He looked over at her and saw Peaches roll her eyes at him. “Well, that was real smart, wasn’t it?” he heard Peaches ask. “Now you have two dead hookers in the cab of your truck. What happens if you get pulled over, stupid?”
Richard leaned toward the steering wheel a bit, reached back, and slammed the blade of the knife square through her forehead. She went quiet.
Richard looked past Peaches at Candy, and he saw her smirk. “That will shut her up,” he heard Candy say.
CHAPTER FIVE
Beth and I landed at the Nashville airport a couple minutes after noon. An agent named Clifford from the Clarksville resident agency was expecting us around two o’clock. I didn’t know if Clifford was a first or last name—Beth had been in contact with him. We made our way through the concourse.
“Ever been to Nashville?” Beth asked. She’d ditched the hair bun and glasses—her dark hair now hung a bit past her shoulders, as usual. She wore a gray skirt, a matching blazer, and a light-blue blouse.
“Um, I think I may have driven through once or twice. You?” I asked.
Beth shook her head. “Nope. First time.”
We found the baggage claim a few minutes later. Beth and I grabbed our bags, picked up our rental cars, and made for our hotel—a fifteen-minute drive east from the airport into downtown. My navigation on my phone chirped and told me our destination was the high-rise to my left on the next street. We turned left and passed under the sky bridge over the street that connected the hotel to the parking structure. Beth made a left at the corner and immediately pulled into the parking structure. I followed her in. We went two levels up and found spots, and I stepped out.
“Is this where we park for the hotel?” I asked.
“Pretty sure. The sign at the entrance said ten bucks a day,” she said.
I shrugged.
I got my carry-on and computer bag from the back of the car and met Beth at her trunk.
Beth’s head swiveled around. She draped the strap attached to her bag over her shoulder. “We’re headed over there,” she said, jerking her chin toward the Renaissance entrance sign over a pair of red doors at the edge of the parking structure.
Beth and I headed through the doors and across the bridge over the street. I glanced off to my left as we walked the glass-walled bridge. I spotted the one building that I recognized from the Nashville skyline—I didn’t know its name, but it looked like a giant stun gun with an antenna jutting up from both corners of the pointed top.
We headed into the hotel, checked in, and took the elevators up to the sixteenth floor.
I glanced at my watch as I slipped the key card in my door. “How far is it to the Clarksville office?”
“It’s going to be a good hour. I figure we should be leaving here within a half hour or so,” Beth said.
I nodded. “Shoot over when you’re ready to go.”
“Okay.” She entered her room, one over from mine.
I stepped inside and let the door close at my back. Then I walked past the bathroom immediately to my right and took in the room. A single king-sized bed sat to my left. The entire left wall of the room was lime-green wallpaper in some modern-looking pattern. To my right was a nice cabinet for clothing and a flat-screen television bolted to the wall. Beyond the cabinet, a white shelf serving as a desk extended out from the wall—a lime-green office chair was pushed in underneath. I walked past the bed and the lounge chair next to the room’s windows, pulled open the curtains, and stared out.
“Hmm, okay-looking view,” I said.
The room looked out to the south and a bit to the east. Past the few downtown buildings and what I assumed to be some kind of sports arena was nothing but horizon. Far back in the distance, I could see tiny peaks of mountains.
I tossed my laptop bag onto the desk area and my carry-on onto the bed. I hung my black suit jacket on the back of the lime chair and began unpacking. Once everything was put away and my suits for the week hung, I walked to the bathroom, stared into the mirror, and splashed a bit of water across my face. I looked at one side of my head and then the other. My black hair was getting grayer by the day. I know Karen didn’t mind the silver mixed in, seeing as she’d had me dye a little gray into it a few months back, but it was starting to make me feel old. I leaned in closer and looked around my eyes—I spotted more crow’s-feet than normal. Maybe it was the mirror. I shook my head, wiped the water from my face, and snugged up my blue-patterned tie, which Karen had recently purchased me. I walked back out into the room, took a seat at the chair by the windows, and dialed Karen. She answered right away.
“Hey, you’re there?” she asked.
“Yeah. Just got to the hotel a minute ago. We’re going to leave here in a few minutes and head out to the Clarksville office. I guess it’s like an hour away.”
“How’s Tennessee?”
“Um, so far so good, I guess. Don’t know yet—been here all of an hour. How’s work?”
“Same as always. I don’t think we should have a kid, and I’m just sitting around at my desk.”
I furrowed my brow. “What was that middle part there that you just breezed past?”
“Yeah, babe. I’ve been thinking about it. If it hasn’t happened, maybe it’s a sign. We missed our window, I think.”
I didn’t really know what to say, so I remained quiet.
“Input?” she asked.
I needed to come up with something, apparently. “Um, I know what you’re saying. I was just looking at myself in the mirror. I’m getting old and gray, maybe too old and gray to be starting the parenting thing now.” I wasn’t sure if that was the answer she was looking for, yet with Karen only being two years younger than me, I regretted the words right after they came out of my mouth. I had a hunch that she would take it as me calling her old.
“You’re forty-three. That’s not too old for a man,” she said. “I mean, you could have a bunch of kids with somebody ten years younger than me.”
I cleared my throat. “The kid thing was your idea, remember? I never said we had to have kids. And all I want is you, kids or not.” I figured a dose of reality combined with telling her she was all I wanted might do the trick.
“I know, and you’re sure?” she asked.
I leaned back and rubbed my eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. I mean, we have a pretty damn good life as it is, don’t we?”
“Of course we do. I don’t know. I just… Can you deal with it just being you and me?”
“It’s been just you and me for twenty years. I’m pretty sure the next twenty will be just as good. Plus, we have Porkchop. I think of him as a son. A fat little slobbering, furry son that poops in the yard, but a son nonetheless.”
I heard her chuckle and sigh. “I love you. Okay.”
I wasn’t really sure if her saying ‘okay’ meant we were done trying or what, but I wouldn’t question it further. The conversation wasn’t really something for the telephone when I was multiple states away at work.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“I’m fine, babe. Go back to work and give me a call later.”
“Okay. I’ll call you as soon as I can. I love you.”
“Love you, too.” Karen hung up.
I clicked off from the call and stuck my phone back in my pocket. After letting out a long breath, I heard tapping at the room door, so I walked over and opened up.
“Ready?” Beth asked.
“Yeah, one car or two?”
“Let’s just take mine. I doubt we’ll need to split up already.”
“Sure,” I said. “One second.” I grabbed my laptop bag, which contained the investigation file and left the room. We took Beth’s car from the lot and headed west for the hour drive to the resident agency. I spent the hour listening to Beth tell me about the movie she’d seen the prior night with her new love interest, Geoff the banker. He brought her a single rose and chocolates when he’d arrived, held doors for her all night, and sent her off with a kiss on the cheek at the end o
f their date—a real gentleman, she said. It all sounded a little too good to be true, so I asked a few follow-up questions. Beth went on to say that he’d paid for his movie in change and an older woman had dropped him off and picked him up from their date—Beth was thinking that was his mother. I nodded but didn’t say anything further.
The navigation on Beth’s cell phone said the address for the resident agency was coming up on the left. She put on her blinker and slowed down.
“Um,” I said, staring out the window to my left.
Small single-story red brick buildings made up what looked like an office park. All the buildings were the same size, none much larger than a common three-bedroom ranch. Each building looked the same, with six white windows and a row of parking spaces at the front and side.
Beth turned in.
I caught the sign listing the businesses as we entered the lot. I saw things like attorney names, a dentist, and a number of insurance offices. Beth made a couple of turns through the lot before finding our building—the Clarksville resident agency. We parked. I grabbed my file and stepped out.
“Not quite the glamor of our—or the Chicago—office, huh?” Beth asked.
“Not really. There can’t be more than a dozen agents that work here.”
“Probably not even that many.”
We walked for the front door and entered. Just beyond the entryway was a short, waist-high wall like one seen in a courtroom. Just behind the wall, a woman sat at a desk. I assumed her to be some form of receptionist. Beyond her, to the left, right, and back were offices. I noticed a few potted trees in the corners and a group of five or six desks in the center of the room. Between the offices on the back wall was a big metal FBI insignia.
Beth approached the short wall and the woman at the desk.
She pulled out her credentials. “Agents Harper and Rawlings to see an Agent Clifford.”
The woman turned her head. “Tom!” she shouted.
A man poked his head from one of the offices at the back and looked out at us. He left the office and approached.
The man appeared to be in his fifties, average height and build. He had short brown hair that was graying but still formed a damn-near-perfect flattop, and he wore a gray suit with a yellow tie.
“Are you the two agents from Virginia?” he asked.
Beth pointed to herself and then me. “Beth Harper, and this is Hank Rawlings.”
We both shook his hand.
“Tom Clifford. Why don’t you guys come on back? I just got off the phone with the sheriff’s department. I guess they found another woman’s remains an hour or so ago.”
Neither Beth nor I responded.
He opened the waist-high wall at the walkthrough, and we followed him back to the office he’d come from.
“Grab a seat,” he said.
Beth and I did.
“What can I do to help?” he asked. “I’m not really sure how we are handling this here.”
“We’re going to bounce between the sheriff’s department and here and also try to work with the Nashville PD,” Beth said. “Hopefully, if we all work together, we can get a lead.”
“Sure, but I mean, are you two in charge of this thing, or what?”
“It’s our investigation, yes,” Beth said.
I glanced over at her.
“Okay, I just had to know where we were at there,” he said. “We’re pretty much a jack-of-all-trades kind of place around here—everything from drugs to guns to murders, but I can’t say that I’ve worked a serial-killer investigation before. Where do we start?”
“Well, what do you know about the history of this investigation?” Beth asked.
“Geez, it’s kind of ingrained into the area around these parts. Everyone knows about the torsos and The Butcher. I can’t say that I’ve ever been through the files prior to yesterday, though.”
“The Butcher?” I asked.
“Local name,” he said.
“Sure. So when were you first contacted by the local sheriff?” I asked.
“Yesterday morning. Chief Deputy Whissell is who called me.”
“And what’s your relationship like with the sheriff’s department?” Beth asked.
“Good. Real good. I’ve known Auggie, the chief deputy over there, for a couple of years. He transferred in from somewhere when the last chief deputy retired.”
“Okay, we’ll need to meet with him,” Beth said. “Preferably this evening yet, if they’ve found another body.”
“Sure. Let me give him a call and see where he’s at.”
CHAPTER SIX
Beth and I took her rental, following Agent Clifford toward the sheriff’s station. He’d told us the drive would be about ten minutes.
I looked over at her. “What’s with the ‘it’s our investigation’ thing? I thought we consulted and aided unless otherwise necessary.”
She rocked her head back and forth. “Yeah, I think this is one of those necessary times. I have a couple reasons why if you’d like to hear them.”
“Shoot. I’m all ears.”
“Well, we’re bouncing between a police department in Nashville, a sheriff’s department, and a tiny little resident agency of the FBI.” Beth held up a finger for each reason. “You know how Agent Clifford gave you that ‘we’re a jack of all trades here’ line?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I wasn’t going to finish the quote for him.”
“Exactly. A jack of all trades is a master of none. Think about it. We have… what, like twenty different divisions in our location. Each division has how many people? This guy and the few people he works with have to handle all of that. Don’t get me wrong—he’s an agent, and probably a damn fine one, but this is our specialty, and in this instance we need to head it up. That, and if our killer has been doing this in the same area for thirty years… I’m just saying that if someone hasn’t been caught by now, they probably never will be if someone from outside doesn’t come in and do it. That means us.”
“Got it,” I said.
“Looks like we’re here,” she said. Beth nodded her chin toward the windshield.
I looked out. Agent Clifford was pulling behind a sheriff’s white Dodge Charger with a green stripe running down the side. We pulled to the curb behind Clifford alongside a three-story red-brick building with no windows.
Beth and I got out.
“The entrance is up here,” Agent Clifford said. He pointed up the hill a ways, at a couple buildings that looked to be a bit newer but were still red brick. As we walked up, I realized they were all connected as one large building. I glanced farther up the block, to the building on the corner—a red-brick two story that looked to be a good hundred-plus years old. The roofline of the building had a number of ornate dormers. The top of the building had a steeple. It might have been an old jail. I glanced around further.
“Hmm,” I said.
“Hmm what?” Beth asked.
“Look around. Up, down, across the street up there, and behind us. Not one building in sight other than that parking garage that isn’t made out of red brick. Kind of weird. Must have had a hell of a sale on red bricks about a hundred years ago.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Check that out.” Beth pointed across the street toward a building in the distance. Another red-brick building stood with its entire side covered by a huge old mural of what the downtown area we were standing in had looked like back in the day—it was about the same.
I shrugged. We followed Agent Clifford into the building, checked in at the front desk, and waited. A silent five minutes later, an older tall, overweight man with short white hair and a short white beard approached. He wore black slacks and a white long-sleeved shirt with black breast pockets. A black tie hung from his neck. He had star-covered epaulettes running up his shoulders above his sheriff’s department patches. A badge was affixed over his heart.
“Tom,” he said.
Agent Clifford stood and shook the man’s hand. “This is Agent Hank Rawlings and
Agent Beth Harper from Virginia.”
“Pleasure,” he said. “Chief Deputy August Whissell. Auggie works too.” He reached out and shook Beth’s hand and mine. “Let’s head back to my office.”
We followed him through the building and up a flight of stairs. He led us to a large office that overlooked the street we’d parked on. A big wooden desk with two guest chairs sat in the back of the room. Miscellaneous awards covered the area behind his desk. Photos of him with what I assumed to be prominent local people adorned the walls. Two black button-tufted leather chairs sat near the doorway we’d entered from. Agent Clifford took one, slid it next to the others near the chief deputy’s desk, and had a seat. Beth and I took the guest chairs beside him.
Whissell closed his office door and took a seat in the big leather chair behind his desk. “You two were informed that another body had been found today.”
I nodded.
“I filled them in,” Agent Clifford said.
“What can you tell us?” Beth asked.
“The body was found out on Buck Smith Hill Road, out by Oakridge.”
The location did nothing for me, but I pulled out my notepad and wrote it down. “Have an address out there?” I asked.
“Off the top of my head, I don’t know. It’s about ten miles or so from here. We’re getting a case file put together on it as we speak. I’ll make sure you get a copy.”
“Thanks,” I said. “These were female remains again, correct?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“And tossed alongside the road like the others?” I asked. “Dismembered?”
“Yes to both questions. Just a torso and head—no arms, no legs. And the remains were found about ten yards off the side of the road. She probably would have gone unnoticed for a while if she weren’t wearing a hot-pink skirt. It’s what caught the eye of the passerby that stopped and found her.”
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