked the light back off and thumped back up the stairs. She was left alone in the endless dark, her arms pulled painfully over her head, the muscles in her rib cage beginning to protest.

Now she heard him approach once again and unconsciously shrank back against the concrete wall, as if that would save her.

“How is pretty, pretty Meg?” the man whispered. He cupped her cheek. She turned her head and he chuckled, running his fingers down her throat, dipping them beneath the collar of her shirt. “My, my, you've been working up a bit of a sweat.”

With the latex gag cutting into her mouth, she couldn't say anything and didn't bother to try.

“Tsk, tsk,” the man scolded, “I don't think David's going to like that much. Maybe before he comes, I should give you a bath. You, bound and naked in a tub. I haven't tried that before. I think I might like it.”