Scream for Me (29 page)
He gave her a curt nod, then was gone.
For a moment there was only silence, then Meredith spoke. “So, now you know.”
Alex fixed her eyes on Hope through the glass. “Know what?” But she knew.
“That thinking about Craig Crighton is one thing that triggers the screams.”
Alex swallowed, too weary to shove the screams back again. “I’ve always known there was something about Craig. I never wanted to know what it was.”
“Alex . . . did Bailey’s father molest you?”
Reflected in the glass, Alex watched her own head wag back and forth in slow motion. “I don’t think so. But I don’t know. Every time I’ve tried to remember . . .” She closed her eyes. “But now the screams won’t go away. I can’t make them go away.”
“Alex, what do you remember about the day we took you home, away from Dutton?”
Alex leaned her forehead against the glass. “I remember the horrible old women who were talking about me and Alicia. Aunt Kim bawling you out because you let them.”
“And then?”
“He came.” She made herself say his name. “Craig. With Bailey. And Wade. He argued with Kim. He wanted to keep me. Said he loved me. Said I called him ‘daddy.’ ” The word stuck in her throat. Tasted bad on her tongue.
“But you hadn’t.”
“No. Never. He wasn’t my father. He was Bailey’s father. Always.”
Meredith said nothing, patiently waiting. Alex turned her face so that the glass was cool against her hot cheek. “He was often harsh with us, me and Alicia. He said Mama spoiled us. He may have been right. For so long it was just the three of us after my real dad died. But you’re asking if Craig . . . if he made us have sex with him. No. I don’t remember anything like that. I think I would remember.”
“Maybe not.” Meredith’s voice was calm. “What else do you remember about that day, Alex? That day we took you from the hospital and brought you home to Ohio?”
Alex opened her eyes. Stared at her clenched fist. “More pills.” She pivoted her forehead on the glass so she could look at Meredith, a memory shoving its way through the cacophony inside her mind. “You took them from me.”
“I didn’t know what to do about them. I was a sheltered little bookworm. I’d never even seen drugs before. You terrified me, sitting in that hospital, staring at nothing.”
“Like Hope is now.”
“Like a lot of people do after a trauma,” Meredith soothed. “Dad took you from the hospital wheelchair and put you in the car. Then you asked for water. We were so thrilled you’d said anything . . . Mom gave you the water and we started driving. And I saw you peeking into your fist. So I watched you. I let you think you were alone and when you tried to take them, I took them from you. And you never said a word.”
“I hated you that day,” Alex whispered.
“I know. I could see it in your eyes. You didn’t want to live and I didn’t want to let you die. You meant too much to my mom at that point. You were all she had left of Aunt Kathy. There had been so much violence. I couldn’t let you do it.”
“So you came to my room every day after school and sat with me. You didn’t want me to finish the job.”
“Not on my watch. And then, little by little, you came back to us.”
Alex’s eyes stung. “You all saved me.”
“My parents loved you. I still do.” Meredith’s voice trembled and she cleared her throat. “Alex, do you remember where you got those pills?”
She tried to think. Tried to focus on the quiet. “No. I remember looking into my hand and there they were. I remember not caring where they’d come from.”
“All three of the Crightons hugged you before we took you away.”
Alex swallowed. “I know. That I remember.”
“I’ve always wondered if one of them gave you the pills.”
Alex pushed away from the glass, suddenly cold. “Why would they?”
“I don’t know. But now that we know about Wade and Simon . . . and Alicia . . . we have to consider it. It could be why you’ve always had this reaction to Craig’s name.”
Alex controlled her flinch. “You always knew?”
“Yes. I always figured you’d deal with it when you were able to deal with it. The easiest thing was just not to say his name. But now . . . we have to. We have to know. For Bailey and for Hope and for you.”
“And for Janet and Claudia and Gemma,” Alex added. “And Sheila and all those other girls.” A wave of sadness hit her hard. “So many lives, ruined.”
“You still have your life, Alex. And now you have Hope. Bailey turned her life around for Hope. Don’t let her down now.”
“I won’t. I’ll find Craig and I’ll find out what he knows.” She clenched her teeth. “And I’ll go into that house. And up the stairs. Even if it kills me.” She winced. “Sorry.”
“Daniel told me about the attack you had on the stairs. Dr. McCrady and I were talking last night about using a form of hypnosis with Hope, to try to get past the wall she’s built in her mind. As her guardian, you’ll need to sign the release forms.”
“Of course.”
“And then I want to do the same thing with you.”
Alex drew a breath. “In the house?”
Meredith cupped Alex’s cheek, determination in her eyes. “Don’t you think it’s time?”
Alex nodded. “Yes. It’s time.”
Atlanta, Wednesday, January 31, 10:00 a.m.
A
gent Talia Scott was a down-to-earth woman with a pixie face and a sweet smile that put victims at ease. But Daniel had worked with her before and knew anyone who’d had to face Talia in tactical response gear would never use the adjective “sweet” again.
She was sitting across from his desk, staring at him as if monkeys had flown out of his ears. “If I were a Hollywood producer, I’d be snapping up the rights to this one.”
“Don’t think they’re not already trying,” Daniel said darkly.
“So. We’ve got six women identified out of these fifteen pictures.” Talia rifled through them, the tightening of her mouth her only visible response. “Two are dead.”
“Three are dead,” Daniel corrected. “Alicia, Sheila, and Cindy Bouse, who committed suicide a few years ago. We have three names. Gretchen French is here in Atlanta, Carla Solomon lives in Dutton, and Rita Danner lives in Columbia.”
“These women are all almost thirty now, Daniel,” Talia said. “They may not want to talk about this, especially if they’ve built lives with people who don’t know.”
“I know,” Daniel said. “But we need them to tell us what they know. We need to find out who feels threatened enough by all this to start striking out.”
“You think one of these rapists killed the three women this week?”
“No, but whoever did wants us to look at Alicia’s murder and Alicia’s in the pictures.”
“As is Sheila.” Talia nodded hard. “Then let’s go.”
Wednesday, January 31, 10:00 a.m.
The Jag was waiting as he slowed to a stop and started rolling the window down.
“You’re late,” he snapped before the window fully rolled down. “And you look like shit,” he added with contempt.
I do
. Last night he’d drunk himself into a blessed stupor, then fallen facedown in his bed without taking off his pants or shoes. The buzzing of the cell phone in his pocket had woken him. “I didn’t have time to shave.” In reality, he hadn’t wanted to look in the mirror. He couldn’t stand the sight of himself.
“It was an unfortunate miscalculation. Pick yourself up and go on.”
An unfortunate miscalculation
. His temper spewed, loosening his tongue. “One of my deputies
died
. That is not a
misfortunate calculation
.”
“He was a trigger-happy hick-faced idiot who wanted to play big-city cop.”
“He was
twenty-one years old
.” His voice broke and he was too angry to care.
“You should have kept more discipline in your ranks.” There was no sympathy. Only contempt. “Next time your boys will listen before they rush in to vanquish a big, bad boy with a bigger, badder gun.”
He said nothing. He could still see the blood.
All that blood.
He thought he’d see that boy’s blood every time he closed his eyes, maybe for the rest of his life.
“Well?” he barked from the Jag. “Where is it?”
He opened his eyes and wearily pulled a key from his pocket. “Here.”
Dark eyes narrowed. “It’s not the right key.”
He laughed bitterly. “Hell. Even Igor was smart enough not to carry it around with him. That’s likely a key to his safe-deposit box at the bank.”
He handed the key back. “Then go open the damn box,” he said, too softly. “Bring me back the right key.”
“Yeah, sure.” He slipped the key in his pocket. “Why should you take any risk?”
“Excuse me?” he said silkily.
He met the dark eyes without flinching. “I find the girls and bring them to you. I grab Bailey for you. I kill Jared and Rhett for you. Now I go to the bank for you. I take the risks. You get to sit in your fancy car lurking in the shadows like you always do.”
For a moment he only stared, then his mouth curved. “Every now and again, you prove you do have balls after all. Get the correct key and bring it to me.”
“Fine.” He was too weary to argue. He started to put his car in gear.
“I’m not finished yet. I know where Bailey put Wade’s key.”
He dragged in a breath. “Where?”
“She sent it to Alex Fallon. That woman’s had it all the time.”
Fury sputtered, then fanned into a flame. “I’ll find it.”
“See that you do. Oh, and assuming Fallon is a bit smarter than Igor, she probably isn’t carrying it on her person either.” The Jag’s window rolled up and he drove away.
Atlanta, Wednesday, January 31, 11:00 a.m.
Gretchen French was a pretty woman with very careful eyes, Daniel thought. He kept quiet, allowing Talia the lead.
“Please sit down,” Gretchen said. “What can I do for you?”
“Agent Vartanian and I are investigating a series of sexual assaults.”
“Vartanian?” Gretchen’s eyes widened, then narrowed in recognition. “You’re Daniel Vartanian. You’re working on the murders of Claudia Barnes and Janet Bowie.”
Daniel nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I am.”
“But that’s not why we’re here, Miss French,” Talia said. “As we’ve been investigating the recent murders of Claudia Barnes and the others—”
Gretchen held up her hand. “Wait. Others? Besides Janet and Claudia, there are others?”
“We found the body of Gemma Martin this morning,” Daniel said quietly, and Gretchen collapsed back into her chair, her face blank with shock.
“What’s happening here? This is insane.”
“We understand your shock.” Talia’s tone was calm without being condescending. “But as I said, we’re not here to talk about the recent murders. During the course of our investigation, we’ve discovered evidence of a series of sexual assaults.” Talia leaned forward. “Miss French, I wish I knew a way to say this to make it easier to bear, but I don’t. A series of sexual assaults occurred around the time of Alicia Tremaine’s murder. You were the same age as Alicia. You went to her high school.”
Daniel saw a flicker of fear in Gretchen’s eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Talia glanced down, then back up. “We found pictures of girls being raped. Your picture was among them, Miss French. I’m sorry.”
Daniel’s heart squeezed in helpless pity as he watched Gretchen’s expression change. Every drop of color drained from her face until she was ashen. Her lips dropped open and moved, as if she was trying to speak. Then her eyes skittered away, cast down, ashamed. Daniel saw Talia’s expression had also changed. There was acute sympathy, but there was also strength, and Daniel understood why Chase had handpicked her for this interview.
Talia put her hand over Gretchen’s. “I wish I didn’t have to ask you to live that moment again, but I do. Can you tell us what happened?”
“I can’t remember.” Nervously she moistened her lips. Her eyes were conspicuously dry. “I’d tell you if I could. I wanted to tell when it happened. But I couldn’t remember.”
“We think whoever did this to you, drugged you,” Daniel murmured.
Gretchen’s chin jerked up, her eyes devastated, but still dry. “You don’t know who?”
Daniel shook his head. “We’re hoping you can tell us.”
Gretchen sat, barely breathing. “I . . . I was only sixteen. I remember waking up, in my car. It was dark and I was . . . so scared. I knew . . . I mean, I could feel . . .” Her throat worked convulsively. “It hurt. A lot.”
Talia kept holding Gretchen’s hand. “Had you been with anyone before?”
Gretchen shook her head. “No. Some of the boys tried, but I’d always said no.”
Daniel bit back the fury that exploded within him. And said nothing.
“After that . . . I never dated. I was so afraid. I didn’t know who . . .” She closed her eyes. “Or why. If I could have avoided it. I knew I should have been more careful.”
The rage was hot and so hard to control. But control it, he did. “Miss French,” he asked when he could trust his voice, “do you remember where you were coming from, going to, was anyone with you?”
She opened her eyes, a modicum of composure restored. “I was driving home from my job. I washed dishes at the Western Sizzlin’ back then. I was trying to earn money for college. I was by myself. It was late, maybe ten-thirty. I remember being tired, but I was studying all the time and working and helping out on the farm . . . I was always tired. I remember thinking I’d stop and get out. Get some air, before I fell asleep at the wheel.”
Talia smiled reassurance. “You are doing great,” she said. “Can you remember drinking anything before you left your job or stopping on the way?”
“I worked in the kitchen. We were allowed to drink as much Coke as we wanted. And I washed dishes, so I wasn’t going to mess a glass every time I got thirsty. I just used the same one.”
“So someone could have put something in your drink,” Talia said quietly.
Gretchen bit the inside of her cheek. “I guess so. That was pretty stupid of me.”
“You had the expectation of being safe at your job,” Daniel said, and the look of gratitude she flashed him made him want to scream. She’d been violated, but she was grateful to be told she wasn’t stupid.
“Agent Vartanian’s right. You did nothing wrong or stupid. When you woke up, what do you remember?”
“I had a headache and I was sick. And sore. I knew . . . I was bleeding.” She swallowed hard and her lips trembled. “I had these new white pants. I’d saved my money to buy them. They were ruined.” She looked down. “I was ruined.”
“You woke up in your car,” Talia prompted softly, and Gretchen nodded. “Your pants were ruined, so you had your clothes on. All of your clothes?”
Gretchen nodded again, dully. “The pictures you have. Am I . . . ?” Tears filled her eyes and Daniel’s eyes stung. “Oh God.”
“Nobody will see the pictures,” Daniel said. “No newspapers will get them.”
She blinked sending tears down her cheeks. “Thank you,” she whispered. “And there was the bottle.”
“What bottle?” Talia asked, slipping a tissue into Gretchen’s hand.
“A bottle of whiskey. Empty. There was whiskey on my clothes and in my hair. And I knew if I went to the sheriff it would look like I’d been drinking. That I’d asked for it.”
Talia’s jaw tightened. “You didn’t.”
“I know. If it happened today, I’d call the police so fast . . . But that was then and I was sixteen and scared.” She lifted her chin, making Daniel think of Alex in so many ways. “You’re saying this happened to more than just me?”
Daniel nodded. “We can’t tell you how many. But it was more than just you.”
Her lips turned up, so sadly. “And if you catch them you can’t do anything, right?”
“Why?” Talia asked.
“It’s been thirteen years. Hasn’t the statute of limitations long since run out?”
Daniel shook his head. “The clock doesn’t start until we file charges.”
Gretchen’s eyes hardened. “So if you catch them, you can prosecute?”
“To the fullest extent of the law,” Talia said fiercely. “You have our word.”
“Then put me on your list of witnesses. I want my day in court.”
Talia’s smile was sharp. “And we’ll do our damndest to give it to you.”
“Miss French,” Daniel said. “You mentioned some of the boys trying things and you saying no. Do you remember who you refused?”
“I didn’t have that many boyfriends. My mother made me wait until I was sixteen to date and that had only been a few months before. The boy I remember was Rhett Porter. I thought maybe he’d done it, but . . .”
Finally
. But it was a connection one day too late. “But what?” he asked gently.
“But he ran with a mean crowd. I was afraid if I said anything . . .”
“You thought they’d hurt you?” Daniel asked.
“No.” She laughed bitterly. “He would have told everyone I asked for it and people would have believed him. So I kept my mouth shut and was grateful I wasn’t pregnant.”
“One more question,” Daniel said. “When was this?”
“May. The year before Alicia Tremaine was killed.”
Daniel and Talia stood up. “Thank you for your time, Miss French,” Talia said. “And your candor. I know this was difficult.”
“At least now I know I didn’t imagine it. And maybe whoever did it will be caught.” She frowned. “Are you going to talk to Rhett Porter?”
Daniel cleared his throat. “Probably not.”
Talia’s eyes grew huge with question.
Gretchen drew herself rigid. “I see.”
“No, Miss French,” Daniel said, “I don’t think you do. Rhett Porter’s car ran off the road last night. He’s believed to be dead.”
“Oh. I guess I do see. You’ve got yourself one hell of a mess, Agent Vartanian.”
Daniel nearly laughed at the understatement. “Yes, ma’am. I do at that.”
“You might have told me about Porter,” Talia said when they got to his car.
“I’m sorry. I thought I’d told you everything.”
“Well, as Gretchen French said, you have one hell of a mess. I suppose leaving out one thing is to be expected.”
They buckled up and Daniel started the car, then met her eyes. “You were good in there. I hate interviewing the rape victims. I never know what to say, but you did.”