“And Meg?” Morelli asked sharply. Tom and Laurie froze, stared at her.

“Not here.”

“Where the hell is she?”

“We don't know yet. Viggio's not talking. But we can apply some pressure, retrace his steps. We'll find her, Lieutenant. It's only a matter of time.”

Morelli looked at Tom and Laurie. “We have a man who may be the College Hill Rapist,” she told them quietly, “but we haven't found Meg.”

“Do they have any leads?” Laurie asked.

“Sergeant Griffin believes it is only a matter of time.”

“How much time? Does she have food, does she have water? What if she's being held somewhere outside? We want our daughter, we need our daughter to be safe.”

“Don't let him go, Lieutenant,” Griffin was saying excitedly into the phone. “Don't let Price out. We can do this on our own. We don't need Price anymore.”

Morelli looked again at the Pesaturos' anxious faces. She glanced at her watch. Five fifty-five P.M. She said, “I'm sorry, Sergeant. It's too late.”

Chapter 41

MEG WAS FRIGHTENED. HER ARMS AND SHOULDERS HURT seriously now, throbbed with a low keening ache. Her fingers, however, she barely felt at all. They were slow, sluggish, like a separate entity that no longer belonged to her.

Sometimes she felt moisture in her hair, a slow, steady drip. At first, she thought the ceiling had developed a leak. Now she realized it was more blood from her torn, shredded wrists.

She still swayed back and forth, slower now, with less force. Sometimes the wall anchor moved. More often than not, it remained rigidly fixed. She was slightly built, admirably thin. In other words, she didn't have the mass to get the job done. And now she was feeling tired beyond tired. She had strange spells where she couldn't tell whether she was asleep or awake. Her lips were dry and cracked. Her tongue felt glued to her mouth.

Perversely, her bladder had finally given out on her. She hadn't gone to the bathroom since first thing this morning and she simply couldn't hold it any longer. The shame was worse than the discomfort. To be a grown adult with urine-soaked pants; it wasn't right.

And now, to add insult to injury…

She missed her captor. She genuinely wished, way down deep, that he would return to her. Maybe, her fuzzy, fatigued mind reasoned, he would cut her down, ease the ache in her shoulders. Maybe, she fantasized, he'd give her a bath, let her feel human again.

And if he did touch her after that, if he did demand some kind of payment…

She wouldn't be in the dark anymore. She wouldn't be lost with wet jeans and bleeding wrists. She wouldn't be alone in a musty basement that felt too much like a grave.

These thoughts were bad, she realized in the saner corner of her mind. These thoughts let him win. She had to hold tough, be strong. She had to ignore her pain. To focus her anger, as Jillian liked to say.

We are not victims. The minute we believe that, we let the rapist win. When it boils down to brute strength, ladies, perhaps we can't protect our bodies. But we can always control our minds.

Oh please, oh please, oh please let her get out of this. Before her arms gave out completely. Before she did anything she'd regret. Before…

Before David Price arrived.

David couldn't see out of the van very well. The transport vehicle offered no side window, and there was a mesh screen between him and the two state marshals, which blurred the front windshield.

That was okay: he didn't need to know where he was or where he was going. That was not relevant to matters at hand.

David leaned forward and pretended to stretch out his back. Then he shifted restlessly from side to side, his fingers slipping along his left shirtsleeve until he found the slim wooden shape sewn into the cuff.

The bulk was barely noticeable. The quarter-inch-thick, heavily lacquered wooden lock pick was tucked inside the top seam of the cuff, where the heavy chambray fabric already formed a ridge. If nothing else, Viggio was very good at following instructions. Then, in a move he'd spent the past four months practicing, David leaned forward and bit the hem of his right pant leg. Inside the pant cuff, his tongue found the waiting treasure-what appeared to be crumbled bits of white chalk. Pieces of Alka-Seltzer-too small to be easily noticed, and like the wooden pick, guaranteed not to set off a metal detector.

Sometimes, the simple things truly worked the best.

David eased the pieces of tablet out of the pants cuff and into his mouth. Then, he started to chew.

Forty seconds later, he made a gurgling noise in the back of his throat.

The state marshal glanced in the rearview mirror.

“What the hell?” he said.

In the back of the transport van, David Price was foaming at the mouth.

Griffin was in Ron Viggio's face. “Where is she?”

“I don't know who you're talking about.”

“Don't play dumb with me. Where is she?”

“My grandma's been dead for years, but thanks for asking.”

“We have you, Viggio. We know all about how you stole semen samples from the sperm bank, then injected them into douches. You're already looking at two counts of murder, let alone four counts of first-degree sexual assault. You're a little beyond minimum time behind bars, Ronnie boy. Start talking now, and maybe you have some hope of ever seeing daylight.”

Sitting in the back of the police cruiser, Viggio yawned.

“Are you trying to protect David Price? Because he's already sold you out. Three hours from now, when he's done meeting with his daughter, he's going to give your name.”

Viggio laughed.

“We caught you because of him, Viggio. If he hadn't told us that you'd personally met Eddie Como, we wouldn't have thought to check personnel at the sperm bank.”

Viggio frowned.

“Yeah, that's right. You were doing so well, too. You had the perfect setup, a great little plan. Except for David Price. He was your weak link. He's who got you into this mess. Here you thought he was helping you, when really he was playing you all along. You're not a brilliant criminal mastermind. You're just David Price's pawn.”

Viggio thinned his lips. Despite his best intentions, he was starting to look pissed.

Griffin's turn to shrug. He straightened, crossed his arms over his chest and gave Viggio a dismissive glance. “Pawns can be sacrificed, Viggio. Guys like Price do it all the time. Why do you think we're here? Price wanted to buy his freedom, so he sold you out. Now he gets to meet his little girl, while you go to prison for the rest of your life. Hardly seems fair. Where is Meg, Viggio? Talk now, while you still have a chance.”

“Go to hell.”

“Come on, Viggio. David isn't going to help you. You're fucked, you're screwed. Whatever you thought you had coming, it's over. What do you still owe him?”

Viggio's gaze flickered toward his car, now cordoned off in the driveway. Griffin caught the look. He stared at Viggio's vehicle, and then he got it.

“That's another car bomb, isn't it, Viggio? Except, instead of using it on a hired gun, you were going to use it on David Price. You were going to hook it up, then watch your favorite partner-in-crime go boom. Well, I'll be damned. So there really isn't any honor among thieves. Wait a minute.” Griffin's voice changed. He leaned forward intently. “That means David Price was going to get into a vehicle. What the hell do you know, Viggio? What the hell does David Price have planned?”

Jillian was pacing the living room of the Pesaturo home while Libby and Toppi watched. Her right hand twisted Trisha's medallion relentlessly. Her left hand was clasped behind her back.