“You can’t know when that photo was taken,” Musgrove scoffed.
“Ah, but we do. The photographer was quite clever,” Nick said.
Vito slid another photo across the table. “An enlargement of the detail of that bank sign behind Harrington’s car. It gives the temperature, and the time and the date.”
Van Zandt drew his body ramrod straight, but his face was still ashen. “Any ten-year-old with Photoshop could have doctored those photos. They mean nothing.”
Jen thought they’d been doctored, but they weren’t telling Van Zandt.
“Perhaps that’s true, but your secretary already gave you up,” Nick said.
Vito nodded. “Yeah, it’s true. NYPD just got done taking her statement this morning. Faced with charges of obstruction, she admitted you and Harrington quarreled three days ago and that he quit. Then you immediately called in your security guy.”
“Circumstantial,” Musgrote said, but there was doubt in his tone.
Vito lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps. But there’s more. With the gun we also found bank records showing you’d paid money to Zachary Webber and Brittany Bellamy and Warren Keyes.” Vito put pictures of the victims on the table. “You recognize them, don’t you?”
“We found your CDs,” Nick said, mildly now. “You’re a gruesome sonofabitch, Van Zandt, thinkin’ up shit like that.”
Van Zandt’s jaw cocked. “This is a setup.”
“We found you on an anonymous tip… VZ,” Nick said, and Van Zandt’s eyes flashed. “The tipper asked us to pass on a message. What was it again, Chick?”
“‘Checkmate,’” Vito said, and the look on Van Zandt’s face was priceless.
“You played with fire, Jager,” Nick said. “And you got burned. Now you’re going down for murder.”
Van Zandt stared at the table, a muscle in his jaw twitching erratically. When he looked up, Vito knew they’d won. “What do you want?” Van Zandt said.
“Jager,” Musgrove started and Van Zandt turned on him with a snarl.
“Just shut up and go get me a real attorney. Now, detectives, what do you want?”
“Frasier Lewis,” Vito said. “We want the man you called Frasier Lewis.”
Dutton, Georgia, Friday, January 19, 2:45
P.M.
If she hadn’t been nearly breaking his hand, Daniel would have thought Susannah’s poise was complete. Her expression was flat, her features composed, just like he’d expect to see her in a courtroom. But this was no courtroom. There was a wall of flashing cameras behind them and it seemed most of the county had turned out to see who was buried in Simon’s tomb. Daniel knew it wouldn’t be Simon.
“Daniel,” Susannah murmured, “I’ve been thinking about what that archeologist said. About Dad not wanting Mother to know that he’d found Simon.”
“Me, too. Dad had to have known Simon was alive. He wouldn’t have wanted Mom to know what he did. I’ve been wondering why he took the pictures to Philadelphia.”
Susannah’s chuckle was mirthless. “He was blackmailing Simon. Think about it. If he knew Simon was alive, why all this?” She nodded at the crane moving into position. “And if he faked all of this, how could he be sure that Simon wouldn’t come back?”
“He kept the pictures as insurance,” Daniel said wearily. “But why do any of this at all? Suze, if you know something, please tell me. Please.”
Susannah was quiet for so long that Daniel thought she wouldn’t answer. But then she sighed. “Things were bad when you lived at home, Daniel, but after you went away to college things got a whole lot worse. Dad and Simon fought all the time. Mother would always intervene. It was ugly.”
“And you?” Daniel kept his voice gentle. “What did you do when they fought?”
She swallowed hard. “I got involved in every after-school activity I could find, then when I got home, I hid in my room. It was the easiest way. Then, one day right after Simon graduated from high school it all came to a head. It was Wednesday and Mother was at her hair appointment in town. I was in my room and I heard Dad bust open Simon’s door and they had this huge fight.”
She closed her eyes. “They were yelling about pictures. At the time I thought they were talking about the paintings under his bed, but now I know the pictures were probably the ones you found. Dad was up for judge reelection and he said Simon’s fuckups were killing his career, but that this one took the cake, that he’d fucked up one time too many. And then everything got real quiet.”
“And then?”
She opened her eyes and stared at the crane. “They were still arguing, but too low for me to hear. Then Simon yelled, ‘I’ll see you in hell before I let you send me to jail, old man,’ and Dad said, ‘Hell’s the best place for you.’ Simon said, ‘You ought to know. We’re birds of a feather.’” She swallowed hard. “Then Simon said, ‘And someday my gun will be a lot bigger than yours.’ ”
Daniel let out the breath he’d been holding. “Dear God.”
She nodded. “The front door slammed and… I’m not sure why, but something told me to hide, so I did, in my closet. A minute later, my door opened, then shut. I think Dad was looking to see if I’d overheard.”
He shook his head, but it didn’t clear his bewilderment. “Suze. My God.”
“I’ve never been sure what he would have done if he’d found me. That night Simon didn’t show up for supper. Mother was distraught. Dad said Simon had probably gone off with some friends, that she shouldn’t worry. A few days later, Dad told us he’d gotten a call that Simon was dead.” She looked up at him, pain in her eyes. “All these years I thought Dad had killed him.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Same reason you didn’t when you thought Dad had burned the pictures. My word against his. I was only sixteen. He was a respected judge. And like I said, I had to sleep sometime.”
Daniel was sick to his stomach. “And I left you there. God, Suze. I’m sorry. If I’d known you were in danger… even that you were afraid, I would have taken you with me. Please believe that.”
She returned her gaze to the crane. “What’s done is done. Last night I realized Dad probably found those pictures and knew his career wouldn’t survive if anyone saw them. He probably told Simon to leave and never come back and threatened him with prison if he didn’t. He knew Mother would never stop looking for Simon as long as there was any hope that he was alive. So…”
“So he fixed it so she’d believe Simon was dead.”
“It’s the only way it makes sense to me.” She bit at her lip. “I thought about them both all night. He tortured Dad, Daniel.”
“I know.” It had kept him awake all night as well.
“Do you think Simon tortured him so that he’d tell where Mother was?”
“I considered it,” Daniel admitted. “I think Simon’s capable.”
“Oh, I know he’s capable.”
“Suze… What happened? What did he do to you?”
She shook her head. “Not now. Someday. But not today.”
“When you’re ready, you’ll call me.”
She squeezed his hand tighter. “I will.”
“I want to think Dad would have died before letting Simon get to Mother,” he said.
“I’d like to think it,” she said flatly, which said a great deal.
“You know Simon’s not in there,” Daniel said as the crane brought up the casket.
“I know.”
Philadelphia, Friday, January 19, 4:20
P.M.
“Sophie.”
Sophie’s stomach dropped to her toes as Harry hurried across the lobby, passing Officer Lyons without a glance. “Harry? What’s wrong with Gran?”
He cast a wary glance at the ax on her shoulder. “Nothing, Anna’s fine. Can you put that down? It makes me nervous.”
Relieved, she set the ax head on the floor. “I’ve got a tour in a few minutes, Harry.”