Chapter 35
JESS:
Jessabel placed the hot pink laptop and equally pink diary in front of Peter Stephanovic's desk.
He turned away from his laptop, sounding mildly curious. Though not curious enough, according to Jess. "Another clue?"
"No," she shook her head. "Not just a clue. This is solid evidence."
That caught his attention. "Explain."
Jessabel opened the diary and spread its spine wide open, pointing to the first page. "This was the diary of Tamara Lilley. Do you remember her? The Lilley's were completely robbed a couple of months ago, and the entire town planned a fundraising auction to help them recover. But the auction never happened."
And she knew why. Tamara had committed suicide long before any sort of fundraising could happen. "See these?" she pointed, flipping the worn-out pages. She had spend all night reading and rereading the contents of the dead girl's diary, first trying to find a hidden address that might have led them to Nathan, then trying to decipher Rhea's friends and the sorts of things she had done to hurt them. "These are all bank account numbers and pin codes. Rhea hacked into the Lilley's bank accounts and drained the life out of them."
He took the diary from her hands, and Jess was rewarded with a rare look of pleasant surprise. "Very good, Jessabel. I'll have Clyde hack through the laptop and have its history checked. This will all be strong evidence for the trial. It also fits in well with what I've acquired overnight. This is a list of all of Renee's closest friends, and this is the list of those that are either dead or in prison. I've searched countless hospital records and police reports and ended up with the same conclusion – all the deaths are highly suspicious."
Jess's eyes widened as she took the computer screen in. "That's basically all of them!" Along with the names, Peter had also made annotations as to how and why they had ended up in such a predicament. Cora Grey (August 11th, 1994). Perished on the twelfth in Alistair General Hospital, shattered spinal cord and collapsed lung. Suffered from an eating disorder.
Shanelle Fraser (April 5th, 1994). Sentencing five years in prison for Third Degree Assault, under the First Degree of Misdemeanour (M1). The assault had been the product of a leaked sex tape.
Georgia May (July 9th, 1994). Found dead at the home of Rhea Griffin. Cause of death was mutilation. A suspect has yet to be found.
Tamara Lilley (September 22nd, 1995). Committed suicide in family home. The causes are unknown.
Trevor Dakota (July 23rd, 1994). Found dismembered at the back of the Alistair Stadium. The attacker remains unidentified.
Jess felt as if she were about to vomit. "Rhea couldn't be the cause of all of these things, could she?" But it was the only explanation that made sense. Alistair had always been a peaceful place, despite the occasional drug busts and political schemes. Yet, all hell had broken loose the minute Rhea Griffin and her father stepped inside those gates. Within a span of two months, four deaths had already occurred. The paparazzi now swarmed the place like flies attracted to dead flesh, and people were moving in and out of their homes faster than Jess could blink.
It was utter chaos. Alistair had resulted in chaos.
Peter's mouth tightened, his thoughts along the same line as mine. "She could very well be. The only thing we lack is evidence. The girl has hidden her tracks so carefully that finding anything solid will be a challenge. That will be your next task."
"You want me to find evidence?"
"No." He leaned against his elbows and looked me straight in the eye. "I want you to find the mother of all evidences."
Jessabel's mind reeled. How on Earth was she supposed to do that? And how on Earth would any this lead to Nathan?
Peter seemed to have a pathway to her mind, answering her unspoken question. "The more we know about her, the more we know what she's capable of, the more chances we have of finding Nathan. Trust me on this, Jesabel."
"I do," she answered. And she did. She really did.
***
Jess could only think of one way to do this. And that was to search Rhea Griffin's home.
She could only do so with the help of Clyde. Jessabel walked up the steps of the police department once more, weary to the bone with leads and evidence and nightmares that morphed into dreams that morphed into nightmares. She could barely sleep a wink without being jerked into a dream she didn't want to be part of, or a nightmare she didn't want to relive.
Renee had taken over her, body and soul.
No, not Renee. Rhea.
In order to search the house legally, the two of them must ask permission from Theodore in order to use a warrant to enter his home. If they had been part of the police force, the two of them could have waltzed into the mansion and turned it upside down. But since they weren't part of the FBI, and they were conducting this investigation privately, consent from the owner of the house was needed before breaking in. Convincing Ted to let his house be searched was going to be the most difficult task.
Another difficult task, it turned out, was asking to speak with Ted in private a second time.
"No," the woman denied us entry, shaking her head. "Sorry, ma'am. We only warrant an hour of private visit, and according to our records your hour has been maxed out."
Despair filled Jessabel right to brim, and she was about to plead with the woman, ready to get on her knees and throw away whatever dignity she had left.
"They're with me."
Jessabel turned around sharply as was faced with the same officer who had handed her that strange card. The card was still sitting in her back pocket, untouched and useless. With a jolt, she suddenly realised who the officer really was.
"Officer Lilley," she breathed. Tamara's father. The man who had lost everything – his daughter, his son, his wife – all to Rhea. Rhea had taken his life just as she'd taken mine.
Without another word at the protesting police woman, Officer Lilley led them through the maze of corridors, metal gates and detectors that was the Alistair Police Department. Jess briefly wondered if he was allowed to disobey his orders, but later realised that she didn't really care. This man, an unlikely saviour at a time of darkness, had offered a helping hand.
But why?
They were eventually led to Ted's cell, unlike any other times when we had been allowed to use an interrogation room. He looked just as bad as Jessabel feared, and the bleakness in his eyes was what killed her.
"Thank you," Clyde said.
Officer Lilley nodded. "You're welcome. Though I warn you that I must stay here at all times. Any talk of this investigation might be overheard by a certain officer of the law."
Jess froze, staring at the man with wide eyes. He knew. He has always known.
And if he knew, then just how many others did?
He chuckled once at their expressions. "The department doesn't know. Only I do. All I ask is to be of assistance to this case. The police themselves are getting very little done, and I want this girl found as much you do."
He wanted to help. What on Earth could Jessabel say to that?
Clyde made the decision for her by offering his hand to him. Together, the wayward officer and the retired director shook hands firmly, signifying that the man was to be trusted. "Your full name, sir?"
"Thomas Lilley," he said, reaching for the set of keys that dangled from his belt. Theodore Griffin stirred at the sound, and jerked awake at the sight of all three of them looming over him.
"I've given you everything," he rasped. His facial hair had grown unkempt since his time in jail, and covered the lower half of his face. "Please don't tell me you have another question to ask."
"Not quite." When he didn't answer, Jess went on. "We need to search your home. Very briefly."
He recoiled from her as if electrocuted. "No. Absolutely not."
"We need to look for evidence that might point to your daughter's whereabouts. Mr. Griffin, if you'd just listen-"
"No!" the sudden outburst woke up several inmates, making Jessabel nervous. If they were to overhear the conversation, would it spread to the other officers? Ted pointed a finger at us, his face enraged. "How dare you? How dare you waltz in here and demand access to my home? My daughter in innocent! She's innocent! There's nothing hiding in my home, and there's nothing you will find against her."
"We only wanted to inspect the aftermath of the party." The white lie tasted bitter in her mouth, and she felt the need to spit it out. The days in which Jess found comfort in lying were long gone. "Ted, we mean no disrespect. I apologise."
Thomas Lilley, however, didn't have any qualms about bending the truth. "Mr. Griffin, I'll have you know that this is no longer a private investigation. The police have taken this matter into their hands, and will be searching your home – legally – whether you consent to it or not. However, your consent would be most favourable."
That made Ted hesitate, but just briefly. "And just how will I know that you won't abuse this power?"
"You're going to have to trust us, Mr. Griffin," was Clyde's only response.
Eventually, he did.
***
The Griffin mansion, a place once so pristine and elegant, was now in ruins. The front garden seemed to have been trampled on by a stampede of drunk, horny teenagers. Glitter and deflated balloons covered every surface as we made our way inside, along with broken furniture and torn velvet drapes. Whatever remained of the decorations sagged and threatened to fall off, and Jess was suddenly transported back to the night of the party. The party where it all began.
Nathan and her had argued in the car. First it had been over something petty, like the radio channel he had picked. Then it was about the fact that Nathan had smudged her lipstick when he leaned in for a big kiss. All of which seemed so trivial now that Jessabel felt the need to cry.
The living room was in a complete state of chaos and disorder. Jessabel remember feeling uncomfortable as she slid her way past the party-goers, the lace of her dress digging into her skin and making it itchy. Renee had been all smiles and warm hugs as soon as they were spotted. She had known something was terribly wrong then, when Renee had spilled her drink on the front of her dress and offered to help her upstairs. How would things have been different if she refused? Or even better, if she and Nathan hadn't attended at all?
For all the good it did, Jessabel couldn't turn back time and erase the past.
She had a job to do.
First she located the closet in which the girl – Georgia – had been found. Clyde took countless pictures of every room and every corridor, planning out a map of the house. Next they explored the rooms upstairs, and Jessabel had to fight back bile as she entered the very bathroom she had been found unconscious in, the very same tube of stain remover still lying on the floor. Every room was searched, every surface swabbed with cotton tips and sealed in plastic snap-lock bags, and a sample of everything was taken and kept in tiny containers. They wore gloves to prevent contaminating the evidence.
When it was time to search Rhea's room, Clyde came to a standstill. "Wait."
Thomas and Jessabel froze at the doorway. Rhea's room may have been the messiest of all, and contained more evidence that they could have possibly imagined. Rhea had left in a hurry. Just from the doorway, Jess could spot several strange bottles of something toxic on the dresser, a pile of male clothing on the floor (the shirt was Nathan's. Jessabel had to stop herself from snatching it from the ground), and black spray paint all over the sheets.
And perched on the middle of the bed was most criminating evidence of all.
There was no doubt in Jessabel's mind that it was her third clue. Somebody had been there before them – the same person who had been sending boxes of evidence at her feet. The book was big, and made of rich red leather. Jessabel was unable to stop herself from stepping forward, away from Clyde's reach, and towards the book.
This was it. Somehow she knew exactly what the book would hold.
Tentatively, Jessabel ran her latex-covered fingers over the front cover. She was almost afraid to open it, and yet she knew that she had to. Somebody had left this out, just for her. Slowly, hesitantly, she flipped the book open.
And gasped.
This was no ordinary book. This was the Pandora's box. As Jessabel flipped on, her eyes soaking word after terrible word, the puzzle piece clicked together. Rhea Griffin herself was within these pages, trapped inside each deceiving plan, and smeared across the blood that covered the ink. The book itself contained her true nature.
The book itself was her.
Every page was covered in plans – plans to kill, plans to maim, plans to dominate and plans to destroy. Written in her loopy writing was the profile of her friends, and each individual detail that resulted in their deaths. Pictures and diagrams and samples of hair – anything and everything one could possible imagine was hidden within the depths of the book. There was the intricate plan of filming a sex tape in order to send Shanelle to jail. Two pages were dedicated entirely to ruining Tamara's life. It was only the last couple of pages that brought out something in Jessabel so severe that the book dropped right out of her hands.
A picture of her and Nathan, taken together at the beach, had been cut in half. Underneath Nathan's achingly familiar face were the same words written over and over again.
Nathan is mine. Nathan is mine. Nathan is mine.
There were pictures taken of their apartment, pages of the book Nathan had read, a point-by-point plan to smuggle him out of the country, and a profile of him that covered everything from his favourite band to the number beauty spots on his neck.
Rhea was obsessed. Rhea had been planning this all along.
She retched onto the floor, but nothing came out. There was something so evil, so horrible about the book itself that Jessabel lost her composure. Nothing could make her unsee what she had seen. For the first time since the day they had met, Jessabel finally saw Rhea for what she was.
A living, breathing, killing demon.
Jess's ears rang, her mind reeled, and it took every ounce of energy to flip to the last page of the book.
Written in big, bold letters was an address. One she had seen before. Despite being foreign she knew exactly what it meant. Her saviour had come to her, in form of the darkest book to ever exist in the world. Underneath the address was a little key, and three little words that seemed to be an answer to all her prayers.
Let yourself in.
***
Author's Note: I should've made this clear - the dates written beside the names of the victims aren't the dates of their deaths. That's purely the dates they were born. Sorry for the confusion.