A Deeper Grave--A Thriller

by Debra Webb

  She pulled into her driveway and shut off the engine. Guilt immediately settled on her shoulders. Though he had food and water and access to the backyard, she felt bad she’d been gone fourteen hours. Poor D-Boy. At least he was no longer chained to a porch as he’d been with his previous owner.

  Her cell vibrated against her side as she climbed out. Don’t let it be another body. She didn’t immediately recognize the number but the out-of-state area code was a familiar one. “Gentry.”

  “We need to have a conversation, Bobbie.”

  Special Agent Anthony LeDoux. Bobbie bit back the immediate response she wanted to hurl at him. “No kidding.”

  “I would have thought you’d learned something from your last involvement with a serial killer.”

  Bobbie jammed the key into her front door and gave it a twist. D-Boy waited for her on the other side. She scratched him behind the ears. “I think we both learned something.” She shut off the alarm system and locked the door during the ensuing silence. LeDoux shouldn’t dish it out if he couldn’t take it.

  “I thought we were friends, Bobbie. Why didn’t you call me when Weller contacted you?”

  “Don’t try the guilt thing with me, LeDoux, you started this.” There was absolutely no reason for him to call the chief and tell him about her visit to Weller. “You could have called me.”

  “I’m trying to help you, Bobbie. You can’t go visiting an asset of the Bureau’s without having your name pop up in places it shouldn’t. If I hadn’t called Chief Peterson, someone else would have. I was able to frame the situation a little more to your advantage.”

  Bobbie suspected there might be some truth in his words. “So why didn’t you mention the rest?”

  She tossed her keys onto the table next to the door and toed off her work shoes. As tired as she was, she should change clothes and go for a run. The nightly ritual went a long way in keeping her sane. She’d been letting other things get in the way too often lately.

  “Your chief doesn’t have clearance.”

  Shrugging out of her jacket as she made her way to the bedroom, Bobbie laughed. “But I do?”

  “Weller was properly reprimanded for violating the terms of his agreement with the Bureau. This is the second time he’s crossed the line. He’s skating on thin ice.” LeDoux made a sound that failed the definition of a laugh. “He should have been exterminated years ago.”

  She hung her jacket in her closet and moved to the bed. “What was the other violation?” She placed her Glock on the bedside table, then crouched down to loosen the ankle holster.

  “Your friend Nick Shade visited him back in August when Perry was in Montgomery. He asked the old man for help.”

  Bobbie stilled, her fingers on the belt at her waist. “Weller is his father, why would his visit be a violation?” She held her breath as she waited for LeDoux’s answer. She could think of one very large reason—Weller had murdered his mother and Nick had been the one to out the heinous serial killer.

  “He can visit his daddy—not that he ever has—but Weller isn’t allowed to pass along information, particularly information about criminals or crimes he hasn’t even shared with the Bureau.”

  “Information about another serial killer?” Bobbie’s heart was pounding. Nick had told her he was going to a source for information on the Storyteller. Had he really visited his father for the first time just to help her? Or maybe he’d wanted to stop the Storyteller that badly. Either way, the impact of that news shook her.

  “I’m afraid I can’t say. Why don’t you ask your friend the serial killer hunter?”

  Bobbie bit back the response she really wanted to make. LeDoux had nothing to do with Weller or this case. Why was he suddenly involved? “What’s going on, LeDoux? Why are you a part of this? And what is this so-called Consortium?”

  Silence filled the line once more. Images of the time she and LeDoux had spent chained in that desolate place crashed through her mind. It was a miracle either of them had gotten out alive. Others hadn’t been so lucky.

  “Like I said,” LeDoux answered finally, “I’m trying to help you. He’s using you, Bobbie. We don’t know why just yet, but that’s the only thing you can be sure of. This business about a consortium of serial killers is bullshit. It doesn’t exist.”

  “I don’t need you trying to protect me, LeDoux.” She endured enough of that from the chief. She was a highly trained, seasoned detective. She could take care of herself. She pulled the clip loose from her hair and tossed it aside.

  “We have to stick together against them, Bobbie. They’re not like us... Shade is not like us. You shouldn’t trust him, either.”

  “How can you say that after the way he saved both of us?” The man was unbelievable. Frustrated, she headed for the kitchen. She needed to eat. D-Boy raced ahead of her, hoping for a treat.

  “Just be careful, Bobbie.”

  She opened her mouth to demand what he had to do with any of this since he’d ignored her the first time she asked, but the man leaning against the counter in her kitchen temporarily stole her ability to speak.

  Nick Shade.

  “I have to go,” she said to LeDoux. The agent was still ranting at her when she hit the end call button. “Hey,” was all she could think to say. D-Boy sat at his feet as if Nick was his long-lost master.

  “What does LeDoux want?”

  Bobbie considered lying but he would know. Nick could read her like an open book. She suspected he could do the same with anyone. “He told the chief about my visit to Weller.”

  “LeDoux doesn’t want you to get yourself killed.” Nick gestured to the paper bag on the counter. “I thought you might be hungry.”

  Out of habit she started to deny his assessment but her stomach rumbled and her mouth watered.

  “Thanks.” She propped against the counter and reached into the bag. Chicken sandwiches and chips. She passed one of the sandwiches to him. “I guess you heard about the latest homicide.” It wasn’t a question. Nick Shade had connections.

  “The Pretty Boy Killer was my fourth hunt.” Nick peeled the wrapper from the sandwich. “Apparently he isn’t going in any particular order.”

  Bobbie swallowed the first bite and resisted the urge to moan. “I remember headlines about the Seppuku Killer, but not the other one.”

  “The Seppuku Killer had a higher body count and his victims were headline makers, like the Parkers. You would remember him.”

  Since their earlier conversation was interrupted, she still didn’t know his thoughts on Weller’s story. “LeDoux says the Consortium doesn’t exist.”

  “He’s right.” Nick sank his teeth into his sandwich instead of saying more.

  She needed way more than that. Why would Weller make up a shadowy organization to explain the threat to Nick? How would such misleading information help her keep Nick out of danger? “Then he’s baiting you,” she reasoned. Using me.

  “It’s working.”

  Nick was Weller’s son but he was also responsible for his arrest. Maybe this wasn’t about protecting Nick. After all, could a psychopathic serial killer really love anyone? Weller’s reaching out to Bobbie and the murders could very well be about vengeance. But why wait all these years?

  “Do you think Weller is behind the murders somehow?”

  His dark gaze settled on hers, searching, analyzing as if her every thought and feeling were right there in front of him. “I’m not certain yet what his involvement is.”

  She moistened her lips and reached for the courage to ask the questions that had burned in her brain since the day Nick left. “Was he...a good father before?” She shrugged, knowing the words weren’t coming out right. She wanted to know more about Nick. He certainly knew everything about her. “I mean did he appear to be a good father? Did he go through the expected motions? Teac
h you how to play baseball? Take you fishing?”

  Nick finished his sandwich and wadded the wrapper into a tight ball. “He was average, I guess. Though he didn’t do sports. My mother took up his slack when it came to outdoor activities.” He shrugged. “He came home in the evenings. Listened to whatever my mother and I wanted to talk about over dinner. He was patient.”

  The memories visibly confused or unsettled him. “The details you recall don’t fit with what you know he is.”

  He braced his hands wide apart on the counter and leaned against it, then shook his head. “He didn’t miss the important events at school. He always did exactly what he said he was going to do. I have no memory of hearing my parents argue.” He looked away. “And then one morning she was gone. He said she left during the night. Some of her clothes were gone. Her purse and jewelry. We never heard from her again.”

  The pain in his voice was one Bobbie recognized all too well. She could imagine the little boy trying to be strong, hoping to hold on to his father’s approval after his mother had vanished. Had his father—the heinous serial killer—held him and promised him everything would be okay?

  “You were a kid. Ten years old? Who took care of you while he was at work?” When her mother had died, her aunt Sarah had picked her up from school and did many of the things her father couldn’t do because of work. “Did you have any other family to help out?”

  “Just the two of us. He moved his office to the house and I came home every day to a parade of patients, one every hour like clockwork.”

  Bobbie had read that before his downfall Weller volunteered several hours a week at the very prison where he now resided. Even then the FBI and other law enforcement agencies had relied on his superb insight and opinions. How ironic. The very man whose opinions waxed so brilliantly about the subjects he evaluated had been committing shocking murders right under their noses. She studied the man who had been the little boy living with the most evil monster of all. How had he survived?

  “Don’t waste your sympathy on me, Bobbie.” His voice was low, quiet and far too knowing.

  “You spent all those months feeling sorry for me and I can’t feel sorry for you,” she countered. Nick had visited her in the hospital after she escaped the Storyteller. Bobbie didn’t actually remember, but his promise to stop the serial killer who’d stolen her life had found a place deep inside her and lodged there. “Don’t even try to say you didn’t.”

  Hell, the whole world had felt sorry for her.

  “Most of the time what I felt was respect and admiration.”

  The confession took her by surprise. She decided to take the compliment for what it was and move on. “Are you planning to stay in town for a while or are you just passing through?”

  He’d ignored her when she’d asked him the same question this morning. As much as she feared the danger was all too real and that it would have been better if he hadn’t come, she couldn’t deny being glad to see him or that she hoped he stayed. She hadn’t expected to feel this...attraction...to him or anyone, for that matter. She’d spent so long being angry and sad and filled with the need for vengeance she’d thought she couldn’t feel anything beyond those three painful emotions. He made her feel...more. What the more was remained unclear at this point but she wanted to explore whatever it was.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  She wanted to insist that of course he had a choice. He could disappear and never look back, rendering any efforts by this killer—whoever the hell had sent him—pointless. But he wouldn’t do that. He would stay and fight and protect her, damn it.

  “I suppose not.” She thought of the two missing women and said, “There was a major deviation from the MOs of both the Seppuku and the Pretty Boy Killers.”

  “The Parker girl is still missing?”

  Bobbie nodded. “A woman who was with Manning when he was murdered is missing, as well.”

  “Is there anything at all that connects the two?”

  “Not that we’ve found so far.”

  He drew back and reached for the bottle of water on the counter.

  “If Weller is behind all of this, why would he reach out to me?”

  “He’s curious about you, I imagine.”

  “Why?” Every part of her stilled in anticipation of his answer.

  His gaze locked on hers and the ability to breathe vanished. “Because I’ve never allowed a personal involvement before. He can’t stand not knowing what you are to me.”

  She held her breath. “And what is that?”

  He downed another swallow of water before resting his gaze on her once more. “Someone who means a great deal to me.”

  She managed to draw air into her lungs despite the tightness in her chest. “You think he would really send a killer after his own son?”

  “Yes.”

  It was a simple word, only three letters. It was the utter certainty and complete lack of emotion in his voice that levied a kind of devastation that she couldn’t fully quantify.

  “Okay.” She squared her shoulders. “I should tell the team what we’re looking at.”

  “You should. LeDoux needs to push Weller for answers.”

  Bobbie glanced at the clock. She hadn’t realized how late it was. “Tomorrow will be soon enough, I guess.” She shook her head to try and clear it. “So, are you staying at the Economy Inn this time?”

  The memory of that wall in his room where he’d compiled all he had learned about the Storyteller quickened her pulse. Would he do the same this time? More important, would he allow her to be a part of it? Damn it, she was a part of this. She would not permit him to leave her out.

  “If they have a vacancy. I haven’t checked.”

  One, two, five seconds lapsed. “My couch is vacant.”

  Inside, she cringed. Friends did that, though, right? He needed a place to stay; she had an empty couch. It was the right thing to do. Besides, the proximity could help keep her in the loop.

  “How can I refuse such a generous offer?” A smile tipped one corner of his mouth.

  His smiles were so very rare even the ghost of one was startling. “Good.” She nodded, repeating the word over and over in her head. This was good. She could keep an eye on him if he stayed at her place. “First one up feeds D-Boy and lets him out.”

  Still sitting at attention near Nick’s feet, the animal swept his tail back and forth over the worn floor at the sound of his name.

  Nick gave the dog’s head a rub. “Glad to see he has a good home.”

  She smiled. “A friend suggested I get a dog.”

  For another of those long lapses of silence they held each other’s gaze. The foolish need to reach out to him nudged her, but neither of them was ready for that. Maybe they never would be. They were both so broken.

  “Well...” She drew in a deep breath. “I should call it a night. There’s an extra house key in the drawer by the stove. The code for the security system is Newt1. You’ll find a pillow and blanket in the hall closet.” She nodded. “Good night.”

  She turned her back and headed for her room. If she could just get inside and close the door she might be able to avoid hugging him or something equally embarrassing. She was tired and vulnerable. Never a good combination.

  “Thank you.”

  She hesitated, told herself to keep walking. Couldn’t. Slowly, she met his gaze once more, her heart pounding hard enough to fracture her sternum.

  “For what?”

  “For caring enough to drive all the way to Atlanta and face the monster who stole my life.”

  Ten

  Capitol Heights

  11:30 p.m.

  Lynette Holt stared out the open window. The breeze was a little chilly but she needed to be able to hear. Sound carried in the darkness. She could make out the drone
of the traffic on Atlanta Highway. Tonight, though, her attention was tuned in far closer to home. A second ago she’d thought she heard the Sheltons yelling, but she hadn’t heard the noise again. Maybe if a helpless baby weren’t involved she could let it go. Let the other neighbors continue to call it in and allow the chips to fall where they may. But the baby prevented her from pretending it wasn’t her problem.

  She already had far too much hanging over her head at work. Three dead, two missing. Not one decent lead. Thankfully she had Bauer under control. But then there was Bobbie. Damn her, she was hiding something and Lynette knew it.

  “Are you ever coming to bed?”

  Lynette jumped. She hadn’t heard Tricia come into the room. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

  “The cold spot on your side of the bed woke me.” Tricia sat down on the sofa next to Lynette. “You can’t force the woman to make the right choices.”

  Lynette understood Tricia meant Olivia Shelton, the woman two houses away whose husband abused her every day of her damned life. Lynette fully understood she couldn’t make the woman do the right thing, but she couldn’t stand idly by and do nothing, either. She was an officer of the law. She had a sworn duty to serve and to protect.

  Olivia and Wesley Shelton had become a sore spot between Lynette and her wife. The younger couple and their six-month-old daughter had moved in three months ago. The first few weeks they had been quiet, like the rest of the neighbors on the block. Then the fighting had begun. Screaming and crying and name-calling. Neighbors had called the police on numerous occasions. A week ago a representative from every home on the block had showed up at Lynette’s door to demand action.