No Darker Place--A Thriller

by Debra Webb

  “And no one could see who he really was.” She paused at the photos of his dead mother’s scar-ravaged body. “Not even his own mother.”

  “Her son was the one thing that made her smile.” Nick had heard that same statement from everyone he interviewed. He moved closer to the photos he had obtained from the albums in Perry’s childhood home. “Even at twelve years old, he’s standing closer to his mother than his father in family photos. See his right hand resting on her shoulder—that’s a sign of protectiveness. No matter that he couldn’t protect her—he wanted to. Every moment they shared away from his father was likely intense and filled with a kind of urgency and secrecy that one day things would be different. The two of them against the world.”

  Bobbie took a big breath. “Good thing he was an only child.”

  “There was another child born when he was ten,” Nick corrected her, “but the infant died when he was only three months old. From pneumonia according to the death certificate.”

  “Something else the FBI didn’t share.” Bobbie stood back and surveyed the photos again as if seeing them for the first time. “How did you get all these photos? I don’t think LeDoux has any of these.”

  “Family albums.” Nick avoided eye contact. More of those details she didn’t need to know.

  “His father let you copy the family photos?” She laughed, the sound almost real. “No way. He gave one interview to LeDoux when Perry’s identity was first discovered and then he lawyered up. The man did not willingly hand over these photos. In all the searches of his home, the FBI didn’t bother with copies of these older family photos. Why did you?”

  “Like I said, everything in Perry’s world is relevant.” Nick might as well get the other part over with. “As for how I got the photographs, I don’t operate under the same rules that bind law enforcement.”

  Another of those almost laughs burst from her lips. The sound warmed him. He cursed himself. Another warning that she was a dangerous distraction. He had to find a way to distance himself. He was the one who wanted to laugh at that one. How was he supposed to distance himself from her when she was inextricably involved in what he needed to do?

  “You broke into the man’s house and took photos of all these,” she guessed.

  “I do whatever it takes.” Nick did meet her gaze then. He was surprised to find no contempt or accusation. He would have preferred her distrust over the glimmer of respect he saw in her eyes. “Breaking and entering, however, is your theory about how I obtained the photos. You have no evidence to substantiate the allegation.”

  “I don’t know who you are—” she searched his face for a long moment “—but if you can help me save those children and Gwen Adams, I don’t care if you break every law known to man.”

  Anticipation expanded in his chest. Now they were getting somewhere. “Are you saying you’ll stay out of the way and let me do what I need to do to stop him?”

  She schooled her expression, exiling that glimpse of her true feelings she’d only just shown him. “No way. I’ll take any and all help to save the hostages, but he’s mine.”

  His frustration cranked up a few more notches. He had no one to blame for this situation but himself. He should have stayed in the shadows where he belonged. Her determination to end up a victim again had drawn him closer and closer. He’d stepped into her world to warn her and now he couldn’t turn back.

  “You want him dead. I get that, but you need to stop thinking of yourself and think about all his other victims for a minute.”

  Outrage darkened her blue eyes. “I am thinking of his other victims. I intend to make sure there aren’t any more.”

  “And the ones we aren’t certain about? Like the two college students? Are you willing to take peace away from those families?”

  “So.” She shifted her attention back to his collection of data. “His father’s abuse murdered, in a manner of speaking, the little boy Perry was and created the monster he is today,” she said, changing the subject. “The way he tortures and murders his victims tells the story he lived over and over as a child.”

  At least she was still talking. As long as they were communicating there was a chance she would listen to reason.

  “Very good, Detective. You only missed one very important detail.” He tapped a photo of Perry’s mother when she was in her early thirties. “Look closely at her. Beyond the Puritan clothing and hairstyle.”

  When Bobbie’s breath caught, he went on, “Do you recognize her? Long dark hair, light blue eyes and pale skin. Tall and slender. Every time he takes a victim, tortures and rapes her, he’s torturing and raping his mother for not saving him.” He looked straight into Bobbie’s eyes and said the rest. “You look more like her than any of his other victims. That’s why he couldn’t resist you.”

  Bobbie drew back. “The FBI profile—”

  “I know what the FBI profile says.”

  She stared directly at him then. “You want me to believe you know more than a trained profiler?”

  “Believe what you will. After you left Perry for dead in the cabin, was the FBI able to trace his movements beyond the ride he hitched out of Mississippi?”

  She glared at him without saying a word. There was nothing she could say, because the truth was they hadn’t. She, like the authorities, knew Perry had made it out of the woods that day and caught a ride with a man just passing through the state. The unlucky guy’s body had been found two weeks later. Since he was on vacation, the missing person’s report hadn’t been filed for days after his murder, and the connection to Perry hadn’t been discovered for another month. That was where the FBI’s search went cold.

  “Like you,” Nick explained, “Perry had some recovering to do. When you stabbed him, you missed anything vital, but you still managed significant damage.” Lucky for Perry, the vintage Asian tattoo needle glanced off a rib. Too bad for the rest of the world.

  When she made no attempt to interrupt, he continued, “It took me three months to trace his movements. I located the woman—a doctor—who provided medical care to him. The serial killer groupie stitched him up and provided shelter for six days.”

  Disbelief briefly overrode the anger and frustration. “Did you turn her over to the authorities?”

  “I did, and that’s where the trail went cold for me. I’ve been here waiting for him since. You have my word, Detective Gentry. I will stop him. I’ve never failed. I don’t intend to this time.”

  For a long moment she only stared at him. “How do you expect me to believe you and all your research—” she gestured to the wall where he’d created the history of the case “—can somehow do what no one else has been able to?”

  “I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

  She held up her hands stop-sign fashion. “How about you do your thing and I’ll do mine?” She headed for the door.

  Nick silently cursed himself. He’d long ago lost any people skills he’d ever possessed. “Wait.”

  One hand on the doorknob, she hesitated. “You know, my partner believes in you.” She exhaled a big breath, shook her head. “He thinks you’re psychic or something. A legend the FBI only whispers about.”

  Nick dared to move closer without the shield of anger. “What do you think?”

  She turned from the door. Her blue eyes flared when she recognized how close he was. “I’m not sure. You operate outside the law to hunt down and stop serial killers, and I’m a cop. What should I think?”

  “Maybe that I’m doing the right thing—the thing that no one else can do.”

  “You’re a vigilante.”

  “And you’re not?” The words were out before he could stop them.

  Determination hardened in her eyes. “Don’t pretend to know how I feel.”

  “I couldn’t possibly.”

  “That’
s right. You couldn’t. I don’t want the son of a bitch to end up with life because some DA offers him a deal for sharing where he hid the bodies. I want him to die. I want him to die screaming.”

  A knock on the door shattered the silence that followed.

  Nick kept his feelings on her admission to himself and waited while she moved aside. He checked the security viewfinder in the door. One of the officers from her surveillance detail was on the other side. Nick opened the door.

  “Sir, I need to speak with Detective Gentry.”

  She stepped between him and the door and Nick backed away. He shouldn’t have brought her here. Another misstep.

  “What do you need, Officer Atkins?”

  “Dispatch got a message for you from an anonymous caller.”

  She checked the cell fastened to her arm in an athletic band. “Why the hell didn’t dispatch call me?”

  “I don’t know, ma’am, but the message was a little strange. It was nothing but a location.”

  “What location?”

  “I-85 North, Exit 9. I believe that’s the Taylor Road exit.”

  “Thank you, Atkins. I’ll need a ride to the location.”

  Nick grabbed his keys before the uniform could respond. No way was he letting her out of his sight. “Let’s go.”

  The MPD cruiser followed closely as Nick drove the mile required to access Interstate 65. Bobbie didn’t say a word, but she didn’t need to for him to understand she was worried the call meant Perry had made a move. It could be anything or nothing at all. Perry’s MO was all over the map at this point. If he did manage to accomplish his goal of abducting and murdering Bobbie without being caught, he fully understood that his life as Gaylon Perry was over. Like a prisoner on death row, the Storyteller had little to lose, which made him far more dangerous than before.

  “How about giving it some gas?” Bobbie tugged at the shoulder strap of her seat belt.

  Nick pressed a little harder on the accelerator, the seconds ticking off like bombs in his head. Perry never took children. Sadly, Nick understood the goal of this unexpected move. He wanted to hurt Bobbie. He wanted to engage her emotions, making her more vulnerable. The more vulnerable she was, the more likely she was to make a mistake. She wasn’t the only one headed down the wrong path. Nick never allowed himself to obsess over any person involved in a hunt. Bobbie Gentry was a first.

  The exit ramp for I-85 came into view, and he slowed for the turn. Gentry tugged her cell from its holder. “Detective Gentry.”

  Nick kept his attention on the road, but the escalating tension in her voice as she gave one-word responses to her caller warned the news was not good.

  “We’re almost there.” She ended the call and shoved her phone back into its holder. “Step on it, Shade. Dispatch received three nine-one-one calls about a child on the interstate. Blue shorts, white tee. Blond hair.”

  Perry was taunting her with the memories of her own little boy’s death. The bastard. He’d read Bobbie like an open book. He knew she was baiting him, and he was turning the methodology around on her.

  “Those may be the nine-one-one callers.” She pointed up ahead where three vehicles had parked in the southbound lane.

  Nick braked to a stop. Blue lights appeared in the distance in front of them as well as in the rearview mirror. Bobbie was out of the car before he’d shifted into Park.

  “MPD! Where’s the child?” she shouted to the people standing outside their cars.

  “There!” A woman pointed amid the stalled traffic on the northbound lane. “My husband is trying to catch him.”

  Bobbie burst into a run. Nick rushed after her. The traffic that was still moving attempted to dodge them. Idiots! Why the hell didn’t they stop? Couldn’t they see the blue lights?

  Bobbie darted between two vehicles. Horns blared. Nick skidded to a stop between them, allowing the second of the two to pass. He swore. She’d almost been hit by the second car.

  “Joey!” she shouted.

  The boy stopped running and turned. Hearing his name got his attention. Nick stayed back. The kid didn’t need another strange man getting too close. He was far more likely to trust a woman. The child’s eyes were wide with fear. His face was red and puffy from crying. One knee was bloody as if he’d fallen.

  “Joey, don’t be afraid, sweetie. I can take you to your mommy,” Bobbie promised. “You stay right there. I’m coming to get you.”

  Two more cars approached, horns piercing the night air.

  The boy held stone still. If he just stayed right where he was near the low wall separating the north and southbound lanes, he would be okay.

  “You’re doing good, Joey,” Bobbie said gently.

  Worry pounded in Nick’s veins as two cars passed dangerously close. Fools!

  Bobbie made it to the median. She reached for the boy, and he scooted away.

  Nick rushed forward, a lane separating their positions, to cut him off. The child spotted Nick and froze. More headlights appeared in the distance. Nick dared to move closer. “Your mommy’s waiting for you, Joey. Let’s go see her, okay?”

  The boy ran into the line of traffic. Bobbie rushed forward and scooped him up, barely avoiding the third of the three cars.

  Nick dragged in his first deep breath since the cop knocked on his door.

  An ambulance raced into the fray, siren wailing.

  Bobbie passed the boy to the closest cop and merged into the now-stalled traffic. Nick went after her. She moved from vehicle to vehicle, checking the passengers. Nick did the same. She was right to think Perry might be close by...watching.

  Nick had almost caught up to her when a car cut from its lane and lunged forward, swiping past Bobbie, knocking her off her feet. Two MPD cruisers barreled after the vehicle.

  Her face lined in pain, Bobbie was scrambling up when Nick reached her. “Are you all right?”

  She pushed him away, limping in the direction the car had disappeared. “I didn’t see his face. Was it him?” She rounded on Nick and demanded, “Did you see him? Was the driver Perry?”

  “If they catch him, we’ll know. You need to come with me.” He took her arm to prevent her from taking off down the interstate.

  “I can’t leave.” She glanced toward the ambulance that was departing with the child. “I should call his mother.”

  “Not until you’ve had medical attention.”

  Before she could argue, he scooped her up and started back toward the car.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “You’re no good to anyone if you’re broken, Detective.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “Too late.”

  Eleven

  Baptist Medical Center

  Howard Newton swabbed his forehead with his handkerchief. A buddy in dispatch had called him and told him about Bobbie. He shook his head. What in the world was he going to do with her? She should have called him.

  Shade had taken a position on the far side of the ER near the sliding doors used to enter the lobby from the parking lot. He had answered Newt’s rapid-fire questions with short, curt answers when he first arrived, but he hadn’t said a word since. He’d stayed clear of the cops who’d flocked to the hospital once word about the child’s rescue and Bobbie’s injury went wide. Reporters had swarmed into the lobby like flies to a rotting carcass. MPD’s finest had herded them back outside and set up a barricade around the entrance.

  Newt’s gaze shifted to the set of white double doors next to the registration desk. The chief and the LT were back there with Bobbie now. Newt was going back as soon as Peterson and Owens finished chewing her out.

  God almighty he didn’t know how they were going to protect that girl. He closed his eyes and focused on calming his ticker. Damned thing needed to slow its ga
lloping. The tightening band around his chest prevented a deep enough breath. To be on the safe side, he fumbled in his pocket for the pills he was forced to carry nowadays. His hands shook as he popped one from the packet and tucked it under his tongue. He breathed as deeply as he could and waited for relief. Next May, when it came time for his annual department physical, he’d have no choice but to disclose the newest red flag that he’d started to fall apart as soon as he’d hit fifty-nine. Why was his body so damned intent on reminding him he was barreling toward sixty?

  When the pain first started, he’d figured all those years of smoking had caught up to him and the big C had invaded his lungs. The tests ruled out lung cancer and confirmed the coming need for a little tweaking of the arteries in his heart. He was putting it off because he knew what it meant—jockeying a desk. He was too damned stubborn to be taken out of the field. If he’d wanted to ride a desk and fiddle with paperwork he would have taken one of those promotions he’d been offered over the years.

  When the discomfort in his chest had subsided, he stood and took a moment to regain his equilibrium. He spotted Shade watching him. Good. Newt had a few more questions for him and now was as good a time as any to ask them. He strolled over to the corner where the enigmatic man waited next to the rack of magazines no one wanted to thumb through since they were likely last year’s editions.

  Shade straightened from the wall where he’d been leaning. “If you walked over here to ask more questions, don’t bother. You already know all I have to say.”

  “Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t.” Newt set his hands on his hips. “Neither of us can be certain until I ask the questions.”

  “Suit yourself.” Shade waited, his posture relaxed, his expression clear of whatever he was thinking.

  “You’re here for Perry,” Newt said.

  “That wasn’t a question.”