by Debra Webb
Using the cover of the trees he moved close enough to analyze the other man’s body language.
When he was satisfied LeDoux was alone, Nick stepped into view.
“Shit.” LeDoux drew back and glanced around. “You scared the hell out of me. Where’s your ride?”
Nick ignored his question. “What do you want?”
“Supervisory Special Agent Janet Kessler,” LeDoux said. “She’s the one who helped facilitate Weller’s reach all these years. But she had help. Rodney Pitts, my superior at BAU-2, is the power behind her. He’s the one who wants you taken down.”
Nick had determined that someone higher up at Quantico was the source of his trouble, but the motive was unclear as of yet. “How can you be certain?”
LeDoux glanced around nervously. “I still have my resources. I’ve already warned Bobbie not to trust her or Pitts. At this point she shouldn’t trust anyone from the Bureau because they’re all basing their efforts on what Pitts tells them.”
Nick studied the other man. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days and his clothes looked as if he’d been wearing them since he left Montgomery. “There is one thing in this life I don’t have to do, LeDoux, and that’s trust you.”
“Whatever you think of me,” LeDoux said, his own anger taking root now, “if you want to protect Bobbie, keep an eye on Kessler. Pitts isn’t likely to get his hands dirty.”
“I’m going to need something more than your word on that. What could Kessler or Pitts possibly hope to gain by helping Weller?”
“The position she now holds for one,” LeDoux snarled. “Vernon Manley was a friend of mine. He was slotted to take over the Atlanta field office. He confided in me some of his misgivings about Kessler. The next thing I knew, he was dead and she had been awarded the promotion that would have been his. I couldn’t figure it out at first, but I kept tabs on her and her interactions with Weller. But it wasn’t until he escaped that I realized it was bigger than Kessler.”
Nick appreciated the share, but Kessler was no concern of his unless she got between him and Weller. “I appreciate the information. Now, I have a request.”
“What’s that?”
Nick could ask Jessup, but he needed to see if LeDoux could still be counted on. “Amelia Potter. See what you can find on her. She’s involved in this somehow.”
“I can do that,” LeDoux confirmed. “I might be on admin leave right now but I still have a few good connections willing to help me out.”
When LeDoux got into his car and drove away, Nick waited until he could no longer hear the engine in the distance and then he disappeared into the woods. He’d put LeDoux on Amelia Potter on purpose.
Nick needed information on Potter but more important he needed his attention focused exactly where Weller’s would be.
On Bobbie.
Thirty-Four
Grove Point Road
5:40 p.m.
The old Cotton family estate included nearly forty acres that abutted the marshy banks of Grove River. The grand home, along with its guest cottage and horse barns, was falling into ruins now. Centuries-old live oaks heavy with moss stood like sentinels around the once magnificent estate. The scent of camellias added a sweetness to the pungent smell of the marsh.
Once it had been deemed safe to do so, a diver was lowered into the old well. Bobbie had peered down into the seemingly bottomless pit. The rock walls were covered in moss. The wooden house around the well was on the verge of caving. A crew from Cotton’s own construction company had come to shore up the shaky structure to ensure it didn’t fall in with the diver down below.
Bobbie had sent a text to Nick about the well possibly being a dump site. He’d replied with a promise to have his FBI resource look into Cotton’s background more deeply.
With so many of the players out of the way now, it was clear the killer was in his final phase of cleanup. Only Amelia Potter, the Durhams and the Wilsons remained. Bobbie had called Amelia to check on her. She glanced at Troy. He stood a few feet away from the well house speaking to someone on his cell. She could only hope he was talking to his father. No matter that what his father had done by holding back those details was wrong, and potentially criminal, Troy shouldn’t have left things the way he had. She was all too aware of how quickly life could change. In the past ten months she had gone over her final conversation with her husband a million times. It had been Christmas Eve, her first day off in weeks. They’d made love and discussed having another child. He’d pampered her all day, cooking for her and waiting on her like she was a queen. She’d played with Jamie and relaxed. Newt and his wife had stopped by and dropped off a gift for Jamie. He’d brought one for Bobbie, too.
She would never forget the final moments with each of them. Newt hugging her and saying he would see her on Monday. James telling her to relax while he made cookies for Santa. Jamie snuggled in her lap.
Run, Jamie! Run for help like Mommy showed you!
Those were the last words she ever got to say to her little boy.
Troy tucked his phone away and Bobbie walked over to where he stood. “Call your father.”
Troy looked startled and then he glared at her. “I can’t do it. He should have done more. He might have been able to prevent the murders of those kids. Instead he left this to fester for all these years.”
He looked away. She put her hand on his arm. It didn’t matter that a forensic team and a dozen cops were swarming all around them. She and Troy were stuck on this island of pain. There was no way to escape it.
“He made a mistake.”
“After my little sister went missing, that house became like a tomb. I didn’t have a family anymore. That’s one hell of a mistake.”
Bobbie nodded. “Yeah. Okay. It’s done. No taking it back. But if your father or your mother is the next victim this killer takes, will you want to look back and say you did all you could do? It’s easy to point to what the right thing was or wasn’t when you’re looking back, but what about now? In the moment?”
“Lieutenant!”
Troy turned away from her. “Yeah.” He headed over to the man who’d called out to him.
“We got bones. Human bones.”
It took far too many minutes for the bones to be brought up out of the well. Dr. Weston was standing by to make whatever determinations he could at the scene. It took some more time for the coroner to pick through the remains and see what he had, placing the pieces like putting together a puzzle. By the time he’d stopped he had most of a fully grown adult’s skeleton reassembled.
He finally looked up at Troy from the trace sheet. “I can tell you this was an adult male. I can’t tell you how old he was or how long ago he died just yet, but I can tell you that he suffered multiple broken bones including the brain case being shattered—whether from his attacker or from the fall into the well.”
Bobbie closed her eyes. At least now they knew what had become of Lucille Bonner’s son.
Hull Street
10:15 p.m.
Bobbie stood in front of the window staring out at the night. She’d showered and still she felt dirty. She scrubbed at her hair some more with the towel to dry it. Using the hair dryer would have been far faster but she hadn’t been able to bear the sound. She needed the quiet.
Why had Weller brought her here? At this point it wasn’t clear whether he had committed any of the murders beyond Lucille Bonner’s. So why play this game? Why lure her and Nick to this place where the past had collided with the present in such an ugly manner?
Tears burned her eyes. To watch Troy Durham’s fractured life fall completely apart? Or to see the long-term effects of losing a child to the horror of murder? Or maybe to be around when he finally ensured that his son was destroyed or killed?
For a number of weeks now, Bobbie had thought she was stronger, movi
ng forward. She’d felt that she had finally begun to pick up the pieces of her life. Then she’d met Amelia Potter, a woman just as lost and broken as she was. Amelia had tried to put the devastation behind her and to move on with her life even if it would never be exactly right.
Sleepwalking.
That’s what Amelia had done all these years, the others, too, Bobbie suspected.
None of them had been living, and now those who were guilty were paying for their sins.
Is that what you’re doing, Bobbie?
The knock on her door kept her from having to answer that painful question. She tossed the towel aside and ran her fingers through her hair. She thought about dragging her jeans back on but the nightshirt Amelia had given her would just have to suffice. She did grab her .22 before reaching the door.
She checked the peephole.
Nick.
She couldn’t get her fingers to work quickly enough. When the lock finally released, she wrenched the door open. “You’re taking a serious risk coming here.”
There was so much more she wanted to say to him but those words were the most urgent.
His gaze touched hers then traveled down her body before rising once more to settle on hers. Her pulse pounded harder. When she couldn’t take it anymore, she said, “You should come inside.”
Nick stepped across the threshold and Bobbie closed the door and locked it.
“LeDoux found a retired psychologist who says Amelia Potter spent some time in a psych ward when she first came to Savannah. Apparently she ran away from home carrying a heavy dependency on drugs. During detox she showed some violent tendencies. The psychologist ordered further evaluation but she was moved to a private facility, so he doesn’t know who evaluated her. That may be Weller’s connection to her and this case.”
Bobbie scrambled to keep her surprise to herself. “Amelia Potter isn’t a killer.”
He stared at her a moment, the hunger in his eyes undeniable. Bobbie’s heart pounded a little faster.
“I agree. She isn’t a killer. But Weller may have some sort of obsession with her. I’ve recently become aware how strong an obsession with someone can be.”
Bobbie took a deep breath, mostly to ensure her voice was steady when she spoke. “Maybe, like you said, he’s enthralled by her ability to see things others can’t.” The memory of Amelia’s pained words about not being able to see what was about to happen to her own son tore at Bobbie.
Nick moved a step closer. “She’s a unique woman.”
Bobbie nodded. “And beautiful.”
Another step disappeared between them. “Very beautiful.”
She managed another nod. “Yes.”
“I’ve fought so hard to put you out of my mind.”
The confession startled her and at the same time made her want to reach out to him. She resisted. This was his move.
“But I can’t. I need to touch you.”
“What’s stopping you?”
He reached out, traced her cheek with the tips of his fingers. She could have sworn he trembled. When his hands slid down and over her body she was the one trembling. His fingers fisted in her nightshirt and pulled it up and over her head. He stared at her naked body and then he reached out and touched her, tracing each scar the Storyteller had left behind.
Bobbie couldn’t take it anymore. She tore at the buttons of his shirt. He helped her release the last one and then he shouldered it off. His boots and jeans went next.
She took his hand and drew him to the bed with her. No matter what happened tomorrow she wanted this night with this man.
Thirty-Five
East River Street
11:50 p.m.
Amelia paced the floors. Going to bed wasn’t an option. She’d fallen asleep in her chair and that dream had awakened her.
How was she supposed to sleep when the sound of her little boy crying wouldn’t stop echoing in her ears?
In the dream she’d been searching for him. The woods were damp and thick. She’d stumbled so many times that even now, wide awake, her legs felt bruised and her skin felt scratched. It had been so real.
She’d found sweet little Noah in the woods. He’d been crying so hard. She’d reached for him but suddenly he was gone. No, no, she was gone. She was no longer in the woods. She was by the river. The woods had been thick; the gloom had cloaked her in near darkness.
Bobbie had been there. She had urged Amelia forward. Run! Run!
Amelia shuddered.
She was exhausted. Maybe a nice cup of tea and then she could try sleeping again.
Maybe tomorrow would bring peace.
She had lied to Bobbie Gentry. She’d told her she didn’t know Randolph Weller but she did. He had evaluated her at that fancy private hospital where Camille had sent her. He’d been fascinated by Amelia’s gift. She hadn’t seen him again until after the Foster child was murdered. He’d stood across the street from her shop and watched her, only for a short while, but long enough to make her very uncomfortable.
When she’d first seen the man watching her last night, she’d thought for a moment it was him. Then he’d stepped from the shadows. She shivered and pushed the memory away.
The fact that Weller had evaluated her all those years ago could not be relevant to these murders. But why would Randolph Weller be involved in any of this? There was something here he wanted and somehow Bobbie Gentry was part of it.
Amelia shook off thoughts of Weller. When the dead refused to stay buried, it was because there was some truth they wanted others to see. There were secrets, Amelia knew. She’d felt the secrets buzzing around the other parents like a swarm of black flies. Had they finally found peace in death?
Would she die without knowing what happened to her son?
Where are you, Noah?
As much as she wanted her son to be alive and well somewhere far away from the pain of this place, the not knowing was taking a heavy toll on her soul.
Maybe Camille Balfour’s prediction had been right. Maybe the end was coming for Amelia.
She hugged the shawl she had swaddled Noah in tightly around her.
“Give me strength, Noah,” she whispered. “Mommy is so tired of the pain.”
Thirty-Six
West Duffy Street
Wednesday, November 2, 2:20 a.m.
“For God’s sake, Deidre, get in the car.” Hoyt Wilson shook his head.
His wife finally scooted into the passenger seat. “You know that police officer is going to follow us.”
“Let him follow us.” Hoyt rammed the vehicle into Drive. “Until they lock me up, I still have a business to run and I’m not leaving you here alone.”
“Don’t talk like that,” she whined. “You know how it makes me worry.”
His dear, dear wife. She had loved and depended on him all these years. Not once had she suspected their son’s death was his fault. He could not allow her to be hurt by this. This was his wrong, not hers.
“I don’t understand what couldn’t wait a few more hours,” she complained. “Nothing good ever happens at this hour.”
Hoyt grunted an agreement.
The security guard at the downtown store had called. There was something wrong in the office. The light was on and desk drawers were all open yet the door was locked, which prevented the guard from getting inside. He’d made a round at nine-thirty when the last of the store’s personnel had gone home and all had been as it should be. He’d found the same at his midnight rounds, but a few minutes ago he’d discovered an entirely different situation. He’d wanted to alert the police but Hoyt preferred to look into the matter personally first. This wouldn’t be the first time a thief had hidden in the store and then come out after closing expecting to rob the place. After that one incident Hoyt had hired a
security guard to watch each of his supermarkets at night. Apparently the would-be thief had assumed the guard would take a nap, but Hoyt made sure the guards he hired understood sleeping on the job was not acceptable.
Deidre fumbled with her seat belt as they rolled onto the street. As she’d predicted, the police cruiser pulled out right behind them. Troy Durham had explained that the officer was for their protection. Rubbish! The boy just wanted to prove he could do what his daddy wouldn’t thirty-two years ago.
Maybe they should have been charged and jailed all those years ago. Maybe he should be in jail right now. Hoyt’s shoulders slumped as he drove through the darkness. He belonged in jail—he wouldn’t pretend otherwise. He was the only one left now of the original three who had hurt Lucille’s boy. Hurt. Ha! They had killed him. He had been lying on the ground and his chest hadn’t been going up and down. Like Edward, Hoyt hadn’t been about to get close enough to check his pulse. Watching him lie there, the reality of what they’d done had hit Hoyt. He’d wanted to call the police. He’d wanted to call for an ambulance but Wayne had ordered them both to go.
Just go! I’ll take care of this, you fucking cowards.
Hoyt had walked away first. Edward had done so right behind him. They’d left Wayne to do whatever was necessary to finish it...to clean up.
The whole mess was that bastard’s idea anyway. Wayne had always been the badass. He’d screwed around on his wife every chance he got until she paid him back in spades. He’d gone crazy when he found out. Hoyt was pretty sure he’d killed that man, too. Hell, he was the one who pushed them to take action against the Bonner boy. Thirty-two years had given Hoyt plenty of time to think and to form a far clearer perspective. Wayne had always wanted the Bonner boy out of the way. Hoyt knew he’d whored around with Lucille and maybe the boy was his. The two had certainly shared the same dark hair and green eyes. It wasn’t long after Lucille got pregnant that the Bonner man fell off that roof. Hoyt wouldn’t doubt that the two men had gotten into a fight and Wayne pushed him. If so, it was one thing Wayne had never bragged about. Maybe it was karma that the poor kid was born with brain damage. No matter how Wayne pretended, Hoyt and Edward knew what he’d done. Knew that mentally handicapped boy was most likely his.