up with it.
“Mayhew and that other detective were denied bail.”
“Falke,” Claire provided. She didn’t know why they were still holding Harvey Falke. He was absolutely a bad cop, but he was just as clueless as Adam Quinn had been about Paul’s illegal business. At least that’s what Fred Nolan had told Claire after the Big Boys came down from Washington and interrogated both men for three weeks.
Could she believe Fred Nolan? Could Claire ever believe another man for as long as she lived? Rick was nice. Lydia had finally asked him to move in with her. He was taking care of her. He was helping her heal.
And yet.
How many times had Claire done the same thing for Paul? Not that she thought Rick was a bad man, but she’d thought Paul was a good man, too.
At least she was certain on which side of the line Jacob Mayhew fell. His house had been raided. The FBI had searched his computers and found links to almost all the movies that Paul had ever created, plus many of the international ones.
Claire had guessed correctly about the scale of the operation. Between Mayhew’s computer, the contents of the USB drive, and the VHS tapes from the garage, the FBI and Interpol were working to identify hundreds of victims who had hundreds of families all over the world who might one day find their way back to peace.
The Kilpatricks. The O’Malleys. The Van Dykes. The Deichmanns. The Abdullahs. The Kapadias. Claire always repeated aloud each of their names from each of the news stories, because she knew what it was like all those years ago when people had opened their newspapers and skipped over Julia Carroll’s name.
Congressman Johnny Jackson’s name was not one that anyone could avoid. His involvement in the snuff porn ring was still the lead story in every newspaper, webpage, news report, and magazine. Nolan had confided that there was some kind of plea deal being worked out to keep the Congressman off death row. The US Department of Justice and Interpol needed Johnny Jackson to corroborate the details of Paul’s business in various courts of law around the world and Johnny Jackson did not want to be strapped to a gurney while a prison doctor jammed a needle into his arm.
Claire was sorely disappointed that she would not be able to sit in the viewing room and witness every single flinch and whimper and sob as Johnny Jackson was put to death by the Great State of Georgia.
She knew what it was like to watch a bad person die, to feel their panic swell to a crescendo, to watch the dawning in their eyes when they realized that they were completely powerless. To know that the last words they would ever hear were the ones you said to their face: that you saw through them, that you knew everything about them, that you were disgusted, that you did not love them, that you would never, ever forget. That you would never, ever forgive. That you would be fine. That you would be happy. That you would survive.
Maybe she really should consider going into therapy sooner.
“Jesus Christ.” Lydia grabbed the socks away from Claire and started folding them. “Why are you so distracted?”
“Fred Nolan asked me out.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Claire tossed her a stray sock. “It’s weird how the guy who seemed like he was into snuff porn was actually the only guy who wasn’t into snuff porn.”
“You’re not going to go out with him?”
Claire shrugged. Nolan was an asshole, but at least she would know it going in.
“Jesus Christ.”
“‘Jesus Christ,’” Claire mimicked.
Helen knocked on the open door. “Are you two squabbling?”
They both answered, “No, ma’am.”
Helen smiled the relaxed smile Claire remembered from her childhood. Even with the press hounding her door, Helen Carroll had finally found peace. She picked up one of Julia’s socks from the pile on the bed. There were two kissing dachshunds embroidered around the band. Helen found the match. She folded them together. The Carrolls weren’t sock rollers. They paired them together in a drawer and assumed they would manage to stay that way.
Lydia said, “Mom, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
Lydia hesitated. They had been apart so long. Claire had keenly noticed that their rapport wasn’t as easy as it once was.
Helen said, “It’s all right, sweetheart. What is it?”
Lydia still seemed hesitant, but she asked, “Why did you keep all this stuff when you knew she wasn’t coming back?”
“That’s a good question.” Helen