Part 5 (1/2)
”You talked to Vanessa?”
”Yes, about a week ago. She didn't mention it?”
”No-”
”Well, we talked. She said she'd donate one hundred dollars to the Coalition. Told me to come by today and pick up the check...”
He shook his head and sighed. ”G.o.ddammit, Vanessa. I wish she'd stop doing these things without telling me.” He disappeared for a moment, then came back to the kitchen with a checkbook. Stevenson sat down at the kitchen table and flipped the book open. Val sat across from him and studied his face. He still didn't seem to recognize her. Maybe he was innocent after all.
”Who do I make this out to?”
”The Coalition of...”
He wrote, then glanced at her.
”Concerned Parents of...”
His pen scratched the check. He glanced at her again. Then his glance turned into a wide-eyed stare and the blood drained from his face.
”The Pacific Northwest.”
Stevenson tore his gaze away from her and back to the check. He cleared his throat and started writing again. His hand shook.
”You recognize me, don't you?”
”No,” he said without looking at her.
Val slipped the knife out of her waistband. In one smooth, strong motion, she jammed the blade through his hand and into the table's wooden surface underneath. Stevenson shrieked.
”How about now?”
He pawed frantically at the knife, but she'd embedded it nice and deep into the table. It stayed put, and him with it.
”What do you want?” Stevenson cried as he writhed in his chair, eyes wet and panicked. ”I'll pay you! Anything you want!”
”I want to know why you thought you'd get away with raping a woman.”
”I don't-I didn't know- He said you were a wh.o.r.e! That you'd been paid-”
”Who said that?”
”The butler guy- Jesus, I didn't know! I was f.u.c.ked up that night, I swear! They gave us drugs. I didn't know-”
”Where is the Blue Serpent clubhouse?”
Breathing hard, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to concentrate on something other than the huge knife speared through his hand. ”It changes every time.”
”Where was it last Wednesday night?”
”F-four-eighteen East Langdon Drive, I think.”
”Was Lucien Christophe there?”
”I don't remember!”
Val unholstered her gun and imagined what his head would look like with a much-deserved hole in it. Stevenson started hyperventilating. He pulled uselessly on the knife. Every time he moved his trapped hand, he groaned in agony.
She pointed her gun at him. ”Think hard, Michael.”
”No-no, he wasn't there.”
”Who were your partners in crime?”
”I dunno. I didn't recognize them. Everybody was high and wearing masks, for f.u.c.k's sake! I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry! I didn't know!”
Val tapped her gun with her index finger and considered whether to believe him. The element of surprise plus extreme physical duress usually equaled not enough time to think of a plausible lie. And like Eric the Idiot Bartender before him, Stevenson put on a convincing act. Val had a special way of keeping people honest. She believed he was sorry...that he'd been caught. Now, she needed to decide whether or not to kill him.
Val slipped her gun back into its holster. She walked to the counter and picked up a thick wooden cutting board. Gripping it like a paddle, she stalked toward Stevenson. The crush of his skull would be so satisfying...
”No,” he begged when she raised the cutting board above her head. ”No!” He threw up his free arm to protect himself.
Val brought the cutting board down on the hilt of the knife. Stevenson screamed as the blade embedded into the table another inch. There was no way he'd work it free now. She tossed the cutting board to the floor, then picked his checking account summary from the trash. Val turned the paper over and wrote on the blank side: Dear Vanessa: I raped a woman. That is what I think of you.
Val lay the paper down on the far end of the table, three feet out of his reach. She looked down at him as he grasped for the note, tears running down his face. ”Sucks to be helpless, doesn't it? You could always cut your hand free, if you really love your wife.”
Val walked away as Stevenson screamed every curse word known to the English language. At the front door, the lawn mower drowned out his cries. She stepped outside into the hot summer day, clear blue sky in every direction. The gardener gave her a polite wave as he pa.s.sed. Val waved back, and for a second imagined herself as a rich housewife, pampered and content with her privileged life, her only concern whether the lawn mower lines in the gra.s.s were crisp enough. Then she remembered why she was actually there, and felt sick.
Langdon Drive was actually a long driveway that led to a mansion hidden from the main road by evergreen foliage. The brown monstrosity loomed over the wooded area like an evil troll with gla.s.s eyes, waiting for a victim to wander by whom it could s.n.a.t.c.h and drag away. Rustic luxury. It made her nauseous.
With one swift kick the door popped open. Val figured she had about ten minutes before police responded to the silent alarm she'd surely set off. She did a quick scan of the first floor and found the place impeccably decorated with the bare minimum for furniture. There were no personal touches or mementos. It was a rental, she realized. Val made a quick sweep of the second and third floors; they had the same feel of a fancy hotel that the first floor did. Lastly, she went to the bas.e.m.e.nt.
It was part of a sitting area next to a pool table and a wet bar-the white leather sofa. She'd only seen it for a few seconds in the video, but she would never forget it. This was where it happened. The fact that she couldn't remember anything was probably a gift. A part of her wished she'd never found out, the part that wished she was a normal person with a normal life. The part that told her she should let someone else deal with all the injustices in the world for once. The part that always argued for caution. The part that always lost.
Val swallowed hard and forced herself to rip the cus.h.i.+ons loose and look for anything left behind, like a condom. Her presence there now might contaminate the scene, but it was worth the risk. When she found nothing, she looked underneath the sofa, then combed the rest of the room; nothing. The house had been scrubbed clean. She considered burning it down. While she'd find it immensely satisfying to torch the place, the blaze might destroy any remaining evidence. Even a professional floor-to-ceiling scrub-down wouldn't remove every trace of hair, DNA, or something else that could be used in a trial if, in a best-case scenario, she ever got that far.
She glanced at her watch. Time to leave if she wanted to avoid a breaking-and-entering charge. Honestly, she was grateful for any excuse to get the h.e.l.l out of that room.
Val rushed to her car and drove away in haste. A police cruiser pa.s.sed traveling in the opposite direction, toward the house. The beat cop inside didn't pay her any notice. When it disappeared from her rearview mirror, she fetched her cell phone from her purse and called Zach.
”Tell me you have something,” she said when he answered the phone.
”Oh, hey. I was gonna call you sooner, but my mom told me if I didn't plant some flowers for her, like immediately, she'd take my computers away. I swear she bought a hundred stupid pansies-”
”Spit it out, Zach!”
”All right, jeez. Like I was afraid of, the dude who posted the video knew what he was doing. He ping-ponged the trail all over the country, but I was able to trace the origin to a place in Lakewood, Was.h.i.+ngton.”