Stewart looked over Betsy's shoulder as Betsy turned the pages. Most of the stories concerned the disappearances. There were several stories about Lake. A section was devoted to Sandra and Melody to the discovery of the disemboweled body of Patricia Cross in Henry Waters's basement and Waters's death. Betsy turned to the final section of the scrapbook and stopped cold.
'My God, there were survivors.'
'what? I thought all the women were murdered.'
'No. Look here. It says Gloria Escalante, Samantha Reardon and Anne Hazelton were found alive in an old farmhouse.'
'Where?'
'It doesn't give any other information. Wait a minute. No, there's nothing else. According to the article, the women declined to be interviewed.'
'I don't get it. Didn't Darius tell you about this?'
'Not a word.'
'Page?'
'He always referred to them as if they were dead.'
'Maybe Page doesn't know,' Stewart said.
'How is that possible?'
'What if Gordon didn't tell him?'
'Why wouldn't she? And why wouldn't Martin tell me? Something's not right, Reg. None of this makes sense. Gordon and Martin don't mention the survivors.
The Hunter's Point files have disappeared. I don't like it.'
'I know you love a mystery, Betsy, but I see this as our big break. The survivors will know who kidnapped and tortured them. If it wasn't Darius, we're home free.'
'Maybe Martin didn't mention the survivors because he knew they'd identify him.'
'There's only one way to find out,' Stewart said.
'Have Ann book me on an early flight to Hunter's Point.' I want you to go to Albany, New York, first. Frank Grimsbo, one of the other detectives on the task force, is head of security at Marlin Steel. His office is in Albany.'
'You got it.'
Betsy buzzed Ann and told her what to do. When she got off the intercom, Stewart asked;
'What about the p.i.?'
'I'll run down Oberhurst. I want you on that flight, first thing.
There's something weird about this case, Reg, and I'm betting that the answers we need are in Hunter's Point.'
Alan Page left the courtroom in a daze. He barely heard the reporters' questions and answered them mechanically. Randy Highsmith told him not to take the loss personally, and assured him that it wasn't his fault that they couldn't find Nancy Gordon, but Highsmith and Barrow had warned him that he was making a mistake by rushing to arrest Darius.
Even after they learned about the incident at the Hacienda Motel, the detective and the deputy district attorney wanted to move slowly. Page had overruled them. Now he was paying the price.
Page left work as soon as he could. There was an elevator in the rear of the district attorney's office that went to the basement. He took it and dodged across the street to the parking garage, hoping no one would see him and ask him about his public humiliation.
Page poured his first scotch as soon as he took off his raincoat. He drank it quickly, refilled his glass and carried it into the bedroom.
Why was he screwing up like this? He hadn't been thinking straight since Tina left him.
This was the first time his ragged thought processes had gotten him in trouble, but it had been only a matter of time. He wasn't sleeping, he wasn't eating right, he couldn't concentrate. Now, he was haunted by the ghost of a woman he had known for all of two hours.
Page settled down in front of his television in an alcoholic haze. The old movie he was watching was one he had seen many times before. He let the black and white images float across the screen without seeing them.
Did he order the arrest of Martin Darius to protect Nancy Gordon? Did he think he could keep them apart and rescue her? What sense did that make?
What sense did anything in his life make?
Martin Darius parked his Ferrari in front of his house. It was cold. The mist pressed against him when he stepped out of the car. After a week in jail, the chill, damp air felt good. Darius crossed over the bridge. The lights were out. He could barely see the placid pool water through the glass roof The rest of the house was also dark. He opened the front door and punched in the code that turned off the alarm.
Lisa was probably hiding from him at her father's house. He didn't care.
After a week crowded in with unwashed, frightened men in the stale air of the county correctional facility, a night alone would be a pleasure.
He would relish the quiet and bask in the luxury of soaping off the sour jail smell that had seeped into his pores.
There was a bar in the living room, and Darius fixed himself a drink. He flipped on the outside lights and watched the rain fall on the lawn through the picture window. He hated jail. He hated taking orders from fools and living with idiots. When he was practicing criminal law in Hunter's Point, he'd had only contempt for his clients. They were losers who were not equipped to succeed in the world, so they dealt with their problems through stealing or violence. A superior man controlled his environment and bent the will of others to him.
To Darius's way of thinking, there was only one reason to tolerate inferior minds. Someone had to do menial labor. Martin wondered what the world would be like if it was ruled by the strong, with the menial work done by a slave class selected from docile, mentally inferior men and women. The men could do the heavy work. The inferior women could be bred for beauty.
It was cold in the house. Darius shivered. He thought about the women.
Docile women, bred for beauty and subservience. They would make excellent pets. He imagined his female slaves instantly submitting to his commands. Of course, there would be disobedient slaves who would not do as they were told. Such women would have to be chastised.
Darius grew hard thinking about the women. It would have been easy to give in to the fantasy, to open his fly and relieve the delicious feeling of tension. But giving in would be a sign of weakness, so he opened his eyes and breathed deeply. The inferior man lived only in his fantasies, because he lacked willpower and imagination. The superior man made his fantasies a reality.
Darius took another sip, then placed the cool glass to his forehead. He had given his dilemma a lot of thought while he was locked up in jail.
He was certain he knew what was coming next. He was free. The newspapers had printed judge Norwood's opinion that the evidence was not strong enough to convict him. That meant someone else would have to die.
Darius looked at his watch. It was almost ten. Lisa would be up. Getting through to her was the problem. At the jail only collect calls were permitted. justice Ryder had refused every one he made. Darius dialed the judge's number.
'Ryder residence,' a deep voice answered after three rings.
'Please put my wife on the phone, judge.'
'She doesn't want to talk to you, Martin.'
'I want to hear that from her lips.'
'I'm afraid that's not possible.'
'I'm out now and I don't have to put up with your interference. Lisa is my wife. If she says she doesn't want to talk to me, I'll accept that, but I want to hear it from her.'
'Let me talk to him, Dad,' Lisa said in the background. The judge must have covered the receiver, because Darius could hear only a muffled argument. Then Lisa was on the phone.
'I don't want you to call me, Martin.'
She sounded shaky. Darius imagined her trembling.
'Judge Norwood let me out because he didn't believe I was guilty, Lisa.'
