by Debra Webb
Bobbie nodded her understanding and waited for her to go on.
“I had this vivid memory of Shelia Cotton smiling at me. Her son was only a few months older than Noah. We were in that little shop that used to be on Thirty-Seventh Street. I could never afford any of the clothes for Noah but I would go in anyway, just to look. Sometimes—” she laughed softly “—I would attempt to copy the patterns and make him little outfits. I was pretty successful a time or two.”
Bobbie smiled. She’d never been very good with a needle and thread. Her domestic skills were hardly her strongest assets. “So Mrs. Cotton was polite to you that day?”
Potter nodded. “I’m sure such a random memory isn’t important, it just felt important last night. I guess I needed to feel something besides the pain.”
The memory was proof that at least one of the other parents hadn’t thought badly of Potter before the children went missing. “During the months before or after the children disappeared, did anything happen that put you at odds with anyone in the community, specifically anyone related to the case?”
Potter nodded, a new sadness etching into her face. “A few weeks before the children went missing, Christina Foster was raped and murdered.” She exhaled a heavy breath. “They didn’t have a speck of evidence. The whole city was up in arms. Detective Rhodes—his wife was a client of mine—came to me and asked if I would try and see what happened. He brought a shoe the poor girl had been wearing that day. It had fallen off, I guess, when she was trying to escape her...killer.” Potter shuddered visibly. “I told Detective Rhodes what I saw. I could see her walking on the road that led to her house. Treat Bonner was walking along that same road. They were talking.”
“Did she seem afraid or was there tension between the two of them?”
She shook her head. “That’s what’s so sad. I believe with all my heart that Treat was the last person to see her before she was murdered, but he did not hurt that girl. I told Detective Rhodes as much. I told them all, but no one would listen. They dragged him through that nightmare like he was the devil himself. Then he disappeared. It wasn’t a week later that they found the vile man who had hurt that sweet girl.”
Bobbie held her gaze for a moment, trying hard to see what it was that felt so familiar. “Do you believe the girl’s family—the Fosters—had anything to do with Treat Bonner’s disappearance?”
Potter stared at her hands a moment before meeting Bobbie’s gaze. “I don’t believe so. His mother, Lucille Bonner, came to me and demanded that I tell her what happened. She blamed me for telling anyone that I saw him with the Foster girl. But I was only telling the truth. I heard rumors later that Christina Foster tried to be Treat’s friend. She was always kind to him and stood up for him when others made fun of him. A witness came forward and corroborated what I said about him being innocent. He’d seen the two talking, as well. But it was too late. Treat was already gone.” She exhaled a heavy breath. “It was a difficult time for everyone.”
“One more question.” Bobbie withdrew her cell phone. “I want to show you two photos. I’d like you to tell me if you recognize either man.”
“All right.” Potter appeared to brace herself.
Bobbie skimmed the saved images in her phone until she came to a photo of Weller. She showed it to the other woman. “Do you know this man?”
Potter stared at the photo for several seconds before shaking her head. “I don’t.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Sorry. No, I don’t know him. I’ve never seen him before.”
A simple no would have been sufficient. An apology plus three ways of saying no generally equaled a yes. Bobbie glanced around the shop. “Do you have a television?”
“I don’t watch television.”
If she didn’t watch the news, she might not be aware Weller was on the loose. His face had been plastered all over every imaginable media outlet for days. During the five or so seconds of silence that followed her response Potter kept her gaze averted.
Bobbie studied the image on the screen. “He’s a serial killer, but before that he was a psychiatrist. He often worked with the police to help find the very sort of monster he turned out to be.”
The other woman’s slim shoulders lifted and then fell. “Is he involved in the murders of Bill and Nancy Sanders?”
“We’re looking at that possibility since he escaped prison just four days ago.” Bobbie thumbed through the images on her phone until she found one of Nick. She turned the screen back to Potter. “What about this man?”
Potter stared at the screen so long Bobbie thought she’d fallen asleep with her eyes open. Finally she reached for the phone, touched the screen, then shook her head. “I don’t...recognize him.” She drew her hand away and clasped it in the other. “Who is he?”
Bobbie noticed that she hadn’t asked who Weller was. “Nick Shade. He advises on cases like this one.”
Potter shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t recognize him, but...”
Bobbie’s instincts stirred. “But?”
The other woman bit her lower lip, then took a breath. “He’s here.” She looked directly at Bobbie then. “He wants to protect you.”
Bobbie’s heart stumbled at her words. “If I give you my number,” she offered, “will you call me if you remember anything else? Any little thing around the time that Noah and the others went missing. And anything since that you feel is relevant.”
“Yes.” Potter nodded. “I will.” She went to the counter and picked up a pad and pen, then returned to the table. “Put your number here and I’ll keep it handy.”
Bobbie jotted down her name and cell number, then she stood. “Thank you, Ms. Potter.”
The other woman stood and held out her hand. “Amelia. Please call me Amelia.”
“Thank you, Amelia.” Bobbie placed her hand in the other woman’s, expecting her to shake it. Instead, Amelia held it tight.
“It’s true, Bobbie,” she urged, her voice as well as her gaze insistent as she murmured, “You couldn’t have saved him.”
For long minutes after she left the shop, Bobbie sat in her Challenger staring forward at the street. No question Amelia Potter could have Googled her. Troy might have mentioned what happened to Bobbie’s family.
But what about Nick? Amelia Potter couldn’t have known that part.
He wants to protect you.
Habersham Street
9:30 a.m.
Bobbie had made it all the way to Troy’s desk when a hand grasped her forearm from behind.
She whirled to face the threat, her free hand moving instinctively toward her Glock. Troy. She forced herself to relax. You’re in a police precinct. What the hell is wrong with you?
Then again, Steven Devine had been a homicide detective. Sick bastard.
Troy released her. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay. I was distracted.”
He studied her a moment longer than was comfortable. The lieutenant wasn’t entirely sure he believed her. Understandable. If she stopped long enough to really think about what she had asked him to believe, she wasn’t sure she believed it herself. How often did one person—cop or not—find themselves the victim of a serial killer and live to tell about it much less to fight back? The concept happened pretty often in the movies, but this was real life and she was asking a lot of this man. So far he hadn’t let her down.
“I was headed to the copy machine.” He held up a report. “I met with the GBI folks already this morning and the suits from the FBI are here now.”
“The retired agent you told me about?” What was his name? Terence something. Bobbie was more interested in what the FBI had to say since they seemed to have been lead on the case all those years ago.
“Yeah, Special Agent Terence Snow, retired. His replacement is here, too. Steve Ellis.”
When Troy shifted his gaze she understood there was more. “Another agent came with them. She’s part of the Weller task force.” He leaned closer, the gold stubble on his jaw and the bloodshot eyes evidence he’d had a rough night. “You have my word, I never mentioned you were here when I spoke to Snow or to Ellis. She’s asked a dozen questions, every one of them about you.”
“What’s her name?” The memory of the female agent who’d showed up at LeDoux’s hotel flickered.
“Janet Kessler. She’s the agent in charge of the Atlanta office.”
Bobbie didn’t recognize the name. “Never heard of her.” She remembered Agent Angela Price during the Storyteller investigation. And LeDoux, of course, and Kent Mason—another agent from the BAU.
“Give me a minute.” Troy rushed over to a desk and asked the detective there to make his copies.
Owens had said that Hadden had called her. Evidently he hadn’t bought her story about how Bobbie’s prints ended up in Zacharias’s house. No other reason for someone from the Weller task force to show up looking for her...unless Weller had some connection to this case. Bobbie’s summons to Savannah made no sense otherwise.
There was always the chance that someone completely unrelated to Weller had murdered Bill and Nancy Sanders. Their murders may have been revenge for what they did to those children thirty-two years ago. The killer obviously knew their secret.
But that wouldn’t explain why her name had been inserted into the case. Whether he’d committed or commissioned the murders or not, Weller was somehow involved. Considering he was a fugitive, she could only assume that he had one hell of a motive.
Otherwise, his involvement made no sense either.
Troy moved up beside Bobbie and ushered her toward the corridor leading to his office. “You come up with a lead you wanted to follow up on this morning?”
Bobbie should have known. “You have someone following me?”
He hesitated, his gaze settling on hers. “I didn’t have a choice. Your chief called my chief.”
Since kicking something wasn’t an option, Bobbie laughed resignedly. “Sorry about that. He’s my godfather. He worries about me.”
Troy smiled, the expression as weary as Bobbie’s laugh. “I can’t blame him. I made the mistake of not looking out for someone I cared about and...well, you know what happened.”
“I guess that makes us members of the same club.” If she’d been looking out for her family instead of focusing so completely on the case, things might have turned out differently.
You can’t change the past, Bobbie.
He glanced at her as they continued toward his office. “I don’t like this club.”
“Me either. It sucks,” Bobbie agreed. “So I’m stuck with your surveillance detail?”
“Sorry. I’m already in the hot seat. My chief isn’t happy I’m on this case for obvious reasons. I couldn’t refuse both his demands.”
“You made the right choice.”
Troy gave her a nod and led the way to a small conference room beyond his office. The woman in the charcoal suit was the same one Bobbie had seen outside LeDoux’s hotel. Her blond hair was pulled back into a smooth bun. Early forties. Medium height, lean. She didn’t look the least bit friendly. The other active duty agent in the room wore the usual wash-and-wear dark suit. He was younger, mid to late thirties. The man whose position he had assumed was well into his sixties. He wore a flannel shirt and wash-and-wear trousers along with comfortable walking shoes. Deep furrows lined his face. From the years of helping find killers like Weller, Bobbie imagined.
The two men stood when she and Troy entered the room. He took care of the introductions. Though she didn’t stand, Kessler held Bobbie’s gaze and remarked, “I’ve looked forward to this meeting since I read your file, Detective.” She thrust out her hand. “Janet Kessler.”
Bobbie resisted the urge to ask “What file?” and gave her hand a quick shake, then took her seat. She wasn’t sure whether the other woman’s comment was a compliment or a threat. The FBI would have a file on her as one of the Storyteller’s victims. No surprise there, but Bobbie suspected that wasn’t the file Kessler meant. She’d know soon enough. “I hope you’re here to tell us you’ve found Weller.”
Kessler made a disgusted sound. “Not yet, I’m afraid.”
No surprise there either. Weller was out there planning God only knew what and Agent Kessler was wasting time checking up on Bobbie. Now there was an aspect of this case that truly made no sense.
During the half hour that followed, former Special Agent Snow recounted the facts of the abductions to the best of his knowledge. Occasionally the new guy, Ellis, corrected something he said based on the reports Snow had filed at the time. The side notes didn’t seem to bother the retired agent. There had been no true suspects during the time frame the five children went missing. The case had gone cold quickly. No additional victims, no persons of interest. Nothing.
“No one close to one of the families died or moved away after the abductions?” Bobbie asked. She and Troy had already been over this scenario, but there was always the chance Agent Snow would remember something the detective on the case had left out of his reports or felt wasn’t relevant. The man had certainly left plenty out of his reports.
“There was the young man—Treat Bonner—who disappeared,” Snow said. He reviewed the details Bobbie had learned already about the rape and murder of the Foster girl.
“Bonner was cleared,” Troy reminded Snow.
Snow nodded. “He was but not before the damage was done, I’m afraid. Before the real rapist and murderer was discovered over in Brunswick, there were all sorts of rumors about the young man. A top psychiatrist came all the way from Atlanta to evaluate him.”
Bobbie leaned forward. “Are you talking about Dr. Randolph Weller?”
Snow flipped through his notes, then nodded. “That’s the one.”
Agent Ellis looked as surprised as Bobbie felt. Kessler on the other hand said nothing, her face clear of whatever the hell she was thinking.
Snow recited Weller’s findings from the report in his notebook. “Bonner had been found to be incapable of planning and executing such a wanton and vile crime. He showed absolutely no true violent tendencies.”
Bobbie felt as if cold water had been dashed over her. She opened her mouth to demand why this wasn’t in the local case file when the retired agent abruptly stood. “If you’ll excuse me a moment.”
Agent Ellis pushed from his chair.
“Sit down,” Snow snapped at the younger man. “You think I can’t go take a piss without help?”
Ellis nodded at the older man and lowered back into his seat. When the door closed behind Snow, Ellis shook his head. “I apologize for the outburst. Mr. Snow was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s last year. Sometimes he’s the same sharp investigator he was thirty years ago, but others...” He shrugged. “When you called,” he said to Troy, “I hoped he would be able to provide some insights from his personal notes. I had no idea Randolph Weller had advised in any capacity on this case. This is—” he glanced at the other suit in the room “—unexpected, to say the least.”
“There’s nothing in our files either,” Troy confirmed.
Bobbie turned to Kessler. “Did you know about this?”
Kessler held her gaze for several seconds. “We need to speak privately, Detective.”
“What would we possibly have to talk about, Kessler,” Bobbie argued, instantly affronted, “that the rest of the room can’t hear?”
Ellis was out of his seat before Bobbie’s demand stopped echoing in the room. “I should check on Mr. Snow.”
When he’d left
the room, Kessler turned to Troy.
The lieutenant met her hard stare with lead in his own. “I’m certain you’re aware, Agent Kessler, that this is my jurisdiction and my case. Detective Gentry is here at my request. Unless she asks me to leave the room, I’m not going anywhere.”
Bobbie wanted to give him a high five. “He stays.”
“Very well,” Kessler said, a warning tone in her voice. “We know Agent LeDoux called you yesterday morning when he was supposedly calling his attorney. You tell me what he said and we’ll let the issue go. You refuse and I’ll inform Atlanta PD that you’re all theirs. They’re just itching to get their hands on anyone who was in Zacharias’s house the morning he was murdered.”
“What proof do you have I was in his house that morning?” Bobbie demanded. “You’re aware I visited Weller on a previous trip to Atlanta. I spoke with his attorney before my visit to the prison.” It was true. She simply didn’t add the part about their conversation having taken place on the phone.
“LeDoux is in way over his head,” Kessler warned, rather than answer her question. “You would be well advised to stay away from him. His superior, Supervisory Special Agent Pitts, has placed Agent LeDoux on administrative leave. Nothing he says or does is official at this point.”
“I haven’t seen or spoken to LeDoux since that phone call.” Bobbie met her relentless stare. “Anything else?”
“The same goes for Nick Shade. He’s on our radar and not in a good way.”
“Nick Shade has saved my life more than once,” Bobbie argued. “He’s taken down at least a dozen serial killers your people couldn’t find.”
“We know all about Shade,” Kessler said. “We want him almost as much as we do Weller. In fact, we’ve already issued a BOLO on him as a person of interest in this ongoing investigation. We have reason to believe he’s helping his father evade capture.”