*
With the lunch rush over, Celeste finally took a breather. After removing her stiff, greasy apron, she sat in the small, cramped office in the back of The Sugar Shack and rested her feet on a milk crate that served as a file box. As she closed her eyes, her cell phone rang.
Releasing a tired sigh, she looked at the caller ID, then jerked to attention, knocking over the milk crate. She hadn’t expected a call from Ian, but why wouldn’t he call her? He was her father, and would only be in town for a couple of days. Besides, she had wanted to talk to him about last night’s trance, but hadn’t had the nerve to call him first. So much had transpired last night, and as she’d worked through both the breakfast and lunch rush, she’d contemplated whether she should tell Ian about moving to Chicago with John.
Still not sure how to broach the subject, she decided to play it safe and let him lead the conversation. Drawing in a deep, fortifying breath, she answered the phone on the fourth ring.
“Hi, Celeste. It’s Ian. Is this a bad time?”
“No, not at all. How are you?”
“Bored. What time does your shift end? I’d like to see you later.”
“I’ll be here until after dinner. Probably around seven or so.”
“Can I pick you up then? Maybe we could go for a drive or get an ice cream cone.”
Her dad used to take her for ice cream after work when she was a kid. The thought of doing something remotely similar with Ian seemed like a betrayal to her dad. Which was stupid, really. Ian simply wanted to spend time with her. And a part of her wanted to spend time with him. Considering they’d be living in the same city, and she might actually decide to work for him, maybe she should put aside her petty concerns and allow the man into her life.
“That sounds great. Will drove me here, so I could use a ride home.”
“What about John? I know he’ll be busy throughout the day.”
She almost asked him how he knew, then figured he’d probably spoken with Roy. “He’s meeting me at my house later. If you’re worried about running into him there, we could just have Roy drop me off at home,” she said, and couldn’t hide the bitterness in her voice. She loved John, and hated lying to him, or in this case, completely avoiding a situation that would concern him both professionally and personally.
“You’re making me feel childish,” he said with a chuckle. “As much as I’d love to let John in on our secret, I still want to wait. He’s close to solving this investigation. I don’t want to derail him now. Not with how close you two have become.”
How did he know that?
Roy. She was going to have to have a long talk with that man. His loyalties had become quite questionable.
Still not sure how much she wanted to reveal about her relationship, she ignored his last comment. “Then I guess I’ll see you around seven.”
“Seven it is,” he said, then the call disconnected.
She set her phone on the desk and stared at a crack in the wall. How many times had she asked Will to fix that crack and repaint the drab walls? Dozens. Now that she thought about it, there were a number of things around the diner that were in need of repair. Of course nothing that interfered with the business or required a quick remedy should a health inspector pay a visit. The Sugar Shack needed a makeover.
She’d never bothered her dad with the suggestions she had to give the place a polish that would make it shine. She hadn’t wanted to commit more time to the diner. Or maybe it was because she knew deep down that if she made the diner her own, it would become hers. A crutch, a way to keep herself buried in the past and her grief. A reason to not move forward and on with her life.
She supposed it didn’t matter now. She’d made a decision, and would move to Chicago with John. The fate of the diner would rest on her dad. Her stomach knotted just thinking about the talk she’d have with him. She didn’t want to disappoint or hurt him. She wanted to put The Sugar Shack and Wissota Falls behind her and enjoy a new beginning in Chicago.
The diner phone rang, saving her from dissecting how she’d handle the conversation with her dad. “Sugar Shack, Celeste.”
“Hi, Celeste, this is Sal Riviera from Booker Foods. I wanted to take care of the order mishap with your account.”
Pleased, she quickly fired off everything that they’d missed on their last shipment. After Sal had assured her next week’s delivery would be as it should, he rattled off a few new items on their seafood line. She doodled on a piece of paper as he droned on about shrimp and lobster, her thoughts still on the diner, her dad, Ian and of course John...always John.
Until Sal mentioned trout.
The tip of the pencil snapped against the paper as an image flashed in her mind. “Thanks, Sal, but I’m going to pass.”
“But the—”
“I’ve got to go.” She hung up the phone. Her heart beat fast as she stared at the doodle she’d created. Not just squiggly lines but a rudimentary sketch that would make Will grimace in distaste.
She quickly dialed John’s cell. As she waited for him to pick up, she stared at the crude drawing, wondering how she’d missed the clues when she’d listened to last night’s trance. She couldn’t believe—
“Hey, hon,” John answered. A car door slammed in the background. “Roy and I are heading into the hospital. Can I call you back?”
“Yes, no,” she blurted.
“Celeste, are you okay? What is it?”
She looked down to the sketch she’d made. “I know where you’ll find the third victim.”
Chapter 24
After John told Roy he’d catch up with him inside the hospital, he leaned against the sheriff’s cruiser. “Where do you think we’ll find the third victim?” he asked Celeste, gripping his cell phone tight, and wondering how he would have handled this investigation without her. Because of Celeste, they had Winston, which had led to the insurmountable evidence that he’d killed over thirty people. Because of her, they’d found two other victims, which had led them to a second killer that needed to be stopped. Now she was giving him the third.
She simply amazed him.
“Do you remember when I told you about my first vision, the one that involved Lloyd?” she asked.
“Yeah, you said you knew where to find him because your dad liked to fly fish in that same spot. Is that where you think she is?”
“No, not there. A place about a half mile south...God, I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before. But I was talking to this salesman and he said something about trout, which my dad used to fish for and I was drawing without even realizing when—”
“A half mile south and...?” he prompted, trying to keep her focused.
“Sorry. A half mile south there’s a waterfall. Two, actually, because of a jutting rock thingy at the center. Between the dual waterfalls and the river, it can sound like the water is rushing in three different directions.”
“Could you point this place out on a map?”
“Sure, but so could Roy. Just tell him about the waterfalls. He’ll know the spot.”
“Will do, maybe we could gather a search party together and comb the area in the morning.” He stared at the hospital door, anxious to interrogate Winston, but not wanting to blow off Celeste, either. She meant so much to the investigation. She meant so much to him.
“Wait, a search party?” she asked, with a frustrated groan. “I thought maybe you and Roy could just take a look. I mean, what if I’m wrong? I don’t want you guys to stick your necks out and look like a couple of fools because I had a hunch.”
He smiled and pictured her twirling a curl around her finger. She had nothing to be nervous about. If they didn’t find the third victim, then they didn’t find her. He’d rather take the chance and look, than miss an opportunity to nail Winston for another murder. “I believe in your hunches. You haven’t been wrong yet.”
“Yet being the operative word,” she complained.
“Stop.” He sighed and ran a hand though his hair as he g
lanced at the hospital door again. “I love you. I believe in you. But I’m sorry, I really have to go. With the way things are going today, and your hunch, I have a feeling I’ll be late. I’ll meet you at home after I pick up a few things from the inn. Okay?”
“I love you, too. Good luck with Winston.”
Ten minutes later, John met Roy outside of Winston’s hospital room. While they waited for Winston’s doctor, John explained his conversation with Celeste.
Finally, Winston’s doctor approached. He gave them the same line he’d given yesterday—if they upset the patient, they had to leave. John had a feeling they’d leave soon, because he had every intention of upsetting Winston.
Once the doctor walked away, he and Roy pushed open the door. Without preamble, John shoved the curtain surrounding the hospital bed aside. The scraping metal immediately drew Winston’s attention, and opened the floodgates.
“Oh brother,” Roy mumbled as he stared at Winston with both disgust and amusement. “Boy, you’re gonna dehydrate with all that crying.”
“I...I can’t help it,” Winston bawled, and reached for the box of tissues he had resting on his stomach. Wads of used tissues surrounded him, and littered the floor, along with an empty box.
Roy bent down and picked up the tissue box. “What brand are they using in this hospital? With the way you’re blowing through these things, I should consider taking out stock in the company,” he said, then tossed it in the trash.
“Please, Sheriff,” John admonished him. The man really did have a sick sense of humor. “Garrett’s been through enough.” He moved toward the hospital bed. “How are you feeling today?”
“Better.” Winston hiccupped. “I...I’m sorry for the way I acted yesterday. It really wasn’t very Christian-like.”
“It’s okay, Garrett,” John assured him as he set the mini tape recorder on the nightstand. “But there were a few things we didn’t have a chance to discuss.”
“Like what?”
John withdrew the pictures Rachel had sent and set them on the nightstand next to the recorder. The photographs had been arranged in chronological order. Winston’s first known victim’s bruised and bloodied body now sat on the top of the stack.
Winston darted his gaze to the picture, then quickly looked away and blew his nose. “What do you have there?”
“Consider it a slide show.” John held up the first picture. “Do you know this woman?”
Winston’s chin trembled.
“Her name is...was, Jessica Bonaham,” John said. “I know it might be hard to recognize her with her eyes swollen shut and all the bruises.”
Fresh tears streamed down Winston’s cheeks and into his beard.
He brought out another picture. “How about this woman? Her name was Lidia Shoat. Know her?” He flashed him the next photo in line. “Or how about this one?”
When Winston looked away with a groan, John released a deep breath. “I’ve got twenty-nine eight-by-tens in this stack.” He tapped his fingers on the rest of the photographs. “And every one of the dead women in these pictures had your DNA on them when they were found. Would you like to see a few more?”
“What do you want from me?” he wailed, and reached for another tissue. “I’ve already confessed.”
Roy knocked the box of tissues to the floor. “We want Tobias Haney.”
Winston paled as he gaped at them. “How…?”
“You told us yesterday that you wanted to kill him so he couldn’t kill anymore,” John said. “Let us bring Tobias in, let us stop him from hurting any more women. We know what happened to you and your brother when you were kids. We know what your mom did to you. And I can understand why you want to protect your brother, but—”
Winston fisted the tissue, then tossed it on the bed with the others. “You know nothing about my mother,” he said with an ugly snarl that reminded him of the old Winston.
“Did she get what she deserved?” John asked, deciding to change tactics. To reveal the ugly secret no one was supposed to know. “Susan Haney was a prostitute and drug addict. She made you live in filth, and spent more money on her clothes than food. Am I close to brushing the surface?”
Winston’s earlier snarl had been replaced with an expression of innocence, maybe that of the young boy he’d been before Susan Haney had poisoned his soul. “Not even,” he whispered.
“Right. It got worse, didn’t it? When she couldn’t afford to pay for her pretty things or her drugs, she found a new commodity.”
“Stop. Please, stop,” Winston pleaded as tears streamed from his eyes.
He might appear childlike, almost harmless now, but John knew what this man was capable of doing. Glancing at the pictures resting on the nightstand, he pushed further.
“She used you and your brother for money, didn’t she? She made you have sex with her dealer, with other men, with her, with each other so she could maintain her lifestyle. Is that why you killed her? Is that why you and Tobias killed prostitutes? To make them pay for your mother’s sins?”
Winston shot up, the line from both his IV and handcuff pulling taut. “Shut up,” he screamed over and over while covering his ears. Then he suddenly leaned back against the pillow, his lips moving as he whispered a prayer John didn’t recognize.
“Garrett,” he said, then repeated his name in a harsher voice until Winston finally looked at him. “You and your brother killed all of these women.” He nodded to the photos. “Because your mom abused you. I get it.” A total lie. He’d known people who had suffered worse, and they hadn’t gone off on a killing spree. They saw a shrink and went on medication. But he had to find a way to break through to Winston. He had to coerce him into giving him the location of his brother.
“The thing is though,” he continued, and glanced back at Roy with a shrug, “if you don’t give us your brother, you’ll be looking at the death penalty.”
Mid prayer, Winston glared at him. “Wisconsin doesn’t have the death penalty.”
Roy nodded. “True. But Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, and Indiana still do. If you don’t cooperate, you’ll be extradited to those other states for murder. And I can guarantee you, based on the evidence, you will receive the death penalty.”
Winston looked to him, tears clinging to his eyes, and John nodded. “It’s true. We’re willing to make you a deal, to keep you in Wisconsin if you give up your brother.”
Chin trembling, eyes watering, the crybaby killer lived up to his name. He shook his head from side to side against the pillow, mumbling nonsensical words and absently reaching for the tissue box that now lay on the floor.
“Tell us, Garrett. Give us Tobias. Stop the killing. You’d said you found redemption, prove it.”
“W...what will happen to Toby?” Winston sobbed.
“He’ll be extradited,” Roy said.
“No,” Winston uttered through clenched teeth. “I’ll go in his place. It’s my fault. I created the monster he’s become.”
John frowned. “I thought you two blamed your mother. That’s why you focused on prostitutes, as a way of, I dunno, personal justice?”
The eerie grin Winston flashed made him take a step back. Once again the old Winston was with them. “Personal justice,” he echoed, and released a bitter laugh. “I never looked at it that way, but Toby did. I just enjoyed the control. There’s nothing more powerful than deciding who will live and who will die. I showed Toby that power. I warped him.” He made the sign of the cross, and then as if a switch had flipped in his brain, he became the crybaby killer again.
As the tears flowed, he wiped them away with the sleeve of his hospital gown. “I forgive Toby for what he tried to do to me back in the jail cell. Forgiveness is a step in the direction to God’s salvation.”
“And murder takes you a step back. Twenty-nine to be exact, not including your mother or your grandparents,” John said.
Winston’s eyes filled with shame. “They were good people. A little over-protective and set in their ways.
I regret what I did to them. But I needed the money. I needed to go back to Mississippi to save Toby.”
“Save him from who? His foster parents? You were thirteen at the time of your mother’s death. Why didn’t your grandparents take your brother, too?”
“They didn’t want him. They didn’t even allow me to talk with him on the phone or send letters.”
“So how did you know he needed saving?” Roy asked.
“The old lady that lived across the street from my grandparents paid me five dollars a week to mow her lawn, take out her garbage, and bring her mail and newspapers to her. I gave him her address, and he wrote to me every few weeks. He was eleven when he moved into his first foster home. By the time he turned eighteen, he’d been through fourteen different homes. Some were okay, others...they weren’t any better than livin’ with her.”
“Your mother you mean.”
He nodded. “Toby had survived it all. When I finally moved back to Jackson, I guess I realized he didn’t need me after all. He had a good job, a girlfriend.”
John moved to the nightstand and flipped through a few photos until he came to the one he’d been looking for. The prostitute that had been found outside of Jackson and the first victim with two sets of DNA found on her beaten corpse. “Explain Tracy Lyles.”
Winston closed his eyes, and screwed his face as if in pain. “She wasn’t supposed to die. I’d brought her to my apartment for a little fun. That’s all. Just for me and Toby. She wasn’t supposed to end up like...” He waved his arm, the line from the IV dangled. “That. She was supposed to prove we were real men.”
“You said your brother had a girlfriend. Sounds to me like he didn’t need to prove anything. Maybe you needed to prove something to him?”
Winston looked at him then, his silver eyes holding a dawning realization. “I guess I did. But I...you have to understand what we went through. Being forced to have sex with a man ain’t right, it ain’t natural.”
“Neither is having sex with your brother.”
The old Winston resurfaced again as his eyes narrowed and his mouth curved into a sneer. “I hated him. Hated that every time I looked at him I was reminded of what we’d been forced to do. There were times I wanted to kill him. But he was my only family. He was all I had left, and the only person on the planet who got me. I brought that whore to my apartment to give us some new memories.”
CORE Shadow [1] Shadow of Danger Page 32