Jacob nodded.
Bobby Joe let out a piercing yell and dropped to his knees beside the altar. Every man in their group stood perfectly still and remained silent, each one knowing how he’d feel if the victim had been his sister.
Jacob forced himself to do what had to be done. He radioed the other units to notify them Misty had been found. Found too late. And he had to tell them that the killer had escaped. Then he ordered a forensics team to get to the site ASAP.
He’d have to keep the crime scene as pure as possible, but before he secured the site, he had to take care of Bobby Joe.
Just as he put his hand on his deputy’s shoulder, Sally called out to him. “The boys have picked up a scent.”
Jacob snapped his head around and looked directly at the old woman. “The killer’s scent?”
“Could be,” she said. “They’re heading out the other side of the barn. Best we follow them before they get too far ahead of us.”
Chapter 16
Erin Mercer roused from sleep and wondered what had awakened her. Then she heard someone pounding on the door of her rental cabin. Who in the world would be out and about at this time of the morning? She opened her eyes, turned her head, and, without her glasses, tried to make out the numbers on her digital clock. Farsightedness was a curse of people over forty-five and she had passed that birthday four years ago. The insistent pounding continued. Erin forced herself into a sitting position, dragged the clock closer so she could see the face, and realized it was almost seven o’clock. An ungodly hour for a woman who seldom rose before eleven.
By the time she dragged herself out of bed, donned her robe, and made it into the living room, she heard a deep male voice bellowing.
“Erin, dammit, woman, are you in there?” Big Jim Upton shouted loud enough to wake the dead.
What was Jim doing here? Why was he so upset? Since the beginning of their affair, he’d seldom visited her more than a few times each week, and never in the mornings.
“Are you in there? Are you all right?” Fright deepened Jim’s already robust baritone voice.
Hurrying across the room, she called, “I’m here, Jim. And I’m just fine.”
She undid the lock and jerked open the door. Without saying another word, Jim lifted her off her feet in a bear hug and kissed her so soundly that he cut off her breath for several seconds. When he ended the kiss, he set her on her feet, and, keeping a tight hold about her waist, walked her backward into the cabin. Lifting his big booted foot, he slammed the door shut.
He cupped her face with his large, weathered hands. “The killer has struck again. He kidnapped Misty Harte, a waitress at Jasmine’s. Jerry Lee gathered up a group of men to help the lawmen scour the countryside looking for her.”
Erin placed her hands over his. “And you came to check on me because you were worried about me. Afraid I might be next.”
He flung off her hands and released his tender hold on her face, then grabbed her hand and gazed into her eyes. “I just found you, honey. I couldn’t bear it if I lost you so soon.”
She squeezed his hand. “You aren’t going to lose me.”
“Yeah, I will. One of these days you’ll look at me and see an old man, then move on to greener pastures.”
“You’re being ridiculous.” She stood on tiptoe to plant a quick kiss on his lips. “I happen to be in love with you, Jim Upton. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
Jim shook his head, then speared his fingers through his thick white hair. “I’m too damn old for you. I’m old enough to be your daddy.”
“If people knew about us, they’d think you’re my sugar daddy.”
Jim grinned. “Shows you what people know.”
“How’d you get away from the house so early in the morning? Won’t Reba wonder where you are?”
“I left a note. Explained that I would probably join up with the search team Jerry Lee had put together.”
“You said another woman has come up missing. Does the killer have her? Is—is she dead?”
Jim nodded. Erin could tell something else was bothering her lover, something more than his concern about her safety. From the first moment she met him—in, of all places, church—she’d felt drawn to the big, gruff man with the beautiful blue eyes. He was twenty-five years older than she and married. She’d never fooled around with a married man. Not ever. And if she had waited for him to make the first move, she’d still be waiting. She had immediately decided to learn everything she could about him, and deliberately set about running into him wherever he went. She couldn’t explain exactly why, but she’d wanted him in a way she hadn’t wanted anything or anyone in a long time. People might think she was after his money, but she wasn’t. She didn’t need Big Jim’s fortune. She had a sizable fortune of her own, a trust fund from her grandfather since she was twenty-one. That wealth had allowed her to pursue her dream of being a painter. But here she was, nearly fifty, and success in her chosen field still eluded her.
“Come on in and sit down.” Erin led the way to the sofa. She sat, then patted the cushion beside her. Jim eased his big frame down on the plaid couch. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I told you—with a killer on the loose, I’m worried about you living here all alone.” He reached out and lifted a strand of her hair and curved it around her ear.
She loved the way he couldn’t keep his hands off her. Whenever they were together, he was always touching her, as if that simple act gave him immeasurable pleasure. He’d touch her hair, her face, her hands. And when he made love to her, he didn’t leave an inch of her body untouched. He was the most considerate, caring lover she’d ever had.
“Jim, we might not have known each other for very long, but I’ve become acquainted with your moods well enough to know when something is bothering you.” She caressed his cheek. “If you need someone to talk to, I’m here. Talk to me.”
He closed his eyes, and a look of pure agony strained his features. Erin’s heart jumped into overdrive. That terrible look of pain on his face scared her.
“My Lord, Jim, what is it?”
He slumped forward, braced his elbows on his thighs and rested his chin against his cupped hands. “I want you to tell me that I’m crazy for even suspecting…I feel that just thinking what I’m thinking is wrong. How can I believe him capable of anything so horrible?”
She laid her hand on Jim’s back and rubbed comfortingly. “You aren’t making any sense. What are you talking about? Who do you suspect of what?”
“Jamie.” Jim bounded up off the sofa, turned, and looked right at Erin. “He didn’t come home again last night. I have no idea where the hell he was. I figured he was with Jazzy or with some other woman. But now I’m not so sure.”
“Your grandson didn’t come home last night, so you suspect he might have been doing what?”
Jim grabbed her hands and jerked her to her feet, then looked pointedly into her eyes. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me…Jamie didn’t come home last night, and a woman was killed. I heard the news on the radio just as I drove up out front that they’d found her dead.”
“The waitress was murdered just like the other two women?”
Jim nodded. “When Susie Richards was killed, Jamie wasn’t at the house that night, and he’d been home less than forty-eight hours. And he wasn’t at home the night Cindy Todd was murdered. And now—”
“Oh, Lord, Jim, you aren’t saying…you can’t believe—”
“God knows I don’t want to think what I’m thinking, but I’ve known for a long time that that boy is no good. But I never dreamed he was capable of…I can’t believe he could kill those women, but…what if he is the killer?”
Erin wrapped her arms around Big Jim and whispered soothingly, “Jamie didn’t kill those women. Good or bad, he’s your grandson. He wouldn’t be capable of cold-blooded murder.”
When Jim trembled, she knew he was weeping silently. She held him all the tighter and loved him all the more.
By the
time the forensics team arrived and began going over the crime scene, at least a hundred people, other than the citizens’ search party Jerry Lee had formed, lined the road and congregated in the field. Reporters from the Cherokee Pointe Herald were hurling questions right and left; and a news crew from WMMK kept trying to get closer to the old barn. Jacob had sent Tim Willingham to take Bobby Joe home. He could only imagine how difficult it would be for him to tell their mama that Misty was dead.
As much as he wanted to send Genny home—God, she looked totally beat—he needed her here for as long as she could endure delving into that secret place she went when she used her gift of sight. Sally’s old bloodhounds had tracked the killer’s scent several yards behind the barn, then suddenly started acting peculiar. Immediately Sally had realized they were sick, and it hadn’t taken her long to figure out why.
“Our killer’s a damn clever boy.” Sally bent down and rubbed first Peter’s head and shoulders, then Paul’s. “He’s tried to poison my dogs. I’ll need some help getting them to Doc Swain.” She shook her head. “They ain’t gonna be of no more use to you this morning.”
While Jacob and a couple of deputies helped load the two dogs into the back of a deputy’s SUV, Sally explained that the killer had probably mixed arsenic with some chemical fertilizer, more than likely some old stuff left over in the barn, then added water—more than enough melted snow puddles all around—and produced a slow yielding gas. He’d spread the mixture along his path a few yards from the barn.
“My guess is he heard Peter and Paul howling and had to think quick on his feet,” Sally had said. “He’s smart enough to know that sniffing that gas would mess up the boys’ sense of smell and stop them from following him.”
With Peter and Paul out of commission, he had no choice but to rely completely on Genny.
“I want to see Misty’s body,” Genny requested.
“No way,” Jacob told her.
“Please. I need to see the body. I’m sensing something very strong coming from nearby.”
Reluctantly, Jacob agreed to her request. He and Dallas escorted her to within twenty feet of Misty’s body. She looked on while the forensics team went about their job. With a pained expression on her face, Genny studied the murder scene, taking special note of Misty’s mutilated corpse.
“No…no…oh, no…” Dallas caught Genny when she collapsed. Cushioned in Dallas’s arms, she opened her eyes, looked at Jacob and said, “He’s still here. Close by. Watching.”
“How can you be sure?” Dallas asked.
“He’s communicating with me.”
“What?”
Jacob placed his hand over her mouth. “Don’t,” he said. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Tell me what the hell is going on?” Dallas demanded.
Jacob lifted his hand from Genny’s mouth. “She’s purposely making telepathic contact with the killer,” Jacob said, then focused on Genny. “Stop it. Right now. It’s too dangerous for you.”
“He’s laughing,” she said. “Laughing at you, at everyone, because he knows you can’t catch him.” She grasped Jacob’s arm. “He’s singing—inside his mind. He keeps singing, ‘you can’t catch me.’ He’s so…happy.”
“Get her the hell away from here,” Jacob told Dallas. “Take her home. Call Jazzy to come help you. And make sure she doesn’t try to contact the killer again.”
Jacob could tell by the concerned look on Dallas Sloan’s face that he would take good care of Genny, but Jacob could also tell that Dallas was confused. He was still an unbeliever. But not for long.
“You need me here,” Genny whispered, so weak she could barely talk.
“Go. Now.” Jacob barked out the order. He tossed Dallas his keys. “Take my truck. I’ll catch a ride later.”
Dallas didn’t hesitate. He carried Genny across the open field and straight toward Jacob’s Dodge Ram.
With Genny out of harm’s way, Jacob called over several of his deputies and told them to collect every lawman still on the scene and begin a thorough search of the woods surrounding the barn. He hesitated a moment, then added, “And make a sweep through the crowd. Anybody who looks suspicious, I want to talk to him.”
Dallas slid Genny onto the front seat and started to close the passenger door, but Royce Pierpont suddenly appeared and before Dallas could stop him, he peered into the truck cab and spoke to Genny.
“Sweetheart, are you all right?” Royce asked.
“She’s tired and I’m taking her home,” Dallas said.
“Yes, yes, you must take her home so she can rest.” Royce sighed. “Using her abilities drains her terribly. Poor little darling.”
“Move, please.” Dallas forced himself to be polite for Genny’s sake. “I need to close the door.”
“Oh, sorry.” He didn’t budge an inch. “I was wondering, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could y’all give me a lift?”
“We’re not going into town,” Dallas replied.
“Oh, just take me down the road a bit. My car’s parked along the roadside about a mile from here.”
Dallas eyed Pierpont quizzically.
“I left it there when I met up with a couple of other men in their vehicle. We didn’t see any need to take two cars.”
“Of course, you may go with us,” Genny said.
Dallas bristled. Royce Pierpont opened the back door and hopped into the truck.
Several minutes later they reached Pierpont’s Lexus on the roadside. He thanked them for the ride, got out of the truck, and hurried to his car. Dallas started to leave, but when he didn’t hear the Lexus’s motor come to life, he glanced out the window and noticed the car’s headlights were on. Had that idiot gone off and left his lights on? If so, his battery was probably dead.
After several minutes Pierpont emerged from his car, tossed up his arms in a what-do-you-think-about-that? gesture and came back to the truck.
“Guess my battery’s dead,” he said. “Mind if I go on with y’all to Genny’s place?”
Before Dallas could reply, Genny said, “No, we don’t mind at all.”
“I could give you a jump-start,” Dallas suggested. “I’m sure Jacob’s got some jumper cables somewhere here in the truck.”
“No, no, don’t bother,” Royce said. “You need to get Genny home as soon as possible. I’ll catch a ride into town with Jacob later. I’m sure he’ll stop by to check on Genny.”
Dallas grimaced, but didn’t respond. Once again, for Genny’s sake, he’d force himself to be polite. Even if it killed him.
Genny slept all the way home, so when they arrived at her house, she awoke the minute Dallas lifted her out of Jacob’s truck and the cold air hit her in the face.
Dallas smiled at her. “Feeling better?”
“Some.”
“I’m taking you inside, putting you to bed, and then fixing you some breakfast.” He slammed the passenger door. “Do you want me to call Jazzy?”
“If you’ll stay with me, I won’t need her.”
Royce leapt out of the backseat and slammed the door. “I’ll be happy to stay here with Genny if you need to go back and help Jacob.”
“I don’t think the sheriff needs my help,” Dallas said. Ignoring Royce, he headed for the back porch.
Genny called out to Royce, “Please come in and stay until Jacob stops by for his truck.”
Dallas growled.
“I’m sure it won’t be that long until Jacob comes by,” she whispered to Dallas.
“It had better not be.”
Genny cuddled closer to the warmth of Dallas’s big, strong body. “I can’t be inhospitable,” she murmured softly.
Dallas grunted.
“If Jacob doesn’t come by in a bit, I’ll call into town to Pilkington’s Garage as soon as they open,” Royce said, following closely behind. He had to walk fast to keep up with Dallas’s long-legged gait. “I must admit that I’m pretty unnerved myself by all these killings.”
Dallas tromped onto the p
orch, unlocked the door, and carried Genny into the kitchen. Drudwyn lumbered toward them. He sniffed Dallas and licked Genny’s hand that she held down to him.
“Go on out, boy,” Genny said.
Drudwyn headed to the open back door, then halted when he saw Royce. The bristles on his back raised and he growled.
“That dog doesn’t like me,” Royce said. “He growls at me every time I visit Genny.”
“Behave yourself,” Genny warned Drudwyn.
“Royce is a guest in our house.”
Royce gave Drudwyn a wide path, staying in a corner of the porch until after Drudwyn raced out into the yard; then he entered the kitchen.
Dallas didn’t say anything. He simply carried Genny through the house and straight to her bedroom. When he laid her on her bed, he stacked one pillow on top of the other and helped her into a semi-sitting position.
“You stay here and rest while I get us some breakfast. What would you like to eat?” he asked.
“I’m really not very hungry. Maybe just some tea…or coffee, if you prefer.”
“You’re eating something.”
“Then just a slice of toast.”
“If you need anything—”
“I’ll be fine.”
Dallas turned to leave her bedroom and nearly bumped into Royce, who stood in the doorway.
“You go right on in the kitchen and get Genny’s toast and tea,” Royce said. “I’ll keep her company.”
“Genny needs to rest,” Dallas told him.
“I won’t disturb her.” Royce looked to her for confirmation. “Will I, Genny?”
“No, of course not,” she said, when what she really wanted was for Royce to leave. She didn’t need or want anyone—except Dallas.
“Go on,” Royce said. “You’re leaving her in good hands.”
Dallas grumbled under his breath. Genny thought she picked up on a couple of less than gentlemanly comments.
The moment Dallas disappeared down the hall, Royce pulled the cane-bottom, ladder-back chair from her dressing table and placed it beside her bed. He plopped down in the chair, then leaned closer.
The Fifth Victim Page 20