by Herron, Rita
“Maybe we should come back,” Rafe suggested.
“No, we’re here. We might as well talk to her before we leave.”
Liz walked over to the window and opened the curtains, letting light spill in through the window. Myra wheezed a breath, then opened her eyes. She looked disoriented for a moment, blinking rapidly as if to figure out where she was.
Sympathy for her welled in Liz’s chest.
Myra looked small in the bed, vulnerable. Had Ester hurt her?
“Myra, my name is Liz Lucas,” Liz said as she walked over to stand beside the bed. “And this is my partner, Special Agent Rafe Hood.”
Myra’s eyes darted sideways as if she understood. Remembering that she was paralyzed, Liz motioned for Rafe to move over beside her. When Myra spotted him, her eyes widened in acknowledgment, suggesting that Myra might be able to communicate after all.
“We understand that you had a stroke, and that it’s difficult for you to speak, but we need to talk to you about a nurse who used to work here named Ester Banning.”
Myra’s breath rasped out, once, twice, three times, as if she was on the verge of a panic attack. Sympathy filled Liz. How horrible to be trapped in a body that wouldn’t work.
“We’re not here to upset you, Myra.” Liz placed a hand over the woman’s thin, gnarled one to comfort her. “We want to help. We’ve been told that Ester wasn’t nice to her patients. That complaints were made against her for mistreating the patients.”
Anguish, distrust, and fear darkened Myra’s eyes, the sheets rustling as she struggled to move and failed.
“Don’t worry, Myra,” Rafe said in a gruff voice. “Ester is dead. She can’t hurt anyone anymore.”
Liz angled her phone so Myra could see the picture of Ester she’d pulled from the DMV records. “This is Ester, the woman who hurt you, isn’t it?”
Myra blinked rapidly, her lips parting as if she was trying to speak, but no sound came out.
“Did she hurt you?”
More rapid eye blinking, and the woman began to wheeze again, a low sob escaping her. Then her body began to jerk, her eyes rolled back in her head, and a strangled sound emerged from her throat.
“She’s seizing,” Liz said. “Call for help!”
Rafe stepped into the hallway for a doctor while Liz tried to soothe Myra. Seconds later a nurse and female doctor rushed in.
“What happened?” the nurse bellowed.
“We were just talking to her,” Rafe said.
The doctor pulled a hypodermic from the pocket of her lab jacket, jammed the needle in the vial of medicine, tapped it, and injected Myra.
She glared at Liz and Rafe. “You two need to leave. Now.”
“I’m sorry,” Liz said. “But we’re working a murder case and Myra knew the victim.”
Myra slowly relaxed as the medication seeped into her system. The doctor gestured to the door. “Out in the hall.”
They stepped outside the door, and the doctor turned to them, hands on her hips. “I’m Myra’s primary care physician. How could Myra possibly help you with your investigation?”
Liz showed her Ester’s driver’s license picture. “Because the victim was Ester Banning, and we have reason to believe she mistreated Myra and other patients here. Did you know her?”
“Yes.” The doctor’s voice cracked. “What happened to her?”
Liz nodded. “She was murdered.”
The doctor gasped.
“According to our research, this is the last place she worked.”
The doctor massaged her temple. “She was fired shortly after I was hired. In fact—” She broke off, hesitating.
“In fact what?”
She folded her arms across her chest. “She was fired because of me. I caught her slapping a patient, then found her shoving pills down Myra’s throat.” Emotions flared in her eyes. “That woman caused Myra’s heart to go into distress, which triggered a stroke.”
Liz’s stomach lurched. If Ester had caused Myra’s condition, someone in Myra’s family might have good reason to hate her.
And a valid reason to want her dead.
His lips curling in disgust, he stared at the picture of Ester Banning on the front page of the Slaughter Creek Gazette.
The story didn’t reveal any important details. There was no mention of suspects either. Did the police know that Ester had helped Commander Arthur Blackwood with the CHIMES project? That she was a soldier for his evil? She’d obeyed his every command with no questions asked. Punished the children without a shred of remorse in those cold she-devil eyes.
Just as they all had.
Her picture was deceptive, though. In it, she looked normal. Like a victim.
Ester Banning had been no victim.
He closed his eyes, remembering the way she’d looked at the end. Her stringy matted brown hair had grayed and was gritty from the creek water. Bruises darkened the skin beneath her eyes, and there were cuts on her face. And those eyes . . . they’d been black with evil.
She looked battered and ugly.
She was ugly, inside and out.
Nurses were supposed to be tenderhearted. Caring. Gentle. Loving.
Ester had never been loving.
He rubbed a finger along the number carved behind his ear.
Yes, Ester was one of the most coldhearted people he’d ever met. And she had deserved to die. Just as all the worker bees in the Commander’s army did.
Soon they would be picked off, just like flies.
Dead. Crushed. Their blood splattered across the town, running like a river of crimson through Slaughter Creek.
He stared at the master list. Who would be next?
A half hour later, Liz and Rafe left the nursing home. Three different employees had confirmed the doctor’s story about Ester. All said they’d noticed her being cruel to a patient and were relieved when she’d been fired.
They stopped at a small coffee shop to phone Myra’s children. They also needed to speak to the other patient’s son. The fact that he’d filed a lawsuit but dropped it after his mother’s death was suspicious.
Rafe ordered them coffee and punched in Myra’s daughter’s number.
When she answered on the third ring, he put her on speakerphone.
“Hello, Evans residence.”
“Ann?” Liz said.
“Yes, who is this?”
Liz explained the reason for their call. “We saw your mother and spoke with her doctor.”
“You talked to my mother?” Ann’s voice rose a decibel. “What happened? Is she okay?”
Liz inhaled. “She grew anxious when we showed her Ester’s photograph,” she said. “But we assured her that Ester can’t hurt her anymore.”
“My mother’s suffered enough,” Ann said. “Leave her alone.”
“We didn’t mean to upset her, Ann.” Liz hesitated, softening her voice. “Did you have any contact with Ester after she was fired?”
Ann heaved a weary breath. “No. And if you think me or my brother had something to do with her death, you’re wrong. We discussed filing a lawsuit, but the head of the nursing home assured us that Ester would never work there or anywhere in nursing care again.”
“Did they give you a settlement?” Liz asked.
A tense heartbeat passed. “Yes. But I want to clarify something. We only took the money to help pay for Mother’s care. And if there’s any money left after Mother passes, we’ve designated it to go into a trust fund for our children.”
“Of course.” Liz jotted down some notes. “Have you spoken to your brother lately?”
“He’s in Hong Kong on business. He’s been there for a month, and won’t be back for another three weeks.”
“Thank you,” Liz said. “We appreciate your help.”
Ann released a weary
breath. “I would like to say that I hope you find Ester’s killer,” Ann said. “Even though I’m not sorry she’s gone. She was a horrible woman who caused my mother’s stroke.”
Liz couldn’t blame Ann for her animosity, but she didn’t think she’d killed Ester.
Because the doctor was right. Whoever had severed Ester’s hands was a psychopath. And Ann sounded . . . normal.
Bitter but normal.
Maybe Regina’s son could give them some answers.
Nick and Brenda joined Jake, Sadie, and Amelia at Jake’s house. Thankfully, Gigi, the woman who’d half raised Jake and was now his daughter Ayla’s caretaker, had carried Ayla to the park, giving the adults an opportunity to talk.
Nick and Jake wanted their families and loved ones unharmed. Sadie agreed to the safe house automatically. She was as protective of Ayla, Gigi, and her sister Amelia as Nick was of Brenda.
Both of them were worried that the Commander’s escape would cause Amelia to relapse in her recovery.
Sadie gripped her twin sister’s hand.
“The Commander escaped?” Amelia asked in a shaky voice.
Sadie nodded. “I’m sorry, Amelia.”
Amelia’s face paled. Nick hated to put her through this ordeal. She’d been diagnosed with DID, dissociative identity disorder, as a result of the abusive experiments she’d undergone and the drugs she’d been given as a child. But she’d made great strides in therapy and merging her alters.
Jake cleared his throat. “Amelia and Sadie—you two, Ayla, and Gigi are going to a safe house until my father is caught.”
Amelia lurched up and began to pace, her fingers tapping a rhythm on her forearm. “I can’t be locked up. It’ll be like I’m a prisoner in that hospital again.”
Jake shot Nick a concerned look.
“You won’t be locked up,” Nick assured her. “I made arrangements for you to stay in a nice log cabin on the river. Think of it as a vacation for you and Sadie.”
“A vacation with security,” Jake added. “Please, Amelia—it’ll be easier for Nick and me to do our jobs if we don’t have to worry about you.”
Sadie curved an arm around Amelia. “He’s right, sis. Besides, we can take canvases and paint. The mountains in the winter are so beautiful.”
Amelia chewed her bottom lip, her voice low. “I suppose.”
Sadie’s tone gained enthusiasm. “A cabin on the river sounds inspirational, too. If it snows, we can go sledding with Ayla and build a snowman.”
“I’ll go with you to help you get situated,” Jake said.
Amelia paused, the tapping continuing on her arm. Nick noticed a cut mark that hadn’t been there before. Cutting hadn’t been a characteristic of any of her alters.
Unless she’d developed a new one that nobody knew about yet . . .
Chapter Five
He stared into the woman’s cold, listless eyes, excited to have his next victim.
Whoever said looks could kill was right.
Hers had destroyed him as a child.
Now it was his turn to destroy her.
He laid her body out on the floor of the sanctuary he’d created for himself, the plastic beneath her crinkling as her limbs fell limply by her sides.
He paced, ticking off the information in his head as if a computer had been turned on, spewing out details.
There were three layers to the eye: the outer layer, the sclera, in which the cornea formed a bulge at the front of the eye; the middle layer, the choroid, which formed the iris toward the front; and the inner layer, the retina, which contained nerve cells that processed visual information and sent it to the brain.
That was the part he found most interesting. The retina had millions of sensitive nerve cells that converted light into nerve impulses.
So did her brain tell her eyes that she liked watching children be tormented, or was something about her nerve impulses warped?
Eyes were supposed to be precious gifts, enabling us to enjoy the beauty of the world.
But hers held nothing but ugliness. Evil.
Now those eyes stared, wide open, terror and shock etched into the brown irises, the whites bulging as if they might explode as she struggled to escape.
She had never expected him to find her. To seek revenge. She thought she’d obliterated his free will and the fight inside him, that she could control him with those devilish laser looks.
Not anymore.
He removed the scalpel from his pocket and held the shiny blade above the pale skin of her cheek, smiling as the steel glistened beneath the light. Cutting her up would be just like dissecting an animal.
She kicked harder, yanking at the heavy chains holding her down. The metal rattled, music to his ears, as panic distorted her stark features.
“What is the old adage about the eyes?” he murmured as he pressed the scalpel to her cheekbone.
She screamed, a shrill animal noise that echoed in the empty building, boomeranging over and over. They were so far from anyone that he didn’t bother to try and stop her cries.
No one could hear her.
“Yes, yes, I know what it is,” he said, his voice singsong. “ ‘The eyes are the window to the soul.’ ”
She shook her head back and forth violently as if she’d suddenly guessed his intentions.
Really, she had odd features. The cheekbones were set too far apart. Her face was asymmetrical, one eyelid drooping lower than the other. A dark mole dotted the corner of her lip, a melanoma probably.
Odd that with her training, she hadn’t bothered with treatment.
“Oh, and there’s the other—‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.’ ” His bitter laugh echoed off the concrete walls. “But there’s nothing beautiful about you.”
A tear seeped from her eye and trickled down her cheek, then another. His brain told him that this was simply nature’s way of cleansing the eye; this woman had no real emotions.
His pulse pounding with lust for the kill, he pierced the skin below her left eye. The chains clanked with her protests. A drop of blood seeped from the scalpel point, whetting his appetite for more.
He leaned close to her ear, watching her terror as he whispered, “But you have no soul, do you?”
Slowly he raised the scalpel and jabbed it into her eye socket. She screamed, flailing and crying, the wretched sounds reverberating around him.
Soon she would realize that crying and screaming wouldn’t help. And it sure as fuck wouldn’t stop him.
Because he’d been called to rid the world of the ugliness, just as a preacher was called to give a sermon and save lost souls.
In a way, he was saving souls too. Saving others from the abuse this woman inflicted.
And he was just getting started.
Rafe wove through traffic, veering off on a desolate-looking road that seemed to lead to nowhere.
He and Liz lapsed into silence as they covered the miles. Dry grass and land stretched far across the countryside, an occasional house or roadside stand popping up. A gas station with a sign reading BOILED PEANUTS sat at the crossroads, a produce stand on the opposite side. Run-down chicken houses sat on a hill near a chimney marking where a house once stood.
Liz considered the profile of the killer. She needed more information first.
“Regina’s son J. R. lives out here?” Liz asked.
Rafe nodded.
“I wonder what he does for a living.”
“I suppose we’ll find out.” Rafe cut her a sideways look. “Liz, you didn’t have to come back for this. You know I could have handled the case.”
“True, but I need to work. I sure as heck don’t intend to let what happened destroy me.” Memories of Rafe looking at her with lust made her body tingle for his touch. They’d been attracted to each other from the start, but they’d tried to keep th
eir relationship professional.
Rafe had big hands, strong hands. The things he could do with them made her crazy with desire.
She wanted to feel those hands on her again. Because his touch made her pain dissipate.
Do. Not. Go. There.
It had hurt too badly when he’d walked away to even consider getting close to him again.
And she had her secrets.
Besides, his look didn’t hold desire now. More like disdain.
He turned onto a dirt road bearing a hand-painted sign that read HOG HOLLER, the SUV bouncing over gravel and ruts. The area was flat, the land parched and deserted, winter taking its toll. Why anyone would choose to live out here, she didn’t know.
They veered around a curve, and then she spotted a small clapboard house on a hill. Beside it, several pigpens housed dozens of animals.
Mud splattered a long cement building that Liz assumed was the slaughterhouse.
An ax hung on the wall outside, stained in blood.
If Regina’s son slaughtered animals for a living, he obviously had a strong stomach, and the sight of blood didn’t disturb him.
Would he cut off a woman’s hands to get revenge against her for hurting his mother?
Rafe scanned the property, his mind assimilating to the fact that Regina’s son, J. R. Truitt, raised and slaughtered animals for a living. He also lived off the grid, miles from anywhere, meaning he could easily have brought Ester out here and killed her, and no one would have heard her scream for help.
Rafe parked, wiping perspiration from his forehead, the stench of the pig houses assaulting him as he climbed out. He blew out a breath to stifle the smell, then glanced at Liz, who coughed as she slid from the passenger side.
“You can stay in the car if you want,” Rafe offered.
Her gaze shot to his.
Understanding dawned. She still didn’t have closure over Harlan, and she thought she could make up for that lost feeling by locking up this killer.
Jesus. He understood the drive, the compulsion to solve a crime and bring justice.
He’d hoped to give that to her with her mother’s killer.