The Fifth Victim

by Beverly Barton

  “And he thinks the person who killed Susie and Cindy is the same guy who killed his niece?”

  “He thinks it’s possible.”

  “What does Jacob think?”

  “He’s undecided, but he has an open mind on the matter.”

  The phone rang. Jazzy eyed the Caller ID.

  “Jamie again?” Genny asked.

  “He’s called half a dozen times today.”

  “Want me to answer it?”

  “Just let it ring.” Jazzy grasped Genny’s arm. “Come on, let’s go get some coffee and pie.”

  “I’ve put in an order for soup and sandwiches with Gertie. I thought I’d have supper with Jacob and Dallas before I head home.”

  “Why don’t you come stay with me until this killer is caught? I hear there’s safety in numbers.” They exited Jazzy’s office, leaving behind the telephone’s insistent ringing.

  “I’ll be all right. I have Drudwyn. And I can usually sense when someone is coming.”

  Before they reached the dining room, Misty Harte rushed toward them. “That crazy old retard, Wallace MacKinnon, is here and he’s making a scene. He wants to see Genny. I had no idea when he asked if she was here that he’d go nuts. He says he has a message for her from Brian.”

  Jazzy laughed. “Come home, Gen. You’d better soothe the savage beast. Poor old Wallace has probably been frantic if he tried to contact you and couldn’t.” She turned to Misty and said, “Go tell Wallace that Genny is coming out to see him right away. And, Misty, never again refer to Wallace as a retard.”

  When Misty hurried off in a huff, Jazzy said to Genny, “Wallace appointed himself your guardian angel when you were a kid, and he takes his job of protecting you seriously. I swear, I don’t know what it is about you that makes men idolize you and want to take care of you. All they want to do is fuck me.”

  Genny grinned. “Jazzy, you’re outrageous! You want everyone to think you’re really bad. You’ve cultivated your bad-girl image and won’t let anyone see through the facade to the real you.”

  “You see through.”

  “Yes, but I’ve known you since we were in diapers.”

  “And you know better than anyone that being a bad girl is only partly a facade. I’m not lily white and we both know it. I’ve done more than my share of stupid things. Case in point—Jamie Upton.”

  “You loved Jamie. He’s the one who’s stupid for not appreciating what a wonderful person you are.”

  The sound of Wallace’s nearly hysterical voice echoed down the hallway.

  “You’d better get him quieted down before he scares off what few customers I have out there,” Jazzy said.

  Genny hurried into the dining room. Wallace was going from table to table, searching for Genny, shouting her name.

  “Wallace,” she called to him in a gentle yet loud voice.

  He stopped halfway across the room, turned, and smiled broadly. Wallace had the sweetest, kindest smile. Like the smile of a small child. And in many ways, that was exactly what he was. A small, loving child living in the body of a large, physically strong man of seventy.

  He came barreling toward her, grinning, chuckling to himself, with his arms open wide. When he reached her, he lifted her off her feet in a bear hug, knocking her coat off her arm.

  “I was so worried about you. I went out to your house and you weren’t home.”

  “I came into town today,” she told him.

  “That’s what Brian said. He said Genny’s probably in town. Go over to Jazzy’s and ask her. She’ll know.”

  “Put me down, Wallace,” Genny said, keeping her voice even and calm.

  He did as she requested, then picked up her coat off the floor and handed it to her. “Brian has been worried about you, too. He said to tell you so.”

  “It was very sweet of you and Brian to worry about me, but as you can see, I’m fine.”

  “Brian likes you.”

  “I like Brian, too.”

  Wallace’s smile widened. “He’s a good man. Not like he used to be. He’s always nice to me now. He even talks to me.”

  “That’s nice.” Genny laced her arm through Wallace’s. “Why don’t I take you home? It’s nearly suppertime and I’m sure Miss Veda will send Mr. Farlan out looking for you if you aren’t home by dark.”

  Jazzy whistled to get Genny’s attention. “Take him home in my Jeep. It’s parked out back.” Jazzy reached into the pocket of her jeans, pulled out a set of keys, and tossed them to Genny, who caught them in midair.

  “Are we really going to ride in Jazzy’s red Jeep?” Wallace asked.

  “Yes, we are.” Genny led Wallace through the kitchen, out the back door, and into the alley where Jazzy’s sleek late-model Jeep Liberty awaited them.

  “Care for some coffee?” Jacob asked. “I can make a fresh pot.”

  “No, thanks,” Dallas replied. “Look, I realize there’s no reason for you to cooperate with me, but if I’m right and this killer is the same one who has been committing a series of five murders in various states these past eight years, then I probably know more about him than anyone. And just between us”—Dallas looked right into Jacob’s eyes, taking a chance on trusting him—“I have an FBI profiler who is working up a profile of this guy for me.”

  “Unofficially?”

  Dallas nodded.

  What could he say or do that would convince Sheriff Butler to confide in him, to agree for them to work together? He’d had no luck with some local lawmen he had approached, while others had bent over backwards to be accommodating because he was a Fed. But none of the other new cases he’d looked into privately had turned out to have enough similarities to Brooke’s to warrant further investigation. The two Cherokee County murders were different. So far, everything about the deaths of these two women matched the MO of the guy who’d killed Brooke.

  “Put yourself in my place,” Dallas said. “What if someone you loved was one of this fiend’s victims? Wouldn’t you do everything in your power to track him down and bring him to justice?”

  Jacob nodded.

  “Then let me work with you on these cases. You help me and I’ll help you.”

  “I checked you out, you know,” Jacob said.

  “I figured you would.”

  “You’ve got quite an impressive résumé. But even before your niece’s murder, you didn’t always play by the book. And since then you’ve acquired a reputation as a bit of a rogue agent.”

  “I do my job. What I do on my own time is my business.”

  “Are you willing to risk your job to see this thing through to the end?”

  “If that’s what it takes.”

  “Genny seems to think you’re trustworthy, and I trust Genny’s instincts, despite the fact that she has a tendency to like everyone. So all right.”

  “All right what?”

  “I’ll give our working together a try, but if you cross the line, you’ll answer to me.”

  Dallas figured that, for most men, answering to Jacob Butler was a fate to be dreaded, a fate worse than death. Dallas was no fool. He’d rather not cross swords with the sheriff, now or in the future. But Butler didn’t intimidate him. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had.

  But one particular woman intimidated the hell out of him. Genevieve Madoc.

  “Susie’s body is in Knoxville for an autopsy,” Jacob said. “Cindy’s body is on its way there. I’ve asked for a rush job on both, even though our local coroner, Pete Holt, was able to give me a preliminary report.”

  “Let me guess.” Dallas leaned over, dropped his hands between his spread thighs, and tapped his fingertips together. “Your local guy found semen between the breasts and on the belly of both victims.”

  Jacob narrowed his gaze until his eyes were mere slits. “Is this part of the MO for the killer you’re looking for?”

  “Am I right?” Dallas demanded.

  “You’re right.”

  “If the Knoxville medical examiner does a
thorough job, he’ll discover another gruesome fact.”

  “And that would be?”

  “He’ll find human saliva mixed with the victim’s blood up and down the sides of the incision.”

  Jacob frowned, creating creases in his forehead and above the bridge of his nose. “Are you saying this guy—”

  “Drinks some of his victim’s blood and then licks them.”

  “Holy hell.” Jacob shot out of his chair and walked over to the windows overlooking the snow-covered ground outside. “Once this guy is apprehended, there should be more than enough DNA evidence to put him on death row.”

  “More than enough,” Dallas said. “But all the DNA evidence in the world is worthless without a suspect.”

  Chapter 9

  Dallas treaded up the street, over the icy patches and slushy snow, making his way to Jasmine’s. Butler had thought it was taking Genny an awfully long time to pick up soup and sandwiches and had been about to phone the restaurant when he’d received a call from Roddy Watson, Cherokee Pointe’s chief of police.

  “I’ll walk over to the restaurant and check on her,” Dallas had offered.

  Butler had put the police chief on hold long enough to give Dallas directions—and pierce him with a warning glare. That evil-eyed glower made Dallas wonder if Butler had picked up on the chemistry between Genny and him. But why would he? Neither of them had said or done anything that would make him suspicious. Maybe the sheriff put out protective, big-brother signals to any man who came in contact with Genny. If she were his to protect, he knew he’d sure as hell do the same.

  Dallas paused in front of Jasmine’s. Nothing fancy on the outside. Just a renovated old building with a green canopy over the entrance and the name of the restaurant etched in gold letters across the front door. The name appeared again on a simple square metal sign hanging between the first and second floor of the establishment.

  Once he was inside, the warmth of the interior assailed him, forcing him to remove his overcoat and drape it over his arm. Business wasn’t great, he noted. Only about half the tables and booths were filled. A combination of the winter season, bad weather, and a Tuesday evening was probably the cause.

  He scanned the room for any sight of Genny. When he saw her, an involuntary smile formed on his lips. But suddenly he noticed she was sitting at a table across from a slim, brown-haired man impeccably dressed in navy trousers, a light blue shirt, and a tweed sports coat. Genny’s face was alight with warmth and friendliness as she chatted with Mr. Beau Brummell. Perhaps she was being a little too friendly. She laughed at something the guy said. Dallas’s stomach muscles tightened.

  “Smoking or nonsmoking?”

  Dallas snapped his head around and stared at the hostess, who held a menu in her hand. She was a good-looking redhead, with cat green eyes and an aura of world-weariness that only a fellow battle-scarred-from-life casualty would instantly recognize.

  “Neither, thanks. I’m here to pick up Genny Madoc.” His gaze zeroed in on Genny as she continued chitchatting with the man Dallas could see only in profile.

  The redhead sized Dallas up, then grinned. “You must be FBI Special Agent Sloan.”

  Dallas’s attention focused on the hostess. “And how would you know that?”

  “I’m Jazzy Talbot. Genny’s my best friend. We don’t have any secrets from each other.” Jazzy nodded toward the table where Genny sat. “That’s Royce Pierpont. He and Genny are just friends, although he’d like for them to be more.”

  “Ms. Madoc’s personal life is none of my business. If she told you who I am, then she told you why I’m in Cherokee Pointe.”

  Jazzy nodded. “She also told me that you spent the night at her house last night.” Once again she surveyed him from head to toe. “She described you perfectly.”

  “Would you mind telling her that I’m here?” Dallas asked. “I don’t want to interrupt, but Sheriff Butler was concerned because it seemed to be taking her too long to pick up supper.”

  “Mm…Jacob does worry about Genny. I guess we all do. She’s an extraordinary person, you know. Very trusting and caring.”

  Jazzy waited as if she expected some sort of response from Dallas, but he didn’t know what she thought he should say. Barely knowing Genny, he had nothing to go on but first impressions, which seemed to corroborate Jazzy’s assessment.

  Dallas simply nodded in agreement.

  “Jacob keeps close tabs on the men in her life,” Jazzy continued. “Always has. Not that there have been very many. Lately there’s Royce over there. He’s new in town and Genny likes him, but she hasn’t fallen in love with him. Then there’s Brian MacKinnon. He’s rich and powerful and Jacob dislikes him. Can’t say I think much of Mr. Moneybags myself. But Genny believes he’s redeemable.”

  “Ms. Talbot, why are you—?”

  “Genny has a way of seeing the best in people. That’s one of her gifts. She sees the best in you, Dallas Sloan. I’d hate to think you might disappoint her.”

  “Look, I don’t know what she told you about me, but—”

  “She told me that you were very kind to her this morning after she came out of…after her vision. She’s always totally wiped out afterward and needs someone nearby. I’m glad she wasn’t there alone.”

  Dallas glanced down and studied the tips of his damp shoes. Apparently those closest to Genny actually believed she had visions, that she possessed some sort of sixth-sense ability. He supposed it was easier to fool the people who loved you.

  Before Dallas could think of a reply, Jazzy walked over to where Genny sat and spoke quietly to her. Genny lifted her gaze and looked right at Dallas. Her mouth widened into a broad smile. She threw up her hand and waved at him. Royce Pierpont pivoted slowly, only enough to glance over his shoulder at Dallas. A set of crystal blue eyes raked over Dallas with curiosity. And jealousy? Genny said something to Pierpont, leaned over to kiss his cheek, then picked up a box sitting on the table and walked toward Dallas.

  He met her halfway and took the box from her. “The sheriff was worried about you,” he said.

  “I’m sorry if Jacob was concerned,” Genny replied. “I got delayed by—”

  “By your boyfriend? Or should I say one of your boyfriends?”

  Genny looked at him in bewilderment, then sighed. “I see Jazzy’s been talking to you.”

  Dallas grunted. “Where’s your coat?”

  “Oh, my, I forgot and left it—”

  Pierpont walked up behind Genny and draped her coat around her shoulders. He allowed his hands to linger on her just a tad longer than Dallas liked, but Dallas forced himself not to stare at the man’s possessive touch.

  “You don’t want to forget this,” Pierpont said. “Can’t have you getting chilled.”

  “Thank you, Royce.” Genny offered him another brilliant smile.

  Looking directly at Dallas, the man held out his hand. “I’m Royce Pierpont, one of Genny’s gentlemen callers.”

  Was this guy kidding? Gentlemen callers? No one had used that archaic term in at least four generations.

  “Special Agent Sloan.” Dallas shook hands with Pierpont. The guy’s handshake was soft and mild. And cordial. No machismo show of strength. Apparently he didn’t see Dallas as a rival.

  “Genny says you’re going to be working with Jacob on these murder cases,” Pierpont said. “I had no idea the FBI would be interested in a couple of deaths here in Cherokee County.”

  “The FBI is interested in illegal activities everywhere. And we always do what we can to help local law enforcement agencies.”

  “I see.”

  Dallas reached out, grabbed Genny’s arm, and asked, “Ready to go?”

  She nodded. “Enjoy your dinner,” she said to Pierpont, then glanced at Jazzy. “I’ll call you later, if the phones are working.”

  “If they’re not working, she won’t be staying alone tonight.” The minute Dallas had thought the words, they’d flown out of his mouth.

  Pierpont fro
wned. Jazzy smiled. Genny’s soft, pink lips formed a silent gasp of surprise.

  At seven-thirty Dallas Sloan left Jacob’s office with Genny. The three had shared the delicious vegetable soup and hardy roast beef sandwiches prepared by Gertie. And they’d topped off the meal with bowls of the absolutely best blackberry cobbler in the world, made from Miss Ludie’s recipe, with the wild blackberries that grew in the Tennessee hills.

  Although she’d known that Dallas and not Jacob would see her home tonight, she felt an amazing sense of anticipation as he pulled his new rental car up behind her Trailblazer in the partially icy driveway at the side of her house. Exactly what did she expect to happen? She didn’t really know. But something was transpiring between her and the FBI agent who had entered her life less than twenty-four hours ago. Something unusual. Something extraordinary. If asked, he would probably deny it, but he would simply be lying to himself. He could postpone the inevitable, delay it for a while; but in the end there would be no denying the truth.

  By the time she unlocked her door and got out, Dallas had exited the car and stood at her side. “I’ll go in with you and check things out before I leave. If your phones aren’t working, I’m taking you back into town.”

  “I’ll be perfectly safe right here,” she insisted.

  He grabbed her arm and gently tugged her into motion. Together they made their way carefully over the patchy blanket of snow-covered ice still coating the ground.

  When he headed her toward the front of the house, she balked. “Let’s go in at the back. There aren’t any slick steps to climb if we go in that way.”

  “All right.”

  After swinging open the screen door to the back porch, she headed straight for the kitchen door. Holding the decorative silver chain laden with keys, she inserted the key into the lock of the door and turned it. She opened the door and Dallas followed her into the kitchen. Genny flipped a switch and the room filled with light. Drudwyn rose from his bed in the corner and came charging toward them. Kneeling, Genny grabbed Drudwyn around the neck and hugged him.