Page 101 of The Grave Artist
And while the glow from the funny repartee remained, her smile faded, and one thought rose above the others: the hunt was on.
Chapter 49
“Start with what happened. In Fullerton.”
Damon arranged his features into his best approximation of sympathetic concern. “You and that guy?”
Maddie Willis hesitated a beat before responding. “I was in the coffee shop down the street. He’d been drinking—yeah, that time of the morning. Complete stranger. And he just came on to me. I ignored him. He got persistent, so I shut him down hard. Then I left. Headed to my car. Only he wouldn’t take no for an answer and followed me out. I didn’t see him behind me. He dragged me over to the jobsite. We both know what was coming next.” She crossed her arms. “I had a different idea.”
“Earlier, you said something about taking care of people who had it coming ...” He deliberately trailed off, keeping all traces of judgment out of his voice. He wanted her to confide in him.
She looked down. Said nothing.
Time to blend a bit of fact with fiction. “Look, there are plenty of people out there who are just plain bad. Sometimes, they get what’s coming to them.” He laid a hand on his chest. “Personally, I think that’s a damn good thing.” He waited for her nod of agreement, before adding, “You pretty much admitted that you—”
“Have ... done that before?” Her full mouth hardened into a tight line. She studied him again, weighing the risks, it seemed.
“I’m sure you had your reasons.”
“I did. Damn right I did.” It was almost a tease. “Want to hear?”
He wanted to say, “Hell, yeah,” but settled for a casual “Sure.”
“I was in college when a football player spiked my drink at a frat party. Most of the night was a blur, but I had some lovely memories of what he did to me.” Bitter sarcasm filled her voice. “The next day, I reported it to the campus police.”
“And they didn’t believe you?”
“Oh, yeah. They believed me. Hot-button topic at schools now. They called the city police. They charged him with rape. The jock came from a rich fucking family. They hired a famous defense attorney. The prosecutor was fresh out of law school. I think it was his first sexual assault trial. The defense ran over him like a bulldozer.” She blew out a sigh. “The judge gave him a suspended sentence of six months.”
“So no jail time?”
“It was such bullshit. If he didn’t commit any infractions during those six months, his record would be completely expunged. Like it never happened. Like I didn’t mean shit.”
“But you found a way to get your own justice.”
“Someone had to hold him accountable.” Maddie’s eyes blazed. “I couldn’t go to class anymore. It was too much. So I dropped out and dedicated all my time and energy toward getting even. I did some research and figured out what kind of drug he must’ve used on me and bought some. Then, after spring term was over, I staked out his house. I took my time, studied his routines.”
Organized offending. An art and science.
“And waited for an opportunity to come up. Eventually, it did.”
Damon was hanging on every word.
“One night he was in the hot tub. All alone. Sucking down a beer and texting. When he got out to pee, I roofied the Heineken andslipped into the bushes. When he got back it took only a few sips for him to get totally groggy.”
She was clever, determined and patient, biding her time. It might have taken weeks or months, but she clearly would not let it go. A trait he could appreciate.
“Once he was good and loopy, I came out from behind the bushes so he could see me. You know the first thing that asshole did? He smiled and said, ‘Cool. You’re back. I forgive you.’”
Damon noticed her trembling with rage, even now.
“Then I told him I was going to kill him. He laughed again before he got that it wasn’t a joke. He started to panic and climb out. But, sorry, too late. Bang, he passed out. It was easy to hold him under.” She cocked her head. “He was helpless, just like I was helpless after he druggedme.”
Interesting ... the Furies had not killed Orestes but had brought him to trial for the murder of his mother. He’d been acquitted. Damon always believed that was a shitty outcome.
“No one found him until the next morning.” She lifted a slender shoulder. “Basically, the body spent several hours in a slow cooker set to 106 degrees. And I submerged the empty beer in the tub with him. No way would any trace of the drug survive all the hot water and chemicals bubbling around inside the bottle.”
“There must’ve been an investigation, the police—”
