Sean’s gaze went to Haven’s curvy behind. “Let me know if you all have any more questions.”
Poor guy. It must be hard watching that sexy body walk away.
I handed him my card. “I will. If you think of anything, please call me.”
Sean stood in the doorway as we walked to the car and climbed in. He remained there while I started the vehicle and backed up. I swore Sean stayed even as I drove us away.
I smirked. “That was helpful.”
Haven rolled her eyes. “Was it?”
“A little helpful, Honeybee. A little.”
She glared at me.
“Sorry. Too soon?”
“Too soon.”
I directed my attention back on the road. “Sean isn’t our Unsub.”
“Of course, he isn’t.”
“Although his relationship with his mother had me intrigued for a moment.”
“Why?”
“A common characteristic of serial killers is their destructive relationship with their mother. Sean appears to be from a loving family.”
“His mother thinks he’s the second coming of Jesus.”
I laughed.
“Personally, I don’t like the theory that monsters are created by bad mothers.”
“The data shows it.”
“It also shows absentee fathers, but no one brings that part up. It’s all about the mother.”
“She’s the one that raised him.”
“And where was the father?”
“Good point, but that still doesn’t mean a mother’s job isn’t significantly important in raising a child. Usually, the mothers are over controlling, overprotective, physically abusive, and emotionally abusive. Sigmund Freud claimed that males try to reach autonomy with their mother. If the child is unsuccessful this will result in rage.”
“Freud? Really?” She rolled her eyes. “Many of Freud’s theories have been debunked.”
“Yet many still stand true.”
“Freud gives men another way to blame women for their downfalls.”
“Yet, 66% of known serial killers were raised by a mother that was the dominant figure in the household, if not the only parent.”
“Which points to the fact that many serial killers have shitty fathers.”
Unfortunately, I had to agree. “Fair point.”
I grinned. It was an odd discussion for a strange day, but still I enjoyed this banter with Haven. Stein and I talked while we investigated, but never on an intellectual level. Never was there a battle of minds.
Haven continued, “We spend a lot of time looking at the mothers, but there are other factors. Mental and physical trauma have long-lasting effects on people.”
“Correct. And there’s physical as well as psychological abuse.”
“I don’t think Sean was abused in any way. Even though Reverend Thompson is a racist, he had decent control of that household and didn’t believe in any whipping of any kind.”
“That’s progressive of him.”
“He hates blacks, but also hated the idea of physically harming kids.”
“No sexual abuse then?”
“I got no indication.”
Sexual abuse was a prominent characteristic among serial killers. Either the psychopath witnessed it or was sexually abused themselves.
Haven added, “I wasn’t around his family, but I heard a lot about Sean’s earlier childhood from him. I even saw a couple of baby pictures where he was put in little furry bear onesies complete with the ears poked out by his head.”
“How cute?”
“He was embarrassed by the pictures.”
“I would have been too.”
The more I knew about Sean, the more it didn’t sound like he would be on my suspect list at all.
Infancy was one of the most significant stages in the development of humans. Emotionally, infancy was crucial to the proper development of any adult personality. In the first twelve months, a child needed adequate attention and physical touch. If not, the child could suffer from substantial personality disorders in the future. In fact, there may be signs that the child had a psychopathic personality by the age of 2. This is indicated by the absence of a range of emotions such as sympathy, remorse, and affection. Aggression usually began in early childhood.
If true, that would have meant that Haven had dated an aggressive Sean in high school. I didn’t sense that vibe from him at all.
Commonly, serial killers tend to be isolated from their peers as children and teens. Many suffered from weight gain, stuttering, and learning problems such as dyslexia. Almost all known serial killers were bullied as teens. This caused them to begin to harbor secret aggressive fantasies on revenge. Additionally, serial killers were always left alone as kids, always neglected and abandoned by their parents whether emotionally or physically.
I glanced her way. “But Sean did bring up an interesting point that I hadn’t realized.”
“What’s that?”
“The girls have been kidnapped on religious holidays.”
Haven parted her lips. “Wait. You’re right.”
“Our fifth victim Shelly Darby was taken out of the movies on Pentecost Sunday if Sean is right about that date.”
Haven nodded. “And Melody was taken on Trinity Sunday. Oh my God and Ariana was taken after my mother’s Sunday School class on Palm Sunday.”
“Exactly. I bet if we check the other dates, we’ll find more religious holidays. It didn’t dawn on my team probably because we’re not hugely religious.” I tapped the steering wheel. “I have a faint memory of Palm Sunday from my youth, but I can’t remember the last time I celebrated. And Pentecost or Trinity are ones that I don’t remember at all.”
“Most just remember Easter and Christmas.” She went into her pocket, pulled out a tiny notebook, and flipped it open. “Okay. Let’s check out this theory.”
She took out her phone too. “I’ll check the dates with religious holidays.”
“Good.” I rounded the corner and left Sean’s neighborhood, wondering if the poor man was still standing in the doorway and thinking about Haven.
“Damn.” She went through her phone. “Karen Brookes was taken on Valentine’s Day which was also. . .Ash Wednesday.”
“What about Felicia Drake?”
“Some churches celebrate that as the day Jesus was baptized.”
“So, our Unsub would have definitely celebrated.”
“I think so.” Haven scribbled in her notebook. “Okay. On the day Jesus was baptized, the first victim Felicia Drake was taken right after church. Second victim, Ariana was kidnapped on Ash Wednesday before she went to ballet school. Then, Emma Tucker who was taken out of her home. Dear God. . .”
“What day was that?”
“Easter.”
“Then, Shelly was taken on Pentecost Sunday and Melody on Trinity Sunday.”
Haven set her pen down. “At least now we can anticipate the next time he tries to take a girl.”
“August is coming up.” I gripped the wheel. “What religious holidays do we have?”
“August 15. The Assumption of Mary. That’s on a Wednesday.”
“Excuse my ignorance, but what’s that about?”
Haven picked up her phone and read from it. “It’s the taking up of the Virgin Mary into Heaven at the end of her earthly life. For the Catholics, it is a major feast day.”
“August 15 could be the day. We have to look into this further.” I stopped us at a red light and turned to her. “I’m sorry, Haven.”
Moving her view from the phone, she widened her eyes. “For what?”
“For telling you to go home earlier.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m glad you didn’t go.”
“Well, it didn’t matter if you wanted me to go or not. I was staying.”
Because you’re stubborn, perhaps, that’s why we get along.
Not done making her point, she said more, “I would’ve been right here, botheri
ng the hell out of you.”
“That I see, Honeybee.”
She scowled. “I need you to stop saying that.”
I smirked. “My apologies.”
Honeybee.
Still, I wondered about Sean and her. “How was it seeing your ex?”
“Odd.”
The light turned green.
I sped off. “Did your heart pitter patter?”
“No. It was more. . .embarrassing.”
“Why?”
“Because you were in the room. You’re the great. . .”
“Go on.” My smirk deepened. “Tell me more about how great I am.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re the great Alexander King known for catching bad guys from coast to coast. The last thing I wanted to do was solve a case with you, while my ex-lover sat in the room with his shirt off and staring at me.”
“So, you noticed him drooling?”
“He wasn’t drooling.”
“He very much was.”
If I was him, I would drool too, but I must keep up some appearances of professionalism.
I eyed her. “Will you meet with Sean while you’re here?”
“No. I’m in Fullbrooke for work.”
Good.
I nodded, not wanting her to meet with him anyway. Surely, the whole team should take moments off. The soul needed a break from the horror of cases like these. However, I didn’t like the idea of Haven sitting somewhere with Sean, hidden from his racist parents, yet gazing lovingly into her ex’s eyes.
Haven continued, “The most I’ll do is go to church with my mom. Perhaps, I’ll go by the Sheriff’s house for dinner, if he keeps pushing the point.”
“Sheriff Michaelson will. He thinks we’re keeping details from him.”
“Are you?”
“Absolutely. I’m not sure; the Unsub isn’t on Fullbrooke’s police force. They handled the Fullbrooke Six badly. I’m starting to wonder if that was intentional.”
“Then, I’ll give the Sheriff a rain check.”
I thumbed the center of the steering wheel. “And. . .perhaps if you have time, you can show me the best spots to eat around here.”
And maybe you can eat with me. No. I should leave this alone. She’s an agent on the case I’m working on. At least wait until this has been solved before trying to trick her into a date.
“Oh yeah. I can do that. Of course, Fanny’s is the big spot here, but I know a lot of places in Fullbrooke.” Haven gave me that sweet smile. “This town may be a bit racially backward and divided at times, but they sure can cook and play some good blues around here.”
“Then, my treat for dinner and I’ll look forward to that.”
She blinked but didn’t say anything else as if unsure if I’d asked her out or not.
Being that we were in the middle of a case and had just questioned her ex-boyfriend, I didn’t know what the hell I was doing either.
Usually, I had more finesse than this. More importantly, I always steered clear in these situations. But the short time of us going through this investigation helped me learn little details about Haven—her childhood, family, and even love life. I was finding that Agent Haven Barron was an intriguing person indeed.
And even crazier, I wanted to know more.
Dinner it is.
Chapter 9
Black Lilies
Haven
Fullbrooke’s Saint Mary Inn was designed in the Greek Revival style—white columns, sloping roofs, and stately entrance. A massive garden surrounded the huge place. Another garden was located within its courtyard.
When I was a kid, my father told me that Greek Revival architecture had emerged in the United States in the late eighteen century. Builders took elements of classical Greek architecture and used them in a wide variety of buildings. The style became especially popular in the United States around 1820 which was when Fullbrooke’s son Michael built Saint Mary’s Inn. Actually, slaves constructed the huge structure as was the case with all the historic buildings throughout town and even our nation. But Michael received the credit.
Regardless, the two-level inn catered to plantation owners and merchants, traveling to Fullbrooke. It stood at the center of downtown and was within walking distance to the high-society treats—art galleries, museums, and restaurants. As the years went by and slavery ended, this very place allowed famous civil rights leaders to stay here for free—W.E.B. Dubois, Medger Evers, and even Martin Luther King Jr.
Dad said the Inn was trying to wash away the stains of history.
Regardless, Saint Mary’s Inn did well. It was one of the top spots in Georgia to have a wedding or photoshoot for its picturesque ballroom. High-level business execs frequented the spot too, probably for the in-house health club and luxury-minded guestrooms.
My room offered plush bedding, high-speed wireless internet, and a flat-screen TV. I’d rushed out of there when I arrived, but had a little time to gasp at the high ceiling and Oriental rugs over what must’ve been original hardwood floors.
Alexander and I stepped into Saint Mary’s and was greeted by a striking bronze fountain. Two large cherub angles poured water out of vases. The lobby enchanted with its Georgian open-arm staircase, Italian marble floors, and glistening crystal chandelier.
Alexander spoke on my right, “Have you stayed here before?”
“Never. It was always too high for my bank account.”
“Well, they’ve given our unit a nice budget over the years.”
“Solving every case must help.”
“It does.”
I grinned. “Then, I’m glad to be working with ViCAP for now.”
“Even though the supervising agent is an asshole?”
“Yes.”
He laughed.
“Will you need any help with checking in your bags?” he asked.
“No. I already did it early this morning. I’m going to grab something to eat from the dining area, go to my room, and then pass out.”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.” Alexander extended his hand.
I shook it. For a second, I enjoyed his strong hand wrapped around my fingers and the warmth of his palm pressed against mine.
He held it there for a few seconds and gazed at me. No one should have eyes that lovely of a blue—enchanting and almost sparkling.
His deep voice slipped over my skin, teasing and taunting. “You helped a lot today. I don’t think we would’ve figured out those clues without you.”
“I hope you’re right, and I pray I can do more.”
He took his hand away, and I missed its heat.
“Will we be riding together again?” I asked. “Or should I just head to the office?”
He watched me with an intense gaze as if it was the most significant question he’d received all day. Seconds passed and then he broke the silence. “We’ll ride together. Meet me in the lobby at eight in the morning.”
“What’s the plan?”
“A day filled with crime scene analysis and witness interviews. We should go over everything again with your fresh eyes.”
“This psycho is good, but we’re better.”
“We are.” His gaze fell on my mouth, and then he stepped away. “Get some rest, Haven.”
I smiled at his use of my first name. But because I could always be an asshole, I said, “And you get some rest as well, Agent King.”
“Very funny.”
“I try.”
He dove his hands into his pockets. “I’m in 5B if you need me.”
Shocked, I chuckled. “I’m in 4B. We must be right next to each other.”
“Interesting. We’re neighbors.” He directed his gaze to my lips again and then went back to staring into my eyes. “Feel free to knock on my door, if you have a nightmare or anything.”
“That’s very nice.” I gave him a wicked grin. “Do you extend this offer to all your agents?”
He cleared his throat. “Of course. Stein brings his teddy bear into my room all the time
when he’s dreamed about the boogeyman.”
“How nice of you?”
“I try.”
“Since we’re neighbors, I’ll also be sure to keep my partying down.”
“Unless you invite me over, then keep it as loud as possible.” He walked away and said over his shoulder, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Bye.” I watched him walk away. It was becoming one of my favorite past times for today. He had a nice behind, muscled and created for cupping and squeezing. That wide back and broad shoulders moved elegantly in his suit. And the stroll was epic—half stomp, a quarter I-rule-the-world, and the rest pure gorgeous male.
For a rough case like this, it was nice to have a handsome distraction around. It would keep me out of a depressing fog.
“You helped a lot today. I don’t think we would’ve figured out those clues without you.”
I hoped deep in my heart that he was right. This guy had to be found. The news called him the Angel Maker to sell papers and get television views. For me, he was demon spawn—the devil bringing evil to this town. If I could rid Fullbrooke of him, then it would make my year, my whole life.
Leaving the lobby, I wandered through Saint Mary’s. The inn’s rooms circled two inner courtyards and a rear garden. My window had a great view of both, but up close the sight of the garden was breathtaking. There was color everywhere. Bright and subtle. Pinks, reds, and yellows. Oranges and purples.
Wind chimes of different sizes and shapes dangled along the space, tinkling out subtle melodic sounds. Birds chirped around the feeders. Moonlight and garden lamps dotted the leaves with a glow. A small waterfall bubbled in the corner.
It was a highly fragrant garden. The aroma gently drifted along the breeze. The honeysuckle heavy, overpowering fragrance conquered all the other scents in the. The roses came second. I strolled over to a few and sniffed their different perfumes. Some had citrus notes. The sweet briar rose had apple scented leaves that added its own dimension to the garden. And then there were the peonies, sweet shrub, and daisies.
I walked closer to the garden and spotted the inn’s famous black lilies—the jewels of the space. Usually, I found these flowers striking, but due to the Fullbrooke Six’s case, they gave the garden a haunting view.
Missing Hearts Page 10