by Rita Herron
He gestured toward a small room to the left with a love seat and chairs. One wall held photos of animals he’d laid to rest, while another bank of shelves displayed a selection of urns.
Mona heard a woman crying in the back room, and Cal flashed his badge. “I’m Agent Coulter. What’s going on?”
“A lady’s having a hard time saying good-bye to her basset hound.”
“Your cremation chamber is in the back?” Cal asked.
“Yes.”
“Let me see.”
Yonkers suddenly looked worried. “Are you here because you have a pet?”
“No, I’m investigating two homicides. Gwyneth Toyton and Constance Gilroy. Did you know either of them?”
Yonkers’s eyes darted between Cal and Mona. “I didn’t do anything to them.”
“I didn’t say you did,” Cal said.
Yonkers glanced at Mona. “Jesus. I should have seen this coming. You think it was me ’cause I was in that mental hospital?”
“Your sister was one of the Thorn Ripper’s victims, and Johnny Pike’s up for parole,” Cal pointed out.
Mona lowered her voice. “You wanna talk about that?”
Yonkers crossed his arms. “I did have some problems, but you would have too if you’d grown up with your parents depressed and obsessed over your sister’s murder. Hell, sometimes I wished I had died. I would have finally gotten their attention.”
“That must have been difficult,” Mona said softly.
He shrugged. “It was. But I’m on meds now. You can ask Mama. She’s sick, has been for a while, and laid up in bed. But she can tell you I’m not crazy. I take care of her.”
Mona frowned. “I saw you at the memorial service. If you’re so bitter, why did you go?”
“Because I did love my sister.” His eyes widened nervously. “Besides, a couple of the family members are clients.”
Cal cleared his throat. “Show me the back room.”
The scars on the man’s hands looked more prominent as he rubbed his chin.
As soon as Mona stepped through the door, the strong scent of cleaning chemicals assaulted her.
This man was certainly big enough and strong enough to overcome a woman. He could easily have killed Gwyneth and Constance.
Maybe he wanted the attention his sister and Johnny Pike had gotten badly enough to kill for it.
“Some folks can’t stand the thought of cremation.” Yonkers showed them the cremation chamber. “We only cremate one animal at a time,” he explained. “We do our best to be humane and honor the family’s wishes.”
Through a glass partition, Mona saw a middle-aged woman rocking herself back and forth as she dabbed at her tears with a tissue.
Cal’s scowl grew more intense as he strode through the rooms, as if he was searching for a hidden chamber where Yonkers might be hiding another victim.
The temperature chilled Mona again as they left the brick building and trudged through the snow to the man’s home. When he opened the door, the scent of soap assaulted her again, yet it was the stuffed creatures, animals that had once been alive but now had been preserved, that made her go cold inside.
A stuffed coyote sat on a table, two bobcats on a shelf by the wall, raccoons and squirrels and a . . . beagle, which looked so real it made Mona’s stomach roil.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Cal had searched for a secret room or chamber in the crematorium building, someplace where Yonkers could hold a woman, but he didn’t find one.
Logic nagged at him. If Yonkers had murdered those women, why not get rid of their bodies in his cremation chamber instead of carrying them to the falls?
Moving the bodies and leaving them so they could be discovered increased his chances of getting caught.
Maybe he wanted to get caught . . .
Or he was arrogant and enjoyed watching the town’s reaction and the police scurry to find the truth.
“You like preserved animals?” Mona asked.
“I couldn’t save my sister or keep her alive for my folks,” Yonkers said in a disturbingly calm voice. “But I do what I can to help honor the animals when they die.”
The inside of the cabin was just as disturbing as the crematorium. All those dead animals preserved, their eyes watching him.
Nothing in the tiny den or the man’s bedroom. Just jeans and flannel shirts and a book on taxidermy. Although it was possible that he’d hidden the jewelry he’d stolen from the victims somewhere in the house.
Hell, he could have sewn the jewelry inside the animals.
Dammit, if Cal found probable cause, he could obtain a warrant, then he could tear the place inside out.
“Mama isn’t well,” Yonkers said when they reached the door to the second bedroom.
Cal shrugged. The sound of Christian music echoed from inside the room. Yonkers knocked gently. “Mama?”
Mona looked warily at Cal as the man opened the door. A mixture of smells assaulted Cal—some kind of cleaner mixed with sickness.
A dim light glowed from a lamp in the corner and allowed him to see inside the room. A frail woman lay in the bed, her thin gray hair matted. An oxygen tube was attached to her nose, but her eyes popped open as they stepped in the doorway.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Yonkers. What’s wrong with her?” Mona asked softly.
“Liver cancer,” Yonkers said. “After my sister died, she drowned herself in the bottle. She can’t get around very well now, and her organs are failing.”
The entire family had been torn apart by Candy’s murder. “Shouldn’t she be in a hospital?”
“No, she wants to die at home.” He walked over, patted her shoulder, and offered her a drink of water.
The woman tried to speak, but her words were slurred. “Not today, Mama. Just rest.”
“What did she say?” Mona asked.
Yonkers cut her a dark look. “She asked if I’d brought a nice girl home for her to meet. Mama always wanted to see me marry and have a family. I think she was hoping a daughter-in-law would replace Candy. But no one ever measured up to her.”
Cal silently cursed. So much for questioning her about her son’s whereabouts.
As they stepped back into the hall, Yonkers turned to Cal.
“And before you ask where I was the night the Toyton woman was murdered, I was here. I’m afraid to leave my mother for too long. I don’t want her to die alone.”
If Cal didn’t suspect him of murder, he would feel sorry for the guy. But Yonkers fit the profile of the unsub.
Josie knew her mother was keeping secrets.
She’d promised to stay with her grandfather while her mother ran to the drugstore to pick up his medication.
Desperate for answers, she sneaked into her mother’s room, searched the dresser drawer, and pulled the diary from beneath some lace doilies. She had to hurry if she wanted to skim through it. Her mother might be back any minute.
She sank into the chair in the corner, opened the diary, and began to read.
Daddy doesn’t understand how much I love Johnny. He forbid me to see him today. But I won’t stop seeing him.
I’m going to meet him at our special place at the falls.
Johnny is the love of my life. He noticed me when no one else did.
And the other girls, the plastics—Brittany, Tiffany, and Candy—they’re all furious that Johnny likes me.
They want Johnny to give them the rose for prom. But I’m hoping he’ll give it to me.
Josie skimmed a couple more entries, until another caught her eye.
I told Johnny he was my first. I want him to be my only.
But tonight Tiffany was murdered. They say someone pushed her over the falls.
The police are questioning everyone at school.
I wish I hadn�
��t argued with her yesterday. They might think I did it.
Josie’s heart pounded. Her mother had been questioned in a homicide investigation?
Brittany died last night, just like Tiffany, at the falls. Everyone at school is in a panic. Candy accused me of being jealous and asked if I killed them.
But Johnny knows I would never hurt anyone.
He loves me. I think we’re going to run away together and get married.
Although if Daddy finds out, he’ll kill me . . .
Josie was so engrossed in the diary that she didn’t hear the door open. But her mother’s sharp voice startled her. “What are you doing?”
Josie jerked her head up as her mother ripped the diary from her hands.
Mona studied Yonkers as they walked through the pet cemetery. He was handsome in a dark, macabre kind of way. Intense dark eyes. Short-cropped brown hair. Olive skin.
Of course, some psychopaths were charming. “How did you get into this business?”
“I took over from my father. He was a vet and started the cemetery years ago when he saw the need for it.”
Cal crossed his arms. “Did your parents ever talk about Johnny Pike?”
“Everyone talked about him,” Yonkers said. “Have for years. The town is in a panic now just thinking he might be granted parole and be released.”
“Did your folks believe he was guilty?”
He shrugged. “Yes. Why? You aren’t trying to get him out, are you?”
“No, I just want to find the truth,” Cal said. “If you had nothing to do with the recent murders, give us a DNA sample and we can eliminate you from our suspect list.”
Yonkers glared at them. “Don’t you need a warrant for that?”
Cal shifted, his expression challenging. “Like I said, if you’re innocent, you won’t mind helping us.”
“I am innocent,” Yonkers said. “But Johnny Pike said he was, too, and they sent him to jail anyway.”
“I thought you believed he was guilty.”
“That’s not the point,” Yonkers said.
“Tell us about yourself,” Mona said, changing tactics. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
Yonkers swung around, every muscle in his body tense with rage. “I have a feeling you already know the answer to that. My girlfriend left me the day I went in for treatment.”
Mona sucked in a sharp breath. Yonkers obviously felt betrayed. If he was off his meds, that betrayal could have triggered enough rage to make him kill.
Cal called Director Vance to request a warrant for Yonkers’s DNA as he drove away from Pet Heaven. Vance also agreed to send another agent, one of Cal’s buddies, Dane Hamrick, to run surveillance on Yonkers. If he made a move tonight, they’d know about it.
His phone buzzed and he told Vance to keep him posted, then punched Connect.
“It’s Deputy Kimball.”
Cal shifted into low gear to wind down the mountain. The damn roads were slick with ice. “Yeah?”
“I just talked to Constance Gilroy’s sister, Tanya.”
“And?”
“Her sister broke up with her boyfriend a few months ago because he’d become obsessive and pressured her to marry him. She wanted to finish her degree and turned him down. When he persisted, she filed a restraining order against him.”
Cal slowed as he maneuvered a switchback, the memory of their earlier crash still fresh. “Who is this guy and where is he?”
“His name is Steve Fulton. He runs a fishing camp in the mountains.”
“He grew up around here?”
“Yeah,” Deputy Kimball said. “And that camp is not too far from Graveyard Falls.”
“Give me the coordinates. I’ll check it out.”
“I’m texting them to you now,” Deputy Kimball said. “Also I looked into the sewing circles like you asked. There’s one at the Presbyterian church, but they didn’t recognize the wedding gown. I’ll check with a couple of others and get back to you.”
Cal started to hang up, but remembered the jewelry. “Kimball, did Tanya Gilroy say her sister was missing any jewelry?”
“As a matter of fact, she did. Constance always wore a silver locket that had a picture of their parents inside.”
“It looks like taking the jewelry is part of his signature,” Cal said. “But don’t tell that reporter.”
A hesitation. “Don’t worry. She won’t be a problem anymore.”
Cal thought he detected an odd note to Kimball’s voice, but the deputy was probably embarrassed he’d screwed up.
Hopefully he’d learned his lesson.
Cal checked his GPS, then turned down a side road that led to Steve Fulton’s fishing camp.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Cal didn’t like the location of the fishing camp.
“This would be a good place to hide out,” Mona said.
“And so off the grid that if you wanted to murder someone here, no one would ever hear the victim scream.” Cal surveyed the property. “I have a bad feeling about this guy. Deputy Kimball said he was obsessed with Constance and pressured her to marry him.”
“That sounds like our guy,” Mona commented.
He nodded. “Wait in the car.”
Mona didn’t argue. Instead she huddled next to the door.
Cal removed his gun and hiked up the path to the camp. An old, weathered building that served as a lodge sat among the pines, the mountains rising behind it.
Cal knocked on the door as the wind screamed off the mountain. He tapped his boot while he waited and scanned the property. To the left of the lodge sat a carport, which housed a broken-down lawn mower, a three-wheeler, and assorted tools.
A faded, rusted-out black pickup was parked underneath. Not a white van, though.
He listened for sounds that someone was inside, and thought he heard footsteps so he knocked again. “Fulton, this is Agent Coulter from the FBI. I need to talk to you.”
Inside something rattled. Then a thump as if someone had knocked something over.
Cal gripped his gun at the ready and pushed at the door. It squeaked as it opened, and he peered inside. Battered wood floors, old fishing caps piled on a side table, a stuffed fish on the wall.
A noise echoed from the back, and he inched inside, scanning the open area to the living room, which was furnished with an old plaid couch and a coffee table.
A lamp burned from the back, giving him enough light to see as he combed through the living room. He veered to the left to the kitchen and stopped cold when he spotted photos of Constance covering one wall like a shrine.
Candids of the woman in various places—at school, her apartment, catching a bus, undressing . . . photos he had a feeling she hadn’t posed for.
An article Carol Little had written about Gwyneth Toyton’s murder was tacked on a bulletin board, then another one about the Thorn Ripper murders and the yearly memorial.
Cal frowned. Had Fulton gotten the idea for killing Constance from the articles about the original murders? He could have murdered Gwyneth first to cover for his real target and make it appear both were murdered by a serial killer.
The floor creaked again, and he jerked his head up, then thought he detected a movement outside. Instincts alert, he pushed open the screen door and stepped onto the landing.
There was another movement to the right and he crept in that direction, wood bowing beneath his weight as he descended the rickety stairs and headed around toward the shed.
He couldn’t let this guy get away.
A scream suddenly rent the night.
Mona.
Dammit.
He took off running, his heart hammering when he circled to the front yard and saw the man dragging Mona from the car.
The bastard grabbed her around the neck, pushed her in fron
t of him as a shield, then raised a knife to her throat.
Terror shot through Cal. One wrong move and Fulton would kill her.
The knife at Mona’s neck cut off her scream. She went still, terrified that one movement would set the man off and he’d slit her throat.
Cal came to a halt, his hand frozen in midair, his weapon trained on Fulton.
“You don’t want to hurt her,” Cal said. “Just put down the knife, Fulton.”
Mona could feel the tension in his big body. His hand shook at her throat. “No, if I do, you’ll take me in.”
“Please, Steve,” Mona said softly. “Put the knife down and talk to me.”
“When Tanya called and told me Constance was dead, I knew you’d come up here and try to pin her murder on me!” Fulton shouted.
Cal lowered his gun. “Listen, man, put the weapon down and let’s talk.”
Fulton’s voice cracked. “Talking won’t bring back my girlfriend.”
“I know you loved her,” Mona said, keeping her voice calm. “But hurting me isn’t the way to honor her.”
“She was everything to me,” he muttered bitterly. “But she wouldn’t marry me.”
“She was ambitious,” Mona said. “But I’m sure she didn’t mean to hurt you.”
His breathing became raspy. “If she’d cared about me, she wouldn’t have told me to leave her alone.”
“Is that why you killed her?” Cal asked.
“I didn’t kill her, I loved her!” The man’s gaze shot to Cal. His hand was shaking so badly the knife pricked Mona’s neck. She felt the sting of the point, a blood drop pooling . . .
She didn’t want to die.
Cal kept his gun by his side, but his fingers were clenching it, ready to fire at any moment. He just had to take the guy off guard.
Get him away from Mona.
“I saw your photographs of Constance,” he said.
“She was beautiful,” Fulton murmured, his tone far away as if he was remembering a specific day. Maybe one of the pictures from that damn shrine.
“What happened the last time you saw her?” Cal asked. “Did you try to convince her to marry you again?”