by Kylie Brant
He reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Shit.”
“Yeah, shit.” Lucy’s face was grim. “No way could I make out a wound pattern, but maybe when I get her back to the autopsy suite. The only thing I can say with any certainty is that she’s been dead for months.”
Vance had numbered his victims, branding them with lit cigars. Cam had recently discovered the man’s first victim, a woman named Rhonda Klaussen, still alive. She claimed to have been kept chained in the offender’s basement. They were still checking out her story, but Sophie thought Vance might have practiced his atrocities on Klaussen as he evolved. The six bodies in the cemeteries had borne numbers ranging from ten to fifteen. Klaussen bore similar wounds in the shape of a one.
Which left a lot of numbers unaccounted for. And explained the nasty tangle of nerves in his gut.
“Sophia was the one who figured out Vance’s system. I’ll invite her to the lab when I’m ready with this one.”
“No.” He ignored the warning signs in Lucy’s darkening expression. The woman didn’t take kindly to the word. Cam didn’t particularly care at the moment. “Dr. Channing is no longer a consultant on this case.”
Benally braced her fists on her hips. “Well, shit, Cam, she wrote the damn victimology report. I think if this victim turns out to be related to the others, Sophia’s the best-equipped to figure out how she links to this case.”
“We’ll see.” His answer was noncommittal. But his objection wasn’t. Sophie was still healing from the trauma she’d been through. He wasn’t going to compound that trauma by yanking her back into the center of this case again. “Keep me posted.”
With the aid of his Maglite he walked across the clearing and made his way up the steep embankment and into the woods. When he exited them, he played the light over the people and cars still gathered there. Right away he picked out the kid Jackson had mentioned.
Jonah Davis was sitting facing the road in the open back passenger door of a car. After a few words to the kid’s father, Cam approached the kid and led him through the story he’d already told a half dozen times tonight.
Listening without interruption, Cam waited until Jonah had run down. “See that red-haired agent over there?” Cam pointed to where Jenna Turner was questioning another teenage boy who looked considerably more shaken up.
“Yeah, I’ve noticed her.” Jonah gave Cam a wink, man-to-man. “Walking hard on material, am I right?”
Cam fixed him with a steely look. Waited for the kid to visibly quail before continuing. “She’s a DCI agent. She’s also a forensic artist. If you got a good look at the guy, she’ll be able to use your descriptions to draw a sketch.” He took a folded up piece of paper from the inside breast pocket of his suit coat.
Shaking it open, he passed it to Jonah. “Agent Turner did this one a couple weeks ago with a witness we interviewed up in Edina.”
The kid stared at the composite drawing, mouth hanging open. “But…but…that’s him! The zombie lover guy!” Mr. Davis swiveled in the front seat, a concerned look on his face.
“Settle down, Jonah. It’s okay.”
“No, Dad, this is the guy we saw.” Jonah stabbed his index finger at the sketch. “I got a really good look at him. Not so much the woman, at least not until the end. But this is the guy, I swear it.”
With a sense of bleak resolve Cam took the sketch from him and tucked it away. Gave the kid’s father the okay to take Jonah home, after eliciting a promise to bring him in for a formal interview the next day. Jenna could individually interview the other two kids tomorrow to do sketches, which could then be compared to the one he’d shown Jonah.
But given the boy’s response, there was little doubt what the outcome would be.
He walked a few feet away and called Micki Loring, the DCI agent he had stationed with Sophie in his absence. “We’ve got reason to believe that the man identified by the Edina Chief of Police as Vance’s accessory was seen revisiting another victim tonight,” he told her tersely. “How is Dr. Channing?” A little of the tension seeped from his body at Loring’s response. “Good. She doesn’t have to know about this.” Maybe Loring would stand up better to Sophie’s gentle probing than he did. He could hope.
Not for the first time he wondered if he should have arranged Sophie’s protective custody to be overseen by another agent. But Cam knew he’d never entrust her safety to anyone else. Not when they’d discovered Vance hadn’t been working alone.
Not while Vance’s partner was still free. When the man had every reason to go after the only surviving victim who could provide the testimony that would put Vance away for good.
* * * *
Sonny clung tightly to the branch he was perched on, peering through the leaves at the scene below through night vision binoculars. Once he’d chased off those kids he’d wasted no time. He’d left his Janice—sweet, quiet Janice—and run for the car he’d hidden half a mile down the road. After circling around, he’d stashed it a couple miles away and hiked back into the woods. But he hadn’t dared get too close because he knew those damn kids would never keep their mouths shut. And he’d been right.
A sheriff’s car had been on the scene when he’d returned, but within an hour the woods were lit up with LED bars, flashlights and spotlights, with at least two-dozen people milling around. And all of them interested in Janice. Lovely, lovely Janice.
Goodbye, my love.
The thought of losing her wrenched something inside his chest, made it go tight and hot, like an iron vise that wouldn’t let him breathe, or feel or think. It was better this way. The thought punched through the tension. Better cops than if those fucking kids had gotten more kids to come and look… At least the cops would treat Janice with respect.
They’d take her away forever.
His breathing went ragged and fast, the way it did before he got light-headed and dizzy. Once he’d even fallen and hit his head when he’d breathed like that, and he didn’t want that now. Not when he was sitting in a damn tree. He’d break his neck. And wouldn’t Vance be pissed, then?
He giggled, muffling the sound against his shoulder. Vance could go fuck himself. Or maybe someone was doing that for him, since the man was currently sitting in jail while Sonny was free as a bird. Who was the brains now?
Sobering, he studied the sight below with renewed interest. He hadn’t intended to see Janice after tonight in any case. It’d been too long, and it was past the time he should have allowed himself with her. He ignored the pang that accompanied the thought. He’d been weak where she was concerned, but she’d been his favorite. So gentle and quiet. And she’d pleaded so sweetly at the end. No screams or struggles that would have only delayed the inevitable.
If he had a wife, Sonny imagined she’d be a lot like Janice, unassuming and giving. Always soft-spoken.
At that moment he was tempted to forget all about Vance, forget the plan and slip out of the state. He could start over by himself. Choose a real wife and take her away somewhere secluded to live where it would be just the two of them. No muscle-bound Vance calling the shots. No Mommy whispering in his ear, telling him what to do. He could hear her voice now, as clear as if she were sitting on the branch beside him.
Get the woman. Do it now.
“Shut up, Mommy,” he murmured, staring hard through the night vision binoculars. But her voice never shut up, at least not for long. Except for the time Sonny had wrapped his fingers around her throat and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed, until her eyes had bugged and her lips had turned blue. She’d gone very still. She’d been quiet for a long, long time then. Years.
But she hadn’t stayed gone. She hadn’t stayed quiet.
A bat launched out of the tree next to his, did a slow lazy loop before zooming off to hunt for dinner. Mommy’s voice sounded, more insistent this time. Get Channing. Do it now.
Channing was Vance’s problem. The kids were Sonny’s. It had been dark on the banks of the river, but they’d had a flashlight. How close a l
ook had they gotten at him? Good enough to describe him to one of the cops below? He had to be cautious. First thing tomorrow he’d get his hair cut and then buy one of those do-it-yourself dye kits. Grow facial hair, wear some clear lens glasses and a ball cap…he was practiced at the art of deception. The kids wouldn’t be a problem. But the cops…
He’d stuffed the condom in his pocket while chasing those fucking kids. He checked, discovered it was still there. He hadn’t worn gloves with Janice, but what could they get prints from?
He craned his neck to focus on the female in the center of the activity around Janice. She’d fascinated him since first arriving on the scene. Too often cops and other workers in the area had concealed her crouched form. She seemed to be directing things, gesturing to nearby helpers to bring her items or to bend down beside her for a moment.
But mostly she worked alone, her activities sometimes hidden by the constant movement of cops in the perimeter around Janice. Something about the small female drew his attention. Demanded it.
She wore a long dark braid that she nudged impatiently over her shoulder whenever it fell forward. But it wasn’t her appearance he noted. It was her manner as she tended Janice.
Respectful. As tender as she would have been with a newborn. Watching her, it was easy to forget the cops, forget the kids who were surely somewhere in the area spilling their story. All of his attention was zeroed on the dark haired woman below. And the longer he watched her, the more Sonny became certain that she got it.
To most people—Vance for instance—dead was dead. Get rid of a woman and move on to a new one. But Sonny knew. Dead was only dead after they were buried. Deep in the ground, where daylight wouldn’t penetrate or weighted down in cold dark waters. He chose all the women’s graves himself, and his favorites—like Janice—got special treatment. Sonny knew that the reason Mommy had come back was because he hadn’t buried her. He’d left her body on the floor and run away and that was the reason she was in his head now. Sometimes even standing at his shoulder, or talking from across the room, the mean still in her eyes even when she kept it from her voice.
But there was something about the woman in the blue coveralls below. There were two other overall-clad workers, and they deferred to the tiny female. She didn’t spend much time talking…all her focus was concentrated on Janice. And Sonny knew—he could feel—that the woman understood death as well as he did. Maybe even better.
He watched while his poor Janice was zipped away in a bag and hoisted on a stretcher. Then the woman started to talk to a man that even from this distance Sonny could tell was a cop.
But the man didn’t interest him. Now that Janice was being taken away, the woman would leave too and Sonny wouldn’t see her again. The thought had his head buzzing the way it did when he got upset. His heart galloped and his mind raced for a way to make sure that didn’t happen. He needed to learn everything he could about the dark-haired woman with IOSME emblazoned across the back of her navy overalls. And then he and that particular female were going to get better acquainted.
A sense of urgency nudged at him and he gave an inner sigh. But first he had to do as Vance had ordered. Sophia Channing was a threat, so Sonny had to eliminate her.
Get the woman. Mommy’s whisper was louder this time. Do it now.
He let his binoculars hang from the strap around his neck and began to climb down from the tree. There was only one way to silence that voice.
And that was to obey it.
Chapter 2
Sonny hummed along to the radio as he drove. He’d made a quick stop at home to get the things he needed and then driven directly to Channing’s condo. He’d been watching it ever since Vance had gotten word to him. Yesterday all the state-issued vehicles had left the address, one by one. Sonny hadn’t been inside before, but Vance was thorough, in spite of being a complete maniac. The man had left information about the security system and crude maps detailing the layout of the condo’s interior and the approach from the rear.
Getting rid of the women had always been left to him before, but this time Vance had been specific. Use a gun. At least three shots. Maybe Vance knew something Sonny didn’t. Maybe guns were different and the woman wouldn’t need to be buried to be really dead. Maybe three shots to the head and dead was dead.
He smiled at the rhyme, repeating it a few more times as he turned into the development that housed Channing’s condo. There was a cul-de-sac to the back and right of the condo, across her backyard and another. Sonny preferred to park further away and approach from the rear on foot.
First he donned gloves, slipping a small penlight in the pocket of his hoodie before fitting night vision goggles over his eyes. Vance had laughed at his fascination with military and police equipment, but since Vance was sitting in a cell under round-the-clock guard Sonny could be pretty sure the man was no longer laughing.
Taking his time, he crossed yards, avoiding houses with kennels in the back. He paused occasionally, taking a careful look around but all was still. It was after three. Most would be asleep.
The cul-de-sac was ahead, and a single street lamp bathed the circular space with a soft glow. He jumped the fence in the next yard and veered to the other side so he wouldn’t be spotlighted in it.
An urgency was building inside him, ignited by the whispers in the back of his mind. But he didn’t need to listen to them. He knew what he had to do. And the sooner the deed was done, the sooner he could concentrate on the other woman he’d seen tonight. The one who had taken such care of Janice.
He needed to find that woman. Needed to be sure she was exactly what he thought she was.
But he was already certain. They were kindred spirits.
Which meant she might even understand what he was about to do.
* * * *
“We’ve got activity.”
Cell in hand, Cam strode toward the back of the inside perimeter that had been established around the crime scene, dodging Seth Dietz as the criminalist wrestled one of the massive strobes into a different position. “Where?”
Agent Tommy Franks’ voice held a note of suppressed excitement. “Back corner of Channing’s lot. He’s headed for the rear door.”
Adrenaline spurted through Cam’s veins. The covert operation at Sophie’s condo had been a gamble, especially since before a few hours ago they’d had no indication that Vance’s accomplice was still in the area. Maybe the UNSUB was tying up loose ends before he fled the state.
Which meant this might be their one and only chance to capture the man.
“Do you have a visual of his vehicle?”
“Negative,” came Franks’ laconic reply. “Might have parked on the street a block in back of hers.”
“I’ll be there in twenty,” Cam promised, heading toward the steep hill embankment beneath the tree line. And that was going to push it, even running with lights. “Call for back-up. Tell them to roll up silent. Everything in place inside?” His mind immediately went to Sophie, but he elbowed aside the concern. When trying to trap a predator, one had to use the right bait. They’d taken precautions for her safety. He concentrated on scrabbling up the hill without landing on his ass.
“Exactly as you wanted it.”
“He’ll be armed. The kids tonight said he had a gun.” Once up the hill he turned on his Maglite before plunging into the woods.
“We’ll be ready.”
Agent Corbin Boggs would be somewhere in the vicinity. Cam knew the two men were more than capable, but he still cursed the time it would take him to arrive on scene. “No heroes. But I prefer the UNSUB alive, if possible.”
Disconnecting the call, Cam made his way through the woods as quickly as he dared. If all went according to plan, by morning they’d have Vance trussed up so tightly that he’d never wiggle free. If the accomplice could be persuaded to flip on the other man, the whole case might never even have to go to trial. Sophie wouldn’t have to testify. And Vance would never again see the outside of a prison cell.
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br /> And that was the thought that would sustain him on the race across town to Sophie’s condo.
* * * *
The first key was stiff in the lock. The initial time Vance had been inside he’d had two made from wax impressions he’d taken of a set found inside. Eventually the key turned, and Sonny used the other on the deadbolt. The door swung open soundlessly.
He slipped the keys back in his pocket and took out a penlight. The next few seconds would tell the story. If Vance’s tampering with the alarm had been discovered, the opening the man had fixed in the system would fail and there would only be a thirty-second window to kill Channing and get out again.
Switching on the penlight as he opened the door quietly, he walked exactly to the spot where Vance had said he’d find the keypad for the alarm. If his entry was discovered the light would switch from green to red, and an alarm would alert the security company and the woman inside of an unapproved entry. He scanned the area as he waited. Channing’s bedroom would be through the kitchen, first door to the left of the living room. Even if the alarm were triggered, he’d be gone long before help could arrive if all went according to plan.
The light on the alarm winked green. Even better, no racket split the darkness.
He reached up to secure the night vision goggles and unzipped his hoodie part way, taking the pistol with its attached suppressor from the makeshift holster strapped around his chest. Then he tiptoed in the direction of Channing’s room.
The place was still. Not even the ticking of a clock marred the silence. He sidled up to the door in question. Pushed it open and raised his weapon.
* * * *
Seven-year-old Carter Hammel came awake slowly, wondering what he was doing in the sunroom. It took a minute to remember. The stuff his mom had given him for pain had made him fall asleep at like seven o’clock. But it was really dark out now.