by Debra Webb
Tomorrow the Executive Executioner’s capture would fill the headlines, print and electronic. Nearly a dozen homicide cases would be solved.
One less serial killer to take lives.
Nick pondered the other names on his ever-growing list. His cell vibrated before he could decide on his next hunt. He dug the phone from his pocket and checked the screen. The name gave him pause.
Malcolm Clinton.
He’d only met Clinton on one occasion and that had been two months ago. Clinton was a guard at the prison where Randolph Weller resided in far better circumstances than he deserved. For an agreed-upon fee, Clinton had promised to call Nick with the names of any visitors beyond the usual FBI profilers who wanted to pick the monster’s brain. This was the first time Clinton had called. The idea that his father hadn’t had the first visitor who wasn’t FBI in all that time made Nick inordinately happy.
Or, even better, maybe the bastard was finally dead.
He accepted the call. “You have an update for me.” His pulse reacted to the anticipation pumping through his veins.
“Yes. Dr. Weller had a visitor this evening. I had to pull a double shift so I couldn’t call until now.”
“I’m listening.”
“It was a woman his attorney called for him. A detective from Montgomery.”
Tension slid through Nick.
“Detective Bobbie Gentry,” Clinton said.
“How long did she stay?” Why the hell would Bobbie visit him? Nick couldn’t fathom any reason she would visit Weller.
“Not more than fifteen minutes. She seemed a little distracted or unsettled when she left.”
Nick glanced at the time on the dash. “What time was this?”
“About five thirty.”
“Thank you.” Nick ended the call before Clinton could say more. He tossed the phone onto the seat. “What’re you up to, Bobbie?”
He’d kept up with her since he left Montgomery. As hard as he’d tried to forget her, he could not. She showed up in his dreams when he slept and in his thoughts when he didn’t. He’d learned Bobbie had a new partner, a Detective Steven Devine. Nick had done a thorough search of Devine’s background and found nothing troubling except that he was single and close to Bobbie’s age.
The idea of her spending long hours each day with the guy grated on Nick. He’d watched her interactions with Howard Newton—the partner she’d lost. The bond had been palpable. Would she forge that same sort of bond with the new guy? Wasn’t that what cops did?
None of your business.
He shook off the thoughts. He had more pressing concerns. Why would she visit Weller?
There had to be something going on. He’d been mostly out of touch the past forty-eight hours. When he closed in on his prey, it was important that he not be distracted. Even a major homicide case wouldn’t explain why Bobbie would go to Weller. Whatever had happened, it had to be specific to a serial killer she believed Weller would know, and even then the FBI would likely insist any questions be funneled through their channels.
Nick glanced at his phone and resisted the temptation to call her. Five or six times in the past two months he’d pulled out the one video of her he’d kept and watched it just to hear her voice. The video had been made before her abduction by the Storyteller. She’d been in the backyard with her husband and child—the husband and child the Storyteller had stolen from her. Nick kicked himself every time he watched. What kind of fool was jealous of the life a dead man had lived? And yet, Nick watched the video over and over, the life depicted in those captured moments making him yearn for things he could never have.
“This is your life,” he reminded himself. There was no need to pretend otherwise. Feeling sorry for himself wouldn’t get the job done.
Nick made the trip across town to the low-rent motel he’d been staying at since his arrival in New Orleans. He backed into the parking slot directly in front of his door. Inside, the dark room smelled musty but it was cool and quiet, two things he required on a hunt. He closed the door and turned on the light.
The reports and photos he had gathered on the Executive Executioner lined one wall. He knew many things about Adele. Where she was born, where she’d lost her virginity, how she lured her prey. His research was always in hard copy. He didn’t have to worry about a housekeeper stumbling upon his work since he always made an arrangement with motel management. He cleaned up after himself and picked up fresh towels and linens at the front desk. There was some risk using this method but not nearly so much as leaving electronic tracks for his friends in the FBI to follow.
Now that the hunt was done, he would pack up his research, drive to some place well outside the city and burn the whole lot. But first he had to know why Bobbie had visited Weller.
He opened his laptop, entered the passcode and then searched the news for the Montgomery area. The first headline to top the Google search gave him the answer.
Seppuku-Style Killings Take the Lives of Wealthy Montgomery Couple
He read the story, noting that Bobbie was the lead detective on the case. According to the reporter’s inside source, the murders were carried out in the same MO as the Seppuku Killer from the last decade. Had to be nothing more than a copycat. But Bobbie having shown up to visit Weller after being assigned the case was far too big a coincidence to ignore.
Nick closed the laptop. If someone was trying to send him a message, he or she had known exactly how to get his attention.
He would shower, grab a few hours of sleep, and then he was going to Montgomery.
To Bobbie.
Five
Baptist Medical Center
Friday, October 21, 7:00 a.m.
Bobbie watched Sage Parker sleep. According to the uniform who’d just gone off duty, the boy had a bad night. Nightmares had disturbed his sleep. Bobbie’s heart went out to the child. No matter that his aunt had arrived yesterday to be with him, he was alone in a way every child feared. Both parents had been taken from him in one fell swoop; his sister was still missing. Every hour that passed diminished the expectation of finding her alive.
When she was twelve years old Bobbie lost her mother, but she’d had her father. Her father hadn’t passed away until she was in college, but his sudden death had been extremely difficult to accept. Not because she had loved him more than she had her mother, but because his death had been like losing her history. There was something intensely painful about losing the roots that bound you to this life. Sage Parker’s pain had only just begun.
She sighed, resisting the impulse to sweep a lock of light brown, very nearly blond, hair from his forehead. Freckles dotted his nose and cheeks. His fingernails were dirty from playing the way little boys play. Digging in the dirt and pocketing rocks were two of his favorite things to do, according to his aunt. He was a climber and had the broken collarbone to prove his fearlessness. He would need all the courage he owned to get through the next couple of years. His parents were gone, murdered. He’d have to leave his friends and all that he knew and move to Nashville, assuming his aunt was willing to take him, and start over again.
Then and there Bobbie silently made two promises to the kid. She would find his sister and she would get the person or persons responsible for devastating his life. His parents, no matter their sins, deserved justice. Sage deserved the ability to move forward without looking over his shoulder or wondering for the rest of his life.
Marla Lowery, his aunt, appeared at the door, her coffee cradled in both hands. Bobbie stood and, with one last look at the boy, walked toward the door.
“I thought I’d get some breakfast while he was resting,” Marla offered in explanation for her absence.
The officer on duty when Bobbie arrived had told her as much. The FBI agent had taken a break, as well. “I’m sure you’re exhausted.” Bobbie flashed a sm
ile at the new uniform who’d come on shift a few minutes ago.
Marla peered into her coffee cup. “I’ve been thinking about what you asked me.”
Bobbie gestured to the hall and moved away from the door of Sage’s room. She preferred not to have him overhear anything that might upset him more than he was already. When they were a couple of yards away, she asked, “About Fern?”
Marla nodded. “My oldest said Fern has been at war with several students at her old school. She was...” Her voice stalled and her lips quivered. “Receiving a lot of hate messages on social media.”
Marla had three children, all girls. The oldest was about the same age as Fern. “How long have these problems with the other kids been going on?”
Based on her social media accounts, Fern had a love-hate relationship with most of her friends the past few months. She had made quite a list of enemies. Bobbie had interviewed her principals and teachers at both the old school and the new one. The sixteen-year-old’s recent behavior was completely at odds with the rest of her school experience. She had always been a straight-A student. Her teachers loved her, or at least they had until the real trouble started about three months ago. Fern’s behavior became erratic and angry outbursts were suddenly the norm. Her grade-point average slipped. She started to dress and speak differently as if she wanted to be someone else.
“My daughter said Fern confided that the school was threatening to expel her.”
Bobbie had learned as much from the school counselor. “Was there anyone in particular Fern couldn’t get along with?”
Marla shrugged. “I have no idea. I really can’t believe she changed so much. Six months ago she was the sweetest, most thoughtful girl you would ever meet. And so smart. Suddenly she was sporting all those body piercings and wearing black and using horrible language. I can’t imagine what happened to make her turn so rebellious and mean-spirited.” Her lips trembled and tears welled in her eyes. “Or maybe I can. God only knows what the kids have suffered with what their parents have been going through. I’m ashamed to say we’ve only seen them twice in the last year. Heather and Nigel were always so busy and then all the legal trouble started.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have allowed that much time to pass between visits.”
“We all get busy sometimes,” Bobbie offered. “You spoke to Heather regularly?”
“One of us called the other every three or four weeks. She never even hinted there were problems at home...beyond what’s in the news obviously.” She frowned. “Fern’s problems at school couldn’t be the reason for...this. These are children we’re talking about.” Her lips worked for a moment before she managed to say the rest. “You don’t think Fern or one of her classmates had anything to do with their deaths.”
Fern was missing. There was no sign of forced entry into the Parker home and no indication of foul play related to her disappearance, both of which didn’t look good. On top of that the girl had issues at home and at school. She wouldn’t be the first teenager to murder her parents, but Bobbie was relatively certain the killer wasn’t Fern or one of her friends. As true as that was she wasn’t prepared to pass along those conclusions yet. The bottom line was the students Fern angered had parents. There were few things more ferocious than a parent determined to protect his or her offspring.
“In truth it’s too early to say. We’ll operate under the assumption she’s a victim until we have evidence to suggest otherwise,” Bobbie hedged.
Randolph Weller’s words rang in her ears. She ignored that warning voice. She had an obligation to conduct the investigation of this case the same way she did all others. Weller’s input would not be a part of the process until she had reason to believe it held merit. The whole idea of a consortium of serial killers was over the top to say the least. She hadn’t decided whether or not he was playing her somehow.
“Six months ago I would have said there was no possibility Fern would be involved in anything like this.” Marla glanced at the door of her nephew’s room. “Now, I don’t know.” Her gaze rested on Bobbie’s once more. “Is it true that Heather was running a...sex service of some sort disguised as a dating service?”
Bobbie wanted to tread carefully there. “This investigation has a lot of unknowns, ma’am. We’re nowhere near ready to say who was doing what. Give us time to get the facts straight before we pass them along to you. Frankly, that aspect of the case is more the FBI’s purview.” The pain in Marla’s expression prompted Bobbie to add, “We both know that sometimes people do things they don’t want to do for reasons we might not readily see or understand.”
“The FBI questioned me about Nigel.” Marla shook her head as if trying to deny the ugliness. “I can’t believe he robbed all those people. We’ve known him for twenty years and he always seemed so nice. Heather never said a word.” She drew in a deep shuddering breath. “I’m just glad our parents didn’t live to see this.”
Bobbie understood Marla meant the illegal activities the Parkers were allegedly involved in and the vicious murders, not to mention a missing child. Whatever the age or the circumstances of death the truth was no parent wanted to survive a child. She knew this better than most.
A scream rent the air. Bobbie whipped around and rushed toward Sage’s room, her hand on the butt of her Glock. The uniform stationed at his door was already at his bedside.
As soon as Bobbie’s brain assimilated the fact that the boy was okay, she analyzed the scene. A male dressed in scrubs, a nurse she presumed, stood back from the end of the bed, his hands out to his sides, patient chart on the floor as if he’d dropped it. A plastic caddy that contained a blood pressure cuff and other medical tools sat on the foot of the bed. Sage was curled into a protective ball as close to the headboard as he could get, the sheet pulled up to his chin.
“I just need to take his vitals,” the obviously shaken man said, looking from Bobbie to the uniform.
“Let’s see your badge,” Bobbie ordered.
Marla hurried around the bed to comfort her nephew. “He’s been doing this since I got here. Every time a man enters the room, he gets upset.”
Thomas Brewer, LPN. Bobbie compared the photo to the man whose face was a couple shades paler than the one in the photo. A match. She passed the badge back to him. “Why don’t we have a female nurse take care of him?”
Brewer bent down and picked up the chart. “I’ll make a note in his chart. I don’t know why they didn’t do that already if this happened before.” He reached for the caddy and Sage gasped. His aunt made soothing sounds and smoothed his ruffled hair.
Bobbie nodded to the officer. He followed Brewer into the corridor and returned to his post. “You don’t need to be afraid, Sage. We’ll keep you safe.”
Brown eyes peered up at her. “That’s what my daddy said.”
Bobbie moved closer to the bed. She chose her words carefully. “Did something scare you before what happened while you were in the attic?”
He dropped his gaze to the sheet but he nodded. “The other day I was at home alone and someone came in the house.”
Bobbie’s instincts nudged her. “This is very important, Sage. Can you remember what day this happened?” She found herself holding her breath as she waited for his answer.
“Monday. Mrs. Snodgrass does the grocery shopping on Mondays. I was supposed to be at school.” He shrugged skinny shoulders. “There was a big test and I forgot to study.”
“So you decided to stay home?” Bobbie understood that feeling. After her mother died, she’d felt the need to hide from the big things like a test at school and the birthday party down the street. Her mother had always taken her homemade cookies to neighborhood parties. Bobbie hadn’t wanted to tell anyone who asked that her mother couldn’t bring cookies because she was buried in the graveyard by the church.
“But, Sage,” his aunt protested, “you’ve always made honor
roll. You’ve never been afraid of a test.” Marla looked to Bobbie and shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes.
“Has someone at school been bothering you?” Bobbie remembered that part, too. Kids could be so damned cruel. Who you gonna tell, Bobbie Sue? Your momma’s dead. She could imagine the things said to Sage about his parents considering the exploits the news channels and social media had been reporting. His mother had likely been called a whore and his father a thief. The image of the letters painted on their foreheads swarmed in front of Bobbie’s eyes. Poor kid. The trouble had just begun for him and his sister—if she was still alive.
Sage nodded, but kept his gaze lowered. “Jacob Cook was calling my mom names. That’s why my sister was fighting with his sister all the time. A bunch of people were being mean to her and me.” He looked up at his aunt. “Is that why she ran away?”
A hit of adrenaline detonated in Bobbie’s veins. “Do you think your sister wanted to run away?”
Sage shrugged his skinny shoulders. “She promised she wouldn’t leave me. She said she’d take care of me if our parents went to prison. I guess she changed her mind.”
Bobbie and Marla exchanged a look. “Don’t worry about your sister. I’m certain she didn’t run away from you. We’ll find her,” his aunt promised.
Bobbie gave him a nod and a promise of her own. “That’s right and I’ll make sure Jacob Cook never bothers you again.” She had a feeling Fern’s recent behavior was not about drugs or some other self-destructive behavior. It was survival for her and her brother. “Tell me about what happened on Monday.”
“I was in my room building a Lego fort when I heard someone in the kitchen. I thought my mom had come home for lunch so I sneaked into the attic. I knew I’d be in big trouble.” His eyes grew rounder with each word.
“Are you sure it wasn’t your mom?” Bobbie’s pulse hammered with mounting anticipation. The sooner they had a break in this case the better. One theory was that the killer had staged the scene to muddle the investigation. If that wasn’t the case and this copycat was a serial killer, they could have more bodies all too soon, Fern Parker’s being one of them.