“The other lady is Davey Pantalone’s mom, Delilah,” Trent supplied. “I’ll fast-forward.”
Anita slid him the VCR remote, and he forwarded through the two women tumbling onto the bed, kissing, touching, and removing each other’s clothes. Various sex acts followed. Once they appeared to be finished, Delilah lay on her back, a sheet pulled to her waist. Her eyes were half-closed, a satisfied smile on her face. Naked, Francine sat beside the woman, her calves tucked beneath her. She looked toward the camera and smiled. Jocelyn had a horrible feeling in her stomach.
Francine beckoned someone from beyond the camera. A shadowy figure entered the frame. It took Jocelyn a moment to realize the tall, gangly boy was a seventeen-year-old Davey Pantalone. He was all bony angles and awkward, jerky movements. His hair was cut short but unevenly, and it stuck up in places. His chalky skin seemed to glow in the dark room. He wore a T-shirt and sweatpants. His erection strained against the soft material of the sweats. He gave Francine a handful of items, and she spread them on the bed.
“Heroin,” Anita said.
“Jesus,” Jocelyn murmured.
Francine reached out of the frame, to one of the nightstands. Davey’s eyes were glued to her bare ass. Jocelyn was sure Francine intended it that way. She came back to her seated position with a belt in her hand, which she cinched around Delilah’s skinny arm. The woman’s eyes widened in confusion. “What’s going on?”
Francine smiled and leaned down to kiss the woman. She held up a syringe. “Just having some more fun is all.”
Delilah smiled and closed her eyes. “Okay. Just don’t give any to Davey.”
Francine made quick work of preparing and injecting the drugs into Delilah’s veins.
“That’s enough H to kill a large horse,” Anita remarked.
Trent nodded. “Exactly.”
Francine left the needle dangling from Delilah’s arm. She turned away from the woman and faced Davey.
“You—you sure this will work?” he asked.
Francine smiled her wicked smile. She rose up so she was on her knees and inched to the edge of the bed where Davey stood, his eyes roving her nakedness. Francine pulled him closer and placed both of his hands on her ass. His breathing became rushed and shallow.
“It’s already working,” she assured him. She kissed him hard on the mouth like she was trying to steal the air from his lungs. Or his soul from his body, more likely. Afterward, she cupped his face with her hands. “Now that I’ve done what you asked, will you do something for me?”
“Anything,” he breathed.
“Good boy,” Francine said. “There’s a girl I’d like you to get rid of.”
“Get rid of?”
She thrust a hand into his sweatpants, and he nearly doubled over. “Yes, you know. Kill her.” She drew out the word kill, sending a shiver up Jocelyn’s spine.
“Who?” he gasped as she worked him over.
“She’s in your class. Her name is Sydney Adams.”
Davey’s face scrunched up. “Sydney? But I—”
She silenced him with the deft movements of her hand. He was reduced to a series of grunts and moans. “Take off your clothes,” she commanded, and he quickly obeyed.
While Delilah took her last breath beside them, Francine and Davey fucked like rabbits. Trent pressed stop on the remote, and the screen went mercifully blank.
Jocelyn couldn’t find any words. She felt cold all over. Of course, she had seen Francine’s psychosis up close and personal and had heard her admit to all kinds of unimaginable things. Jocelyn had been there when both Craig Hubbard and Davey discussed the things she’d done, what she had really been like, but still. There had always been a part of Jocelyn that couldn’t reconcile the sweet, pitiful Francine she’d initially met with the raging psychopath she now knew her to be.
But here was a tape.
Beside her, Anita shuddered and hugged herself. “That was so fucked up, I don’t even know where to start. I mean I have seen some fucked up shit in my life. Shit that will make your hair turn gray overnight, but that—that’s really fucked up.”
Trent nodded. “I took five showers after I watched it, and I still feel dirty. Look, I’m glad we solved Sydney’s case, but there are a shit-ton of things I found out working on this one that I wish I could un-know. You know what I mean?”
“Or un-see,” Anita added.
A loud buzzer sounded outside the conference room door, like the kind a dryer makes when it’s finished with a load of clothes. All three of them startled.
“What the hell is that?” Trent asked.
“Doorbell,” Jocelyn and Anita said in unison.
Jocelyn stood. “I’ll go.”
Chapter 54
December 3, 2014
Knox’s daughter stood on the other side of the door, clutching a white envelope and a set of car keys. Her purse hung from her shoulder. She was dressed all in black, like she had been at her father’s funeral the day before Thanksgiving. The service had been short and to the point. It had taken place in the cemetery, just before Knox’s casket was lowered into the ground. No church, no funeral home. Jocelyn, Anita, and Kevin had gone. Trent had still been hospitalized. Jynx and her husband had come bearing flowers. Knox’s daughter, who had said nothing other than to introduce herself to them, had cried quietly during the pastor’s short bible reading, but from where Jocelyn stood, she looked more angry than grief-stricken.
Now, as she stepped over the threshold, her face was haggard, her expression tight and strained. “Miss Rush?” she said. “Do you remember me from the funeral?”
“Of course,” Jocelyn said. She motioned to the cushy chairs loosely assembled around a coffee table. “Have a seat, Bianca.”
“I’d rather not. I just came to give you these.” She thrust the envelope and keys at Jocelyn.
Jocelyn took them. “What is this?”
“My dad left you a letter, apparently. One for you, one for Trent, and one for me. I only read mine. Yours and Trent’s are in the envelope.”
“Did it help? The letter? I know things weren’t good between the two of you.”
Tears brimmed in the woman’s eyes. “I don’t know. It . . . it said a lot of things. Must have taken him a long time to compose it. The gist was that he was sorry—for everything.”
“I’m sure he was.”
Bianca laughed bitterly. “He was always a day late and a dollar short. He might as well have died the day Sydney Adams died.”
Jocelyn grimaced. She had no doubt Knox had scarred his daughter, that his absence and unreliability had wounded Bianca deeply and irreparably, but Jocelyn had known a different man, a man consumed with getting justice for a young woman who had been permanently silenced. That quest had touched her in her core.
“Parents hold a lot of power, don’t they? The power to destroy our lives with their bad decisions. I know you’re angry with your dad. Maybe you always will be. But I’ve seen a lot, and as shitty dads go, Knox, well, I think if he could have gone back and changed things, he would have.”