The Fifth Victim

by Beverly Barton

  “Special Agent Sloan is acting quite proprietorial around you,” Royce said. “Should I be jealous?”

  “You and I are friends. Brian and I are friends. And Dallas and I are—”

  “More than friends.”

  “No, not exactly. We’re not really even friends, but I’m not sure how I would define our relationship.” Genny sighed. “I am not going to discuss how I feel about Dallas with you.”

  Genny burrowed her head and shoulders deeper into the soft goose-down pillows. She desperately needed rest. At this precise moment she felt as if she could sleep for days. She yawned. Her eyelids drooped.

  “I’m bothering you, aren’t I?” Royce gazed longingly at Genny.

  “No, of course not. But you understand how tired I am after one of my visions or after I’ve used the other powers that I inherited from Granny. I used my gift repeatedly while we were searching for Misty.”

  “That poor woman.”

  “We came so close to saving her.”

  “And catching the killer.”

  “He was out there, you know,” Genny said. “Afterward. Watching Jacob and the others. Watching me.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Genny’s gaze locked with Royce’s. “What do you mean, you know?” she asked.

  “You’re aware that my sixth-sense abilities are very limited. Nothing to compare to yours,” Royce said. “I’ve told you about how I’ve always had a keen intuition and sometimes I sense things are going to happen before they do. And I’ve had a few very unclear visions in my life. But this morning—”

  “What are you trying to tell me?” Genny rose to a sitting position.

  “I—I think I had a vision. Early this morning, not long before I heard about Jerry Lee putting together a team to help search for Misty Harte,” Royce explained. “It was either a powerful dream or a real vision. I saw you out in an open field. You were with Jacob and Agent Sloan. And I saw a man’s dark figure lurking in the woods. He was watching…watching you, Genny.”

  Genny held out her hand to Royce, who rose from the chair, took her hand, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “The dream…the vision frightened me because…because I sensed that this man wanted you, Genny. He wanted to harm you.”

  Tears gathered in Royce’s eyes. Genny put her arms around him and hugged him to her. “It’s all right. I’m fine. Nothing’s going to happen to me. I have Jacob and Dallas to look out for me.”

  Dallas burst into the room, a cup of hot tea in one hand. “What the hell’s going on here?”

  Royce jumped straight up on his feet and all but trembled in front of Dallas.

  “Royce was upset and I was comforting him.”

  “What’s he upset about?” Dallas asked, his voice a husky growl.

  “Royce has possessed some mild sixth-sense abilities since he was a child,” Genny said. “It’s something we have in common, one of the things that helped form our friendship.”

  “And?” Dallas glowered at Royce as he bent down and handed Genny her tea.

  Smiling at Dallas, she accepted the mug. “Royce had a dream vision early this morning. He saw the killer’s shadow. And saw the killer watching me while I stood in an open field with you and Jacob.”

  “A dream vision, huh?” Dallas grunted. “Nice that you two have something in common.”

  “Look, I think maybe I should go. I can call around and see if there’s another service station besides Pilkington’s that might already be open and can send someone by here to pick me up and take me to my car and get it running.” Royce edged his way around the room, avoiding getting anywhere near Dallas.

  Dallas slid his hand into his pants pocket and scooped out a set of car keys, which he tossed to Royce. “Here, take my rental car and drive yourself into town. Just leave the car parked in front of Jasmine’s and give Jazzy the keys. I’ll pick it up later.”

  Royce clutched the keys in his hand. “Sure thing. And thanks.” He carefully steered closer and closer to the bedroom door. “I’ll just let myself out. Genny, you rest. I’ll call later and check on you.”

  “You don’t have to go,” Genny told him.

  Royce looked at Dallas. Dallas frowned.

  “Yes, I think I do have to go.” He avoided eye contact with Dallas as he all but ran from Genny’s bedroom.

  “You scared him,” Genny said. “You shouldn’t have intimidated Royce that way.”

  “Drink your tea. I have bacon frying and eggs to scramble.”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “That guy is a phony. He’s faking it. He isn’t any more psychic than I am. He’s fed you a line of bull because he wants to get in your pants.”

  Genny gasped, then laughed. “Dallas Sloan, you’re jealous.”

  “So, maybe I am.” Dallas shrugged. “I’ve got to check on the bacon before it burns.”

  When he headed for the door, Genny called, “You think Royce is a phony. Do you think I’m a phony, too?”

  He paused in the doorway, his back to her. “No, I don’t think you’re a phony. I’m beginning to believe that, maybe, just maybe, you’re the real thing.”

  Chapter 17

  Dallas’s cell phone rang. He bolted out of the chair in the corner of Genny’s bedroom, immediately snatched the phone from the holder on his belt, and rushed out of the room. Since Genny had fallen asleep a couple of hours ago, he had notified Wallace to take the day off, fed Drudwyn, cleaned up the kitchen, and then returned to her room to sit quietly and watch over her while she rested. It was damn strange the way he felt about Genny, a woman he’d known only a few days. Protective to the extreme. And totally possessive.

  Keeping his voice low, Dallas said, “Sloan here.”

  “Are you all right?” Teri Nash asked. “You sound sort of strange.”

  Dallas cleared his throat. “I was up all night.” Dallas closed the bedroom door and walked down the hall. “The killer struck again. At dawn this morning. We came awfully close to getting to the scene in time to stop him.”

  “My God, you mean y’all figured out where he’d taken the woman to sacrifice her?”

  “Yeah, the sheriff had a lead he followed and it turned out to be right on the money.”

  “So if your theory is correct about this guy being the same one who committed the murders in Mobile, it means there’ll be two more victims in Cherokee County before he moves on.”

  Dallas grunted.

  “Look, I’m actually calling for a reason, other than to check up on you,” Teri said.

  “Has Linc finished the profile for us?”

  “Not yet, but he said to tell you that he should have it ready for you soon and that at this point he’d say the Mobile murders were organized murders.” Teri paused. “You know that means most likely the perpetrator has average to above average intelligence and is socially and sexually competent.”

  “That covers all six guys on our suspects list.”

  “Speaking of which—I’ve run a check on the names on the list you sent. I’ve just started, so all I’ve got is information about their whereabouts in the past year, from the time the first murder occurred in Mobile.”

  Dallas clenched his teeth and steeled his nerves, preparing himself for whatever news Teri had. “And?”

  “Okay. There are two men who weren’t anywhere near Mobile in the past year. There’s no record of any kind that shows Brian MacKinnon traveled to Mobile or anyplace within five hundred miles of the city during the time the murders occurred. And Dr. MacNair lived and worked in Bowling Green, Kentucky, for two years before moving to Cherokee Pointe. He hasn’t had a vacation in all that time.”

  “Okay, that seems to rule out MacKinnon and the doc. What about the other four?”

  “It’s almost unbelievable, but all four were living within easy driving distance of Mobile around the time of the murders.”

  “All four?”

  “Yep. Dillon Carson worked for the Pascagoula little theater group l
ast year. And Pascagoula, Mississippi, is just a hop, skip, and a jump from Mobile.”

  “Does Carson have a criminal record?”

  “Several arrests,” Teri said. “No convictions. Mostly petty stuff. A couple of DUIs; resisting arrest; a shoplifting charge that was dropped. And one assault charge. But the woman who accused him of beating her up changed her mind and withdrew the charges.”

  “Is that it on Carson?”

  “That’s all I have so far.”

  “Who’s next?” Dallas asked.

  “Royce Pierpont worked in an antique shop in Pass Christian, on the Mississippi gulf coast. That’s an easy drive to Mobile.”

  “What about his record?” For his own perverse reasons, Dallas hoped the guy had a rap sheet as long as his arm.

  “He’s clean as a whistle. Not even a speeding ticket.”

  “Figures.”

  “I take it you’ve met the man.”

  “Actually, I’ve met all six men, as of this morning. They were all part of a search party the mayor of Cherokee Pointe formed.”

  “Ah, the second victim’s husband put together his own little lynch party, huh.”

  “Luckily, they were easily managed, so they didn’t turn into a mob.”

  “Okay, on to the next suspect. Reverend Haden Stowe. Seems he was preaching at a Congregational Church in Atmore, Alabama. It’s a quick trip down I-sixty-five from Atmore to Mobile.”

  “I suppose the good reverend doesn’t have any priors?”

  “Not a one.”

  “What about Jamie Upton?”

  “Upton’s family owns a beach house in the Gulf Shores area. He was living there with a lady friend last year at the time of the five Mobile murders. Gulf Shores is practically a suburb of Mobile.” Teri paused for an instant, then went on. “Before you ask, Jamie Upton has never been convicted of anything, but he’s been arrested numerous time. DUIs, drugs, brawling, and a couple of rape charges that were dropped. Seems his family’s money has been able to smooth over all of his crimes.”

  “Looks like Upton and Carson are the two primary suspects, but our killer could be any one of these four. No way to rule out any of them.” Dallas concentrated on what he knew about the four men, trying to recall everything and anything that had been said about them.

  “They could all be innocent,” Teri reminded him.

  “I know.” Dallas didn’t want to think that they were batting zero in the search for this killer, but knew it was a possibility.

  “I’ll start digging deeper, as soon as I can. I’ll go back to three years ago in Hilton Head and see if any of our guys were in that area at the time of the murders there.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done,” Dallas said.

  “Chet Morris called Rutherford. You did a good job of talking Sheriff Butler into asking for help. And now that there’s been a third murder, I don’t think Rutherford will deny approving agents to join the sheriff’s task force.”

  “Rutherford hasn’t wanted to see what was right under his nose because the guy doesn’t like me. He never has. But despite his personal feelings about me, I have to admit he’s been halfway decent about letting me bend the rules.”

  Teri chuckled. “Never let him hear you say that. Despite his good qualities, the guy can sometimes be a prick and we all know it.”

  “Look, I wanted to tell you before I call Rutherford—I’m going to take a leave of absence. I’ve used up all my vacation and sick days.”

  “I understand. You think you’re on the trail of Brooke’s killer. You’re doing what you have to do.”

  “Tell Linc to get that profile to us as soon as he can. If we could narrow down our four suspects to just one….” Dallas huffed loudly. “Dammit, we came so close to catching this guy. If we’d gotten there just thirty minutes sooner, we could have saved a woman’s life and apprehended a monster. And because we have absolutely no evidence against any of our suspects, Butler didn’t have any grounds to even question them, let alone check out their cars and homes. Besides, the last thing we want is to scare the killer off.”

  “Where did the sheriff get his information about the killer’s whereabouts? If he has a source, someone who—”

  “You aren’t going to believe me when I tell you.”

  “I might. Give it a try.”

  Dallas took a deep breath. “Butler has a psychic who’s helping him. She’s worked with the Sheriff’s Department and the Police Department around here before, but never to catch a serial killer.”

  “Are you kidding me? A psychic? Hell, Dallas, I thought you said all psychics were phonies.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I believed, until…Genny’s different.”

  “Genny?”

  Damn, he’d said too much; Teri would want to know more. “Genevieve Madoc. She’s Butler’s cousin. Everyone who’s known her all her life swears she possesses powerful sixth-sense abilities.”

  “What do you believe?”

  “I’m not sure.” Why was he lying to Teri? Or was he simply lying to himself? “Genny’s unique. She’s definitely got something special going for her. Hell, she could actually be psychic.”

  “Will wonders never cease.”

  Dallas hated the humor in Teri’s voice. She was having a good mental laugh—at his expense.

  “Is she pretty?” Teri asked.

  “What’s that got to do with—”

  “She’s not just pretty, is she? She’s beautiful, this woman named Genevieve who you think might really be psychic.”

  “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

  “Oh, yes, my old friend, it’s exactly what I’m thinking. You’ve gone and fallen for a woman who claims she’s psychic.”

  “I haven’t fallen for anybody.”

  “If you say so.”

  “We’re changing the subject right now,” Dallas informed her.

  “No problem. Look, I’ll see if I can get Linc to work all night on that profile. And I’ll start digging into info on your four suspects that will take us back to the time frame of the Hilton Head murders.”

  “Thanks, Teri.”

  “Take care of yourself.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  Dallas slipped his phone back into its holder and walked down the hall. He paused outside Genny’s room, then eased open the door and checked on her. She was still sleeping.

  He stood there watching her for several minutes. Admit the truth, he told himself. You have fallen for Genny. You’re confused and bewildered. You’ve gotten yourself so tangled up in Genny’s life, in her mystic powers, in your desire for her, that you don’t know whether you’re coming or going. You came to Cherokee Pointe in search of Brooke’s killer, and somewhere along the way Genny has become a major part of that scenario.

  A peculiar thought formed in Dallas’s mind. A thought he couldn’t seem to shake. It was as if fate had sent him to Cherokee County specifically because Genny was here, because Genny needed him, needed his protection.

  All three televisions in Jasmine’s were tuned to the local station, WMMK. The noon news had just come on, but during the entire morning the news team had broken into regularly scheduled programming to issue updated bulletins about the murders in Cherokee County. And all the customers who had come in, from breakfast to lunchtime, had talked of nothing else.

  Being one waitress short, and with the others in shock about Misty’s brutal death, Jazzy took over the hostess duties during the lunchtime hours. And since one of her waitresses, Sandie, had gone home in a nearly hysterical emotional state, Jazzy would, if necessary, wait on tables as well as bus them.

  After hearing on the early morning news that local psychic Genevieve Madoc had been on hand when Misty Harte’s body had been found, Jazzy knew Genny had used her talent to help locate Misty. That meant Genny was totally wiped out. Jazzy had called twice to check on Genny, and Dallas had reassured her both times that Genny was sleeping. She couldn’t say exactly why, but she trusted Dallas to
take care of her best friend. There had been something in his voice that told her plainer than any words how much Genny meant to him.

  As she cleared away dirty dishes from one of the front booths, Jazzy heard the newscaster mention an interview with Sheriff Butler. Her gaze traveled to the nearest television just in time to see a taped segment, showing Jacob at the scene of the third murder. The reporter, Matt Newton, stuck a microphone right up in Jacob’s face. Good God, Jazzy thought, Newton must have a death wish. If the guy only knew how dangerous it was to prod a raging bull, he’d have steered clear of Jacob.

  “Sheriff, what can you tell us about your department’s failure to save Misty Harte’s life? And why is it that with three horrific murders in our county, you have been unable to come up with even one suspect?”

  Jacob glared at Newton but didn’t reply. Undaunted by Jacob’s evil glare, Newton continued. “We understand that not only was the third victim, Misty Harte, the sister of one of your deputies—Bobby Joe Harte—but that you had a personal relationship with her. Is that true? Were you and Misty Harte lovers?”

  Jacob walked away from Newton. The idiot followed him, harassing the hell out of him.

  “Sheriff, the good people of Cherokee County, who elected you, want some answers. If you don’t respond to my questions, people will think you have something to hide,” Newton said, all but running to keep up with Jacob as he strode toward a sheriff’s car parked along the roadside.

  Jazzy held her breath, knowing what was about to happen. And knowing as surely as she knew her name that Brian MacKinnon had ordered Matt Newton to lean hard on the sheriff.

  Jacob paused by the car, but didn’t turn to face Newton. Not until the reporter asked, “How did it feel, Sheriff, to see your lover sliced open like a ripe watermelon?”

  Holy shit!

  Jazzy focused on the TV screen, watching Jacob Butler whip around like a flash of lightning and land a hard blow to the side of Matt Newton’s face. The microphone the reporter held sailed up in the air, then nose-dived and came down beside Newton as he hit the ground with a resounding thud.

  The cameraman who’d been filming the entire incident had apparently fled at that precise moment, because the taped interview with the sheriff ended abruptly.