“Emotional response. You’re thinking he was a soldier, captured maybe?”

“Maybe. Susannah heard Granville mention him when she was a little girl, so he had to be living around Dutton then. I had stills made from the video of Sheila Cunningham’s funeral. Susannah said the whole town was there.” He spread the pictures out.

“Hell, half the town is over sixty, Luke.”

“Yeah. Looks like anybody with brains got out of Dodge right after high school.”

“Can you blame them?” Luke separated out the photos with older men and pinned them to the board above the monitor. “We could be looking for one of these men. Granville had access to this guy when he was a young teenager. This guy was a religious figure to Granville.”

“The whole Buddhist thing.”

“Yeah.” Luke frowned. “But there isn’t a Buddhist congregation in Dutton. I checked.”

“He didn’t have to be a real cleric,” Nate said.

“He just had to be able to have access to a teenager without it being obvious.”

“Meaning he could be a teacher, a preacher, a doctor… All the usual suspects.”

“All of which have lived there since Susannah was a little girl. I have a list of the town’s residents from when I was looking for men named Bobby on Saturday.” Luke looked over the list he’d studied the night before as Susannah lay sleeping and he could not. “I ran military checks on all the men over fifty.”

Nate looked surprised. “When did you do that?”

“Last night. It was what I was doing when you called to tell me about seeing Becky Snyder’s little sisters on the Net.”

Nate’s eyes shadowed. “Any of those men serve in ’Nam?”

“Not one. If I’d found one, I would have hauled my ass over here last night.” Instead, he’d taken a few hours of comfort in Susannah’s arms, in her willing body. Respite. He’d needed it more than he’d realized.

“Well, your ass is here now, whether it wants to be or not.” Nate pulled up a chair. “Let’s get started. Four eyes are better than two.”

Luke shot him a grateful look. “Thanks.”

Charlotte, North Carolina, Monday, February 5, 11:45 a.m.

Harry Grimes sat next to CSU tech Mandy Penn, staring at the grainy stills taken by the ATM across from Mel’s Diner where Genie Cassidy had been abducted.

“What are you looking for, exactly?” Mandy asked.

“I’m not sure.” Harry leaned forward. “That’s the kidnapper’s Volvo pulling past the camera, into the parking lot. There’s another car. It’s stopping, watching.”

“It’s a Ford Crown Vic,” Mandy said. In the distance, two figures grappled. The smaller figure was dragged to the back of the Volvo. Through each still, the Crown Vic maintained position, and Mandy whistled softly. “You’re right, Harry. He’s watching.”

“Can you zoom on the license plate?”

“I can try.” Mandy zoomed, focused, then sat back, satisfied. “There you go.”

“Excellent.” He squinted at the photo. “Is the guy in the Crown Vic talking on a cell?”

“Looks like. Maybe calling 911?”

“Nobody called 911 from that location. I checked. Can you run an ID on that plate?”

Mandy did, then went still, eyes wide. “He wasn’t calling the cops. He is a cop.”

Harry looked at her screen, stunned. “Paul Houston, Atlanta PD. He just sat there, watching while Genie was snatched.”

“Maybe the car was stolen.”

“I sure hope so. Thanks, Mandy.” Harry started back for his desk. “I owe you one.”

Springdale, Monday, February 5, noon

Talia parked in front of the house belonging to Carl Linton, Marcy Linton’s father. “You ready for this, Susannah?”

Susannah stared at the house. “Darcy told me she’d come from Queens, that her father beat her and her mother. That she’d run away from home.”

“The Lintons reported her missing when she was nineteen.”

“She’d gone to New York by then. I didn’t meet her for another two years. Why did she leave her family? Why did she target me?”

“We won’t find out sitting here,” Talia said. “Let’s go.”

Talia’s knock was met by an older man with graying hair. “Mr. Linton?” Talia asked.

“Yes.” He studied Susannah with a frown. “What do you want?”

“I’m Special Agent Talia Scott of the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. This is Assistant District Attorney Vartanian, from New York. We need to talk with you.”

His frown deepened and he opened the door. “Come in.”

A woman came from the kitchen and froze. “You’re the Vartanian woman. We saw you on the news. You shot that woman. The one who’d kidnapped all those girls.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Why are you here?” Carl Linton asked, more harshly.

Talia’s head tilted, just a hair. “We need to talk to you about your daughter, Marcy.”

Both Lintons drew shocked breaths. “Sit down,” Carl said.

Talia took the lead. “After you reported Marcy missing, did you hear from her again?”

“No,” Carl said. “Why? For God’s sake tell us what this is about.”

“Your daughter is dead, sir,” Susannah said quickly. “I’m sorry.”

Both parents sagged. “How?” Mrs. Linton whispered.

Talia nodded and Susannah drew a breath. “I grew up in Dutton.”

“We know,” Carl said coldly.

“When I was in graduate school in New York, I met a woman who said her name was Darcy Williams. She and I became friends. She told me she was from Queens, that she’d run away from an abusive family. Today I saw a photo of Marcy in her high school yearbook. She was the woman I knew as Darcy. Darcy was murdered.”

“Murdered?” Mrs. Linton had grown paler. “How? Where? When?”

“A man beat her to death.” Susannah’s stomach turned over at the pain on the Lintons’ faces. “We’d gone to a hotel in the city. When I found her… it was too late. It was six years ago, January nineteenth. Her killer confessed and is serving his sentence. I’m so sorry. If I’d known about her real family I would have told you years ago.”

Carl shook his head, denial clear in his eyes. “Why would she tell you those lies?”

“We think she may have been hired to,” Talia said quietly. “Or perhaps forced to.”

Mrs. Linton’s lips trembled. “Where is she now?”

“In a cemetery about an hour north of New York City. It’s a pretty place. Peaceful.” Susannah felt the sting of tears and pushed them back. “I thought she had no family.”

“ADA Vartanian paid for her burial,” Talia said gently.

“We want her back,” Carl said, so hostilely that Susannah blinked.

“Of course. I’ll arrange for it immediately.”

Talia put her hand over Susannah’s. “Just a minute,” she said, keeping her voice mild. “ADA Vartanian was also assaulted the night of your daughter’s murder. Later, she paid to bury your daughter from her own pocket, believing she had no family.”

Carl’s jaw went hard as stone. “We want her back,” he said, enunciating every word.

“I sympathize with your grief, sir,” Talia said. “I need to understand your hostility.”

Carl straightened abruptly. “Our daughter was taken from us, forced to do God knows what, then murdered, and you have the nerve to criticize me?”

“I’m not criticizing you,” Talia said.

“The hell you’re not.” Carl lurched to his feet, pointing a trembling finger at Susannah. “My daughter had a future, but your father took that from her. She meets you and now she’s dead. You want gratitude for a goddamn burial plot? You can go to hell.”

Susannah sat, stunned. “What did my father have to do with your daughter?”

Carl’s fists were on his hips and his face was florid. “Don’t pretend you don’t know. Don’t pretend you cared about her. I’ve had enough from Vartanians to last me the rest of my goddamn life.” He slammed the front door so hard the whole place shook.

Susannah stared after him, unable to think of a thing to say.

Mrs. Linton remained, whether by choice or simply because she was trembling too hard to move Susannah was unsure.