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“Of course.”
“My plan,” Lizzy went on, “is to make contact with the woman in the video and see if she’s willing to appear in court and swear before the judge. I have no plans to tell her about the tape.”
“I do need testimony to build my case,” he said approvingly.
“If you look in the file, you’ll see a handwritten declaration signed by Olimpia Padula, another young woman who was assaulted by Be
Grady opened the file and read through the woman’s statement. “This is good. We both know the judge will rule out the use of the taped video as ‘tainted’ and therefore inadmissible in court, but I’m going to show it to the judge anyhow. It won’t hurt for him to see Wayne Be
“Is there any way you can persuade the judge to place Olimpia Padula in some sort of protection program to prevent possible retaliation or further intimidation?”
“Not a chance.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.” Lizzy gathered her things, including her laptop, and then stood and looked Grady square in the eyes. “He must be stopped.”
“You’re preaching to the choir. I’ve been working to put Be
“At the very least, he should be arrested and locked up for threatening witnesses.”
“I agree.”
“But your hands have been tied,” Lizzy stated.
“I think you know why.”
“He’s bribing the whole lot of them.”
Grady Orwell’s silence said it all. He thanked Lizzy and walked her to the door. “We’ll get him eventually. In the end, good will triumph. It always does.”
“You believe that?”
He didn’t answer, but before Lizzy could disappear completely, he called her name.
She stopped and turned his way. “What is it?”
“Don’t stop.”
She lifted a questioning brow.
“Don’t stop looking. Don’t stop pushing. If we’re ever going to get this guy, it’s going to be because you never stopped pushing for answers. Just don’t stop.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Claire woke to the sound of a woman’s voice. At first she thought she was hearing things, but then she heard it again. Someone was there, and they were calling out, asking if anyone was home.
“I’m in here!” Claire said, her voice raspy and hoarse. “I’m down here! Please let me out!” It was no use. They would never hear her. She grabbed the piece of wood she had finally dislodged from the wine rack last night and used it, along with her fists, to pound on the door.
It felt like forever before the metal slot creaked open. The eyes looking through the opening did not belong to the lunatic who had brought her here.
“Who’s in there?”
“It’s Claire Kerley. Help me, please. Get me out of here.”
“Why are you in there?”
“I’ve been kidnapped,” she said, her voice struggling to be heard. “I want out! Please!”
Claire saw the doorknob moving. Her breathing quickened at the thought of escaping. “There’s a key somewhere in that room,” Claire said, her body pressed against the door. “Maybe on the ledge above the door.”
“It’s not there. Let me check—oh, here it is, on a hook. I found it!”
Claire stepped back.
The door opened. A stream of light spilled in through a tiny window at the bottom of the stairs.
The woman entered the wine cellar and staggered back, gagging at the smell. Her gaze fell on all the bruises covering Claire’s legs and arms. She wore a dirty T-shirt and nothing else. “What is going on? Did Zachary do this to you?”
“I don’t know what his name is, but he’s crazy and we need to get out of here!”
Claire pushed past the woman and made her way to the stairs. Her legs wobbled, forcing her to use the wall for support. “Get out of here while you can,” Claire told the woman as she made her way up the stairs. “He could be back any minute now.”
Confused, the woman heeded her advice and followed close behind.
As soon as Claire made it to the landing, the front door opened.
He’s home.
As soon as he’d pulled his car into the driveway and seen a car he didn’t recognize parked in front of his house, he’d known something was wrong, especially since nobody was sitting inside the vehicle.
He hurried up the walkway toward the house. When he came through the front door he found himself face-to-face with Claire. She stood at the top of the stairs, frozen in place. Her hair was tangled, her eyes big and round and filled with panic.
He shut the door, slid the extra dead bolts into place, and then slipped the padlock through the chain and clicked it into position. “Where do you think you’re going?”
She screamed at the top of her lungs, but the sound that came out was a whimpering cry at best.
He had to stop her. He pounced, wrapped his arms around her waist, and pulled her close to him, her back to his chest. He clamped his other hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.
Just then, a woman appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Gillian,” he said, struggling a bit to hold Claire still, “what a surprise. What the hell are you doing here?”
“After our last conversation, I was worried about you. Reasonably so, it appears. Let the girl go, Zachary.”
The woman’s ability to stay calm under fire wasn’t lost on him. She was a rock. Sadly for her, she had a rock for a brain as well. “How did you find me?”
“According to files your parents kept on you, this was your last known address. I should have paid you a visit years ago. Your refusal to open a bank account should have raised a red flag.”
He sighed. “Having you make yearly deposits to Jake Polly’s account in the Cayman Islands should have also given you pause.” He shook his head in wonder. “I will never understand why my parents left you in charge of their trust.”
“They trusted me to look after you. Now, please,” she said, “let the girl go.”
“I can’t. She’s mine.”
“What do you plan to do with her?”
“What do you think?”
Claire had continued to thrash a
“When we first met,” Gillian dumbly persisted as if he actually gave a fuck what she had to say, “I asked you if you ever had dark thoughts about killing.”
“I remember every word.”
“I asked you if you ever entertained thoughts of killing your parents.”
“And I said never.”
“But you were lying.”
He gri
“Everything you told me that day and since was a lie.”
“Of course they were all lies.” He released one of his hands from Claire now that she was docile and used it to pull his hair in frustration. “Yes, Gillian, I killed my parents and every woman I could get my hands on. You are the worst fucking psychologist in the world. I killed a few children and an old man, too. I killed my own sister, and I can’t wait to kill you.”
Gillian’s eyes widened as if she finally understood her fate. The woman gave dimwits a bad name. She ran past him toward the living area. He couldn’t have her screaming from the balcony. Tossing Claire to the side, he went after Gillian, grabbed her by the hair, and whirled her to him, driving his knee into her stomach. She crumbled to the floor, and he dragged her toward the kitchen.
Claire, he noticed, had given up on getting out the front door. A smart move, considering the number of dead bolts, not to mention the padlock that would need a key to unlock.