All the Dead Girls (Graveyard Falls Book 3)

by Rita Herron

  The sound of computer keys tapping echoed through the room. Seconds later, Peyton spoke. “The son, Reverend Jim Benton, is speaking in a small town not too far from here tonight and tomorrow.”

  “We’ll talk to him,” Beth said.

  Dr. Wheeland stood. “There’s one more thing we should discuss.” The ME tacked another sketch on the board. “This is one of the Jane Does we haven’t identified yet. She was killed approximately thirty years ago.”

  Beth gasped softly. Thirty years ago . . .

  Maybe she had the unsub’s age wrong in the profile.

  “If this girl was actually his first kill, identifying her is imperative,” Beth said. “A serial killer’s first kill is usually personal.”

  “There’s another problem,” Ian said. “If we’re dealing with the same unsub, why did he wait so many years in between victims?”

  Uneasy murmurs rumbled through the room.

  “He could have been satisfied with the first kill, possibly remorseful,” Beth said. “Maybe he married and had a normal life. Then years later something happened to trigger his need to kill again.”

  “He also could have been incarcerated or in a mental facility,” Peyton suggested. “I’ll explore that angle.”

  Ian nodded in agreement. “There’s another possibility. He could have killed others during that time lapse and buried them somewhere else.”

  Beth’s chest clenched. She had felt more bones on the floor of the cave.

  Good God. Were the bones still there? Or was there another graveyard they hadn’t yet uncovered?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Beth studied the blank space on the board where there should be a list of suspects. They’d eliminated Ian’s father.

  Focusing on the Bentons had only stirred more questions—and improbabilities.

  “Anything on Gail Carson’s husband?” Beth asked.

  “He had an alibi the night she went missing,” Deputy Whitehorse said.

  “As long as we’re speculating, we should consider the possibility that we’re dealing with more than one killer,” Beth said.

  Director Vance angled his head toward Ian. “If that’s so, the partner could have killed while your father was in prison.”

  “That’s ludicrous,” Ian snapped. “For one thing, my father was not a religious fanatic. We attended church, but he wasn’t the type to lecture or preach.”

  Another tense silence. Everyone fidgeted and seemed just as frustrated as Beth.

  Herman Otter’s face materialized from the bowels of hell to make her draw a sharp breath.

  He had been a religious fanatic. Had prayed every night and lit candles on holidays and talked about sin and salvation.

  Then forced May into his bed.

  Except for the sexual aspect, he fit the profile. But he was dead.

  He’d been friends with Reverend Wally Benton, though.

  “I’ll question Jim Benton,” Beth said. “He might know something helpful.”

  “I told you to sit this out, Beth,” Director Vance said. “Hamrick can canvass the church members.” Director Vance continued without missing a beat. “Peyton, keep digging for connections between the victims. Dr. Wheeland, see if you can get a solid ID on the body that has been dead thirty years. Agent Fields has a point—that victim might be the key to this mess.”

  Beth bit her tongue. The elder Reverend Benton had been in his midthirties to forties when Otter had taken her to see him, which meant that if he’d killed victim number one thirty years ago, he would have been a child or in his early teens at the time. Unless he hadn’t done it by himself . . .

  Now that the elder Benton was dead, his son Jim might be following in his father’s footsteps . . .

  Beth stood, anxious to leave.

  To hell with protocol and sitting this thing out. She wanted to confront Reverend Jim Benton herself. His father had terrified her as a child.

  She wouldn’t give anyone that kind of power now.

  Ian started to follow Beth, but her boss caught his arm before he could leave the room. “I gave Beth orders. Make sure she follows them.”

  “Why do you think she’ll listen to me?” Ian asked.

  The director rubbed at his neck. “I don’t know, but she seems connected to you because of your past. I don’t want her hurt again.”

  They locked gazes. The man really cared about Beth, in a fatherly kind of way.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

  A silent understanding passed between them—they each would do whatever was necessary to protect her.

  As Ian left the room, Beth was racing out the door. He hurried to catch up with her. “I’ll drive you back to the cabin.”

  “I’m not going to the cabin,” Beth said. “I’m going to see Reverend Jim Benton.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t care what Vance said.” Beth dashed down the steps, the wind tossing her hair around her face. “I didn’t come this far to walk away now.”

  Ian glanced back at the steps where the director and others were dispersing and made a snap decision.

  Beth was not in this alone. He wanted to talk to the man as much as she did. One of his own was missing.

  “All right,” he said. “I’m in the mood for a sermon tonight.”

  Beth almost cracked a grin, and Ian’s chest squeezed. What would it be like to see that tortured woman smile?

  They walked to the car in silence. As Ian drove toward the revival, he passed through the town square. The arts and crafts festival to raise money for those affected by the tornado was in full swing. The sidewalks were crowded, booths lined the streets and filled the park area, and vendors and food trucks had joined in.

  He grunted. “Hard to believe that in the midst of the problems the people in this town are facing because of damage from the storm, they have to worry about another killer preying on them at their most vulnerable time.”

  Beth sighed. “True, but the human spirit is resilient. Just look at the crowd that’s turned out for this festival to support each other.”

  “You’re right. Cocoa said an artist who lives in the mountains is donating proceeds from his sales to the town.”

  They passed several booths selling everything from homemade soaps to spices and herbs to handmade quilts. Someone had tacked posters with a photo of Prissy on street posts asking for help in finding her.

  The revival tent was set up on the other side of the park. Ian parked, and they climbed out and walked across the lawn. A sign was posted near the tent announcing sermons at dawn, noon, dusk, and 8 o’clock, with a special praise singing at midnight.

  The preacher’s voice boomed toward them as they approached. He was lecturing about sin and salvation, sinners and saints, citing Bible verses and pounding his Bible as he paced back and forth on stage.

  “You may be lost today, asking yourself where is God in all the horror that’s come to this town of yours, but fear not, you are not alone!” he shouted. “If you are that lost person, struggling to find your way, all you have to do is turn to the Lord and ask for His help.” He pounded his hand on the Bible. “Take that step and He will lead you into the light.”

  “He looks like his father,” Beth said in a strained voice.

  “Did you meet him when you came with the Otters?” Ian asked.

  Beth wrinkled her nose in thought. “Yes. He handed out prayer cards and pamphlets listing his father’s speaking schedule.”

  Ian recognized several locals. Bud from the hardware store. Sara Levinson. Myrtle from the supermarket, who always cracked jokes when he bought groceries. Abram Cain from the blood bank.

  He scanned the group in search of Bernie and his mother, but he didn’t see them.

  Cocoa and her granddaughter Vanessa slowly walked up the aisle.

  Reverend Benton murmured something to her, then placed a hand on Vanessa’s head. “These people are in need of God’s love,” the reverend said.

  Ian shifted u
ncomfortably as Benton launched into a prayer.

  Something about the predatory way Benton looked at Vanessa made Ian’s senses come alert.

  This man had snowed his mother and dozens of others into following him. He was charismatic. Charming.

  Like the serpent that tricked Eve in the Bible.

  Beth’s heart ached for Vanessa. She was just a teenager, but she looked as if she’d been beaten up by life.

  “She’s lucky to have her grandparents,” Beth said.

  “Yeah, she is. Cocoa is the heart of the community. If anyone needs anything, she’s there, donating her time and food and love.”

  Admiration for the woman stirred in Beth.

  The preacher said another prayer over Vanessa and Cocoa. Then the group burst into a gospel tune and began clapping. People waved their hands to the music. A woman hurried down the aisle and dropped to her knees in front of the makeshift altar, bowed her head, and prayed. Moved by Benton, others joined her.

  “There are some here who want to be saved and others in need of recommitting their lives to the Lord,” Benton said. “This Sunday we’ll host an old-fashioned baptismal at the river.”

  Beth waited for the snake handling like the service Otter had taken her to, but she didn’t see any sign of snakes. Instead Benton’s son relied on his strong voice, which boomed louder and louder as he ranted about sin and temptation.

  He slapped the Bible with his hand, then mopped sweat from his face as he gained steam. He strolled down the aisles of the tent, searching and seeking faces, bellowing for the lost ones to testify in front of the crowd.

  Religion had its place, and Beth believed in God and prayer. For some reason He had saved her that awful day.

  But she didn’t believe in terrorizing people with shouts about burning in hell for eternity.

  Finally the revival wound down, and the crowd began to disperse. Some of the people were so emotional, crying and shouting that he’d moved them, that they promised to fight sin.

  Vanessa and Cocoa wandered through the crowd, Cocoa pausing to speak to everyone she passed. Beth and Ian stopped to talk to the reverend.

  “We’re investigating the boneyard murders,” Beth said. If he’d read the news, he most likely knew her real identity.

  And that she’d repressed memories of her abduction.

  But he simply smiled at her. “Yes, of course, everyone in the community is upset about them.”

  Ian cleared his throat. “We’re looking for information on anyone who may have known the victims or come in contact with them.”

  Reverend Benton tugged at his robe. “I’m afraid I didn’t know any of the girls personally.”

  “You didn’t meet one of them at a revival?” Ian asked.

  “Not that I recall.” He gestured toward the crowd. “Mind you, that doesn’t mean they didn’t attend one of my sermons. As you can see, I don’t always get to speak to everyone present.”

  Beth swallowed hard. “I assume you know who I am?”

  His gaze scrutinized her. “I do, but only because of the news. I’m sorry for the ordeal you suffered when you were a young girl. How are you doing?”

  Beth’s vision blurred. A gospel song about telling it on the mountain played in her head. Herman Otter’s hand pushing her forward, pressing hard against her back. His wife, Frances, singing the praises as she aimed an ugly look at Beth as if it was her fault that Herman liked young girls.

  Then the preacher’s voice, his face . . .

  Beth blinked back into focus just as Ian spoke. “Your father was a preacher, and you followed in his footsteps.”

  “Yes, he taught me to be a God-fearing man. When he passed, I decided to continue his work by spreading the word.”

  Memories of the revivals Beth had attended flashed back. Wally Benton had been taller than his son, wider jaw, deep-set gray eyes, scar above his right eye.

  Herman Otter had taken her and Sunny to his revival service the night before they’d run away.

  After the preaching ended, while the Otters were lingering to talk to other followers, she’d snuck away and peeked in one of the tents.

  A teenager had been restrained, her body jerking with her screams . . .

  Reverend Benton was performing an exorcism.

  Bile rose to her throat, and her hand shook.

  “Beth?” Ian said softly.

  She thought she nodded, but she wasn’t sure. Her stomach churning, she excused herself. “I’m sorry. I don’t feel well.”

  The sound of voices and laughter reverberated around her as she turned and ran.

  The world blurred and spun, a wave of nausea almost bringing her to her knees. She reached out, clawing for something to hold on to, so dizzy her legs felt like rubber bands.

  A few feet away she spotted a wooden building. A ladies’ room.

  She could make it there. She had to before she passed out.

  Another dark wave. The sun moved. The sound of a baby crying. Someone playing a harmonica.

  She stumbled forward and reached for the door to the ladies’ room, but someone grabbed her from behind and yanked her against the wall.

  Then the sharp blade of a knife jabbed her throat.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Cold fear immobilized Beth. She went stone-still, debating her strategy. Fight him now or look for an opportune moment?

  Although if he tried to get her in a car, she would fight.

  A woodsy scent hit her, a man’s rough beard stubble brushing her cheek as he pressed his mouth to her ear.

  “I know who you are,” he murmured.

  Beth inhaled sharply. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “Just be quiet and do as I say.” He tightened his grip, the knife only a fraction of an inch from her neck. If she moved too quickly, he’d slice her carotid artery.

  “Just tell me what you want. Take my wallet—”

  “This is not about money.” He jerked her backward into the shadows of the awning. “Don’t you remember me?”

  Beth’s heart pounded as a memory from long ago stirred. The voice, deep, gruff.

  Asking her what was wrong. Encouraging her to talk. Promising to help.

  But she’d never accepted his offer of counseling. She hadn’t trusted anyone at the time, especially a man.

  A shiver rippled through her. “Coach Gleason?”

  He nodded against her. “Yes. You ruined my life.”

  Beth gripped the man’s hand at her throat. She had to find some leverage to knock him off guard and get that knife.

  “I’m sorry,” Beth whispered. “But those girls—”

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” he growled. “Not Kelly Cousins or Sunny or any of the others.”

  He was pressing her neck so hard he was cutting off her windpipe.

  “I know you didn’t,” Beth whispered.

  “You’re lying. You’re just saying that to get me to release you.”

  “That’s not true. Ian and I have been investigating.”

  His breath rasped out. “I know. I’ve been watching.”

  So she hadn’t been paranoid.

  Footsteps echoed nearby, and he yanked her up against his body, pressing them both to the concrete wall of the building.

  “Don’t try anything,” he murmured.

  “If you didn’t kill those girls, you won’t hurt me,” Beth said in a challenge.

  The knife blade scraped her neck. “I have nothing to lose, JJ. Nothing.”

  “We need your help,” Ian said in a voice meant to elicit trust from the reverend.

  “Whoever killed those girls has a staunch religious background,” Ian said. “He’s ritualistic.” Ian gestured toward the candles lined up at the pulpit. “He sees himself as a god saving sinners.”

  Reverend Benton’s eyes darkened. “You think that’s me because I’m a man of the cloth?”

  “That’s not what I said,” Ian said. “Our unsub—”

  “Your what?”

 
“Unknown subject, the killer. His victims are from different cities, so we know he travels. He picks the girls up on the road.” Ian watched him for a reaction, but Benton remained cool, so he continued. “The victims feel safe with him, or they wouldn’t go with him willingly. Do you know anyone who fits that description?”

  “No, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  “I’m sure you hear all kinds of confessions in private,” Ian said.

  “If any such person confessed to me, I’m sworn by the church to keep their confidence.” Benton stroked the sash around his neck. “I pray you find this person, Sheriff. I wish I could help you, but I can’t. Now, excuse me, I have others who need me.”

  The reverend headed toward Cocoa and Vanessa. Ian wanted to warn them to be careful, but his gut instinct urged him to find Beth. If she’d remembered the killer’s face, they might be able to save Prissy Carson.

  He wove through the crowd, searching the people milling around after the revival and the attendees at the arts and crafts festival.

  Food trucks were stationed along one end of the park. Country music blared from a stage across the way. A woman carrying baked goods nearly bumped into him, and children laughed at a crafts table where a woman was teaching them how to make paper flowers. A line had formed with people donating blood to the blood bank, and several people had gathered at that artist’s booth where he was demonstrating his techniques on canvas.

  The wooden building housing the restrooms sat to the left. Beth might be inside.

  As he approached, a movement caught his eye. A shadow. There were two people in the corner of the building.

  One was Beth. The other—a man.

  He moved closer.

  The man had a knife to her throat.

  Fear hammered inside Ian. He removed his gun from his holster as he moved toward them.

  Beth remained silent while a group of people walked by. She had to convince Coach Gleason to release her without anyone being harmed.

  He tightened his hold around her neck, and she gasped for air. More footsteps. Ian appeared around the corner.

  “Don’t do it, son,” Coach said in a low voice.