“Everyone has a guard outside their room.”
“I’m not sure that’s enough. We had a guard outside ICU and Jennifer the nurse still managed to give Monica Cassidy a paralytic that’s kept her quiet since Friday night.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. We can’t just make sure nobody goes in. We’ve got to make sure nothing is administered that isn’t specifically ordered.”
“Pain in the fucking ass,” Chase muttered. “What else did Monica say?”
“That Kasey Knight was forced into prostitution at truck stops.”
Chase cursed quietly. “Every time we clean that up…”
“I know. But they’re mobile. They just break down and move to the next stop. I was thinking that that might be how the trucker who’s been using Bobby Davis’s cell phone got it. Maybe he was a client.”
“If he kept a clean truck log we might be able to find out where he’s stopped around here,” Chase said. “We haven’t had any hits on his BOLO yet. I’ll call you when I do.”
“We’ve seen a rise in interstate truck stop prostitution up north, too,” Susannah said when he’d hung up. “It’s a frustrating problem.”
“I-75 is a problem,” Luke said grimly, pulling out of the hospital’s lot. “For a long time it was drugs coming up from Miami. Now it’s prostitution and a million other things.”
“That’s going to be hard for Kasey’s parents to hear.”
“I know. But knowing what happened to her might help Talia loosen the tongues of her so-called friends who wouldn’t help the police two years ago.”
“My money’s on Talia,” Susannah said. “I think she can make them talk.” She settled into her seat, frowning. “Why won’t Darcy’s killer talk? What’s he so afraid of?”
“Maybe he’ll talk once we catch Bobby. Maybe she’s threatening him, just like she did Jennifer Ohman.”
“Maybe. But… I’ve been thinking. Bobby Davis isn’t that much older than I am-maybe a year or two. I was twenty-two when I met Darcy and twenty-three by the time she died. Barbara Jean wouldn’t have been more than twenty-four or so herself. It’s hard to believe she could have pulled all those details together at twenty-four.”
“Not so hard to believe. I investigated a fourteen-year-old who had a Web site and was exposing his seven-year-old sister. We caught him, but it took some doing. Even he knew how to set up the servers so that he couldn’t be easily found.”
“Is he redeemable?” she asked softly. “Or at fourteen, is he beyond help?”
“The second one,” Luke said. “And at seven, the little girl’s life is over.”
Susannah frowned. “No, it’s not,” she snapped. “Just because she was…” She stopped and looked at him. “You think you’re pretty clever.”
“And engaging.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, relieved her frown had smoothed from irate to thoughtful. “I told you that you wouldn’t accept a victim thinking her life was over. Why should you be any different?”
“Maybe I’m not,” she said and hope surged inside him.
“Damn straight you’re not. You’d be arrogant to think you were.”
“Don’t push your luck, Papadopoulos,” she said, quietly serious.
He nodded, satisfied he’d made his point. “Sleep. I’ll wake you when we get there.”
Dutton, Sunday, February 4, 3:55 a.m.
Charles answered on the first ring. He’d been waiting for the call from Paul. “Well?”
“Bobby killed the nurse in front of about ten witnesses,” Paul said in disgust.
“Did they catch her?” Charles asked, bitterly disappointed. He’d hoped Bobby would have more finesse.
“No, they hid for a while. I led the cops away so that they could get away.”
“Then where did they go?”
“Jersey Jameson, the drug runner.”
“Bobby told Rocky to hire him to move inventory from the bunker. Jersey’s dead?”
“Very. Bobby’s out of control, Charles. You need to stop her.”
“Simon was smart, but so unstable. I was hoping Bobby had the Vartanian brains without the insanity.”
“With all due respect, sir, I don’t think so.”
“I know. I’ll deal with Bobby. Be on call in case I need you.”
Ridgefield House, Sunday, February 4, 3:55 a.m.
One last push. Ashley Csorka put her face against the hole she’d created in the wall, feeling the cold air on her hot face. She rested as she sucked in more fresh air. The hole in the wall was small, but Ashley didn’t think her hands could chip away at the wall any longer. She’d used the second brick she’d loosened to pound the nail into the mortar. It was louder than the nail alone, but she was growing desperate enough that she risked discovery by the creepy butler. She’d loosened a third brick, then two more together, and he never came.
If she angled her head, she could see dim light. Moonlight, maybe. That meant a door or a window on the other side. She tensed. A car was coming, crunching up the drive and around the house. Doors slammed and she heard laughter, low and mean.
“I think we’ve had a good night, Tanner.”
“I concur.”
It was the woman they called Bobby, and the creepy butler.
“Jersey Jameson shouldn’t have tried to tell me what he would and wouldn’t do. I might have let him go painlessly otherwise.”
“I’d say he’ll serve as an example. So are all of our ends now snipped?”
“I think so. Oh, but I’m beat. I think I could sleep through the second coming.”
Ashley hoped so. Their voices faded as they rounded the house toward the front. Good. That means I’m at the back. That’s the side the river was on.
Ashley frowned. They hadn’t spoken to the guard. Where was he? She couldn’t wait. She’d been lucky to have had all this time to break out. Now it was time to act.
She sucked in her breath and stuck her head through the hole. It was the other half of the room and there was a window. Hurry. The sharp edges of the brick cut into her skin as she tried to force her shoulders through the opening. She angled her body, grateful for the yoga her swim coach had made part of their workout. She was flexible.
She was in pain. Biting back the whimper, she shoved through, her shoulders and upper arms burning. Her skin was scraped raw.
It didn’t matter. If you don’t hurry, you’ll be dead, then some scraped skin won’t mean anything. She wriggled her hips as if she were doing the breaststroke and her hands hit the floor on the other side. She slid the rest of the way out until she knelt on the floor, breathing hard, then looked around her. She nearly laughed out loud. On this side of the wall were all the tools she’d needed to break free. On a table she saw about a hundred doorknobs, some glass, some marble, some still assembled in the old-fashioned cast-iron plate that fit into the door. She lifted one with a marble knob, hefted it in her hand. It fit her hand better than a brick. From the table of tools she chose an awl with a wicked-looking point.
Then she pulled on the door. It creaked loudly and she froze.
“Who’s there?” It was the sleepy, slurred voice of the guard.
Run. She darted into the night, appalled to see the moon so bright. She was completely visible. Vulnerable. All this and she was going to be caught.
“Stop!” The thundered order was followed by the crack of gunfire.
It was the guard. He’s shooting at me. Run. Her feet flew across the back lawn, the footsteps and heavy breathing of the guard getting louder and louder as he got closer.
She grunted in pain when she hit the ground, two hundred pounds of man on top of her. “I got you, baby. I’m going to have you for free,” the guard said, and she could smell beer on his breath. That’s how she’d been able to work undetected. He’d been drunk. He wasn’t so drunk now and really strong. “Then I’m gonna kill you.”