Annapolis, Maryland,
Thursday 16 June, 6.05 P.M.
‘Go,’ Margo commanded, nudging Gwyn down the stairs into the hold and along a hall to an open door. Gwyn gasped. Thorne.
He was on his knees, his hands covered in blood. His face was pale, his blood-soaked shirt hanging open, displaying a half-dozen knife wounds. The wounds were deep enough to bleed but not deep enough to gush.
Deep enough to torture. Tavilla tortured Thorne. The bastard himself stood behind him, his gun to Thorne’s head.
Gwyn started to run to him, but Margo grabbed a handful of her hair to stop her. ‘Stay,’ she commanded, like Gwyn was a dog.
Thorne looked up and met her eyes, and Gwyn wanted to weep. He was in pain, so much pain. But fear mixed with the pain when he saw her, and he suddenly seemed defeated.
No. No, Thorne. It’s not over yet. She thought the words as hard as she could, hoping he’d somehow understand.
‘Ah, Margo,’ Tavilla said smoothly. ‘What do you have for me?’
‘I found her trying to escape. Kathryn didn’t do a very good job watching her.’
Tavilla frowned. ‘Where is Kathryn? She said she was bringing you back.’
‘She’s dead,’ Margo informed him conversationally, as if she were telling him that it was raining outside.
Tavilla’s mouth fell open. ‘What?’ he asked quietly.
She shrugged. ‘Bullet right between the eyes. She’s up on deck if you want to check.’
Tavilla continued to stare, a muscle in his cheek beginning to twitch. ‘Who did this?’
‘I did,’ Margo replied.
Gwyn’s gaze jerked away from Thorne’s in time to see Tavilla grow pale with shock. ‘You . . . I . . . I don’t understand, Margo.’
‘I know you don’t. But you need to.’ She shifted the gun away from Gwyn just long enough to shoot Tavilla in his right arm, before calmly returning the barrel to Gwyn’s temple. Tavilla looked down, both shocked and perplexed to see his weapon now on the floor. He fluttered his fingers helplessly, staring at his bleeding arm, then looked up at Margo.
‘Why?’ he asked, sounding sadly childlike.
Her laugh was bitter. ‘Because of Colin. All this time you’ve blamed Thorne for Colin going to prison, for Madeline dying when he was incarcerated, for Colin getting murdered in the prison yard. But it wasn’t Thorne’s fault. It was yours. You couldn’t let him have a normal life. You were going to have a son to carry on your name, your fucking legacy, no matter what Colin wanted. You pushed him to kill his best friend. You pushed him to do the thing that landed him in jail. And for what? To stir up trouble with another gang. Well, guess what. You’re going away. Forever. And I’ll carry on your damn legacy.’
‘I would have let you have it all,’ he said mournfully.
‘No, you wouldn’t. You’d have given it to Kathryn. You know, at the beginning, I didn’t want it. I just wanted Colin.’ Her voice broke. ‘I just wanted the two of us to have a normal life with our son. But you wouldn’t let Colin go. So now I’m taking it all.’
Gwyn locked eyes with Thorne. Then she looked at the gun Tavilla had dropped on the floor, about eight inches behind Thorne’s left foot. Thorne was fading fast, but he managed a slight nod.
Margo must have noticed it, because a sudden vicious pull on Gwyn’s hair made her cry out, her eyes watering once again. This time, however, she didn’t flash back to Evan. Keeping her gaze on Thorne’s, she blinked the moisture away as the barrel of the gun ground into her temple.
‘Kick the gun away,’ Margo commanded, maneuvering Gwyn by her hair until she was inches from Tavilla’s dropped gun. ‘Over there against the wall.’
No, no, no, Gwyn thought, mentally scrambling for a Plan B but coming up with nothing. She could only obey, kicking the gun where Margo had commanded.
‘Good girl,’ Margo said sarcastically. ‘Now, on the floor. On your face.’
‘Let go of my hair, and I will,’ Gwyn snapped, sucking in a gasp when Margo yanked it once more before shoving her away. She fell hard, landing on her stomach, able only to see Margo’s face and Tavilla’s back.
Thorne was all but hidden from her.
‘You,’ Tavilla breathed quietly to Margo. ‘You lied to me. You said that Brandenberg was dead, but you knew he wasn’t, didn’t you? You knew he’d come back. And the Brown woman. Bernice. You knew she wasn’t dead before using her name to lure Thorne out of his house.’
‘Brandenberg, yes. I knew about that. Ramirez never went after him and nobody died a fiery death. But the Brown woman really was a mistake. We knew that if she lived, she could be part of Thorne’s alibi – that he was rushing to save her when he was abducted. She really was supposed to be dead, because I knew her denying making the call would get all Thorne’s friends whipped up and searching for clues.’ She shook her head. ‘Patton simply fucked up and torched the wrong trailer.’
Margo leaned to one side, glancing into the room where Gwyn and Thorne had been held. ‘But it looks like Patton isn’t a problem any longer. I’d planned to kill him, but Mr Thorne saved me the trouble. In fact, all of your upper ranks are gone, Papa. You could thank Kathryn for that, pulling six of your top men off duty to go after these two. But you can’t, because she’s dead.’ Tavilla’s back went rigid, his right hand clenching into a fist at his side. ‘Now four of your top moneymakers are dead, one’s in custody, and the only one left is . . .’ She looked around, frowning. ‘Where is Brickman?’
Gwyn ground her teeth. Thorne was bleeding out and Tavilla and Margo were bickering like an old married couple. Do something. She readied her body to spring, but Tavilla seemed to relax, his rigidity simply melting away.
‘He’ll be happy to know you planned to get rid of everyone in my upper ranks when you took over,’ he said, a smile in his voice. ‘Won’t you, Detective?’
From where she lay, Gwyn could see Margo tense, even though there was no one behind her. It was a child’s ruse, but it looked like the woman just might fall for it.
‘I never said that,’ Margo replied, looking from the corner of each eye uncomfortably.
Tavilla’s stance grew more confident as Margo seemed to shrink, finally giving in to quickly check over her shoulder.
Which was when he leaped at her, going for the gun in her hand. The pair of them fought for it, giving Gwyn the opportunity she’d been waiting for. Crawling across the floor on her belly, she reached the weapon she’d kicked to the wall a moment after a cry of pain was followed by the loud thump of a body hitting the floor.
Thorne lay on the floor on his side, one arm stretched toward Tavilla, who was sinking to his knees, a short hilt sticking from his back. Margo still held the gun with the silencer, her arm outstretched. She seemed to be uninjured, but Tavilla had a hole in his head.
Good.
Margo’s gaze fell to the gun in her hand, and for a second Gwyn thought she’d drop it, but she simply aimed at Thorne and—
Gwyn gripped the gun she’d retrieved from the floor and fired at Margo’s chest. Margo staggered back, falling on her ass. But there was no bloodstain blooming on Margo’s blouse, no cry of pain. Kevlar. The bitch.
Struggling to her knees, Margo aimed again, but this time at Gwyn.
On autopilot, Gwyn raised the gun once more, this time aiming higher. Squeezing the trigger, she controlled her breathing, keeping her hands steady.
Just as she’d practiced over the last four years. So many times. This time the bullet found its target, and Margo’s head snapped back as the bullet hit her squarely between the eyes. She toppled sideways, the gun in her hand falling to the hardwood.
Gwyn let out a sobbing breath. ‘Thorne. Thorne!’ She crawled to him, dropping the gun on the floor and pressing her fingers to his throat. Feeling for his pulse. Then shrieking when someone grabbed her shoulder.
She looked up to see a very pale Blake Segal looking down, a phone in one hand, towels in the other. ‘Is he alive?’ the kid was asking, but Gwyn could only see his mouth moving. The gun’s report had fucked with her hearing.
She grabbed at the towels and began pressing them to the knife wound in Thorne’s back. ‘Yes. But barely. Whose phone is that?’
Blake crouched beside her and pointed behind them to the room where they’d been held. ‘It belonged to the guy with the knife in his throat – the big one who brought you and Thorne in. I’ve been on the phone with 911. They’re almost here.’
Gwyn’s muscles threatened to turn to jelly with relief. ‘Tell them to send a helicopter. He’s lost so much blood. Tell them!’ she insisted when he said nothing into the phone.
‘They can hear you,’ he shouted. ‘You’re yelling.’
She winced. ‘Sorry.’
Thorne stirred, reaching behind him to grab at her arm. ‘Hey.’
Lightheaded with relief, she leaned over him, putting her mouth against his ear. ‘You better not die, Thomas Thorne. Do you understand me?’
His mouth quirked in a small but smug smile. ‘Yes. Love you.’
Her eyes began to burn and she blinked the tears away. ‘I love you too.’ She looked over to see Blake bringing more towels. The kid dropped to his knees and pulled the blood-soaked ones away, replacing them with new ones. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ He glanced up and she realized how young he was. Just a year younger than Aidan. ‘I have a message for you from someone named Carter,’ he said.
She stiffened. ‘Yes?’
‘He said to tell you “he’s okay”.’
A new wave of relief had the tears coming in earnest. Aidan. ‘Oh God,’ she whispered, and Thorne squeezed her hand. But so damn weakly. She focused on keeping him calm and comfortable while Blake put steady pressure on the wound.
Saving him. Just like Thorne did for Richard. Blake’s father. It was a circle that Thorne would find ironic when he woke up. Because he would wake up. Roughly she cleared her throat. ‘Look, Blake, if you need anything when we get out of here . . . just ask, okay?’
He swallowed hard. ‘I will. Thank you.’
Thorne gestured weakly at the phone Blake had set aside, still connected to 911. ‘How did you know our location?’
Blake shrugged. ‘Used Patton’s fingerprint to unlock it and checked our GPS coordinates on Google Maps.’
Thorne rolled his eyes. ‘Smart. Should have thought of that. Where were you hiding?’
‘I hid in the closet, under a blanket. He was in too big a hurry to check.’ Blake’s throat worked as he tried to swallow. ‘I was lucky,’ he tried to say lightly, but the effect was ruined when his voice broke.
‘Smart,’ Thorne said again.
Gwyn pressed her fingers to his mouth and her mouth to his ear. ‘Be quiet now.’
He kissed her fingers, opening his eyes enough to meet hers. ‘Don’t leave me.’
‘Never.’
Baltimore, Maryland,
Monday 20 June, 11.45 A.M.
Thorne woke from his umpteenth nap that day and smelled lavender. ‘We’ve got to stop meeting like this,’ he murmured, and was rewarded by Gwyn’s watery chuckle. She’d kept her promise, not leaving his side for more than a few minutes at a time since he’d been airlifted to the trauma center.
She reached out to stroke his arm, which she’d been doing approximately fifteen times an hour, but he wasn’t complaining. Apparently he’d nearly died, and her constant touches were her way of assuring herself that he was still alive.
And she wasn’t the only one. Jamie squeezed his ankle briefly. ‘You okay?’
‘Fit as a fiddle,’ Thorne told him.
Jamie snorted. ‘A beat-up fiddle.’ Between Thorne and Phil, who’d been moved from the high-security hospital to the cardiac rehab unit in the same hospital as Thorne’s, Jamie was constantly on the go. At the moment, he looked worn out, but the lines of worry were finally easing from his face, and that gave Thorne peace of mind.
They’d moved Thorne from ICU to a regular room that morning, so he was preparing himself for visitors. Gwyn had shaved him after his trembling hand had nearly slit his own throat. The doctors assured him the shakiness would fade.
Which would be good, but there’d been an intimacy to being shaved by the woman he’d loved for so long. When he’d whispered that to her, she’d blushed and promised to do it whenever he wanted.
Something to look forward to.
He adjusted the bed so that he could sit up, and patted the space next to him, wordlessly asking Gwyn to cuddle up against him. He was worried about her. She was pale and looked like she’d lost weight in the few days that he’d been out of it. But she’d be okay because he was okay. And vice versa.
She sat on the edge of the bed, linking their hands. ‘You’ve got a whole contingent of visitors in the waiting room. Jamie and I have made it clear that we reserve the right to tell them to come back later if you start to get tired.’
‘Bring ’em on,’ he said, even though he could already feel a yawn starting. Stupid surgery. Stupid injury. Fucking stupid Tavilla. Thorne hated feeling so weak. But it could have been so much worse.
Joseph and Hyatt were first. ‘You look better,’ Joseph said.
‘Which isn’t exactly hard to do,’ Hyatt added.
‘I’d flip you both the bird, but it would take too much energy,’ Thorne said. ‘Is this my debriefing?’
‘Kind of,’ Hyatt said. ‘We got most of what happened on Tavilla’s yacht from the phone calls you and the Segal kid had ongoing.’
Thorne recalled sliding Brickman’s cell phone into his pocket, still connected to Joseph.
Joseph pulled up a chair and sat down. ‘The audio from your phone was muffled, but we got the general gist. Gwyn and Blake Segal filled in the blanks.’
‘And Brickman,’ Hyatt said gruffly. ‘He’s singing like a damn bird. I’m . . . I apologize on behalf of the department. Brickman’s been arrested and relieved of duty, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Gwyn murmured. ‘Was he able to fill you in on Tavilla’s operations?’
Hyatt nodded. ‘Yes. He’d been working for Tavilla for a few years. He’s already rolled on a half-dozen others in BPD who had ties to the organization or who were selling Tavilla information. He also gave us the woman who was Tavilla’s admin assistant for twenty years. Her name is Jeanne Bruno. Her husband owns the restaurant where Tavilla would hang out. Jeanne was a close friend of Madeline, Tavilla’s wife, who is now deceased.’
‘Her death came at the end of a long battle with heart disease,’ Joseph said, ‘but it also came days after Colin Tavilla was found guilty and sent to prison.’
Thorne sighed. ‘For which Tavilla blamed me.’
‘Passionately,’ Joseph said dryly. ‘Jeanne has – had – two daughters.’
‘Let me guess,’ Gwyn cut in. ‘Drizella and Anastasia.’
Joseph’s lips twitched. ‘Not too far off. Margo and Kathryn.’
‘Aka Anne and Laura,’ Thorne said. ‘The firm’s admin and the club’s bartender. What about the baby? The one Kathryn posted on her Facebook page as her own?’
‘It’s Margo and Colin’s baby,’ Joseph said. ‘Born after Colin went to prison. Kathryn was the baby’s aunt. We found the child when we arrested Jeanne Bruno. Jeanne has been charged with all kinds of criminal enterprise. She’s being held without bond and the baby is in foster care.’
‘Margo seemed to really love Colin,’ Gwyn said quietly. ‘Although I’m not sure how much of what she said can be believed, considering she’d double-crossed Tavilla and was planning to take over. She said she only decided to take over after Colin’s death, but . . .’ She shrugged her disbelief. ‘She worked for us for a year.’
‘Tavilla set up her false ID years ago.’ Hyatt looked incredibly weary, and Thorne found he had a little compassion for the brash lieutenant. ‘He’d been watching your businesses for some time and knew the kind of person you’d want to hire. Plus, he discouraged anyone else from working for you.’
‘What?’ Thorne looked at Jamie. ‘How?’
‘By offering them jobs with higher salaries at competing firms and threatening them when they wouldn’t take those jobs.’ Jamie shook his head. ‘I tracked down some of our applicants and they admitted that they’d been too afraid to come forward.’
Thorne felt some of the blood drain from his face. ‘Our admin assistant before Anne . . . She was in a car accident and had to quit. Was Tavilla responsible?’
Jamie nodded, briefly closing his eyes. ‘We didn’t know, Thorne. She didn’t know either. She doesn’t blame you.’
Gwyn’s hand tightened on his. ‘How did you find this out?’
‘We got Margo’s laptop,’ Hyatt said. ‘She had notes galore, including incriminating files on your clients’ – he held up a hand to stem Thorne’s impending explosion – ‘which we’ve sealed, pending the review of a third-party mediation panel who will determine what we can and cannot access for our investigation.’
Thorne bit the inside of his cheek, the sudden pain in the top of his head indicating that his BP had skyrocketed. This was unacceptable. This was wrong. He hadn’t come this far only to have his clients fucked over.
Jamie glanced up at the bank of monitors. ‘Thorne, you need to calm down, or the nurse will come in here and throw everyone out.’
Thorne jerked a nod. ‘Who’s on the panel?’
‘Grayson,’ Joseph said. ‘And Daphne.’
Thorne relaxed. Grayson Smith, Paige’s husband, was one of only two prosecutors he trusted. The second was Joseph’s wife Daphne.
‘And Frederick and me,’ Jamie added. ‘Don’t worry, Thomas. We won’t let your clients be screwed over.’
Thorne let his head fall back against the pillows, the pain in his head receding. ‘Okay. What else did you find in Margo’s laptop?’
‘A list of your clients she intended to blackmail once she’d taken over Tavilla’s operations,’ Joseph said. ‘According to everything we could find, those initial calls were as far as it went. That list was sent to the third-party panel as well. One of the things that won’t make you angry is the tie between Tavilla and Judge Segal. Segal crossed Tavilla’s radar about eight months ago. Tavilla had been digging into your past, figuring out the best way to hurt you. He had a multi-pronged attack – your friends, your businesses and your integrity. Ultimately he wanted you in prison, but he hadn’t planned to kill you.’
‘Then why did he have us brought to his boat?’ Gwyn asked.
Joseph grimaced. ‘According to Brickman, Tavilla had decided you weren’t worth the trouble. He’d planned to tie your deaths back to the judge, specifically revenge for his wife’s death and the kidnapping of his son. That way, if Segal claimed Tavilla had killed his wife, no one would believe him.’
‘But Margo had other plans,’ Thorne said. ‘She killed her own sister.’
‘She might have been a little . . .’ Hyatt tapped his temple. ‘But she kept amazing records.’
‘Best office admin we ever had,’ Jamie said morosely.
Gwyn frowned. ‘Hey.’
Jamie’s smile was indulgent. ‘You know we all love you, Gwyn, but your filing system was a huge pile of papers.’
She sighed. ‘That’s fair.’
Hyatt didn’t smile. ‘As best we can figure, she planned to make it look like her father-in-law and Thorne had killed each other. That way, Tavilla’s clients would continue to do business with her.’
‘What about Tavilla’s connection to Patricia?’ Thorne asked. ‘Did her husband give her up?’
‘We don’t think so,’ Joseph said. ‘Once we started searching Segal’s home, we had enough for a warrant for his safe deposit box. He’d written a detailed account of his dealings with Tavilla, who approached him about his connection to Thorne. Tavilla knew months ago that Segal had killed Richard Linden. He had paid Darian Hinman and Chandler Nystrom for the information. He also somehow knew that the judge had always been looking over his shoulder, expecting Thorne to figure it out. Or maybe it was just guilt. Whichever it was, Tavilla exploited it, convincing Segal that helping him get rid of Thorne would be in his best interest. The judge didn’t fight him too hard.’
‘Did Segal know that Tavilla planned to kill Patricia?’
Joseph shook his head. ‘Not according to the papers he left in his safe deposit box. He and Tavilla had agreed on a “different target”. The judge’s words, not mine. My personal opinion is that Segal believed Tavilla was going to kill Tristan Armistead for having an affair with Patricia. Tristan had been lured to a bench in the park. He thought the invitation had come from Patricia, but her phone records don’t show her having sent the text that he received. I think Segal texted Tristan himself.’
‘But Tavilla killed Patricia instead,’ Gwyn said.
‘Yes.’ Joseph lifted a shoulder. ‘Once that happened, everything was set into motion and Tavilla snipped off all his loose ends.’
‘But why did he need the judge?’ Thorne asked, squinting in confusion. ‘He had the story from Darian Hinman and Chandler Nystrom.’
‘Segal believes that Tavilla planned for him to be the fall guy,’ Hyatt answered. ‘That if everything fell through, he would be suspected, especially since he’d threatened Tristan Armistead for sleeping with his wife. Once Patricia was killed, Tavilla knew that the judge couldn’t come forward without incriminating himself over Richard’s murder and making himself a suspect in the murder of his wife.’
‘He didn’t draft the papers we found in his safe deposit box until after Patricia was killed,’ Joseph added. ‘He realized then that he needed leverage.’
‘What about Linden Senior?’ Thorne asked.
‘Keeping the “why” quiet – Patricia’s being sexually assaulted by Richard – was what Linden Senior was all about,’ Hyatt said. ‘He admitted to it when we pressed him.’
Thorne was stunned. ‘He admitted it?’
‘He had to,’ Jamie said, ‘what with Eileen Gilson’s testimony that her husband was paid for the key ring and then later killed over it. Plus fourteen years of bank deposits that paid for her silence.’
‘Linden didn’t have to admit it,’ Joseph corrected. ‘He could have fought us in court. But we were able to convince him that if he didn’t admit it, we’d order a DNA test on his grandson. Blake would be revealed in court records to be the son of Richard and Patricia. Which we already got Judge Segal to admit to separately, so it was kind of moot.’
‘Blake knows,’ Thorne said softly. ‘He told me so, right before Brickman and Patton came into that room where we were being held. How is the kid? Gwyn and I have been worried about him.’
Joseph frowned. ‘How did he find out?’
‘Same way we did,’ Thorne said. ‘He saw a photo of Richard. He guessed that Richard had raped his mother. I suppose we need to decide if we want to tell him that he’s got a half-brother. Angie Ospina’s son Liam is a product of Richard’s rape too. If I were him, I’d want to know.’
‘You should probably leave that decision to Angie,’ Gwyn recommended quietly. ‘Liam is living in Iowa now, but Angie told me that he’s been accepted to Johns Hopkins. He’ll be in Baltimore in the fall, attending classes. At this point, I don’t know if Liam even knows that his aunt Angie is really his mother. That’s a much bigger bombshell to drop than him having a half-brother.’
‘I agree,’ Jamie said. ‘You might want to know, Thomas, but like you said, those young men are products of rape. And part of that information, as a victim, is Angie’s to share.’
Hyatt’s mouth fell open. ‘What?’
Joseph’s eyes widened. ‘Explain. Please.’
‘Oh, right.’ Thorne told them how they’d known that Angie had also been raped by Richard. ‘We got a little distracted after we found that out. I would say she has a right to a civil judgment against the Lindens, but they’ve been paying her for years. It’s not quite child support, but she’s been compensated.’
‘Jamie’s right,’ Hyatt said unexpectedly. ‘It should be her call. She’s the victim. I don’t name rape victims without their consent.’ He looked at Joseph. ‘Is that all you have?’
Joseph nodded. ‘We do have some good news for you, Thorne.’
Hyatt hefted the shopping bag he’d brought in with him. ‘We found several of your sports medals in Judge Segal’s safe deposit box.’
Thorne blinked. ‘So he had them? All this time?’
Hyatt nodded. ‘Yes, but that’s not the only thing he had. We found four large boxes in his basement filled with your possessions.’ He drew two thick photo albums from the bag, along with some framed photos. ‘We’re clearing them out of evidence as quickly as we can, but I had these expedited.’
Thorne was . . . speechless. And almost too afraid to hope that the albums contained what he thought they did. Gwyn reached for them with care, bringing them to her lap.
Her smile was sweet. ‘Can I?’
He nodded, saying nothing. Hoping. Hoping.
‘Oh, Thorne,’ she laughed breathlessly. ‘Look at you. You’re so cute.’
Jamie rolled closer. ‘Oh, wow.’ He sounded delighted. ‘You really are. Phil is going to love seeing these.’
Thorne forced himself to look at the album she held, and a lump rose in his throat. ‘Oh my God.’ He traced a finger over a photo of him with his real father, Thomas Thorne. He remembered the day. He’d been four and his dad had taken him to the aquarium. The album was filled with pictures of his father. ‘I . . . I thought these pictures were gone forever.’ He huffed out a breath and chanced a look up at Hyatt. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered.
‘Least we could do,’ Hyatt said gruffly. ‘There were other things in the boxes. Trophies and comic books. Stuff like that. We’ll be getting it to you as quickly as we can.’
‘Was there a ball?’ Thorne asked, again fearing to hope. ‘A rugby ball?’
Hyatt nodded. ‘Yes. Signed by a lot of players.’
‘It was my dad’s.’ His voice broke and he cleared his throat. ‘I thought it was all gone.’
Gwyn brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. ‘I’m so glad it’s not.’
Joseph’s smile was gentle. ‘Segal admitted that he’d gone by your house the day after you were arrested. He’d come down from the adrenaline high of killing Richard and told Patricia what he’d done. Linden Senior had already gone ballistic because of the key that Segal had shoved in Richard’s body. One of the cops on the scene – not Prew, but one of his colleagues – had given him the heads-up, and Linden Senior had already bought the key ring back from Kirby Gilson, the ME tech. Segal was feeling antsy by then, and paranoid. He wasn’t sure what you’d told your mother and stepfather, Thorne. So he went by your house, and that was when he saw your belongings at the curb. He loaded them all into that truck of his.’
The mention of Segal’s truck had Thorne’s mind snapping to Sherri. ‘Did he admit to killing Sherri too?’
‘Not yet,’ Hyatt said. ‘But the prosecutors are working on him. They’ll be offering him all kinds of deals for information,’ he added with disgust.
Joseph chuckled. ‘I won’t tell Daphne that you said that. She’s lead on Segal’s case. It’s the only perk she’s had out of all this. She’s wanted to be in the thick of it with you, but she knew that once we caught someone, she’d need to be conflict-less.’
‘I’m glad she’s on the case,’ Thorne said sincerely. ‘And I’m glad that Grayson’s home so that he can help.’ He knew that Grayson and the rest had returned from Chicago the day after Tavilla was killed. Lucy had been to see him every day, and the others had spaced their visits, timing them for when Jamie had been with Phil, because Thorne had only been allowed two visitors at a time in ICU.
‘We’re all going to be busy for a while. The paperwork on Tavilla’s victims alone is . . .’ Joseph shuddered. ‘And those are the victims we know of.’
‘How many?’ Thorne asked, afraid to hear the answer.
Joseph sighed. ‘Altogether we have nineteen present-day victims. Some of those were Tavilla’s kills. Some were Patton’s. We’re sorting through that now. We have Patricia, of course. The two members of the Circus Freaks that he stuffed full of Sheidalin matchbooks. Ramirez and his wife. Darian Hinman and Chandler Nystrom. The professor and her husband who were killed by mistake in their trailer. Brent Kiley, the EMT. According to Segal, Tavilla also killed the two men who drugged you and Patricia, Thorne. Margo killed her sister, Kathryn.’
‘And Tavilla,’ Gwyn added.
Joseph shrugged. ‘That depends on who you talk to. The ME lists COD as exsanguination. But he wasn’t sure which of the wounds killed him – Margo’s two bullets or Thorne’s knife. So, Thorne, you can have that honor if you want.’
Thorne shook his head. ‘No. No, thank you.’ He still remembered the horror at having killed Patton. He would have killed again, because it was self-defense, but . . . ‘No.’
Again Joseph’s smile was gentle, as if he understood. ‘Then we’ll list Tavilla in Margo’s column.’
Thorne swallowed back bile. ‘Thank you.’
‘You get credit for Patton, though,’ Hyatt said, oblivious to Thorne’s emotional distress. ‘And Gwyn gets credit for Margo and one of the thugs who attacked your SUV. Frederick and Clay each got one too. Your friends did well.’
Gwyn squeezed Thorne’s hand, comforting him wordlessly. They’d each killed their first and, hopefully, only people. They’d done what they’d had to do to survive, as had Frederick and Clay. None of them were happy about what they’d done, but they’d live with it.
Jamie cleared his throat. ‘Of course, we also have the people who made it – Phil, Sam, Chad Ingram.’
‘And Blake Segal and Aidan York. We can’t forget them.’
Thorne felt Gwyn stiffen beside him and asked the question he knew she wanted to ask but couldn’t bring herself to do so. ‘Joseph, what happened with Aidan York? All we heard was that he was okay.’
‘He was found shortly after you two were taken. He’d been on his way home from his girlfriend’s house just before dawn. Kathryn and Patton were waiting for him to come out, but caught him sneaking in. They drove around with him for a while and dumped him. He appears to have no injuries. That’s all I know. I’m sorry, Gwyn.’
She jerked a silent nod.
‘Thanks,’ Thorne said, caressing Gwyn’s hand with his thumb, wishing he could comfort her. But she’d heard nothing from the Yorks, parents or son. And she wouldn’t push them. It made Thorne angry on her behalf, but he’d respect her wishes and wouldn’t push either.
Joseph stood up. ‘We’re done for now, Thorne. Get some rest. You too, Gwyn.’
‘And . . . thanks,’ Hyatt added with a grimace, as if the word tasted bad.
Thorne waited until they were gone to laugh hollowly. ‘I thought he’d choke on the thanks.’
Jamie chuckled. ‘This is a big day, young grasshopper. You got an apology and a thank-you from BPD. We should celebrate.’
Thorne relaxed against the pillow, Gwyn on one side and Jamie on the other, memories of his father in the album on Gwyn’s lap. Phil was resting comfortably in the cardiac rehab wing. His family, his friends, all safe and accounted for, and that was what really mattered. ‘I am celebrating. Right here. Right now.’