Vile: The Faces of Evil Series: Book 8

by Debra Webb

  This was not like him.

  Mayor Pratt, Agent Todd Manning from the local Bureau office, and Harold Black sat around the table asking all the usual questions to which Gant had absolutely no new answers. They had no idea where Spears was or what he was doing. There had been no new abductions. No developments on the two missing women, Rory Stinnett and Monica Atmore.

  Why were they wasting time in this damned meeting?

  “Excuse me,” Jess interrupted. All eyes swung to her. “Agent Gant, I’m in the middle of a case with a killer or killers who have planted a whole crop of bodies. If you could, please cut to the chase. Do you have anything relevant I need to know? If not, I’ll get out of the way so that you,” she smiled at the glowering looks directed at her, “and these fine gentlemen may carry on.”

  Gant stared out at her from the monitor delivering his image all the way from Quantico. His frustration couldn’t have been clearer had she been sitting across the desk from him as she had many, many times when she was a profiler.

  “We have narrowed down the one IP address we captured amid all the chatter about you on the Internet.”

  The last she’d heard the chatter had stopped, but they had been able to lock onto one IP address. The user was somewhere within a one-hundred-fifty mile radius of the city. The transmission had been bouncing between Atlanta, Nashville, and Birmingham. This was nothing new.

  When she would have said as much, Gant continued, “We now know those transmissions were sent from the Birmingham area. Within a twenty-five mile radius of your current location.”

  The cold circling around her suddenly started to sink deep into her bones.

  “Are you confirming that Spears is here? In Birmingham still?” Black asked what everyone else in the room no doubt wanted to know.

  “We believe so,” Gant allowed. “That could change hour to hour or day to day, but we are convinced he’s staying close. That’s why we haven’t been able to pick him up again. He’s laying low. Waiting to strike.”

  Jess’s phone vibrated. She jumped. She’d put it on silent for the meeting but she’d kept it in her hand in hopes of hearing from Dan.

  Harper’s name and image flashed on the screen.

  “I have to take this,” she muttered. She hurried away from the table. “Did you find him?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” A beat of silence passed. “The chief was in an accident. He’s at the ER. I’m waiting for you in front of the building.”

  “How bad is he hurt?” Jess demanded, her heart in her throat.

  Another of those long trauma-filled moments elapsed before Harper went on. “In addition to injuries related to crash, he suffered a gunshot wound to the head. His condition is unclear at this time. We should go now, ma’am.”

  “I’m on my way, Sergeant.” Feeling numb, Jess ended the call and strode to her chair. She grabbed her bag. “I have to go to the hospital. Dan’s been in an accident.”

  She ignored the barrage of questions fired at her as she hurried from the conference room.

  Hayes called her name and rushed after her as she hurried down the corridor but she ignored him too. The way her body was shaking, if she slowed down she would fall.

  She had to get to Dan.

  23

  UAB Hospital, 8:30 p.m.

  Jess sat on the edge of the narrow hospital bed and cradled Dan’s hand in hers. “You were lucky.” Her throat was so dry, those three words croaked out of her. This was too close. Way too close.

  “I knew what I was doing.” He propped an arm behind his head, then winced with the pain of moving any part of his body. The bandage on the left side of his forehead covered the stitches where the bullet had grazed him.

  The idea of how lucky he was to be alive made her head spin and her heart lurch. A few millimeters farther to the left and the bullet would have entered the frontal lobe rather than glancing off his forehead.

  “You crashed your fancy car.” Jess shook her head as she worked to keep the damned tears at bay. She’d already embarrassed herself on the way here by crying in front of Harper. “You aimed right for that abandoned building.” She exhaled a shaky breath. “You could’ve been killed.”

  “She would have killed me anyway,” he reminded her. “You, too, if I’d taken her to the apartment to wait for you to come home.”

  “You almost killed my prime suspect.” Jess swiped at her damp cheeks and sniffed. “It’s a miracle she survived. How could I question her if she was dead?” Irritation shoved aside some of the weaker emotions. “How am I supposed to solve this case without her? All those victims deserve justice. What were you thinking?”

  He grinned, then groaned. “That I wanted to protect you. That you and our child are more important to me than any case.”

  Jess would not cry again. She closed her eyes for a second. “Okay. I suppose I would’ve done the same thing.” She shrugged. “Maybe.”

  He laughed and grabbed his stomach. He had two cracked ribs from the seatbelt. “I guess that’s as close to a compliment as I’m going to get. And I thought I was being a hero.”

  Jess wanted to slug him. This was no laughing matter. She didn’t need a hero. She needed him. “You might consider choosing a softer target next time. Like some shrubbery or a fence.”

  “I’d rather there not be a next time.” He tugged her down for a kiss. “Keeping you and the baby safe was all I could think about.” He caressed her cheek. “I love you, Jess. I’m not letting anyone take you from me.”

  She smiled, stretched to give him another kiss. “I love you. You needn’t worry. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

  A tap on the door brought reality crashing in before Jess was ready. She wished they could just disappear for a while, but that wouldn’t change anything. Spears would still be waiting to taunt her with another victim. He wouldn’t stop until he was dead.

  The door opened just far enough for Lori to slip into the room. “Chief Harris, you asked me to let you know when Amanda Brownfield was moved to a room. Sheriff Foster says you can question her now.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be right there.” Jess kissed Dan on the chin before easing off the bed. “I’ll be back as soon as I’m finished. Maybe she’ll give me some answers.” Wishful thinking probably. If nothing else, they had Brownfield in custody now. She couldn’t hurt anyone else—especially not her daughter.

  Maddie was another part of this case that wouldn’t have a particularly happy ending. The child might as well be an orphan. The people she was supposed to depend on had let her down.

  “I’ll be here,” Dan promised.

  Those words reminded Jess of the upside in this mess. Dan was alive. For that, she was immensely grateful. He sustained a mild concussion where his head bounced off the driver’s side window. The doctor was keeping him overnight for observation. Jess didn’t want him moving from this room until they were positive he was okay.

  Feeling a little wobbly, she paused at the door to steady herself and to flash him a smile. “I’m counting on that.”

  Outside the room, her detectives waited with the two uniformed officers standing guard. “Sergeant, you and the lieutenant stay here.” Jess turned to Lori. “Detective Wells, let’s go see what Miss Brownfield has to say for herself.”

  Jess had a few things to say to her as well.

  When Hayes would have objected, Jess shot him a look that she hoped reminded him of his place. Evidently, it did because he gave a nod and kept his mouth shut.

  “I let Cook know what’s going on,” Lori said as they moved toward the bank of elevators. “He asked if you needed him back in Birmingham.”

  Jess shook her head. “He should stay at the scene in case there are any developments overnight. We’ll be there first thing in the morning.”

  “I’ll let him know.”

  While Lori sent Cook a text, Jess considered what she’d been told about Brownfield’s condition. Like Dan, she had a concussion. Since she hadn’t been wearing a seatbelt, she also h
ad a fractured collarbone and dislocated shoulder from her flight over the console and an up close encounter with the dash. Lucky for her, the first point of impact had been her shoulder rather than her head.

  Jess was so tired. Now that she’d seen firsthand that Dan was okay, she felt as weak as a kitten. Not a good place to be when interviewing a suspect, but it had to be done. Her cell chimed and she fished in her bag for the confounded thing. The elevator car arrived with a ding of warning. Her stomach growled a warning of its own about dinner. She really had to eat soon. The doors slid open and Jess boarded. She leaned against the wall and checked the screen of her cell. Lori stepped inside and tapped the proper button for Brownfield’s floor.

  Jess frowned and then the image on the screen stole her breath. Long flowing brown hair… dark eyes and a big smile. The photo of the young woman was followed by another text. Isn’t she lovely, Jess?

  “Oh my god.” He’d taken another victim…

  See you soon.

  The elevator stopped but Jess couldn’t move.

  Lori looked from the phone to Jess. “Is it him?”

  Jess nodded and handed her cell to Lori. “Victim number three.” The game was progressing.

  “Jesus Christ.” Lori’s face went pale. She passed the cell back to Jess. “We’re never going to be able to stop him, are we?”

  Determination hardened inside Jess. “Oh yes we are.” She stormed out of the elevator. And she knew exactly where to start.

  As she strode down the corridor, Jess mentally reviewed the rest of the report given to her earlier by the doctor who had examined Amanda Brownfield. Numerous, recent lacerations marred her torso and her thighs. Since the pelvic and thigh bruising suggested sexual assault, a rape kit had been taken. Brownfield had been semiconscious and unable to answer questions when she arrived in the ER. Taking the rape kit under the circumstances was SOP. One look at the photos of her injuries and Jess knew who was responsible. She recognized the pattern of torture the Player used on his victims.

  Only Amanda Brownfield wasn’t dead.

  Whatever she knew about Spears, Jess intended to learn before this day ended.

  Two Jackson County deputies, Sheriff Foster, as well as a Birmingham officer were stationed outside Brownfield’s room.

  As Jess approached, Foster shook his head. “She won’t talk to me beyond screaming profanities. She did ask for you between shouting matches. We’ve taken all precautions with wrist and ankle restraints as well as a waist shackle. She’s not getting out of that bed until we let her out.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff.” Jess turned to Lori. “She may not talk with you in the room.”

  Lori didn’t look convinced. “You sure you want to do this alone?”

  “Absolutely.” Jess forwarded to Lori’s cell the photo Spears had sent. “See that Chief Black and Agent Gant get that ASAP.”

  “Will do.”

  Jess gave her a nod and then reached for the door. She dismissed the idea that she was still wearing jeans and sneakers, both dirty from exploring graves all day. At least the t-shirt with its BPD logo looked official.

  Amanda Brownfield watched Jess enter the room. She didn’t speak, just watched. Jess placed her bag on the floor at the end of the bed before moving to the raised side rail. “Hello, Amanda. I’m—”

  “I know who you are.” Her voice was strong. A little raspy, probably from years of smoking. “Deputy Chief Jess Harris,” she said mockingly.

  “Of course.” Jess smiled. “You’ve been keeping up with me.”

  “No law against that,” Brownfield argued.

  “No law against that,” Jess agreed. “Would you like to know how your daughter’s doing?”

  “Doesn’t matter. My momma ruined her, made her too needy and clingy.” Brownfield tilted her head and eyed Jess. “You can have her.”

  Jess bit back the response that came immediately to mind. “Well then, why don’t you tell me about the human remains we found on your farm?”

  Brownfield considered Jess for a bit before answering. “What makes you think I know anything about those?”

  “Forty-one sets of remains have been uncovered so far,” Jess pressed on. “You must have some idea how that happened. After all, you’ve lived on that farm for most of your life.”

  Brownfield shrugged her left shoulder and grimaced. Her right arm was immobilized in a sling, which made securing her right hand problematic. Foster had fastened it to the waist shackle. The left was secured to the rail on the opposite side of the bed. “Maybe my grandparents built on a cemetery. How am I supposed to know what they did before I was born?”

  “Your family has owned the property for seventy years, but some of the remains we found are far more recent. For instance, Brock Clements, your boyfriend. We found his body, Amanda. I don’t think your grandparents had anything to do with his murder.”

  Brownfield hummed a note of boredom. “Since you have it all figured out, what do you want me to say?”

  This case was far from all figured out. It would likely be months before the numerous victims were officially identified, causes of death confirmed, and murderers and motives nailed down. “You could start with the truth,” Jess recommended. The sheriff had already questioned Brownfield. She was well aware of her rights, and so far she hadn’t asked for an attorney. If Jess were lucky, she wouldn’t change her mind now.

  Brownfield grinned, an expression that confirmed Jess’s assessment of her—she felt no responsibility much less remorse for her actions. She was a pathological liar. Had frequent, short-term relationships and was manipulative and cunning, impulsive and callous. Her list of character flaws went on and on. Bottom line, Amanda Brownfield was a true psychopath.

  “You sure you can handle the truth, Jess?” she taunted.

  “Why don’t you try me?”

  “All right.” Brownfield sighed, the sound one of satisfaction. She was enjoying this. “My granddaddy taught me how to spot the best targets. The ones who deserved to die the most. He showed me how good it felt to take a life. It’s like a drug. Once you’re addicted, you just can’t stop. But,” she qualified, “if you’re smart, you make sure the target can’t be traced back to you. I guess I screwed up on that one.”

  A chill swept through Jess. A multi-generational family of killers was rare, but the Brownfields were fitting squarely into that category. “How did you and your grandfather choose your targets?”

  Brownfield shrugged. “It’s not something you can put into words. It’s a feeling. You just know who has to die.”

  Braced for the answer she didn’t want to hear, Jess asked the question haunting her. “Why did you keep the pictures?”

  “My granddaddy liked keeping a record. We used to make up stories about them. It passed the time.” Brownfield smiled knowingly. “Did you find one you liked?”

  Jess rummaged in her bag for her cell. She’d snapped a pic of the photo of her father. She showed it to Brownfield. “Tell me his story. The real one.”

  Amanda barely glanced at the screen. “He’s waiting for you.” She smiled. “You’re all he talks about—you and this special game he has planned.”

  “Are you referring to the man in the photo?” Jess wasn’t going to play games with this woman. She needed direct answers not more riddles.

  “You know who I’m talking about.”

  “I need a name, Amanda.” A flare of anger gave an edge to her demand.

  “Eric.” Brownfield said his name as if she was a teenager and he was her current celebrity crush. “The Player. He told me everything.”

  “Really?” Jess showed her the photo of Spears’s latest victim—the one she’d received only minutes ago. “Did he tell you about her? Is she part of his special game too?”

  Brownfield executed another of those listless shrugs. “I’ve never seen her before in my life.”

  “Then he didn’t share everything with you, Amanda. He used you.” Jess opted for a new tactic, putting her on the defens
ive. “And now he’s finished with you. He doesn’t need you anymore.”

  That knowing smile returned. “Maybe, but there are plenty of others waiting for a turn to serve him.”

  “Others?” Jess held her breath.

  “People like me, who’ll do anything he asks.”

  This following Spears had amassed was the part Jess couldn’t fully comprehend. What was it about him that motivated so many to do his bidding? There was always a motive. Always. What was she missing?

  “How did he find you?” Jess pressed on. “Where did you first meet?”

  “I’m tired now.” Brownfield looked away. “You should leave. Eric won’t like it if I tell you too much.”

  Jess’s heart pounded so hard she could barely hear herself think. This woman was alive. She had done Spears’ bidding, come face to face with him, and survived. Whatever information she had, Jess wanted it. Now. “Why did he pick you?”

  Brownfield turned back to Jess. “I thought you’d figured that out already.” A slow smile slid across her face. “It’s our connection.”

  “What connection?” The photo of the man who was almost certainly her father flashed in Jess’s mind.

  “The man in the photo you showed me,” Brownfield said, seemingly hearing Jess’s thought. “Our father. He died when I was six, but then you know that, don’t you? My momma and I went to the coroner’s office to see him. He was lying on that steel table with your momma on the one right next to him. My momma kissed him goodbye and then she made me do it. She loved him a lot, you know.”

  Images of her father and mother laid out on cold slabs flashed in Jess’s mind. One endless moment passed before she could speak. “Your father’s name was Lawrence Howard. The Cadillac in the barn was registered to him.”

  Brownfield shook her head. “That’s just the name he used when he was with us. His real name was Lee Harris. I’m your sister, Jess. No use fighting it.”

  Jess restrained the fierce emotions clawing at her. “Is this another of the stories like the ones you and your grandfather made up?”