Nothing to Fear (43 page)
“Then we’ll go down to Sandy’s office,” Dana added. “Sue hated social workers so much, she’s got to have a file. If it’s in Chicago, someone in Sandy’s office will have it.”
“You may want to let the detectives ask those questions,” Clay said softly.
Dana shook her head. “If Sue’s records are sealed, they won’t be able to hand those records over to Mia without a court order. And after what happened to Sandy yesterday, somebody will be mad enough to talk to me without one.”
Ethan looked troubled. “Clay, I’m just dragging you deeper. We can go ourselves.”
“Shut up, Ethan,” Clay said mildly, pulling up to the drive-thru. “I’m not searching for cookies on an empty stomach.”
Chicago, Thursday, August 5, 12:10 P.M.
“It’s not perfect, but it’ll do just fine,” Sue murmured as she picked her way across the littered basement floor of the abandoned apartment house. It was identical to the basement two buildings down, which was the one she’d really wanted. Unfortunately people lived in the apartments in the building two buildings down. But nobody had lived here for a very long time. The lock on the door was broken and anyone could come and go as they pleased. She kicked an empty beer can, one of many. Under some trash she saw used condoms. A few needles. This was good. It meant the neighbors were used to wild parties down here. Nobody would notice a little loud music. Maybe a scream or two.
She and Donnie and the boys—hell, they’d blend right in.
She moved some cardboard boxes, sending a pack of mice scurrying across the floor. She’d been pleasantly surprised that the light worked. This was good, too.
She kept moving until she reached the back wall, behind the storage cages. And frowned when the very bad memories came rolling back. It was here where she’d hid. She’d been out, doing a job, only to come back to cops crawling everywhere, raiding Randi’s place, two buildings down. She’d run to Donnie’s, but they were there, too. Donnie was being hauled away in cuffs. The cops took everything from Donnie’s, all their merchandise. So she’d run. Back to Miranda’s place, two buildings down. Where she’d stashed some emergency cash in a hole in the wall behind the stove. She’d held out for nearly two days with no food or water, until she thought the cops had gone away. She’d emerged, crept up to the apartment, only to find the money gone. And a cop waiting. Where’s your baby? It was all about the damn kid. Or Miranda. Where’s Miranda? Did you kill her, too? She could still hear it in her mind.
Ten years later she walked out of Hillsboro a free woman. Except that she really wasn’t free. She wouldn’t be until Randi Vaughn knew what it was like to hide in fear. To go without food or drink. To be forced to submit to the will of men whose only merit was that they were bigger and stronger.
Tomorrow night this basement would become Randi Vaughn’s private hell.
For now, it would be an adequate place to hide the girl. There was no fucking way she was leaving those two together again. She turned and pinned her eyes on Scarface who sat on the floor, her hands and feet still bound. Her dark eyes were narrowed and defiant above the tape covering her mouth. Not to be outdone again, Sue had wrapped the tape all the way around the girl’s head. Three times. It would be a good deal harder to remove this time. “I hope mice don’t bother you,” she said and had the pleasure of watching the girl’s defiance flicker as her eyes darted. She forced the girl to her feet and dragged her behind what had once been the apartment’s heating unit. “I’ll be back for you later.”
Ocean City, Maryland, Thursday, August 5,
2:45 P.M. Eastern (1:45 P.M. Central)
Detective Janson was waiting for Lou in the Ocean City sheriff’s office and both he and Sheriff Eastman stood up when she entered. “You made good time,” Eastman said without preamble. “We’ve got fifteen minutes before Lewis’s lawyer gets here.” He gave her a look of disbelief. “Do I understand that Chicago’s got four bodies?”
Lou sat on the arm of a chair. “Yeah. In three days. All head shots, same gun.”
“Same MO as my two,” Janson said. “Rickman and Samson.”
“But not the same as your guy in the shed,” Eastman said. “How you planning to pin any of this on Lewis?”
“We’re not.” Lou rubbed the back of her neck, stiff from the long trip. “We’re planning to use it to show him how cold his sister is. She’s not coming for him. She’s got a passport and plans to skip the country.” A last-minute check with Mitchell had provided those last bits of information. “Chicago PD didn’t find any purchased tickets, but they have reason to believe she’s targeting France. She’s going to let Lewis take the fall for a kidnapping.”
“Her own kid,” Eastman said with a frown. “Defender’s going to jump all over that. Not a kidnapping, he’ll say.”
“I’m not planning to tell Lewis that the kid is his nephew until I need to. And Lewis believed he was committing a felony at the time. We can get him on intent.”
Eastman shrugged. “Hell, nothing good’s playing at the movies this afternoon. I’m in.”
Lou gathered up her notes with a dry chuckle. “Let’s go talk to Mr. Lewis.”
Fifteen minutes later they sat at the table, Bryce Lewis and his public defender on one side, she and Janson at the other. Sheriff Eastman leaned against the wall. Lewis looked like he’d seen better days. The bruises had faded, but fatigue had set in. The constant vigilance required to fend off unwanted inmate advances was obviously taking its toll.
“Let’s make this brief, shall we?” Lou said, before the defender could. Lou looked Lewis straight in the eye. “Mr. Lewis, we know about your sister, about the kidnapping, and the ransom.” She took satisfaction in seeing Lewis pale. “We know about the man who visited you. We know that he burned your aunt and uncle’s house, with them in it.”
“Whoa,” said the defender. “What fantasy books have you been reading, because I don’t see a shred of evidence supporting any of these allegations.”
Lou’s lips curved. “Don’t worry. You will. Mr. Lewis, you’ll be interested to hear that your sister made it to Chicago where she has murdered four people since Monday. Add to that McMillan, Rickman, and one other murder in Morgantown, she’s at seven.”
Lewis flinched. But he made no move to deny a word.
“How much was your share of the ransom, Mr. Lewis?” Janson asked with sincere curiosity. “A million? Two million?”
Lewis’s eyes flickered. Narrowed. Lou could see anger rising in his eyes. “Oh, so that’s how it was,” she said. “She promised you considerably less. I thought as much.” She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a copy of the e-mail Conway had sent to the Vaughns, detailing the ransom. “Take a look, Mr. Lewis. Her asking price for the boy you two kidnapped is five million.”
Lewis still said nothing, but his fingers gripped his upper arms, hard.
Lou leaned forward. “Sooner or later we’ll be able to put you in that house, Mr. Lewis. If I have to dust every surface myself, I’ll find your prints. But I have help. Kidnapping is a federal offense. Now that we know how it went down, we’ll be calling in the FBI. And not only did you kidnap the boy, you kidnapped Cheryl Rickman. Who turned up dead.”
“We’ve established my client has an alibi for Miss Rickman’s murder,” the defender said icily. “Now, unless you have an actual charge to discuss, we’re done.” He stood up and took Lewis’s arm, led him to the door.
“Sue’s got a passport and a ticket to France,” Lou half lied just as Lewis’s foot hit the open space of the doorway. He stopped. And turned. His eyes were very, very cold.
“She’s going to let you take the fall, Mr. Lewis,” Lou said softly. “Don’t let her do this.”
His lawyer whispered something in his ear. Lewis nodded.
“What are you offering?”
Lou shrugged. “Depends on what he has to say.” She patted the table. “Talk to me, Bryce. We’re your only hope, because we want her a hell of a lot more than we want you.”
Lewis slumped into a chair. “It was her idea.” He looked up, fatigue fighting the anger in his eyes, and suddenly he looked only seventeen. “Nobody was supposed to get hurt.”
Lou took out her notepad. “We’re listening.”
Chicago, Thursday, August 5, 4:45 P.M.
Dealing with Sandy’s friends had been an emotional experience. They’d been overcome with grief and rage. But they’d helped, giving Dana access to Sue’s file, which was quite thick, having dealt with a number of social workers in her youth. It was hard to read, knowing the woman who’d endured so much abuse now had Evie and Alec in her hands. The social workers had been helpful, but discreet. Only Dana was allowed in the room where the records were kept. Ethan stayed outside, pacing like a sentry.
Now, back in the hotel room, Ethan sat in front of his laptop. “Okay, I’m in Sue’s bank’s Website. I found two cookies on the computer she used last night. Two accounts. She’ll deposit it in the first, then move it to the second account she thinks we don’t know about.”
“Now you have to figure out her password,” Dana murmured.
“So, tell us what you found,” Clay said.
When she’d come out of the records room Ethan started to grill her for information, but she must have looked so bad that he stopped. But her respite was over. Time to talk.
“Sue’s mom was a junkie that managed to keep a few steps ahead of the court, but one day Children’s Services came in and took Sue and Bryce. Bryce was just an infant. Her mom supported her habit through prostitution.” She looked at Ethan. “Her mom sold Sue occasionally, gave her away when she’d misbehaved. Her punishment, as it were.”
Ethan paled. “My God.”
“So at an early age Sue came to equate power with sex.”
“And punishment,” Clay said quietly.
Dana nodded. “Yes. Her mother had drilled into her that social workers were evil, just out to get them. They moved around to dodge the system. It’s all consistent with the cuts I saw on her arms. Girls who cut themselves do it because their lives are so chaotic, it’s a way to maintain control. As a child she had so little control.”
“I’d say she’s remedied that situation,” Ethan said dryly.
“Yes,” Dana agreed. “I’d say she has. Sue was just like Randi described her while in foster care. Self-destructive, rebellious, violent. She claimed her foster parents abused her, but there was no evidence to support her complaints and the foster family had a good reputation in the system. For Sue, sex was power and she tried to use it that way. Finally she ran away and found her father. He’d just been released from jail.”
“I see a pattern here,” Clay mused.
“There usually is. Dad petitioned the court for custody of Sue and got it, but not Bryce. She had visitation, so she knew where Bryce lived. One day, she just took him.”
Clay whistled softly. “Shades of Randi.”
“I know. It’s damn spooky. Dad had Sue and the baby in his car, apparently on their way south, when Dad decided to rob a convenience store, which Bryce repeated later.”
“Some apples don’t fall far from the tree,” Ethan said.
Dana sighed. “Dad gets gunned down by the store owner in the process. Sue sees him go down and at twelve years old panics, takes the wheel, tries to escape, and wrecks the car. Social workers take her and Bryce, but this time her aunt steps forward. Mom has died of an overdose and Sue’s Aunt Lucy decides to try and do the right thing.”
Ethan was tapping keys. “Okay, I’ve got her first account up. Give me some names.”
“Her father’s name was Walter,” Dana said.
“Good. What year was Dad born? This password needs letters and numbers.”
Dana grabbed her notebook from her purse. “1955.”
A few taps and Ethan crowed. “Damn, this was too easy. Walter1955. No money in the first account. Let’s see if the same password works for the second account.” Tap, tap, tap. “Damn. I should’ve been so lucky. When did he die? Walter?”
Dana checked her notes. “1987.”
“Bingo.” Ethan drummed his fingers, waiting. “And . . . the balance is nineteen thousand eight hundred. Recent transactions . . . Fifty-two hundred wired to Western Union.” He tapped keys rapidly, then looked up. “Located in the mall she called from last night.”
“We need to get this to Mia and Abe,” Dana said. “What will you do with the money?”
Ethan blew out a breath. “I’d love to take the rest of it, just to piss her off, but then she’d know we were on to her. I’m going to let Mitchell and Reagan make the decision. Call them, Dana, tell them we need to talk.”
Chicago, Thursday, August 5, 6:00 P.M.
“So talk,” Mia said, sinking into a chair in the CPD conference room.
Dana had been appointed spokesperson by the short straw, so she just blurted it out. “We have access to Sue’s bank accounts.”
Abe coughed. “Excuse me?”
Mia gave them all a dirty look. “Do I want to know how you came by this information?”
“We didn’t do anything illegal,” Dana insisted. “Ethan looked at the hard drive of the computer she used last night. Then he was able to guess at her passwords.”
Mia rubbed her forehead, and when she spoke, it was with a barely controlled fury such as Dana had rarely seen. “He just guessed them? What is he, Miss Cleo or something? Maybe he can just guess where Conway is, because we sure as hell don’t know.”
Dana looked at Abe who was shaking his head. “What happened today?”
“We found the optometrist,” Abe said with a sigh.
“Who?” Dana asked simply.
“Guy in Lincoln Park. His wife found him two and a half hours ago, dead on the floor of his examination room. An inventory check showed one pair of brown lenses missing.”
Dana sat on the arm of Mia’s chair and put her arm around her. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I. And now the press is on the story.” Mia shuddered.
Dana’s heart skipped a beat. “Will you give them a picture of her?”
“Our LT is pressuring us to,” Abe admitted. “We want to keep Conway’s identity low-key so she doesn’t freak out and hurt Evie or Alec, but this is too big now. He gave us until tomorrow at noon. If we don’t have her by then, we go public. Until then, he’s assigned two more detectives to this case and as many uniforms as we think we need.”