Be Afraid

by Mary Burton

  “Who did the work?”

  “I’ve no idea but she liked the work he’d done.” Linda stared at the ruined house. “It was all normal twelve hours ago. All the work and love she’d put into the house was really showing and now it’s destroyed.”

  Whoever had done this had planned carefully. It would take planning to buy the diesel and if Thermite had also been used, it would take more time to get that. Rick handed his card to the neighbor. “Call me if you think of anything.”

  Rick returned to his office to find the Thompson murder case files on his desk. Dusty and faded with age, the cases took up five file boxes that the clerk had stacked around his desk. Curious, he moved to the top box, flipped off the lid, and opened the first file. Investigating officers were Buddy Morgan and KC Kelly. He shook his head, staring at his father’s bold handwriting. Buddy Morgan, the legend. Closed more murder cases than anyone else in the history of Nashville homicide.

  Whereas his older brother, Deke, had tried to live up to the legend, Rick had never suffered under such pressure. He wanted to close cases, be the best cop he could be, but he’d had no desire to chase Buddy’s legend.

  He glanced at the black-and-white forensic photos of the Thompson house. A brick Tudor-style home, it was ringed with manicured shrubs and adorned with meticulous beds. One glance told him it was pure, old Tennessee money. He read Buddy’s detailed description of the father, Ralph Thompson. A judge in family court, Judge Thompson had a reputation for toughness and fairness. He’d made a fair amount of enemies during his ten years on the bench and when the cops realized the five-year-old daughter, Jennifer, was missing they’d assumed the killing and kidnapping were connected to the job. But initial searches didn’t land them any solid suspects. A friend of the family had mentioned Ronnie’s name to the police. He’d done some handiwork for them months earlier and had spoken about little Jennifer. She’d reminded him of his sister.

  Judging by the press-clipping file Buddy had saved, the media attention had been huge. Susan Martinez was quoted in quite a few articles and cited as the leading television journalist on the story. That explained her connecting the dots in the case so quickly. He reached a section with family photos. The picture of Jenna or Jennifer was that of a dark-haired little girl with a round face, bright green eyes, and a wide smile. Just like the one in the missing persons file.

  A smile tugged the edges of his lips. She’d been a cute little thing and the idea of Ronnie killing her family, and grabbing and locking her in a closet for nine days set a cauldron of anger simmering in his belly. He turned the picture over and shifted his gaze to Jenna’s older sister, Sara.

  If Rick could have imagined Jenna at age sixteen she would have looked like Sara. Same hair, same smile, same dimple in the chin. If Sara had lived, he imagined she’d have looked a great deal like Jenna today.

  More reading and he discovered that the medical examiner had reported that Sara had had intercourse within an hour of her death. The doctor had been unable to determine if it was forcible or consensual. The cops had found Ronnie in his apartment, dead from an overdose. Another overdose.

  As he read about the reports of finding Jenna in the closet, his anger fired. He sat back in his chair, rolling his head from side to side and channeling distance and objectivity. “Get a grip.”

  Another glance at the images tightened his belly. He closed the file. He’d read through dozens of missing children’s files in the last few days and managed to stomach the carnage. But Jenna’s case cut deep.

  He wanted to quit reading.

  But he didn’t.

  The elaborate chess set revealed a game in play. Madness flexed stiff fingers and moved a bishop to knock out another pawn. Another worthless player gone, off the board for good. The bishop was now within striking distance of the white queen.

  The white queen stood tall and straight, taunting all who saw her. “So much like Sara.”

  Sara had been a selfish girl, tossing back another’s love as if it were garbage. The decision to kill her had come easily, but the planning of the deed had taken time. And so Ronnie had been recruited. That simple boy who’d worked in the school and had always had a thing for sweet Sara. Ronnie was the windup doll easily set on a path of destruction.

  But Ronnie had not been as predictable as anticipated. Don’t take your finger off the player until you are very certain of the next move. Ronnie had gone against orders. He’d not only failed to set fire to the house but he also had not killed the entire family. He’d taken Jennifer and kept her for himself.

  Ronnie had sworn he’d killed the girl and he’d been so convincing that believing him had been easy. Shoving the needle in Ronnie’s arm had been effortless. The fool had welcomed the promised relief. Ronnie’s temporary reprieve from stress had been permanent and he’d taken to the grave a terrible secret: the girl lived.

  Long fingers wrapped around the queen and squeezed. Today’s scene had nearly gone sideways. Ford had approached Nancy early at the delivery office and caused a scene. The little puppet had taken matters into his own hands and grabbed her early. He’d said they’d not made a sound in the hours he held her in her own home but there was no way of telling. Not good. Not good at all.

  A measure of control had returned by the end of the scene but then it had been shattered by the woman’s defiance. Her eyes blazed until the very last moment life had left her body.

  Tracing the face of the queen, he turned his thoughts back to Jenna. Diane’s death had brought short-lived pleasure. Nancy’s had brought even less pleasure. Already the thrill of that kill was fading, leaving Madness frustrated. Why couldn’t this hunger be satisfied?

  “Jenna, like Sara, will satisfy me.”

  “You’ve said that before. You’re out of control. You don’t know how to stop anymore. Soon the cops are going to be here.”

  “I can stop. After Jenna.” Madness raised a trembling glass to parted lips. The idea of prison, capture, ruin, deeply unsettled Madness. “Yes, give me Jenna and I will be happy.”

  “You swear?”

  “Yes.”

  “How can I believe you? You always want more.”

  “You can believe me. I’m telling the truth. Just give me Jenna.”

  “If we keep on, we’ll be caught.” Reason grew increasingly nervous. They danced on the razor’s edge but Madness didn’t seem to care.

  “I will be satisfied with Jenna. I swear.”

  “What if she isn’t afraid? What if she’s like Nancy?”

  “We’ll make her afraid. We’re good at that.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tuesday, August 22, 10 P.M.

  Jenna shifted the gears of her Jeep and drove off the exit ramp that took her into the rolling hills and toward home. She was tired. Instead of going by KC’s tonight she’d set up her easel on the Cumberland River at the park. There was an old-car show in town and the streets teemed with tourists. It hadn’t been too hot, so folks were happy to sit and have their picture done. She’d made a few hundred bucks, enough to pay another month’s rent if she wanted to stay in Nashville longer.

  She glanced in the rearview mirror, spotted the set of headlights, and gave little thought to the second car as she punched in a different radio station and turned up the radio. She liked music. It pulled her out of dark places quickly and she’d used it often in her life. She never went anywhere without her music.

  She took a corner and then a quick turn down a smaller road. Just four miles from her house, she longed to strip off her jeans and sweater, slip into a hot bath and then into her pajamas. She’d made a pot roast the other night and knew it would warm up well. A good night just to cocoon and forget about killers, loss, and sadness. She turned the radio up another notch.

  This time when she looked, she realized the lights had drawn closer. Tightening her hands on the wheel, she sped up. The second car not only matched her speed but also increased until it was inches from her bumper.

  “No way. No way.
” She pressed her foot on the accelerator but her old Jeep wouldn’t move much faster. Cursing, she shoved her foot almost to the floor.

  The second car could have hit her bumper but instead cut hard to the left and came along beside her. She glanced into the other car but only saw a dark hoodie. The driver held up a gloved middle finger and then cut his car hard to the right and smacked into the side of her vehicle.

  Old training kicked into play. She kept her gaze ahead as she swerved into the other lane. Praying for no traffic, she hit the brakes and watched as the other car zoomed ahead. She quickly got back into the right lane and kept driving as she watched the car up ahead. Damn.

  For a moment, the car lights grew distant and the brake lights tapped on. She immediately slowed and cursed the two-lane road that gave her nowhere to go. The brake lights clicked off and then reverse lights appeared. The driver was backing up and heading straight toward her.

  Heart pounding in her chest, she spotted an easement on the side of the road that led toward a field. Gunning her engine, she drove toward the patch of dirt and whisked off the road seconds before the other car barrelled past her.

  The Jeep’s undercarriage bumped and scraped against the field’s rocks and ruts, jostling her against the side door. Her shoulder hit hard. She gripped the steering wheel and jammed on the breaks. When it came to a stop, her thoughts jumbled into a mix of anger, adrenaline, and fear.

  Jenna reached for her glove box where she kept her Glock. She unholstered it as she glanced back toward the road to see if the driver had returned. Heart beating in her throat, she searched for the car. Only when she was certain it was gone did she fumble for her phone and dial 9-1-1. Backup. She needed backup.

  “Nine-one-one operator.”

  Again old training came into play. Once a cop always a cop. She gave her location and a description of what just happened as she searched in her rearview mirror for signs of the second car. In the distance, the glow of headlights appeared.

  “I’ll have someone out there immediately.”

  The dispatcher’s even, measured tone fueled rather than calmed her jazzed nerves. “Have them hurry. I think he’s turned around and headed back for more.”

  “Can you provide a description of the car?”

  She focused on facts not fear. Shutting off the engine, she killed her headlights. In the dim moonlight she could make out the car’s silhouette. “Appears to be a four-door sedan. Dark color. Too much in the shadows to make it out.”

  “License plate?”

  She tightened her grip on her gun as she waited for a sign the driver was getting out of the car. “Can’t see it.”

  “We’ve a car on the way.”

  “Good.”

  The car paused for a long, tense second, its lights blaring in her direction and its engine humming. He had to see her. Her phone rang, making her jump. A glance at the screen told her it was a local number.

  The car then backed up, turned around and sped off, kicking up gravel. The large engine rumbled down the deserted road. Hands trembling, she reached for the phone. “Hello?”

  “Ms. Thompson, what’s your status?”

  She dropped her head back against the seat and held her semi-automatic close. Adrenaline snapped and bit and then just as quickly faded as it evaporated. “The driver has left. He just drove off.”

  “I’ll stay on the line with you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Is your car damaged? Is there any gasoline leaking?”

  She sat up for a moment, sniffing for any signs of leaking gasoline. When she didn’t smell anything, she dropped her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “No. No gas leaks.”

  “Good.”

  Damn it. Damn it.

  “I’m getting out of the Jeep.”

  “You feel strong enough to walk?”

  “We’ll see.”

  Talking calmed her thoughts. Gun in hand, she opened the door and stepped out. She climbed up the small embankment to the road and stared down the winding road. One hundred yards ahead, the road hooked to the right and vanished.

  She didn’t have to wait long before she heard the police sirens and then saw the flash of blue lights. “I see the lights of the police car. Thanks.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She closed her phone and tucked it and her gun in her waistband at the base of her spine and held up her hands. The cops on duty knew they were headed into trouble. They could just as easily see the gun in her hand and figure she was the problem. Hoping to avoid more problems, she waited until they stopped and shone lights on her. The deputies got out of their vehicle.

  “I’m Jenna Thompson. I called the accident in.” She explained she was carrying a legally registered weapon.

  The officers took the gun from her and once they had control of the situation, asked, “That’s your vehicle at the bottom of the hill?”

  “It is. I left my purse inside. It’s on the floor. It has my identification.”

  “We’ll get that for you.” The officer was midsized, had a flat belly, and sported a thick mustache and a Tennessee drawl.

  “Would you mind notifying Detective Rick Morgan of the accident? I just consulted with him on a case.”

  Dark eyes narrowed and his frown deepened. “You’re that artist.”

  “That would be me.”

  “Yeah, I’ll get him on the horn. Have a seat in my car. It’ll be a few minutes before a tow truck arrives.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You need an ambulance?”

  She’d be sore tomorrow but nothing was broken or really banged up. “No. Nerves are shot but I’m fine otherwise.”

  As the tow truck pulled her Jeep out of the hollow and onto the main road a set of headlights appeared on the road and the car pulled off to the shoulder. Rick got out of his car, the badge fastened to his belt buckle. His expression was tight and drawn as he moved along the side of the road toward her.

  She unfolded her arms and did her best to look relaxed as if they’d just run into each other on Broadway. “Funny meeting you here.”

  Rick’s gaze traveled over her as if assessing and cataloging injuries. When he didn’t find anything he nodded toward the car. “What the hell happened?”

  “A car ran me off the road.” Her training shifted into play, pushing aside the emotion and forcing her to focus on the facts. Later, she might melt into a pool of nerves, but not now.

  “And you aren’t hurt?”

  “I’m fine.”

  The winch of the tow truck groaned as the Jeep settled at the top of the hill. Surprisingly, other than a few clumps of grass and dirt in the front fender, it didn’t look too much worse for wear.

  “Any idea why?”

  “I honestly don’t know. If the guy was tailing me, then I missed it. I was playing the radio and just trying to get my head in a good place when the headlights appeared.”

  “See anything?”

  “Gave what I have to the officer. Four-door, American car, dark color. That’s all I have.”

  “It’s the news report about the Lost Girl,” he said. “It’s shaken a couple of nuts loose from the tree.”

  The theory made sense. “I gave a face to a set of bones that might not ever have been identified.”

  “You’ve made someone nervous.”

  The cops had found the bones. She’d simply been the messenger. But messengers got shot all the time. “I’m handy to blame. Everyone saw my face on television.” Deep satisfaction teased a smile to the edges of her lips. “This is a good thing.”

  His frown deepened. “I’d hate to see your idea of a bad thing.”

  She pulled a clump of dirt from her front fender. “This means the killer of that little girl was paying attention to the news the other night.”

  The frown held steady. “It does?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve rattled someone’s cage but good.”

  He rested his hands on his hips. “That’s all fine and good, but how did
this person get a bead on you, Jenna?”

  “Martinez’s news report released just enough information to the public. If a motivated person wanted to find me, then they could. I’m not exactly in hiding.”

  “You should be more careful.”

  She studied his face in the moonlight. “Why’re you frowning? I got into a little fender bender but I’m fine. And honestly, I saw worse on the job in Baltimore.”

  He didn’t respond right away. “What if it doesn’t have anything to do with the Lost Girl but more to do with your past?”

  She rejected the uncomfortable theory quickly. “My family’s killer was found dead from an overdose. The case was closed twenty-five years ago.” She shook her head. “I have no family in Nashville and anyone I would have known dates back to kindergarten.” An amused brow lifted. “A playground squabble is hardly worth all this trouble.”

  Her attempt at humor fell flat. “I pulled the records on your family’s case.”

  Curiosity mingled with annoyance as she slid her hands in her back pockets. “Funny. I considered asking you to do that.”

  “Why?”

  “My aunt never talked about it growing up. I asked a few times but she dodged the questions.”

  “KC and my father dug deep into Ronnie’s life. Best they could come up with was that he worked at the school your sister attended.”

  She stuffed down her disappointment. “Random killings are frustrating but they do happen.”

  “Ronnie didn’t have the brains to kill your family alone. He barely graduated high school and had a habit of shooting his mouth off after every crime he committed. Did you know he tried to burn your parents’ house down after the murders?”

  “No. I didn’t.”

  “The fire didn’t take. Burned around the kitchen but the fire went out.”

  “By then, I was in the trunk of his car, bound and gagged.”

  His hand slid into his pocket and he rattled change. “He died of a drug overdose nine days later.”