Scream for Me (41 page)

Luke slid one across the table. “That’s his mug.”

Daniel studied Mack O’Brien’s face. His hair was dark and greasy, his body thin and scrawny, and he had terrible pockmarks on his face from acute acne. “Doesn’t look much like Jared,” he commented. “Let’s get out an APB.”

“I’ll contact the parole board for a more recent photo,” Luke said. “For now, this is better than nothing.”

“What about the rest of Jared O’Brien’s family?” Chase asked.

“His mother died while Mack was in prison,” Luke said. “Jared left a wife and two little boys behind. They live out past Arcadia.”

“You got all this from the Internet?” Daniel asked.

“Dutton’s newspaper is online now, up to ten years ago.” Luke shrugged. “It’s one of the things Jim Woolf has done to modernize. Plus the birth and death records are filed at the county seat and Mack’s arrest record was on our books. He was sentenced here in Atlanta, by the way. Not in Dutton.”

“Who was the arresting officer?” Daniel asked.

“Guy by the name of Smits, out of Zone 2.”

“Thanks, I’ll talk to him.” Daniel looked at Chase. “We need to notify the Andersons ASAP, but I’d also like to talk to Jared’s widow.”

Chase nodded. “I’ll inform the Andersons. We already have both Davis and Mansfield under surveillance. If they try to bolt, we’ll grab ’em.”

“Chase.” Leigh ran into the room, Alex at her heels; both were pale. “Koenig just called. They found Crighton, but he pulled a gun and got Hatton in the shoulder.”

“How bad?” Chase demanded.

“Bad,” Leigh said. “They rushed him to Emory. He’s in critical condition. Koenig’s at the hospital now. Koenig was hit, too, but not as bad.”

Chase drew a breath. “Their wives?”

“Koenig’s called them. They’re both on their way.”

Chase nodded. “All right. I’ll contact the Andersons, then head over. Luke, I want everything we can get on Mack O’Brien, down to what breakfast cereal he ate as a kid. Get financials on the others—Mansfield, and both Garth and his uncle.”

“I’ll call you when I have something.” Luke left, laptop under his arm.

Chase turned to Daniel. “Crighton can wait. They’ll put him in the tank until we’re ready to deal with him.”

“You’re right. I’ll go see Jared’s wife.”

“Wait,” Leigh said. “Your FedExes just came. From Cincinnati and Philly.”

“The keys,” Daniel said. He ripped open the envelopes and slid the keys onto the table. It was easy to see which of the five keys Ciccotelli had sent from Philadelphia was the right one—it was almost identical to the one Alex’s ex had sent. Daniel held up both keys, one in each hand. “They’re not for the same lock, but the keys themselves look like they’re from the same manufacturer.”

“Safe-deposit box?” Chase asked, and Daniel nodded.

“I’m betting so.”

“Garth’s uncle’s bank?” Chase asked, and Daniel nodded again.

“I can’t go storming into Davis’s bank demanding access to boxes without a warrant, and even when I get one, it’s tipping our hand.”

“Call Chloe, get the warrants started,” Chase said. “Once we get more information, we’ll at least have a jump on the paperwork.”

“That’s a plan. Alex, you have to stay here. I’m sorry. I can’t be worried about your safety and do all of this.”

Her jaw tightened. “Okay. I understand.”

He pressed a hard kiss to her mouth. “Do not leave this building. Do you promise?”

“I’m not stupid, Daniel.”

He scowled. “No evasions, Alex. Promise me.”

She sighed. “I promise.”

Arcadia, Georgia, Friday, February 2, 10:30 a.m.

Jared O’Brien’s wife lived in a house the size of a crackerbox. She answered the door wearing a waitress uniform and a weary expression. “Annette O’Brien?”

She nodded. “Yes, that’s me.”

She didn’t seem surprised to see him, only tired. “I’m Special Agent—”

“You’re Simon Vartanian’s brother,” she interrupted. “Come in.”

She crossed her tiny living room in a few steps, picking up a shirt, a pair of small shoes, a toy truck as she walked. “You have children,” he said.

“Two. Joey and Seth. Joey is seven. Seth turned five just before Christmas.”

That meant she would have been pregnant with her younger son when her husband disappeared. “You don’t seem surprised to see me, Mrs. O’Brien.”

“I’m not. In fact, I’ve been waiting for you to come for more than five years.” Her eyes shadowed with apprehension. “I’ll tell you what you want to know. But I have to get protection for my kids. They’re the only reason I haven’t said anything until now.”

“Protection from whom, Mrs. O’Brien?”

She met his gaze unflinchingly. “You know, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“Fair enough. So when did you find out what Jared and the others had done?”

“After he disappeared. I thought he’d run off with another woman. I was pregnant with Seth and getting too fat for . . . well, I thought he’d be back.”

Daniel felt anger at Jared and pity for Annette. If Alex were pregnant, she’d still be the most beautiful woman in the world to him. “But he didn’t come back.”

“No, and after a few weeks the bank account was empty and we were hungry.”

“What about Jared’s mother?”

She shook her head wearily. “She was out of the country with Mack. Rome, I think.”

“You had no money for food and his mother was in Rome? I don’t understand.”

“Jared never wanted his mother to know how badly he’d messed up his daddy’s mill. His mother was used to a certain standard of living and he made sure she had it. We did, too, on the surface. We lived in a big house, drove fancy cars. But we had no credit with the bank and no cash. Jared kept a tight hold on the finances. He gambled.”

“And drank.”

“Yes. When he didn’t come back, I started searching all the places he hid money.” She drew a deep breath. “And that’s when I found his journals. Jared had kept one religiously since he was a boy.”

Daniel had to fight to keep from punching at the air in glee. “Where are they?”

“I’ll get them for you.” She went to the fireplace and jostled an interior brick loose.

“Risky place to hide a journal,” Daniel commented.

“Jared hid them in the garage with the spare parts for his ’Vette. My sons and I moved here after we lost everything. Seth has bad allergies, so we never use the fireplace. It’s safe enough.” She’d been working at the brick as she spoke and finally pulled it free. Then she sat, pale, openmouthed and staring. “That’s . . . not possible.”

Daniel felt all his glee fizzle away. He walked to the fireplace and looked in the empty hole and suddenly pieces of the puzzle began to slide into place.

“Let’s sit down.” When they had, he leaned forward, keeping his expression calm because Annette appeared on the verge of hysteria. “Has Mack been here to visit?”

The look she gave him was one of genuine shock. “No. He’s in prison.”

“Not anymore,” he said, and she paled further. “He was paroled a month ago.”

“I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”

“Have you noticed anything else missing?”

“Yes. My tip money that I keep in a jar in my bedroom disappeared about a month ago. I blamed Joey for taking it.” She covered her mouth with a trembling hand. “Then two weeks ago it happened again—my tips and the cookies I’d baked for the kids’ lunches. I spanked Joey and called him a liar.” Tears filled her eyes. “Like his daddy.”

“We can deal with that later,” Daniel said gently. “For now, can you tell me what you remember from the journals?”

Her eyes had gone glassy with panic. “Mack was here. My boys are at school. They’re not safe if Mack’s around.”

Daniel knew he couldn’t expect her to be helpful when she was panicked over her kids. He called Sheriff Corchran in Arcadia and asked him to pick the boys up from school, then turned to Annette, who was visibly struggling for control. “Corchran said he’d let them run his lights and siren. They’ll have a ball. Don’t worry.”

“Thank you.” She closed her eyes, still very pale. “Mack is out of prison, the journals are gone, and four women are murdered just like Alicia Tremaine.”

Five women,
Daniel thought. Annette O’Brien must have missed the morning news.

She looked at him, her eyes stark and desolate. “Mack killed those women.”

“You knew him. Could he have done it? Would he?”

“He would and he could,” she whispered. “My God. I should have destroyed them when I had the chance.”

“The journals?” Daniel asked, and she nodded. “Please, Mrs. O’Brien, can you tell me what you remember from the journals?”

“They had a club. Your brother, Simon, was the president. Jared never mentioned any real names. They used nicknames.” She sighed wearily. “They were stupid boys.”

“Who raped a number of women,” Daniel said harshly.

She frowned as his meaning became clear. “In no way am I excusing what they did, Agent Vartanian,” she said quietly. “Make no mistake about that. This was not a boys-will-be-boys prank. What they did was obscene and . . . evil.”

“I’m sorry, I misunderstood. Please go on.”

“They were boys when it started, fifteen or sixteen. They made up this game, had rules, a secret code, keys . . . It was so
stupid
.” She swallowed. “And so horrible.”

“So if Jared didn’t mention names, how did you know Simon was the president?”

“They called him Captain Ahab. Simon was the only one in Dutton I knew with a fake leg, so I put two and two together. Jared put in the journal that nobody called him Ahab to his face, just Captain. They were all afraid of him.”

“With good reason,” Daniel murmured. “What other nicknames did Jared mention?”

“Bluto and Igor. Jared wrote how they always hung around together, and once he slipped and wrote something about Bluto’s father being Mayor McCheese. Garth Davis’s father was the mayor at the time. I guessed Igor was Rhett Porter.”

“Garth’s uncle bought the mill after Jared died,” Daniel noted, and her eyes flared.

“Yes, for pennies on the dollar. We were left with nothing. But you didn’t come here for that. The others . . . Well, there was Sweetpea. I was never sure if that was Randy Mansfield or one of the Woolf brothers. Jared thought it was funny that they called him Sweetpea because the boy didn’t like it. It was some aspersion against his manliness. It was how they convinced him to join.” Her lips twisted. “ ‘Have sex with these girls. Prove you’re a man.’ It made me
sick
.”

“You’ve given me four nicknames,” Daniel said. “What was Jared’s nickname?”

She looked away, but not before he saw the pain and shame in her eyes. “Don Juan, DJ for short. He was the ladies’ man of the group. Jared lured most of the girls.”

“And the other two?”

“Po’boy and Harvard. Po’boy was Wade Crighton. Of that I’m completely sure.”

“Why?”

“The boys had to deliver a girl to the group as part of their initiation. They were divided on whether or not to let Wade in. He was the poor boy. His dad worked in the mill.” Her expression grew grim. “But Wade had assets. He had three sisters.”

Daniel’s stomach lurched. “My God.”

“I know,” she murmured. “The club was angry that ‘Po’boy’ refused to bring his real sister, but the consolation prize was twins.”

Panicked bile rose in his throat. “Wade brought both girls?”

“No. They got mad because they’d been all excited to ‘do twins’ and then Po’boy only brought one. He told them the other was sick and couldn’t leave the house.”

“So they raped Alicia.”

“Yes.” Annette’s eyes filled. “Like they did all the others. I . . . couldn’t believe what I was reading. I’d married this man. Had babies with him . . .” Her voice trailed away.

“Mrs. O’Brien,” Daniel said softly. “What did they do to the girls?”

She wiped her eyes with her fingertips. “They’d give them a date-rape drug and take them to a house. Jared never said whose. They’d . . .” She looked up, pained. “Please, don’t make me describe that part. It makes me sick to think about.”

He didn’t need her description. He’d seen the pictures in obscene detail. “Okay.”

“Thank you. When it was over, they’d put the girls in their cars, pour whiskey on their clothes, and leave them with an empty bottle. They’d take pictures to show the girls in case they remembered. They made it look consensual so that the girls wouldn’t talk.”

Daniel frowned. None of the pictures he’d seen had incriminated any of the men, and not one looked the least bit consensual. “Did any of the girls remember?”

She nodded dully. “Sheila. And now she’s dead. I can’t get her out of my mind.”

Neither could Daniel. “Go on,” he said, and she drew herself straighter.

“That night, they left Alicia in the woods when they were . . . finished. In the months before Alicia, Jared had written that he wondered what it would feel like if they were awake.” Annette’s eyes were haunted. “He wanted to ‘hear them scream.’ So that night he went back. He waited until Alicia was waking up, attacked her again, and she started to scream. But they weren’t too far from the Crightons’ house, and Jared all of a sudden realized he didn’t want her screaming after all.”