Fade to Black

by Parrish, Leslie

  And over the next two hours, as they watched every second of the tapes, he was proved right.

  The longer they watched, the more Dean’s irritation built. He tapped his feet on the floor, his fingers on the table. Doing nothing but staring at a computer monitor while a psychopath was preparing to strike again filled him with impotent frustration. Stacey obviously sensed it; she’d grown very quiet, very intent, scooting closer to the screen so she wouldn’t miss it if a mosquito had flown by one of the security cameras.

  “Why don’t we take a quick break?” he finally said. He wasn’t used to this kind of inactivity. Sure, he’d conducted stakeouts that had proved boring and fruitless. But this . . . hell, it felt as if he were napping while a dragon was scooping up his own son.

  “No problem. I’m starving.’

  “Me, too.”

  “Cold leftover pizza okay?”

  They’d ordered it Tuesday night. And had barely touched it, not wanting to consume anything but each other. Damn, it seemed like a lifetime ago.

  “That’s fine,” he said. He opened his mouth again, about to say how much better he had liked it in bed the other night, when there was a knock on her front door.

  Stacey tensed, her eyes shifting in that direction. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

  It was the middle of a sunny afternoon in small-town America. Obviously the stress of this case was putting her on edge if the thought of an unexpected visitor had the woman tensing up as though she expected a home invasion. He wished like hell she’d never had to feel that way about the safe haven she’d been clinging to—burying herself in—for the past two years.

  “Maybe some kid selling cookies.”

  She didn’t relax. Instead, with quiet, measured steps, she approached the door, her head cocked to the side to peer out through the narrow window beside it.

  That was when he realized something was really wrong, and remembered the dog. God, no wonder she was edgy. What an idiot he’d been not to think of it immediately. They hadn’t discussed the incident since the other day in the car. With the insanity of the case, he’d let it leave his mind.

  “Stacey, wait!” he insisted. “Let me get it.”

  She’d already reached for the knob. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s not for me, anyway. It’s for you.”

  She opened the door. On the other side of it stood both Mulrooney and Stokes.

  He didn’t question how they’d tracked him to Stacey’s home, or how they’d gotten the address. Because they both wore twin dark frowns. Nearly tangible tension caused Mulrooney’s suit jacket to strain against his stiffened shoulders, and Stokes’s jaw appeared carved of granite.

  “What is it?”

  Mulrooney answered, “They couldn’t do it.”

  “Couldn’t do . . .” The truth dawned. “Oh, hell.”

  Beside him, Stacey brought a shaking hand to her mouth as she figured it out, too.

  Mulrooney explained anyway. “Lily and Brandon tried, but they couldn’t bring down the site.”

  “No.”

  “It’s worse.”

  He didn’t ask how it could be worse. He already knew. “The auction?”

  “Over.”

  Over. Mere hours after it had been announced. Not even one week since the last one. The unsub was either insane, desperate, or suicidal. “Meaning we have about twenty-four hours to find this guy and stop him from killing another woman,” he said.

  Jackie Stokes shook her head. For the first time in the several weeks he’d known her, she appeared less than entirely professional. Her mouth quivered the tiniest bit.

  This was bad. Very bad.

  “It’s not just murder, and it’s not a woman,” she said. Her voice trailed off, as if she couldn’t bring herself to finish.

  So Mulrooney did.

  “It’s rape, torture, and murder. And this time, his target is a child.”

  Mulrooney and Stokes wanted to immediately go and question Warren Lee. The report they’d requested on registered American-made trucks in the area had given them a long list. Too long. But Warren’s name was on it.

  Then again, so was her own father’s. Her brother’s. And Randy’s.

  Dean was more interested in going back to Dick’s and using the new information they had about Mitch’s fight with Lisa, and the fact that nobody there had even thought to mention it, to try to get more people talking.

  Stacey had other ideas. “You remember me saying my father was the sheriff of this town for twenty years? I want to go see him.” She cast a quick glance at Dean. “His arthritis is bad, but his eyesight is very good. And he knows every person who’s lived or died in this town since the day he took office.”

  She didn’t really want to drag her father into this, but they needed the help. No way could she and Dean sit here and watch the surveillance videos for the rest of the day. Not if that monster really was going after a child.

  Don’t think about that.

  She couldn’t go there, not even in her imagination. And knowing how Dean felt about his son, she knew he couldn’t, either. Not while being so horrifyingly familiar with the kinds of atrocities the Reaper was capable of.

  Right after Stokes and Mulrooney had arrived, Dean had excused himself for a minute. She’d lay money he’d called his ex-wife, telling her to keep a close eye on their son today. That was exactly what she would have done, anyway.

  Dean saw where she was going. “You think your father would do it?”

  “Do what?” Stokes asked.

  “Look at the surveillance videos,” she explained. “He can watch them. If anybody from Hope Valley shows up, he will spot him.”

  “Did you ever ask him about the animal abuse?” Dean asked.

  Now it was Mulrooney’s turn to appear confused. “What?”

  Stacey debated on how much to say, how much to reveal without risking exposure of her affair with Dean. She also didn’t want to reveal too much to Dean, at least not in front of the others. She hadn’t yet told him about the phone calls that had followed up the bloody present on her porch. The one late Sunday, after Tim had left, had been followed by two more on subsequent nights.

  She’d almost told Dean on Tuesday in the car, but something had held her back. Maybe because she didn’t want to dilute his thinking on the Reaper case. She knew, deep down, that they weren’t connected. The caller hadn’t been trying to scare her off, or let her know that he was watching. No, this had felt different. Like he just wanted to throw some spite her way, as if she had done him some personal wrong.

  As she had told Dean, there were a lot of men around here who disliked her intensely. Considering that the first call had come Sunday night, one day after their visit to Dick’s Tavern, it had probably been one of those men who hadn’t liked being questioned. Maybe Lester, the weasely little toady.

  “Stacey and I were talking about some of the characteristics of known serial killers,” Dean told Mulrooney.

  “Which we wouldn’t have to guess at if that damn profile had come through,” Mulrooney said.

  Dean crossed his arms. “Still nothing on that?”

  “Nope. Get a load of this. Alec Lambert, the agent working on it for Wyatt? Turns out he’s some kind of wild card. Got his ass shot in an undercover operation two days ago. The BAU just got around to letting us know.”

  What else could go wrong?

  “They’ve given the case to somebody else, but the new guy is starting from square one. He won’t have anything until at least Monday.”

  Monday would be too late. And they all knew it.

  Stacey cleared her throat, knowing they couldn’t waste precious minutes worrying about a profile that wouldn’t do them any good, anyway. “I want to ask my dad if he remembers any cases of animal abuse from his years in office. Or even if he got calls about lots of missing pets in one particular neighborhood, that type of thing.”

  Stokes seemed to have finally regained her equilibrium. “Good idea,” she said.

>   For the first few minutes since the agents had arrived, the other woman had said almost nothing, appearing completely lost in thought. Stacey didn’t wonder what she was thinking about. Jackie wore a wedding ring on her left hand. And had proudly talked about her kids the other night.

  How do they stand it? How do parents do it?

  Stacey had wondered before. She’d probably wonder for the rest of her life.

  “So you and I will take the surveillance files to your father and ask him about the animal abuse,” Dean said.

  “We’ll have to bring the laptop and set everything up for him. He has a computer, though it’s pretty old. I had wireless Internet hooked up for him, but I don’t think he even knows how to sign on to it, and the network’s not secured.”

  Stokes had apparently gotten her head back into the here and very desperate now. “Okay, while you and Dean go talk to the former sheriff, Kyle and I will head out to try to interview a few others, people who were a little friendlier with the victim than we thought?”

  The woman exchanged a quick, private look with Dean, which Stacey interpreted immediately. “Deputy Flanagan’s arm is really broken.”

  Dean coughed into his fist, and she nearly smiled. Did he really think she didn’t understand the way he thought? Of course he’d continue to suspect Mitch until the other man was definitively ruled out. She would expect nothing less.

  And would do nothing else herself.

  “You’re certain?” he asked.

  “The local doctor’s a nice old-timer. Realizing we probably suspected him, Mitch went to see him. Doc called me right before you arrived this morning, said he had copies of the X-rays if I wanted to see them. The left arm was broken in two places. He also said he always initials his patients’ casts, and the one Mitch is wearing right now is the same one he put on the night the arm was broken. That was a few days before your last victim disappeared. I assume if the Reaper had been favoring one arm, or trying to hide it, you would have noticed something on the tape?”

  Nobody answered. The three agents simply stared at one another, their moods growing even darker. Which told Stacey all she ever wanted to know about the details of that last videotaped murder.

  “He used both arms,” Dean said, his voice low.

  Beheaded. God, that poor young girl.

  “Thanks,” he added. “It looks like you managed to get another suspect crossed off our list.”

  “So we go to this crazy commando guy’s place,” Mulrooney said.

  Stacey groaned. “Oh, no, please don’t go to Warren’s. Let me handle him.”

  “We can’t waste any time, Sheriff Rhodes.” Mulrooney didn’t sound unkind or unappreciative. “I know you’ve been very helpful, but—”

  “This isn’t about me not wanting you bigger kids to play in my sandbox,” she insisted. “I just know this guy. He’s not the Reaper. You’d be wasting your time.”

  Dean stepped in. “But we both saw the look on his face that day when he came out on his ATV. He knows something.”

  Yes. He might know something. Still, the last thing any of them could deal with now was an armed standoff with an unstable man who almost certainly was not the killer they sought.

  “I agree; he might have information. But there’s only one way we’re going to get it, and that’s if I can get him to come into the office. If a pair of FBI agents step onto his property, Warren will start screaming Waco. He’ll threaten to kill anybody who gets too close, and you two will have to end up shooting him to protect yourselves.”

  “Jeez, and they say big cities have the crazies?” Mulrooney said with a rueful shake of his head. “What do they put in the water around this place? Crack? I mean, you’ve got serial killers, animal abusers, psycho commandos, abusive stepfathers. Sounds like everyone in Hope Valley is tripping.”

  It did sound that way, which broke Stacey’s heart. Because it just wasn’t true. Hope Valley was a good place. A safe place. It was a far cry from the rest of the world. “You’re seeing the worst of the worst. There are many more good people here than bad. But we’re not exactly out there looking for them, are we?”

  “It’s not like anybody in law enforcement spends their days tracking down the good guys,” said Dean.

  “Too bad.” Mulrooney snorted. “If you ask me, going after Mr. Rogers beats chasing Jack-the-freakin’-Ripper any day.” He and Stokes exchanged a look. “Okay, back to the bar we go.”

  Stacey thought for a long moment before she opened her mouth, considering what she and Dean had talked about the other night. About the possibilities, the profile. The chance that someone she knew very well might be a monster.

  It didn’t seem possible. But she couldn’t deny it had to be checked out. And since she had to go to her father’s, and the other agents needed to fill the time until she could meet back up with them to call Warren in, they were the obvious ones to do the checking. “I have something else you might want to look into,” she murmured, not meeting Dean’s eye. She bent down and scrawled a name and an address on a piece of paper, handing it to Special Agent Stokes.

  “You think this guy could be involved?”

  Did she? Did she really? It seemed impossible.

  Then again, someone murdering innocent victims and charging people for the privilege of watching it done had seemed completely impossible to her a week ago, too.

  “I don’t know that I’d call him a suspect,” she admitted. “But he was at the bar the night Lisa disappeared. And his background and lifestyle make it at least possible. He’s worth a look, anyway.”

  Dean glanced over Stokes’s shoulder at the piece of paper and read the name. He didn’t respond with any more than a brief nod. But the gleam in his eyes said he agreed.

  Her brother’s best pal, Randy Covey, was worth checking out.

  Wyatt had known it was a long shot. Brandon and Lily were brilliant at what they did, but knocking off an international Web site when they weren’t even certain where it was hosted was a tall order.

  But somehow, deep down, he’d expected them to pull it off.

  Knowing he’d catch heat, knowing he’d be criticized for risking the whole operation, knowing he’d be blamed if this son of a bitch Reaper went underground and hid in anonymity for the rest of his days, knowing all that, he’d wanted them to succeed.

  They hadn’t.

  They hadn’t.

  He didn’t know who’d been more upset: Brandon because the failure was an insult to his abilities. Or Lily, because she was Lily.

  Her reaction would haunt him in days to come. He didn’t know if he would ever forgive himself for hiring her in the first place, knowing her vulnerabilities.

  Lily had already become almost obsessed with that perverted character who called himself Lovesprettyboys. For the same deviant to win the auction and make his sick choice had almost pulled the legs completely out from under the young agent.

  “A boy,” he whispered, still not believing it. “He paid to watch someone rape and murder a little boy.”

  There could have been no worse words for Lily Fletcher to read on that screen. None that would stab straight through her heart as viciously as if she were pierced with one of the scythes the Reaper used so joyfully in Satan’s Playground.

  He’d tried to talk to her. She’d told him she didn’t need to.

  He’d tried to send her home. She’d refused to go.

  Instead, she’d been in her office with Brandon, each working frantically on their assigned tasks. Brandon tried to monitor any private communication between the killer and his customer. And Lily was trying to find the money exchanged between them.

  She’d had no luck before. That didn’t mean she would give up. In fact, he now knew she wouldn’t give up until both of the real monsters from that virtual world were behind bars.

  “Wyatt? Wyatt!” Brandon called from out in the hallway.

  He jumped up from behind his desk and hurried out of the office, seeing the younger man rushing toward him
. “You’ve found something?”

  Brandon shook his head, turning on his heel and hurrying back down the hallway. “No, it’s Lily.”

  Oh, God. What had she done? What had he done to her? Had her fragile psyche finally cracked under the strain of her family’s horror combined with this current one?

  He skidded into the office Brandon and Lily shared. His heart pounding and his pulse roaring through his veins, he half expected to see her slumped at her desk.

  She wasn’t. Instead, she sat upright, her fingers clicking wildly, her nose almost touching the monitor.

  “What happened?”

  “Shh!”

  He remained silent, and so did Brandon, for a long minute or two. Then Lily froze. Her mouth dropped and she jerked so hard her glasses fell off her face. Putting her hands on the edge of her desk, she launched herself backward with a shocked cry, as if she couldn’t bear to see whatever it was she’d discovered.

  “What?” Brandon knelt beside her. “Tiger Lily, what is it?”

  She shook her head, looking up toward the ceiling, as if that held the answers. “I understand now. I see. I followed the spiderweb. Couldn’t stop thinking of the way he’d worded it. ‘Real.’ ‘No Credit.’ ”

  “I don’t understand, Lily.” Wyatt walked over and put a hand on her slender shoulder, hoping the agent hadn’t had some kind of mental breakdown. She’d been honest about the psychiatric therapy she’d undergone after her nephew’s murder and her sister’s suicide. Had today’s horrifying discovery pushed her back over the edge?

  “I couldn’t track the money,” she whispered.“Couldn’t find it; the trail went nowhere, thin and fragile as a spiderweb.”

  She was starting to make sense. And his pulse gradually began to slow. “But now? What happened, Lily? Have you tracked it now?”

  “No.”

  Brandon looked up at him, shaking his head. “Maybe we should call someone.”

  Brandon didn’t know. Nobody knew, except Wyatt, that there was no one to call. Lily was completely alone in the world. Her sister and nephew had been her last two surviving family members. Now they were both gone and she had absolutely no one.