by Stacy Green
“Why did you send the letter before you killed Rebecca? It could have all ended with her.”
Darren knelt beside her. His eyes were bloodshot and full of hate. He raked his nails over her bruised arm, sending tremors of pain and chills over her frayed nerves. “I had to kill Rebecca because of you. I decided it was time for you to pay.”
“So you dragged Nick into it?”
“I knew the two of you and Cage would get together and start chasing your tails. You’d have to expose your dirty secret finally.”
“You could have just killed me. Made it look like an accident. You’d already gotten away with two murders.”
“Killing you was too easy. You needed to be punished, and the best way to do that was to make you think you actually had a shot at exposing Holden and getting Sarah back.”
“Holden’s exposed. Elaine Andrews is going to bring him down.”
“I didn’t expect that. Your fault, too. You’ve ruined everything. The only solace is in making you suffer.”
“You don’t know where Sarah is.”
Darren gently pinched her cheeks and then grasped her chin, thumb jabbing into her skin, index finger hard against her bone. He brought his face close, his expression layered with menace. “Yes, I do. But I’ll never tell.”
* * *
Crystal kept records all right. Verbal records. Accounts of every client she blackmailed and how much she charged. Her throaty smoker’s voice extolled lazily from the device’s miniature speaker. Crouched side by side, Nick and Cage listened to her schemes.
“Smart businesswoman.” Nick’s throat burned from dryness.
“Conniving bitch.” Sweat dripped off Cage’s nose. “We need to call Charles and see if anything’s turned up.”
“He’ll call. And he won’t find anything.”
“We’re wasting time listening to this.” Cage stood up and headed for the door. Nick refused to move. A pause on the tape signaled the next recording session, and then Crystal spoke again.
“June 5. Had a meeting with Darren Ballard today. Haven’t seen him in a while.” Crystal laughed. “Forgot how good he was in bed.”
Cage stopped in mid-stride. Nick stared at him, the hair on the back of his arms at attention. Jaymee’s brother?
“Damn. Like father, like son,” Cage said.
“He wanted to talk,” Crystal said. “I pretended to listen. But I did make some extra money. He bought that piece of shit typewriter for $50 bucks.”
Nick nearly dropped the recorder. The puzzle pieces floating in his head snapped together.
“Not possible,” Cage said. “Paul must have used it. Darren would never hurt Jaymee.”
But the instinct that made Nick a living caught fire and burned red hot. Crystal kept talking. Entry after entry over the last two weeks, all centered around Darren Ballard.
“He’s wound tighter than a blunt.” Crystal smacked her lips. She must have been eating. “Hates women, too. Poor wife of his. Spends all his time rambling about women being liars and users and whores. Hypocrite since he’s banging Rebecca Newton.
“Something about thy tongue and its mischiefs. Loving evil more than good. Lying, a deceitful tongue. I can’t remember it all. A lot of tongue.” A harsh laugh from Crystal. “That’s the shit Darren spouted tonight. Psalm, I think. Loyalty and sacrifice. Blah, blah, blah.”
“Jesus.” Cage’s hand fell to the trailer floor and then to his knees. His arm wobbled at the elbow barely supporting his shocked form. “This can’t be.”
More entries, and then finally, the morning she was murdered. The sweat-covered hair on Nick’s arms stood up when Crystal began speaking. She’d had no idea that day was her last.
“Darren called at 3:00 am saying he’s worried about Jaymee. She’s gone off to Jacksonville with Lana Samuel’s husband. I don’t know why Darren gives a shit. Jaymee could use some hot sex.
“He’s here. No headlights. Suppose he’s trying not to wake anyone up, but he’s not driving his car. It’s a rental. I see the Enterprise sticker.” A loud, scuffling sound streamed through the speaker, and then a series of scrapes and bumps.
“I hope you’re still picking me up.” Crystal sounded much farther away now. “I stuck you tight under the sink, and since this place is held together by super glue, there’s got to be some kind of reception.
“I don’t trust Darren Ballard. He’s going crazy. He tries to pull anything on me, I’m using my little electronic friend as leverage. Shit. He’s at the door.”
Crystal never got the chance. Darren’s voice, even farther away than Crystal’s.
“Darren.” Crystal spoke in a throaty purr. “Come give me a kiss.”
“What did Royce Newton tell you?” Darren’s voice grew louder with each word. Crystal tried to sweet talk her way out of the jam, claiming she hadn’t said a word to anyone, but it was too late. Charles had questioned her, and Darren knew it.
Crystal’s tone sharpened. “You’re a damned hypocrite, Darren. You judge other people, but the man you idolize is a damned pedophile. You don’t really believe Cage Foster was the father of Jaymee’s baby, do you? Holden Wilcher’s a creep.”
“Jaymee’s a liar.” Anger in Darren’s voice–a lion ready to strike.
“I never knew for sure. But when Royce got drunk the night before he killed his wife, he told me everything. He’s blackmailing Holden for his silence–has been for years. Guess Rebecca found proof.”
“You didn’t tell that to the police.”
“I didn’t plan on telling them any damned thing. Jaymee ratted me out. Good thing I kept the most important information to myself.”
“And what do you plan on doing with that information?” Darren spoke with careful control now, slowly and modulated.
“Well, Holden and Royce both got money,” Crystal said. “I’m going to find out who’s willing to pay top dollar. And if neither of them is, I might have to talk to Detective Charles myself.”
The lion struck. A muted smack and then the thump of something hard against the sink. From the sound of Crystal’s choked pleas ricocheting off the metal and into the hidden recorder’s memory, Darren bent her over the sink and strangled her. Crystal gagged and spit, the high-tech piece of equipment recording the last, desperate moments of her short life.
“Darren, please.” Crystal’s words were barely discernible over the sound of her choking.
“I have to save Holden. Killing Lana was hard. Rebecca even worse. But you? Getting rid of you is easy. Enjoyable, even.”
Something smacked the sink, maybe Crystal’s hand. Nick pictured her mouth hanging open, saliva spraying onto the sink while her fingernails scraped against the fake stainless steel.
Scraping, banging, gagging.
“‘Keep your tongue from evil and your lips from speaking lies’. Psalm 34:13, verse thirteen.”
Crystal made a low keening sound. Then, nothing but a distant, heavy breathing. The sound of Darren dragging Crystal’s body to her bedroom and then washing his hands. Finally, the door closed, and dead air crackled out of the speaker.
Nick swallowed hard and tasted vomit. “I can’t believe it. I thought Darren took care of Jaymee?”
“He did. But Holden was like a father to both him and Jaymee. He got Darren a scholarship to college. Oh, God.” Cage’s glistening face turned green.
“What?” Sweat stung Nick’s eye. He rubbed it with the palm of his hand. The stifling heat made him dizzy.
“Holden convinced Jaymee to keep quiet about the pregnancy and adoption because of Darren.” Cage’s words were mechanical. “He told her if she outed him as the baby’s father, Darren would lose his scholarship. Holden’s name would be ruined, and Darren would be out on his ass. And her family would be humiliated.”
“That’s against university policy. No decent school would have done that.”
“That’s what Lana told her, months after the fact. But Jaymee was alone and scared. She loves Darren and didn’t want to r
uin his life the way hers was.”
“And Holden knew it.” Everything made sense. The devil had walked beside Jaymee, feigning comfort. “Darren killed Lana.”
“Can’t be.” Cage clung to futile hope.
“His father and his idol were meeting Royce. Darren was there. Somehow, he found out. Killed Lana to protect Holden. Then, all these years later, Rebecca learns enough to bring Holden down. Somehow Darren finds out and kills her.”
“He wasn’t ready to quit, though.” Nick’s words came fast. “He wanted to pull Jaymee in, and he didn’t have the guts to confront her. So he sends the letter to me in hopes I’d get you and Jaymee involved.”
“He knew Jaymee would find Rebecca’s body, too. He knew her cleaning schedule at Evaline.”
“And he took her sunglasses.”
Urgency hammered in Nick’s chest. Darren hated his sister for bringing shame to his idol. He killed three women to keep Holden’s secret. If he knew Holden was in the hospital, his hatred would double.
“The picture.” Cage leaned against the counter as though his legs were about to give out.
“What?”
“The one on Jaymee’s nightstand. Of her and Darren. It was knocked over. I sat it up.”
“She knocked it over somehow. As a clue.” Nick stood up and jammed the recorder into his pocket. “We’ve got to figure out where he would have taken her.”
“It’s all about Holden,” Cage said. “If this has been Darren’s plan all along, he took her somewhere significant.”
“Let’s hope Holden’s conscious.”
35
Nick still smelled Crystal’s death. His own sweat stank and made his shirt stick to his back and chest. The sterile atmosphere of the hospital made him feel even filthier.
Cage had his badge out. Nick could give a shit about authority or the proper channels. He was getting answers if he had to literally shake them out of Holden Wilcher.
Not that the badge mattered. Detective Charles waited outside Holden’s door with a pacing Paul Ballard. Judging by the red streaks on Ballard’s neck, the detective had already told him what Nick and Cage had found.
“Sonofabitch.” Ballard came straight toward Nick. “You and that whore are framing my son. He cares about his sister even if she doesn’t deserve it.”
Nick caught the old man by the shirt collar, slamming him against the wall. He jammed his knuckles against Ballard’s throat. “Who are you calling a whore? The one you paid or the woman you abused her entire life?”
“Both. S’all Jaymee ever was,” Paul spat back. “Product of a sinful union. Curse on my family. Curse on Holden. Curse on you, too. Brought your wife down into her shithole, didn’t she? Cursed your life with her selfishness.”
Nick yanked Ballard off the wall and then slammed him against it again. The older man let out a hard groan and punched Nick in the chest. He didn’t back off.
“Your son’s the one who brought the curse on you and your family. He killed Lana. Then Rebecca and Crystal. Now he’s got Jaymee, and the only thing that may keep his ass out of the electric chair is turning himself in.”
Paul sputtered and spit. Cage pulled Nick off as Detective Charles stepped between them. “That’ll be enough.” He motioned to a uniformed officer hovering near Wilcher’s room. “Take Ballard outside until we’re through.”
“Is Wilcher awake?” Cage asked.
Charles nodded. “Not talking. Doesn’t seem to have any idea why Penn Gereau would want to hurt him. And of course he didn’t know Gereau was Jaymee’s father. Lying out both sides of his shit-filled mouth.”
“You tell him anything?”
“Thought I’d wait until you got here.” Charles stuck a piece of cinnamon gum into his mouth and grinned. “After all, I invited the county in on the investigation, didn’t I? Figured you should witness.”
Wilcher lay motionless in the hospital bed. Purple bloomed around both eyes, the right side of his mouth, and his entire left cheek. His lips were swollen, one eye nearly swollen shut. The reverend’s good eye popped when Nick entered the room followed by Cage and Charles. Holden looked out the window. Nick blocked his path. He turned again. Cage hung on the other side of the bed. Charles took his place at the foot.
“Since you feel like hell, and we’re short on time, I’m going to get to the important stuff,” Nick said. “We’ve got proof of your black-market adoption business. Elaine Andrews has evidence you’re the father of her baby. Your partner, Debra Rogers, has testified that Royce Newton blackmailed the two of you after he found out you sold the child you fathered with Jaymee Ballard. We’ve also got your bank records, and we know what RLN was used for.”
Holden’s engorged lips opened and then closed. His undamaged eye opened wide enough to burst. The skin that wasn’t purple turned white. He licked his lips, tongue moving like a man doped up with painkillers. Gereau had knocked out a tooth.
“It gets better,” Charles said. “We know you’re not a killer.”
“But we’re not sure if you know who the killer is.”
Holden shook his head.
Charles looked at Nick. “Have at it.”
“It’s your golden boy, Darren Ballard.”
Holden coughed and then wheezed a laugh. He breathed deeply and forced out a whisper. “Never. Good boy.”
“Crazy boy,” Charles said. He took the digital recorder from Nick and let Holden hear Darren murder Crystal. Holden closed his good eye against the horrendous gagging and choking and the sound of Darren’s calm, hardened voice.
Nick never stopped watching the pastor’s face. He wanted to remember the shame and pain Holden suffered in this moment so he could describe it to Jaymee.
When the sound ceased, after Crystal’s final wretched breath had echoed between the sterile hospital room walls, Holden opened his undamaged eye. Watery now, the once vibrant blue irises pale.
“Where would Darren take Jaymee?” Charles asked.
“My fishing cabin on Lyric Lake.”
* * *
Get untied.
That single thought dominated Jaymee’s mind. The cabin door was directly across from her, a window to her right. Darren sat in the middle of the room, cross-legged and cradling his knife.
“I’m sorry.” Jaymee forced the words out.
“No, you’re not.”
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
He tapped the tip of the knife on his jeans, low and angry laughter oozing from his mouth. “You never thought about me. You never thought about anyone but yourself.”
“That’s not true.” Jaymee rolled to her hands and knees using her elbows to maneuver into a sitting position. “You’re the reason I gave Sarah up.”
Darren raised the knife in a white-knuckled grip. He lurched toward her. “Excuse me?”
She’d either stepped in her grave or given herself a chance at a reprieve. “When I told Holden I was pregnant, I wanted to keep the baby. I even said I’d keep his name out of it as long as he was willing to help feed her, but he said we couldn’t risk the truth coming out.
“You were a sophomore in college with a scholarship courtesy of his influence. He said if it got out he’d fathered my baby, his reputation would be ruined and your scholarship revoked. I believed him.”
Darren dragged the knife across the floor. His hard, dead eyes never broke contact. “You’re stupid. School couldn’t have done that.”
He believed her without question now? A spark of hope lit.
“I was seventeen, and my life was falling apart. I didn’t know what to believe. But I didn’t want your chances ruined.” Jaymee’s stomach twisted. Her next words may well end her life. “Holden said you couldn’t handle being thrown out of school.”
Darren didn’t respond, but his hand jerked, leaving a narrow scratch across the wood floor.
“He said you were the weak one–that Paul’s expectations of you were so high you’d have a breakdown if you lost your scholarship.”
&n
bsp; Fire gleamed in her brother’s eyes. “Did he?”
The moment had arrived. “Holden said he’d been burdened with you for years and that getting the scholarship was his last chance at making you self-sufficient. Keeping Sarah would ruin that, and you. He said you were too weak to handle the truth.”
She wasn’t lying. And Holden had been partially right. Darren’s actions were that of a weak, desperate man. But Jaymee couldn’t accept he was all evil. The brother she’d grown up with–the protector and friend–had to be behind the rage.
“He said I was weak?”
“Yes.”
Bitterness morphed his thinned lips into a scowl. “Dad always said I was weak.”
“I know.”
Darren jabbed the tip of the blade against the meaty part of his palm. “I killed for Holden. I’m not weak.”
“No.”
He twisted the knife in a circle, the point breaking the skin and drawing a small trickle of blood. The droplets trickled to the floor. He was getting careless.
“Darren, you’re not going to get away with this.”
Unblinking and unmoving, Darren stared down at the wet bloodstain.
“Blood always leaves traces. I’ve scratched you. They’ll get the DNA from underneath my fingernails no matter how much you clean them.” Jaymee prayed she was right. “How do you plan on getting away?”
“Newton.”
“What?”
“Rebecca’s parents own a small cabin nearby.” Darren turned to look out the window–the south-facing window. “That’s why she wanted to move to Roselea, you know. Her family spent summers here, and she loved it. She and I used to meet out here.”
“Is Royce at the cabin now?”
“I sent him there. Yesterday I stopped by Evaline to work on his computer. He was freaked out about your buddy Nick and heat from the police. I suggested the cabin. He didn’t ask how I knew about it. Just went to pack. I came back later and planted the evidence.”
“What evidence?” Jaymee worked to keep her expression benign. Rebecca told her about the summers she’d spent at the cabin but never mentioned Lyric lake. What had she said?