The Survivors Club (35 page)

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Who is your daughter, David?”

“I won’t tell you.”

“This daughter you love so much?”

“My daughter exists, Maureen. Just ask any prison official. But I’m not announcing her name on public TV. I wouldn’t do that to my little girl.”

Maureen made one last play. “Why don’t you give us the rapist’s name now, David, and in return I’ll go to work on securing a three-hour leave as you have requested. In return for doing the city such a big favor, I’m sure something could be arranged.”

“You’re a nice lady, Maureen.”

“Thank you, David.”

“But I’m not that dumb.”

“What?”

“I get my three hours. I see my little girl. And when it’s done, I’ll turn to the first police officer I find and tell him the College Hill Rapist’s name. That’s the deal. I hope it happens, and for all of our sakes, I hope it happens soon. The College Hill Rapist is a hungry man. Come nightfall, he’ll strike again.”

“David—”

“Oh, and Sergeant Griffin, if you’re listening, I’ll say it again. Your delicious wife and I, we were honestly just friends.”

CHAPTER 38

Griffin

G
RIFFIN WAS HAVING A HARD TIME CONTROLLING HIS
rage. He leaned his massive frame across the gleaming, cherry-wood desk, homed in on the young man who had the misfortune to be the sperm bank’s business manager and didn’t waste any time on words.

“Janitor. Name.
Now
.”

“I’m trying to tell you, we don’t have a janitor.”

“Who cleans?”

“A service.”

“Their name.
Now
.”

“I need to look it up.”

“Then look it up, dammit!”

The man turned hastily toward a cherry file cabinet, manicured hands fumbling with the wooden handle while he sweated through his Armani suit. Apparently there was money in infertility treatments. Lots of it.

Fitz stood behind Griffin. Waters stood next to Fitz. Both were eyeing him carefully, but neither of them intervened.

“Korporate Klean,” Mr. Management Money announced two minutes later.

“Address?”

The man handed over the manila file. Griffin flipped through the pages.

“There are no names of which individuals actually handle your building.”

“Our contract is with Korporate Klean. They figure out the staffing.”

“How often do they come?”

“Every night.”

“What about daytime?”

“When they have special projects. The inside of the windows, polishing the brass railings in the elevators and stairs. Oh, and laundry. They bring in fresh loads of linens, towels, etc., a few afternoons a week. We, uh, we like to make our patrons feel like they’re at home, and not in a clinical environment.”

“How thoughtful of you. Who brings in the laundry?”

“I don’t know.”

“How big is the crew that works this building?”

“I don’t know.”

“Same people all the time?”

“I don’t know!”

“Mr. Matthews—”

“Our contract is with Korporate Klean, Sergeant. I’m sorry, I’m honestly trying to help. But we don’t worry about those details. You’ll have to talk to them.”

“Thanks for the file,” Griffin snarled, and stalked out of the building.

In the elevator, Fitz took the folder. “I’ve heard of them. Korporate Klean.”

“The PPD has cleaners?” Waters drawled mildly. “I never would have guessed.”

Fitz shot the skinny detective an impatient glance. “No, we investigated them once. You numbnuts should’ve heard of them, too. Korporate Klean hires mostly ex-cons.”

“What?” Griffin stopped pacing the brass-trimmed elevator and stared at Fitz.

He shrugged. “It’s a ‘second chance’ company, you know. Run by a couple of Ben & Jerry liberals who believe people really can reform their evil ways. Guy serves his time, gets out of prison, he’s gotta start somewhere. He goes to Korporate Klean and reenters polite society as a janitor. We’ve checked into them a few times but never found any funny business. Everyone makes good, everyone works hard, everyone plays well with others. At least that’s what the owner, Sal Green, says.”

“Companies are willing to be serviced by a cleaning crew of former inmates?” Waters asked.

“I don’t know how much the companies know. You heard Mr. Sperm Bank. Their contract is with Korporate Klean. Korporate Klean takes care of staffing.”

“Oh great,” Griffin muttered darkly. “So when we ask them for a list of employees with past records, that’s going to be their entire damn company.”

“Yeah, but not everyone’s cleaning the sperm bank.”

Griffin’s cell phone rang. He snatched it up as the elevator hit ground floor and dumped them into the lobby. “Griffin.”

“You saw the news?” Lieutenant Morelli asked.

“I listened to the radio.”

“Sergeant, we’d like you to return to headquarters—”

“We’re onto him, Lieutenant. According to Tawnya, Eddie made several donations to a local sperm bank, which just happens to be serviced by a cleaning company comprised of ex-cons. We’re on our way to Korporate Klean as we speak. One hour, two hours, we’re going to have the perp’s name.”

“Sergeant, in light of David Price’s involvement . . .”

“I’m fine, Lieutenant.”

“We appreciate your efforts, and we think it would be best—”

Griffin thrust out his phone to Waters. “Tell the Lieutenant I’m fine.” He probably shouldn’t have growled when he said that. Waters took the phone while Griffin rolled out his neck.

“Afternoon, Lieutenant. Uh huh, uh huh. Yeah. Uh huh.”

Waters handed the phone back to Griffin. “She doesn’t like you much.”

“I’m telling you, I gotta try a new cologne.” Griffin tucked his phone against his ear and opened the door to his car. “Lieutenant, we’re going to get him. Before six o’clock, and without David Price. We’re going to nail the son of a bitch.”

And Lieutenant Morelli said quietly, “We’re making plans for a three-hour release.”

“What?”

“Target time is six
P
.
M
. We’re working hand in hand with the department of corrections, the state marshals and SWAT. I’ll be leading the team.”

“Lieutenant, don’t do it. It’s what he wants. Don’t do it!”

“Do you think I can’t handle the team, Sergeant?”

“It’s not about you,” Griffin said, closing his eyes. “It’s not about me. It’s about David Price. Listen, the rapes started over a year ago. Think about that. That means Price has been in on this for over twelve months, twelve months of thinking, planning and scheming for this day. He’s got another agenda. And he’s had ample opportunity to get it into play.”

“Do you think I can’t handle the team, Sergeant?”

“The Pesaturos will never allow it,” he tried again, more desperate now. “They’re not about to have their five-year-old granddaughter serve as bait.”

“The Pesaturos have personally requested the meeting. It was their call to the superintendent, not the other hundreds of calls,” the lieutenant added dryly, “which influenced the final decision.”

“What? How? Why?”

“They found a note in their mail. If David Price doesn’t see Molly, they don’t get to see Meg. The note came with a picture. Do you understand now how serious this situation has become?”

“He’s covering all the bases,” Griffin murmured. “If the public outcry isn’t enough, pressure from the victim’s parents will definitely get the job done. Oh, and now we can’t hurt him either. You can position all the snipers you want at this
meeting,
but none of them can take a shot. Something happens to David at any time, and we lose Meg. Think about that, Lieutenant. He has already set up a human shield, without the human even being present. It’s fucking brilliant.
That’s
what one year of planning can do.”

The lieutenant didn’t say anything right away, so she probably agreed. Sometimes, even when you knew you were being manipulated, you couldn’t avoid it.

“It’s three
P
.
M
. now,” Morelli said quietly. “I’m starting preparations for the cover team as we speak.” And then, even more quietly, “Griffin . . . we know who we’re dealing with.
I
know who we’re dealing with. I’m getting the best people, I’m demanding the tightest security. I don’t want Price out of prison any more than you do. But if it does happen, if it comes to that, I’ll make sure it goes down right.”

“We’re going to get the man’s name,” Griffin said.

“I look forward to that call. And Sergeant—if you find the College Hill Rapist first, remember what you’ve spent the last year learning. Remember, we still need Meg.”

CHAPTER 39

The Victims Club

T
HE MAN ENTERED THE BASEMENT.
M
EG HEARD THE
protesting groan of the old wooden stairs, then his out-of-tune humming. He’d paid her a visit earlier. Skipped down the steps, told her to smile and turned on a bright light right before she heard the whir of an instant camera. She’d still been tilting her head up, trying to peer beneath the bottom edge of her blindfold, when he had summarily clicked the light back off and thumped back up the stairs. She was left alone in the endless dark, her arms pulled painfully over her head, the muscles in her rib cage beginning to protest.

Now she heard him approach once again and unconsciously shrank back against the concrete wall, as if that would save her.

“How is pretty, pretty Meg?” the man whispered. He cupped her cheek. She turned her head and he chuckled, running his fingers down her throat, dipping them beneath the collar of her shirt. “My, my, you’ve been working up a bit of a sweat.”

With the latex gag cutting into her mouth, she couldn’t say anything and didn’t bother to try.

“Tsk, tsk,” the man scolded, “I don’t think David’s going to like that much. Maybe before he comes, I should give you a bath. You, bound and naked in a tub. I haven’t tried that before. I think I might like it.”

His hands were inside her shirt, on her lace-covered breasts. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t stroke. Just let his hands rest on her chest as if to prove his point—he held the power to do anything he wanted to her body. And there was nothing she could do to stop him.

“Well,” the man said briskly, “I have one last chore to attend to. A little present for David, one not even he’s expecting. Should be lots of fun for everyone, especially me. Wish me luck, dear. If all goes as planned, I should have a few moments to come back and play.”

Now his fingers did move. She pressed her cheek against the dank wall. She did her best not to vomit.

The man chuckled. “See you soon, Meg.” He kissed her on the neck. Then he resumed his toneless humming as he ascended the stairs.

The moment she heard the door click shut, Meg released her pent-up breath. She sagged against the hard-packed dirt floor, her legs trembling, her arms screaming with savage pain. She cried a little, but her tears were short-lived. He hadn’t given her any water since her kidnapping, and she couldn’t afford the loss of moisture.

She sniffled, she took a deep breath and then she tilted her head up toward a wall anchor she couldn’t see. When she pulled forward, nothing happened. But as she’d twisted away from the man’s fingers, she was sure she had detected the slightest wobble. If the anchor moved a little now, then maybe, over time, it would move a lot.

It wasn’t much, but it was all she had. Meg, the human pendulum.

David Price was coming. David Price was coming. Meg started swaying.

Lieutenant Morelli sat in the living room of the Pesaturo home. Toppi had whisked Molly upstairs the moment the lieutenant had arrived. Now Lieutenant Morelli spread out a map on the living room floor and went straight to business. She gazed at Tom, Laurie, Jillian and Libby somberly. She told them, “This is what we’re going to do. We want the meeting in public, so we can properly monitor it, but we also want it semiprivate to reduce the risk of pedestrian interference.”

“You mean hostages,” Jillian murmured.

“We like this residential park.” The lieutenant tapped the green square on the map. “Direct street access that can be easily monitored. We close off all the side roads, of course, and shut down the park to the general public. The park itself is an open, green space, meaning it’s easy to monitor with few places to hide—”

“You mean in case the College Hill Rapist is setting up an ambush,” Jillian said.

This time, the lieutenant paused long enough to give her a stern look. Apparently, in the state police officer’s world, civilians were to be seen, not heard. Well, that explained Griffin. “We can also position snipers on rooftops here, here and here,” the lieutenant continued curtly. “In other words, we will have a bead on David Price at all times during the three hours.”

“If you shoot him, what happens to our daughter?” Tom asked.

“Given the situation, our snipers will have to radio for permission to use deadly force.”

“What does that
mean
?” Laurie asked.

“It means we understand Price holds valuable information and we’ll do our best to conduct the operation accordingly.”

Jillian spoke up. “But under some circumstances, you would authorize use of deadly force.”

“We’re professionals,” Lieutenant Morelli said firmly. “We know what we’re doing.”

Jillian, Tom, Laurie and Libby exchanged glances. They thought they knew what that meant. The snipers wouldn’t kill David Price if he still appeared controllable. But if it looked like he was getting away . . . If the state police had to weigh the life of one woman against a convicted serial killer who would definitely return to his murderous ways should he ever get free . . .

“The state marshals will be in charge of transferring Price from the ACI to the park.” Lieutenant Morelli resumed speaking. “Transporting prisoners is their job and they know it best. Given the extreme situation, we will provide police escort and we will follow a predetermined, secured route. Upon arrival at the park, the state marshals will turn Price over to two state detectives for the duration of the meeting.”

“He’ll be in street clothes?” Laurie asked.

“Price’s lawyer will deliver clothes for the visit by four this afternoon. We will thoroughly inspect the articles of clothing, of course, as well as conduct a full search of David Price.”

“His wrists and ankles will be shackled?” Tom asked.

“Absolutely. His ankles will be bound. His cuffed hands will be secured to his waist with a chain. His mobility will be extremely limited, I assure you. Now then, I want to talk about Molly—”

“I don’t want him to touch her!” Laurie cried.

“We plan on keeping them ten feet apart at all times.”

“How about the length of the park,” Tom growled.

“We may increase that distance at our discretion,” the lieutenant replied.

“In other words, if David is acting hinky . . .” Jillian murmured.

“We won’t let Molly anywhere near him,” the lieutenant finished for her.

Tom sighed heavily. His big shoulders sagged, his face was haggard. It was obvious he hated the idea of what was to come, and it was obvious he felt he had no other choice.

“Now,” Morelli said briskly. “About Molly’s escort—”

“We’ll take her!” Tom said instantly, head popping up.

“We would prefer that you didn’t—”

“Hell, no! Not an option. This is our daughter . . . granddaughter we’re talking about. Molly needs us, she depends upon us. We will be there at her side every step of the way.”

“Mr. Pesaturo, we understand your concern. But this is a potentially volatile situation. We feel it would be best to minimize the number of civilians involved and maximize the number of experienced professionals.”

“Too bad. I’m her father. I’m not leaving her side.”

“Mr. Pesaturo, it would be my honor to escort Molly—”

“I’m her father!”

“And I have two daughters of my own!” Lieutenant Morelli’s voice finally rose angrily. She caught the emotion, leveled her tone. “Mr. Pesaturo, we don’t know what Price’s true intentions are. We suspect, however, that they involve a great deal more than simply saying hi to his long-lost daughter. If he springs something, what are you going to do?”

“Kill the bastard.” Tom saw her look and hastily added, “In self-defense, of course.”

“And what about Meg?”

“I don’t . . . I don’t know.” His shoulders sagged again. Meg had been missing nearly six hours now. Six long, uncertain, fearful hours. Tom whispered, “What would you do?”

“I don’t know,” the lieutenant answered gently. “I suspect none of us will know what to do until the moment it is asked of us. But the point is, there may be split-second decisions that need to be made, and as someone experienced in these matters, I’m better equipped to make them.”

“This is ridiculous.” Laurie again. “We’re doing exactly what he wants.”

Lieutenant Morelli didn’t say anything.

“Isn’t there something else you can do? Some way you can
force
him to tell you where Meg is? To give us the rapist’s name?”

“He’s in prison for life,” Morelli said. “That’s already the maximum penalty this state allows.”

“But prisons do have punishments,” Jillian spoke up. “Protocols, procedures for when prisoners get out of line.”

“Inmates can be LFI—locked and fed in, meaning they must remain in their cells even during mealtimes. It’s ACI’s version of solitary, except the inmate remains in his original cell. Or, in cases where an inmate routinely disrupts prison life, he can be reassigned to Super Max, where inmates are confined to their cells twenty-three hours a day. In other words, they lose all the perks still offered in Old Max.”

“Then threaten him with reassignment!” Tom boomed. “Tell Price you’re going to send him to this Super Max place.”

“Sergeant Griffin already did. Price didn’t care.” Morelli leaned forward. “I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Pesaturo. If we had more time, we could try some different tactics, place Price in Super Max and see if the pressure got to him. But I suspect Price knows that. That’s why he’s given us an aggressive timetable. That’s why we have only a matter of hours. If we don’t do what he wants, something could happen to Meg, or something could happen to another innocent young girl. Yes, what we’re doing is not ideal. But we’re going to do it with the best of our abilities. I’d like to escort your granddaughter, Mr. Pesaturo. I promise you I will do my best to keep her safe.”

“What will Sergeant Griffin be doing?” Jillian asked.

Morelli gave her a wary glance. “The sergeant is pursuing another avenue of the investigation.”

“I would think you would want him at the scene,” Jillian pressed, giving the lieutenant a steely glance of her own. “Isn’t he the one who knows David Price the best?”

“Sergeant Griffin feels he has a good lead. We thought it was best to let him pursue it.”

“Does he think he knows where Meg is?” Laurie spoke up hopefully.

The lieutenant didn’t say anything, and then Jillian got it. “Griffin thinks he might be able to identify the real perpetrator,” she said slowly. “He’s trying to find the College Hill Rapist,
without
David Price.”

“We are doing everything in our power to avoid granting David Price’s request,” the lieutenant said.

“Oh, thank God,” Laurie said. Sitting next to Jillian, Libby tapped her finger.

“But,” the lieutenant reminded them firmly, “the meeting Price is demanding may still happen. We need to be prepared. I would like permission to escort your granddaughter—”

“No!”

“Mr. Pesaturo—”

“No,” he said again. Tom looked at his wife, then took her hand. Together, they turned toward the state lieutenant. “We’ve raised Molly as our daughter. She needs us now. We’ll do this together. As a family.”

“And if Price tries something?”

“Then we’ll see how good your snipers are, won’t we, Lieutenant?”

Four
P
.
M
. Griffin, Fitz and Waters finally found the Korporate Klean world headquarters. In other words, a decrepit old warehouse in south Providence, amid a bunch of even more decrepit old buildings. Apparently cleaning companies didn’t make as much money as, say, sperm banks.

The front doors were locked. Griffin started punching buttons on the mounted intercom system while Waters gazed up at the security camera. It took four or five rings before a scratchy female voice crackled through the box.

“What?”

“We’re looking for Korporate Klean,” Griffin said.

“Why?”

“We’re dirty and we need a good scrubbing, why do you think?”

“You cops?”

“Worse,” Griffin announced. “We’re IRS.”

That did the trick. The doors instantly buzzed open. A bunch of ex-cons would have nothing but disdain for law enforcement. Everyone, on the other hand, fears the IRS.

Up on the fifth floor, the office “suite” of Korporate Klean was a pleasant surprise compared to the rest of the building. Sure, the gray carpet was threadbare, the bone-colored walls boring, but the place was spic-and-span. Even smelled like ammonia and Pine-Sol. This must be where the recruits practiced their new trade.

The three detectives came to an empty front desk in the tiny entryway, gazed down a long narrow hallway behind it and waited impatiently for someone to appear. Griffin’s leg was starting to jiggle again. He clasped his hands behind his back so no one would see them shake. When he glanced back up, Waters was staring at him, so maybe he wasn’t fooling anyone after all.

Four-oh-three
P
.
M
. Not much time. Christ . . .

A door down the hall finally opened. A girl with jet-black hair walked out, wearing way too many piercings and not nearly enough clothes.

“May I help you?” she asked, and gave them a very direct glance for someone half-naked in front of three men.

“We’re looking for the owner of Korporate Klean.”

“May I ask what this is regarding?”

“Taxes.”

“IRS agents don’t make house calls.”

“How would you know?” Griffin gave up on the staring contest. He flashed his ID. “This is official business. Find the owner. Now.”

The girl raised a silver-studded brow, gave them a dismissive look just so they’d know that they hadn’t scared
her,
and then retreated down the hall.

Griffin’s other leg got a tremor. He paced around the room while Waters and Fitz watched.

Another minute, a long, interminable minute. One of so many minutes, ticking, ticking, ticking. Didn’t anyone understand the urgency of time?

The girl finally returned. Mr. Sal Green would see them now. The last doorway on the left. Try not to break anything on their way there.