John clenched his eyes shut as the flashlight hurt his pupils. When he opened them again, Jude sent several squirts of pepper spray his way, and an errant blast went into John’s gasping mouth. The heavy rain diluted the spray somewhat, but it still did its job.
The effect was immediate as John began coughing and wiping at his eyes. Jude dropped the flashlight and the spray to wrap his hands around the gun.
John’s grip on the weapon was strong as Jude struggled to keep the muzzle pointed away from his face. When John twisted away, Jude grabbed at him and wrapped a hand on the denim jacket John was wearing.
They struggled in the dim light given off by the flashlight, which had fallen to the ground. When Jude pulled John’s jacket over his head, he gained the advantage when the gun became tangled in the fabric. John was having trouble taking in a full breath because of the pepper spray he’d inhaled; with the jacket over his head, his condition worsened. Jude gave a final tug and the garment slipped off John while causing him to lose the gun.
John was still in distress as he fought to take a normal breath; at the same time, he was sightless from the spray in his eyes.
As he backed away from Jude, John’s right foot stepped into empty air, causing him to tumble into the hole. To add to his misery, he broke his left ankle as he landed.
Jude claimed the gun, then stared down into the black pit, before lighting it up with the flashlight. John’s reddened eyes were shut tight against the pain he was feeling, but he had recovered his breath and could speak in a raspy voice.
“Help me, Joey.”
Jude’s features twisted with hate. “Help you? You left me with Dad, Johnny, you left me alone here with that monster.”
“I had to… I was on the run.”
Jude took aim with the gun. “Go to hell, Johnny.”
The sound of three shots echoed through the night, and vengeance was served once more.
Chapter Forty-Five
SANGUINE, NEW HAMPSHIRE
Linda Perkins checked her makeup in her rear-view mirror before lowering the car’s window. She was nervous because she was planning to offer herself to Jude Rowland.
The rift between them that had happened in high school was healed. More than healed, Linda thought, as she remembered their kissing session on the porch the other day.
After spending Thanksgiving with her ex and his new wife—an event that was not as painful as she’d imagined it would be—Linda decided to go see Jude. Her daughter was staying with her ex for the holiday weekend. Linda hoped to be spending the time with Jude.
She had gone home, showered, and changed into a short black dress which had been crafted for seduction. Now, she sat before Jude’s gate hesitating to ring the bell.
It will be fine, Linda, she told herself. Joey’s forgiven you.
As her finger pressed the buzzer, three gunshots rang out, and they sounded near.
Remembering that Jude had given her the code for the gate, Linda entered the four-digit number, while taking out her phone. The gate opened as the police dispatcher answered.
“Gail, this is Linda Perkins. There were three shots fired at Joey Revene’s house.”
“I thought you were off duty this weekend, Linda, and didn’t surveillance end out there?”
“Yes, but I came by to—nevermind why. I just want you to know what’s happening.”
“Should I send a unit out there? There’s one nearby doing DWI stops for drunks.”
Linda hesitated in answering as she parked in front of the house. She was searching the area for any sign of Jude.
“Linda?” the dispatcher said.
“Yeah, send a unit. Who’s on tonight?”
“Tyrone and Jake are near, I’ll send them to the Revene place, and be careful.”
Linda ended the call and stepped out of the car while holding her gun. She was wearing heels which tapped loudly against the slippery cobblestones of the path that led away from the house. To aid her peripheral vision, she left the hood on her jacket down. The rain ruined her hair while making her mascara run.
She could hear the dogs barking inside the house but was certain that the shots came from elsewhere on the property. She eased forward, gun at the ready, while fearing for Jude’s safety.
* * *
Jude had been staring down into the hole at his brother’s dead body when he heard the sound of the gate opening. Swiveling his head around, he glimpsed the headlights of a car as they played hide and seek between the gaps in the trees.
His first thought was that the FBI had left an agent behind just in case. He discarded that idea as fast as it had formed. That wasn’t how the authorities worked. If they believed John was still alive, they would have kept everyone in place.
Jude hid the gun up the sleeve of his jacket as he went to see who had driven through the gates. He spotted Linda before she could see him, then took a moment to come up with a plan. If she had called the station, he would have very little time. However, her arrival was fortunate, as it opened up new possibilities.
Jude had despised Linda for years and had intended to add her to his list of victims. His intention had wavered after Linda had apologized sincerely to him in recent days. Jude still found her to be desirable and the crush he’d had on her in high school was ignited once more.
As a compromise, he told himself that he would use her for awhile before coming up with a plan to kill her. With Johnny’s unexpected resurrection, a way to gain vengeance against Linda was possible, although it would take daring. No matter what, Linda couldn’t be allowed to find Johnny’s body. If so, it would become obvious that Jude had killed his brother while the man was defenseless.
Jude studied Linda as she moved quietly through the rain. Erica had said that Linda could make him happy if given a second chance to share his life; Jude thought it might even be true. However, his hatred for Linda had formed deep roots in his soul, and Jude was a man addicted to vengeance.
“Linda,” he whispered, and watched her swivel her gun in his direction. “It’s me, Jude, don’t shoot.”
“Joey, are you all right?”
Jude placed a finger to his lips. “Johnny’s here. He’s alive, Linda, and he’s got a gun.”
Linda moved closer and took him by the arm. “Back to the house. There are more cops on the way; they should be here any minute.”
Jude allowed her to pull him along for several steps before spinning around.
“I heard something. He’s caught up to us.”
Linda turned to look. She was breathing rapidly from the adrenaline pumping through her system and her gun shook slightly. Jude was behind her, staring at her back as he freed the gun from his sleeve.
“Linda.”
“What?”
“I never forgave you. You made me feel like I was less than human that day in your bedroom.”
Linda only had time to turn her head to gaze at Jude before he fired two shots into her back. One of them tore through a lung, while the other ruptured her heart. She crumpled to the ground like a marionette with clipped strings.
Jude took out his flashlight to check her condition and saw lifeless eyes staring back at him. He grabbed up Linda’s gun and fired off two rounds while aiming at the spot he’d been standing in when he’d shot her. Afterward, he dropped the weapon and was racing back to the hole where his brother’s body lay.
Linda said more cops were on the way. Another man might have been overwhelmed as he struggled to come up with a plan, but not Jude Rowland. He’d spent a large chunk of his life imagining and refining plots, scenarios, storylines, and schemes. His mind conjured up a way to salvage things in an instant.
Jude tossed John’s gun into the hole and heard the thud as it hit cooling flesh. The dirt removed from the hole was piled high next to it. Jude grabbed a board from the dismantled gazebo and used it as a makeshift shovel. He had experience using it.
On the night he killed Chief Connors, Jude had tossed the oversized hoodie he’d worn into
the hole and had covered it up. He feared that his home would have been searched a second time and the garment discovered. No one had found the hoodie, and no one would discover Johnny either.
When Jude had filled in enough dirt to cover John’s body, he grabbed up the denim jacket his brother had been wearing. He had taken three running steps when he came to a sliding halt. From the corner of his eye he’d spotted the spent shell casings that had been ejected when he killed Johnny. They were perched on the rim of the hole, with one of them balanced precariously atop the edge.
Jude grabbed up the two nearest to him and tossed them a few yards from the opening. When he reached out to grab the third, it trembled, as a fat raindrop struck it. The impact of the rain caused it to roll into the pit and Jude fell atop the ground to grab it. Fingers slick with rain and mud struggled to hold onto the shell. When he won the battle and had a firm grip on it, Jude released a manic laugh.
After depositing the troublesome shell near its mates, Jude dragged Johnny’s jacket along the ground until he was near Linda’s corpse. Knowing time was running out, Jude continued to drag it along the asphalt as he ran down the driveway and through the front gate.
When he spotted the black vehicle parked across the road, Jude froze for an instant. He hadn’t given thought to Johnny having arrived in a car.
He recovered swiftly, pulled out his pocket knife, and punctured the sidewall of a rear tire. When the hiss of the escaping air faded another sound replaced it. It was the reverberation made by a racing engine. Jude tossed the jacket toward the trees and ran back across the road. Before running through the gates, he looked left and saw the trees along the bend brighten from approaching headlights.
Sprinting for all he was worth, Jude ran along the driveway as a patrol car turned onto his property with blazing lights but no siren. As he was running along the path at the side of the house, he lost his footing on the slick stones and tumbled forward. Behind him, headlights bounced off the home’s front windows. Ignoring the pain in his right knee, Jude rose into a crouch and kept moving.
He was kneeling down near Linda as the doors on the cruiser opened and closed. When the two officers came across him, Jude was cradling Linda’s body. Crocodile tears streamed down his face, to mix with the rain and the blood.
Chapter Forty-Six
WASHINGTON DC
After leaving home that afternoon, Angel had taken a bus into the city and hopped on a Metro train. Due to the truncated holiday transit schedule, he could still get the bus home, but would have to walk miles through DC streets to reach it. When Erica offered to give him a ride, Angel gladly accepted.
Erica had Angel home in a fraction of the time it would have taken him to get there on his own, then, they sat in her car and talked. Angel elaborated on his love of flying, while Erica discussed some of her more interesting cases. This included her most recent one.
“What’s Jude Rowland like?” Angel asked.
“He’s personable, once you get to know him, but he comes off as cold when you first meet him.”
“My mother says that we should rely on our first impressions of people. She says you see the face and not the mask that way.”
“She has a point. Are you close to your mother?”
“We were close before I went inside, and now I hardly ever see her since she re-married and moved to Florida.”
“And what about your father?”
“He died a long time ago. It was an accident at work. I was just a kid when it happened.”
“I was young when I lost my father too.”
“I saw his pictures at the house and asked about him. Your father died a hero, Erica, saving those kids the way he did.”
“Yes, but it didn’t make losing him any easier.”
“No, I guess it wouldn’t.”
“Is your brother older or younger than you?”
“Franco is younger. When I went inside, he was this nerdy college kid. Now, he’s a successful businessman doing deals internationally. He offered to buy me a car so that I could get around, but it’s enough that he’s given me a place to live. As soon as I’ve saved enough, I’ll move out into my own place.”
They continued to talk and get to know each other, with laughter mixed in. The conversation was interrupted when Erica’s phone rang.
“It’s Cassie,” she told Angel as she answered the call. “What’s up, Sis?”
“Where are you? I thought you were coming right back?”
Erica looked at the clock on her dashboard and realized that she and Angel had been talking for over an hour. It felt like only minutes had passed.
“I’m headed back. Angel and I just got to talking in the car.”
“I see,” Cassie said, and Erica could hear the smirk in her voice. Cassie always could tell when she liked someone.
“I’ll be back soon.”
“Take your time, little sister,” Cassie said, and there was mirth in her tone.
Angel opened his door as Erica put her phone away. “I didn’t mean to keep you from your family, and thanks for the ride.”
“You’re welcome, and thank you for the talk.”
Their eyes stayed connected for long moments as something unsaid hung in the air between them. Before it became uncomfortable, Angel stepped out of the car, sent Erica a little wave, and walked toward his home.
Erica watched him until he went inside, aware that she had the urge to spend more time with Angel.
* * *
She put in a punishing two hours in the gym the next day as she fought to work off her overindulgence of the holiday feast. After returning to her mother’s house from dropping off Angel, Erica had eaten dessert. She’d had sweet potato pie with vanilla ice cream on the side. It had tasted like heaven. She’d had to force herself not to take some home with her.
As she was returning to her locker, sweaty and tired, the call came in from Grant Whitford. Traveler was still alive, and he had killed again.
“I thought we had confirmation of his death, Grant.”
“So did I, because that was definitely his flesh found under that woman’s fingernails. Somehow the bastard tricked us, hell, he tricked me… and it cost an officer her life.”
“A police officer?”
“It was Linda Perkins, one of the female cops we met in Sanguine.”
Erica sank onto a wooden bench in front of her locker as a soft moan escaped her.
“Damn it, Grant, what happened?”
“I’ll explain everything when you get here. I’m in Sanguine, and I’m sorry, but the holiday weekend is over. The hunt is back on for Traveler.”
“This happened in Sanguine? Is Jude Rowland all right?”
“He’s shaken up. He watched Perkins die.”
“I’ll be there as soon as possible, and I’ll let Owens know what’s going on.”
“This is on me, Erica. I was so eager to have the case closed that I took a shortcut. I should have waited for the damn autopsy.”
“You did nothing wrong, Grant. The evidence was there to back up your conclusion. Traveler, John Revene, he’s more devious than we gave him credit for.”
“No, anyway you slice it, I screwed up… and it cost a cop her life.”
Erica was about to tell Whitford that he was being too hard on himself when he ended the call. She phoned Brad Owens and let him know what had happened, then she took a fast shower and headed for home. She had a bag to pack. Erica was going back to Sanguine.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Troy Carson had sent Erica the report he’d been working on the day before Thanksgiving. With the Wildcard and Traveler cases ended, she was in no rush to read it.
With a slightly hungover Brad Owens sleeping in the airplane seat beside her, Erica opened the PDF file and read Troy’s report on her phone. She assumed it was going to be unremarkable and a simple list of facts. It consisted of times, dates, addresses, and materials delivered by Zach Connors during the weeks he traveled while carrying out his kil
ling spree.
And it was just that, a list, but the lack of variety made it stand out.
Troy Carson had noted as much in his cover letter.
This is the list you wanted, Erica.
Maybe you’ll find it as odd as I did. I believe in coincidence, but this seems intentional. The question is why? I’ve tried contacting the heads of purchasing at the different warehouses but with the long holiday weekend I’ve had no luck. Let me know if you want me to pursue this further.
—Happy Thanksgiving, Troy.
The companies listed were all located near the various homes of Wildcard’s victims. Connors had delivered goods to them either shortly before or after the individual murders took place. That had been established and was a key element of the case against the deceased trucker.
Troy had dug deeper and found out what had been delivered. In every instance, the company had received cases of toilet paper. One company had ordered over five-hundred rolls. The supplier was listed as Royal Goods & Services. Their lone warehouse was in Vermont and their website looked amateurish and lacked a contact number.
Erica began calling the companies on the list. It was the Friday after Thanksgiving and she was only able to leave messages, that is, until the sixth customer on the list answered their phone.
“Hancock Plumbing Supply, Maury speaking.”
Erica explained who she was and gave a watered-down version of why she was calling. When she asked to speak to the purchasing agent, the man laughed.
“That would be me. We’re a small family-owned business. I handle the office while my wife deals with personnel and our nephews and nieces help out at the counter and stock the shelves.”
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