The Survivors Club (29 page)

David Price was smiling at him.

“You look good,” Price said. He didn’t seem to notice either Corporal Charpentier or Detective Fitz. They were irrelevant to the matters at hand. Griffin understood this, probably they did, too. God, please keep him from killing David Price.

David was still smiling. A nice, friendly smile. The kind a kid might give his older brother. That was Price’s thing. He never challenged directly, particularly larger men. He’d play the sidekick, the loyal student, the good friend. He’d be respectful but never gushing. Complimentary but never insincere. And at first you simply dismissed him, but then he kind of grew on you, and the next thing you knew, you were looking forward to his company, even eager for his praise. And things started to shift. Until it was never really clear anymore who was in charge and who was the sidekick, but you didn’t think about it much anyway, because it seemed as if you were doing what you wanted to do, even if you didn’t really remember wanting to do those kinds of things before.

Men liked David—he was the perfect unassuming friend. Women liked David—he was the ideal nonthreatening male companion. Children liked David—he was the favorite uncle they never had.

Man, Griffin should’ve just killed him when he had the chance.

“Have you replaced Cindy yet?” David asked conversationally. “Or is no other woman good enough? I imagine it can’t be that easy to find another soul mate.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Fitz snarled.

“Tell us about Sylvia Blaire,” Griffin said. He pulled out a chair but didn’t take a seat.

David cocked his head to the side. He wasn’t ready for business yet. Griffin hadn’t thought that he would be. “I miss having dinners at your house, you know. I used to love watching the two of you together. Cindy-n-Griffin, Griffin-n-Cindy. Gave me faith that there was something worthwhile in life. I hope someday I get to fall in love like that, too.”

“What’s his name?”

“Hey now, Griff, that’s sorta rude, don’t you think?”

“I want the name of the man who raped and murdered Sylvia Blaire.” Griffin placed his hands on the table and leaned forward pointedly.

David merely smiled again and held up his shackled hands. “Hey now, no need to get physical, Griff. I’m quite helpless. Can’t you see?” Another one of those goddamn sugary smiles.

Griffin’s voice rose in spite of himself. “Give me the name.”

Instead, David looked at Fitz. “You don’t look the type to bail a guy out,” he said matter-of-factly. “Now Mike Waters, he was a guy. Leapt forward and took the hit, so to speak. And your buddy Griff here, he can pack a punch. Have you ever seen the pictures of Mike’s face?” The kid let out a low whistle. “You would’ve thought he’d gone ten rounds with Tyson. I imagine he got some first-rate plastic surgery when all was said and done, and probably at taxpayer expense. You might want to bear that in mind, Mr. Providence Detective. You look like you could use a little plastic surgery, or at least some liposuction here and there. And there and here. Say, I don’t suppose french fries are your favorite food or anything?”

“Give us the fucking name,” Fitz snarled.

David sighed. Blatant hostility had always bored him. He returned to Griffin. “I thought you’d at least write.”

“You’re going to tell us what you know,” Griffin said quietly. “We both know that you will. Otherwise, you can’t have any fun.”

“Did you get my letters?”

Griffin shut up. He should’ve done this sooner. For David to play his game, he had to have input. Take away your participation, and there was nothing left for him to manipulate. No more happy reindeer games. No more jolly schoolboy fun.

“It’s not so bad in here, you know,” David said, switching strategies. “Food’s actually pretty good. I gather the fuckers in charge have figured out it’s best to make sure the animals in the zoo are well fed. Keeps us from sharpening our fangs on one another—or maybe on them. I’m learning inner peace through quality time in a lotus position, and wouldn’t you know it, I have a natural gift for carpentry. I know, I’ll make you a table, Griff. Carve your initials in the base. For old times’ sake. Come on, any size.”

Fitz opened his mouth. Griffin shot him a look, and the detective frowned but fell silent.

“Ooooh, just like a trained seal,” David said. He was smiling joyfully, all smooth round cheeks and big brown eyes. Back with his favorite kind of audience, he was happy. He was horrible. Jesus Christ, he looked like he was barely sixteen.

“Who raped and murdered Sylvia Blaire?” Griffin said quietly.

“Eddie Como.”

“How did you meet?”

“Griff, buddy, I never met Eddie. That’s what I keep saying. It’s his roommate, Jimmy Woods. We’ve spent some time together here in good ol’ Max.”

“I’m not interested in your patsy, David. I want to know about the real College Hill Rapist. Tell me, which one of you thought of the douche?”

For the first time, Price faltered. He disguised it well, recovering swiftly and smiling again. On his lap, however, his fingers were beginning to fidget with his shackles. “You like this case, don’t you, Griffin? It’s complicated. Clever. You always appreciated that. Which one of the three women do you think hired Eddie Como’s assassin? Or was it a member of their families? Personally, I got my money on the cold one. What’s her name? Oh yeah, Jillian Hayes.”

“David, you have ten seconds to say something useful, or we’re all walking out that door. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six—”

“I know who the real College Hill Rapist is.”

Griffin shrugged. “I don’t believe you. Five, four, three—”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t be too hasty, man. Haven’t all those months of therapy taught you anything? Slow it down. Take it easy. It wasn’t my idea to yank your chain. He came to me.”

Griffin finally paused. “The College Hill Rapist came to
you
?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Griffin already knew he was lying. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he heard about my rep. Maybe he just desired a decent conversationalist. I can’t read some guy’s fucking mind. But he came to me, and we, uh, we talked about a few things.”

“How to commit a crime?”

“We both had an interest.”

“How to fuck with the police.”

David Price smiled. “Oh yeah. We both had an interest.”

“Congratulations, Price,” Fitz spoke up. “You just became an accessory to multiple rapes and murders. Now you’re going to have to keep talking just to save your dumb-ass hide.”

David shot the detective a look of disdain. “Save my ass from what? The life in prison I’m already serving? Hey, buddy, haven’t you heard about me? I’m the guy who befriends little kids on the playground. I hand them some candy, I push them on the swings. And then I take them home, down into my soundproofed basement, where I strip off their cute little clothes and—”

“You still haven’t said anything new yet,” Griffin said. “Three, two, one—”

“He puts Como’s little swimmers into each douche.”

“Fuck it, David.
I
told you that.”

“It was my idea,” David said seriously. “That DNA is troubling stuff. Hell, that’s why I had to bury my pretty treats. Let decomposition do its nasty work. And then it occurred to me. DNA so likes to be up there in those deep, dark places . . . Why not let it have its way, man? Why not go with the flow? Don’t hide DNA, own it. Man, bring it to the fucking game.”

Griffin stood up. “Thanks for repeating my own theory back to me. You’re a shithead, David. Always have been. Always will be.”

Griffin headed for the door. And behind him, David Price said, “He knew Eddie Como. Eddie probably didn’t know him. But he met the great Eddie Como. Met him one afternoon, probably for no more than ten minutes, just enough time for poor dumb Eddie to mention that he worked for the blood center. After that, my friend, his fate was sealed. The College Hill Rapist had his man.”

Griffin turned slowly. “He stalked Eddie Como?”

“He did his homework.”

“And what, stole old condoms out of Eddie’s trash can?”

David had that sly look back on his face. “I won’t answer that. But it is the key question, isn’t it? How do you steal a man’s mambo jambo? It’s not like we lose track of it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“What’s so hard to believe, Griff? That I’d help someone attack young college coeds? Or that you still can’t do a thing to stop us? You got a serial rapist on the loose, Detective Sergeant Roan Griffin. Someone who looks like Eddie Como, sounds like Eddie Como and tests as Eddie Como. In other words, you have absolutely no fucking idea who he really is. So
you
sit down. And
you
listen up. Because I do know his goddamn name, and you’re going to give me something for it. You’re going to give me whatever I want, or you’ll get to see my face on the five o’clock news, telling the frightened public how some overpumped, overranked state trooper is willfully disregarding critical evidence which could stop the bastard murdering their precious daughters. Now how do you like that?”

Griffin came forward. Then he took another step, and another step. Breathe deep, part of his mind said. The rest of him didn’t give a flying fuck. His hands were fisted, his muscles were tensed and his face was mean. He should’ve killed David that day. He should’ve pounded his own friends into the ground, just so he could’ve gotten to David and ripped off his too-cute, too-smart, lying head.

“You’re not getting out,” he said harshly. “No matter what you say, you’re not getting out.”

“College coeds are dying—”

“Ten kids are dead!”

“I can guarantee you a new body by tonight. Count on it.”

“And I can guarantee you a transfer to Super Max. No more carpentry classes, yoga or cafeteria hours. Just the rest of your life, rotting alone in a six-by-eight cell.”

“Do you want to punish me, Detective Sergeant, or do you want to stop the man preying on pretty brunettes? Think carefully before you answer. The parents of all the College Hill Rapist’s future victims breathlessly await your reply.”

“You little fucker—” Fitz snarled.

Impatiently, David cut him off. “Six o’clock,” he said crisply, eyes on Griffin’s face. “Standard hardship leave for three hours. I get to have street clothes, you get to put me in shackles. I get to go into the outside world, you get to supervise. That’s the deal.”

“No.”

“Oh yes. Or I go straight to the press and tell them that the same detective who tried to break my face eighteen months ago, now won’t protect their precious little girls out of spite. Think about it, man. You don’t deal with me, and another girl dies. You don’t deal with me, and the public will eat you for dinner.” David glanced at the overhead clock. “It’s ten
A
.
M
. now. You have until noon to decide.”

“We don’t make deals with pedophiles.”

“Sure you do. You make deals with whoever has the fucking information. Now ask the question, Griff. Come on, man. Ask me what you really need to know.” David leaned forward. He stared up at Griffin with that wide beaming smile, that round choirboy face.

“You didn’t hurt her,” Griffin said abruptly.

David Price blinked.

“You like to think you did. But you didn’t. Cindy was better than you, David. Let’s face it. She was better than me.”

“Ask the goddamn question!” David barked.

“Why do you want a three-hour leave, you little psychopathic shit?”

David finally sat back. For the first time since the interview started, he appeared satisfied. He glanced at Fitz, he glanced at Charpentier and then he looked at Griffin. “I want to see my daughter. No prison suits, no interview rooms. Just her and I, face-to-face. It’s probably the only time I’m ever going to see her, so I want it to be good. Let’s face it, man, her grandparents are never bringing her here.”

“Her grandparents?”

“Tom and Laurie Pesaturo. Or didn’t Meg tell you? Molly Pesaturo is my kid. See, I didn’t kill all the little girls, Griff. Some I let breed.”

Five minutes later, Griffin, Fitz and Charpentier were back in the parking lot. They were all taking in huge lungfuls of crisp, outside air. Later, they would shower until their skin was raw.

“He doesn’t get out,” Griffin said flatly. “Not at six
P
.
M
., not at any time, not for three hours, not for any hours. The man doesn’t get out, period!”

Griffin’s arms were moving on their own volition, his left leg twitching, ears ringing. Yeah, ringing, ringing, ringing. Fuck it all, he might as well go crackers. Insanity was probably what it took to deal with the likes of David Price. He turned on Charpentier.

“I want lists, lots of lists. Names of anyone who visited, wrote, called David Price. Names of all the inmates who could’ve come into contact with David in any way, shape or form. Names of all known friends, families and associates of said inmates, especially those with a criminal past. And then I want a list of which of those inmates have recently been released. Got it?”

“It’s going to take some time,” Charpentier said grimly.

“You have two hours. Commandeer whatever resources you need.”

Charpentier nodded. He got into his car and headed for his dank basement office. That left Griffin and Fitz alone in the parking lot.

“He doesn’t get out,” Griffin said again.

“We’ll work on it.”

“He doesn’t get out!”

“Then find the fucking rapist!”

“Then I fucking will!” Griffin thumped the top of his Ford Taurus. Fitz pounded it right back.

Griffin yanked open the driver’s-side door. “He’s got a plan.”

“No shit.”

“He’s thought of this. Set it all in motion. Don’t be deceived by those peach-fuzz cheeks. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass about his daughter. He has something else in mind.”

“You think?”

“He doesn’t get out,” Griffin said again. “Not now, not ever.” But as they pulled out of the maximum-security parking lot, they both saw the white Channel 10 news van roll in.

CHAPTER 32

Molly

F
ITZ DROVE.
G
RIFFIN WORKED THE PHONE.
H
E DIALED
Waters first.

“Here’s the deal. David Price is claiming he knows who the real College Hill Rapist is, and he’ll give us that information in return for a personal visit with his long-lost daughter, Molly Pesaturo. We have two hours to decide.”

“Huh?”

“No kidding. Look, are you still in Cranston?”

“Trolling the bars as we speak.”

“Perfect. Get a picture of Tawnya Clemente. Fuck Eddie Como. Start shopping her picture around.”

“Tawnya’s picture? You think the loyal girlfriend is in on this?”

“Half of everything David says is a lie, but he’s right about one thing: Eddie Como was innocent. The real College Hill Rapist set him up, used him as a patsy to commit the perfect serial crime. Now, to do that, the real rapist had to get Eddie’s semen from somewhere. Tawnya’s the logical place to start.”

“She conspired against the father of her child?”

“Fifty-million-dollar lawsuit, Mike. Think about it. All she has to do is sacrifice one guy. Then she—and Eddie, Jr.—never have to worry about anything, ever again.”

“Well, when you put it that way . . .” Waters said.

“Yeah. Now, remember, you got two hours. Have fun!”

Griffin hit end, then promptly dialed the next number. Thirty seconds later, he had Sergeant Napoleon on the phone.

“Sergeant! I’m calling on behalf of Detective Fitzpatrick. He’d like you to run a few tests.”

“Uh oh,” Napoleon said.

Griffin pretended he hadn’t heard him. “Detective Fitzpatrick has brilliantly deduced the source of the Eddie Como DNA. He believes Como’s semen was injected into the rape victims via the douche. What do you think?”

There was a moment of silence. Fitz was rolling his eyes at the thick praise. Then Napoleon said, “Well, shit on a stick. That makes some sense.”

“It could be done?”

“Sure. You inject the semen into the douche, give the douche a little shake, then expel the contents into the body cavities.The resulting linen stains, vaginal swabs, etc., would test the same as if the douche was being used to flush the semen out. Of course, that assumes the rapist did use a condom, otherwise we’d pick up a second DNA sample as well.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he used a condom. You still have the douche bags in evidence?”

“Well, you know us Providence detectives. Every now and then we do practice proper evidence handling and storage.”

“Really? Huh. Well, so much for that rumor. Okay, so you could test the inside contents of the bag, right? If there’s a DNA sample
inside
the douche, then
definitely . . .”

“Oh yeah. I’ll look into it. For Detective
Fitz,
of course.”

“One last question. You said the semen sample would have to be fresh for it to test positive for spermatozoa. What about if it had been frozen?”

“You mean frozen at time of ejaculation, then thawed at time of use?”

“Okay.”

“Sure,” Napoleon answered promptly. “As long as the semen sample was frozen within seventy-two hours, the spermatozoa would be preserved until thawed again. Sperm banks do it all the time.” Then Napoleon got the full implication. “Ooooh,” he said. “How interesting. And the dead come back to life.”

“And the dead come back to life,” Griffin agreed blackly. Then muttered, “Even from beyond the grave . . . Thanks, Sergeant. Fitz’ll be in touch.”

He flipped shut his phone just in time for Fitz to say, “We’re in Cranston. Meg or Tawnya? Who do you want to hit first?”

“Meg,” Griffin said immediately. “I want to give Detective Waters time to complete his inquiry into Tawnya’s social life. With any luck, he’ll provide the ammo, then we’ll go in for the kill.”

Fitz glanced over at him somberly. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

“No. But just for that, I’ll let you go after her first.”

“Ah, I just love this job!”

“Come two hours, remember that, Fitz. Remember that.”

Griffin and Fitz pulled in front of the Pesaturo house shortly before ten-thirty. Already down to an hour and a half and they’d barely made progress. Why, then, Griffin thought, was he surprised to knock on the Pesaturos’ door and have Jillian Hayes answer it.

“Sergeant,” she started.

He didn’t give her time to finish. He shouldered past her and stormed down the tiny hall toward the back family room as Fitz followed suit. “I want to speak with Meg. Now!”

“She’s not here,” Jillian called out behind them, scrambling to catch up.

“Where is she?”

Griffin burst into the family room. Meg’s parents, Tom and Laurie, were sitting side by side on the sofa. Tom appeared sullen, Laurie had her arms wrapped protectively around Molly and had obviously been crying. Sitting opposite them were Toppi and Libby Hayes. One big happy family. Christ, just what he and Fitz needed.

He whirled on Jillian, who was apparently the only speaking member of the party. “Where is Meg?” he demanded again.

“We don’t know.”

“You
lost
her?”

“She . . . We don’t know.”

Griffin thought of a word, remembered that Molly was in the room, and bit it back. He homed in on the Pesaturos, jerking his head at their
granddaughter
. “Get her out of the room.”

“I don’t really think—” Laurie started vaguely.

“Get her out of the room!”

“I’ll do it.” Toppi stood, crossing over to take Molly’s hand, but not before giving Griffin a reproachful look. He glared right back at her. No more friendly Sergeant Griffin. Friendly Sergeant Griffin had gotten royally screwed. Now it was time to put the fear of God into these folks.

“You,” he gestured at Jillian, who had her chin up and her feet planted for battle. “If you want to remain in this room—”

“I am a guest of the Pesaturos. They asked me to come here—”

“
If
you want to remain in this room—”

“Probably because they knew you were going to be pigheaded and hostile about this.”

“I will arrest you for obstruction of justice.”

She snorted. “Oh get over it. We’re all worried about Meg.”

“Jillian, sit down and shut up. The Pesaturos have some talking to do, and unless you’re their attorney, I don’t want to hear a single peep out of you.”

Jillian gave him a look. But after another moment, she crossed stiffly to the wingback chair next to her mother. She sat down. She seemed to shut up. Just in time for Libby Hayes to stick out her tongue at him. Oh for heaven’s sake . . .

“You.” Griffin stabbed his finger at Tom, because he couldn’t keep yelling while looking at Laurie Pesaturo’s tearstained face. “Start talking.”

“It was a long time ago. We didn’t think it was relevant—”

“Your daughter had a relationship with a known pedophile, and you didn’t think it was
relevant?
”

“The man’s behind bars!”

“No thanks to you, and not in another few hours!”

Tom fell silent. All at once, his massive shoulders slumped. He appeared miserable. “I swear to God, Sergeant, we didn’t know. We never dreamed of a connection until you
called . . . Oh God, Meg . . .”

Griffin and Fitz gave him a moment. Griffin needed to count to ten anyway. So much ringing in his ears. He knew if he looked down now, his hands would be shaking. If he tried to sit, his knee would jog up and down with a mind of its own. Reel it in, reel it in. Whatever these people had done, they were suffering for it now. And he needed to play it cool a little longer.

“Maybe if you started from the beginning,” Jillian spoke up quietly. She had obviously been briefed on the situation, and she was gazing at Tom and Laurie compassionately. Griffin resented that. He didn’t know why, but he did.

“Meg was only thirteen,” Laurie murmured. “We had no idea. None at all. Not until I found her one day, curled up weeping on the bathroom floor. She’d just taken a pregnancy test and it was positive. We didn’t even know she was dating.”

“How did Meg meet Price?” Fitz asked. Griffin turned toward Tom, though he already knew the answer. His former next-door neighbor, the electrician . . .

“Work,” Tom said predictably. “We were on the same job, wiring a new CVS. He was such a nice kid. I remember thinking that. What a nice kid. Did good work, too. And he mentioned one day that he didn’t have any family. Parents were dead, I don’t remember why. And I felt kinda bad for him. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-four, twenty-five. So I started inviting him over for dinner.”

“He was always so polite,” Laurie murmured. She couldn’t seem to get over that. “Please, thank you, yes ma’am. Even helped with the dishes.” She finally looked up. “I knew Meg had a crush on him. He was a nice-looking young man and of course at thirteen, she was beginning to notice that sort of thing. But I thought of it as a schoolgirl’s crush. The kind you have on your father’s hired hand, or the bag boy at the grocery store. She was still so young. I never imagined . . .”

“You never saw them together?” Fitz again.

Both shook their heads. “Never,” Tom said. “She snuck out at night. I didn’t even know she’d think of doing such a thing. I’m sure he must’ve suggested it to her. I’m telling you, she’d never been a problem. She was a good girl, got good grades. Oh Meg . . .”

“So you found out she was pregnant,” Griffin fast-forwarded. “She tell you he was the father?”

“She was upset,” Laurie said. “She told us everything.”

“Did you confront him?”

Tom made a small, uncomfortable motion that led Griffin to understand there had been a confrontation, but it hadn’t involved much talking. Tom’s fists and David’s face, however, had spent some quality time together. Griffin understood completely.

“If Meg was only thirteen,” Fitz said, “that’s statutory rape. Why didn’t you file a report? Get the kid arrested?”

Tom and Laurie exchanged miserable glances. “We were embarrassed,” Laurie said softly. “Meg was humiliated—and frightened and confused and heartbroken. She seemed to think she really loved him. According to her, he’d even proposed marriage.
We just . . .” She took a deep breath, got herself together. “It all seemed a horrible mistake. We hadn’t been paying enough attention. Meg didn’t show good judgment. Going to the police would just bring it all out in the open and make things worse. You have to understand, we didn’t know David had done this kind of thing before, or have the wildest idea what he’d go on to do next. Seducing a thirteen-year-old girl isn’t right, but still . . . We never would’ve guessed.” She looked at Griffin earnestly. “Please, you have to believe us. We never would’ve guessed.”

“You covered it up,” Griffin said bluntly, harshly. She wanted forgiveness from him? What about the ten other families David had victimized?

“I have relatives,” Laurie whispered. “Upstate New York. We sent her there for the duration. I started telling people I was pregnant. And then, when the time came, I, we, had a beautiful baby girl. We love her, Sergeant.” She looked up earnestly. “The circumstances were horrible, but Molly is perfect. I have been proud to have her as my daughter, and we’ve been saying that for so long, as far as I’m concerned, she
is
my daughter. And I will do anything in my power to protect her.”

“He wants to see her,” Griffin said.

“No!”

“Price has information on the College Hill Rapist. In fact, we’re coming to believe that he helped create the College Hill Rapist, and set this whole thing in motion—”

“Eddie Como is dead,” Jillian said firmly from across the room.

Griffin pivoted and glared at her. “Yeah, but he’s not who raped and murdered your sister.”

There was silence. Even Libby’s hands were perfectly still on her picture book. How to absorb, what to say? Griffin and Fitz had had more time with the thought than the others, and they were still reeling themselves.

Fitz finally spoke up, “We, uh, we got DNA results back from Sylvia Blaire. They match Eddie’s.”

“What?” Jillian again, her face still pale, her voice bewildered. “But that’s impossible!”

“We’re working on the assumption that Eddie’s DNA was introduced as a red herring at the rape scenes. The douches were not being used to wash semen out, but to inject semen into the body cavity.” Fitz paused for a moment. He said out loud, without seeming to realize it, “Well, that would explain why Eddie was so willing to give a DNA sample. Poor bastard honestly thought he hadn’t done it.”

“But the notes,” Jillian insisted. “All those phone calls and letters . . . He harassed us!”

“Claiming his innocence,” Griffin said. “Wouldn’t you, if you were behind bars for a series of crimes you knew you didn’t commit?”

Her mouth worked. “But that tape!” she said finally, firmly. “The tape he sent me on Friday.
That
was threatening. And the letter to Carol’s house. All that, ‘I’ll get you from beyond the grave.’ What was that all about?”

“Do you know they came from Eddie?”

“I . . . well . . .” She frowned. “The tape that contained his picture.”

“A video file, right? Of a man whose image has been broadcast all over TV for nearly twelve months.” Griffin looked at her. She closed her eyes.

“It could be faked,” she whispered.

“Part of the setup. In the interesting-but-true department, the first time you mentioned the tape, I thought immediately of David Price. It sounded like something he would do.”

“Oh my God!” Jillian covered her mouth with her hand. “Poor Eddie Como. Oh that poor man . . .”

“I don’t understand,” Tom Pesaturo spoke up. “You’re saying this was all done by some other guy?”

“It’s the theory of the day.”

“Well, who the hell is he?”

“If we knew that, Mr. Pesaturo, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“But David Price is helping this guy?”

“It would appear that way.”

“Why?”

“To get out of prison, Mr. Pesaturo. To return to the real world where he can rape and murder small children. Why do you think?”

“No!” Laurie’s voice shot up. Her face was wild. “You can’t let him. You can’t let him out.”