“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I think Jonathon was an active participant in the vigilante group that destroyed WCF.”
Sean absorbed that stunning accusation.
“How active?”
“I suspect that he knew about it.”
“Do you think he’s a killer?”
“Maybe.” She glanced away. She was hedging.
“Who do you think he killed?”
“Shh,” Lucy admonished, glancing around the semiprivate room. She whispered, “Roger Morton.”
Sean looked at her for a long minute. “Why?”
“Something Mick Mallory said.”
“Mallory confessed to killing dozens of sexual predators.”
“Yes, but when I spoke to him, before his formal confession, he said something that had me thinking the senator actually pulled the trigger.”
“I can’t hate him for that,” he said simply. He brought her hand to his lips. Lucy was aching about this, and he wanted to remove her conflict. Roger Morton didn’t deserve to live, but saying that out loud wasn’t going to help Lucy. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know! What was I supposed to say? A powerful U.S. Senator killed a scumbag rapist and I’m actually kind of happy about it?” She shook her head. “I don’t have any proof. It’s just a bunch of little intangible things that have been bothering me. You kill once, it makes it easier to do it again.”
“Don’t go there, Lucy.” She’d killed two men. They were evil bastards who’d hurt and murdered numerous innocent people. Why did she keep torturing herself over it?
“I don’t know how deep he was involved,” she said. “I don’t want to know. Like I said, I have no evidence—and I want to keep it that way.”
That, Sean understood. “Don’t let it hurt you like this.”
“I’ve made peace with it.” Again, her eyes darted away. She was so easy to read.
“Have you?”
“Yes—”
“I think you’re torn. He may have killed a rapist. A killer who was let out of prison far too early. Someone who hurt you—and who hurt his daughter. Deep down, you can’t condone it. But I’m not going to lose sleep over this, and neither should you.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes you are. It’s all clear to me now. If the senator is guilty, you think not saying something is wrong. But the truth is you have no proof, and saying anything about it would be the mistake. But I can find out.”
“How?”
“Talk to Mallory.”
“No!”
“You deserve the truth, and I know you don’t want to face that bastard.”
“I don’t want to know the truth. If I know for a fact that Jonathon killed Roger Morton, I’d have to tell Noah and the FBI. I don’t want to.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” She was obviously surprised he’d given up so easily.
Sean kissed her forehead. “You think the senator is capable of not quite legal activities,” he began.
Lucy raised an eyebrow. “Murder is illegal.”
“Not justifiable homicide.”
“Sean.” She shook her head at him.
“Okay, sorry. I’m proud of you.” He kissed her again. He’d crawl into the hospital bed with her if he thought he could get away with it.
“What is really bothering me was talking to Jonathon today, what he said and what he didn’t say, I think Chris called him to help Ivy specifically. I can’t figure out why or how. But Jonathon is involved with MARC, maybe not to the extent he was with WCF, but it’s a pattern with him. Getting involved with victims’ rights groups and taking it too far.”
“This makes a lot of sense,” Sean said. “Except the why.”
“Because Jonathon is like you. He cannot stand bullies. He has always stood up for victims of violent crime. And teenage prostitutes—many of them were victims before they turned to selling sex. According to Jocelyn’s boss, Ivy was involved in this business for a long time, but helped other girls get out. She helped Jocelyn get girls off the streets.
“And somehow, Ivy is connected to Wendy James. I mentioned her name and it was written all over Ivy’s face. Three crime scenes, three messages, all a variation of a children’s rhyme.”
Lucy frowned, lost in thought, her lips moving, but he only heard an unintelligible murmur.
Sean didn’t like the expression on her face. She was internalizing the crime. He hadn’t seen her this intense in a long time, not since they had tracked an obsessive psychopathic killer in New York City five months ago.
“Luce—”
Ivy Harris.
Sean remembered why he knew the name. Talking about Senator Paxton was the connection.
Paxton had hired him to do a background check on Ivy Harris. Said she’d applied for a job on his campaign.
Sean had learned that Ivy Harris didn’t exist, but her Social Security number belonged to a dead girl, Hannah Edmonds. He offered to dig deeper, but Paxton said it wasn’t necessary. That was right before Sean and Lucy went to the Adirondacks, and Sean had put it out of his mind.
Lucy suddenly sat up. “I got it!” She winced at the sudden movement. “I needed to say it out loud, and then I heard the rhythm. Listen:
“And this guilty whore don’t cry no more; And this little pig goes wee, wee, wee.”
Sean heard it, but didn’t know how Lucy extrapolated it.
She said, “It’s the exact same rhythm, the exact same beats. He was having fun; it means absolutely nothing. Remember, he didn’t intend to rape her. He only wanted to make it look like a failed rape. He strangled her from behind—there was no sexual component. He wanted the police to think she was killed by a random stranger. But it wasn’t random. And in his effort to make it appear random he pulled ideas from thin air. Maybe he wanted to embarrass her, something he couldn’t do except in death.
“And,” she continued quickly, “when he killed the others he realized he’d had fun with the message. He saw the rat at the Red Light, spontaneously came up with the poem. Six targets. Witnesses say that at least six girls lived in the house on Hawthorne. Except—”
“Slow down,” Sean said, helping Lucy lean back onto the pillows. “Really, slow down.” His heart was racing, needing to keep her from overworking herself. What was he thinking? If the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t want to lie down in bed while a major investigation was happening. He could, however, keep her calm.
“I need to explain this all to Noah,” Lucy said, excited about her theory. “It wasn’t clear earlier but now I see it.”
Monica the nurse came in with an orderly pushing a wheelchair. “You can talk to whomever you want after your X-rays.”
Sean kissed Lucy on the forehead, then helped her sit up. “Listen to the nice nurse and do as you’re told and you can have ice cream in bed when you get home.”
Lucy gave him a reprimanding look, but she couldn’t hold it and started laughing. “No, no, don’t make me laugh, it hurts.”
Her laugh was the best thing for Sean’s nerves.
Sean watched Lucy being wheeled away and heard her ask the nurse, “Did you find out anything about Genie Reid?”
“She’s in surgery, but the doctor said she’s healthy and he expects her to fully recover.”
When everyone was gone, Sean sat heavily on the bed and rested his head in his hands.
Lucy is fine.
He’d find a way to keep her from working too hard tonight, but tomorrow morning she’d be back on this case.
By then, he’d have the answers from Paxton. Why the senator hadn’t gone to the FBI already, Sean didn’t know, but he’d damn well find out.