by Rita Herron
“Your book All the Little Liars is based on that case?” one of the reporters asked.
Josie nodded. “Yes. During the course of the police’s investigation into the Bride Killer murders, Special Agent Cal Coulter uncovered the truth about the Thorn Ripper case that occurred thirty years ago.”
“They were related?” another reporter asked.
Obviously these reporters hadn’t read her book. “Yes. A woman named Charlene Linder killed the three teenagers in the Thorn Ripper case, but she framed local football star Johnny Pike because he’d rebuked her. At the time she was pregnant, and later delivered a son named Billy.” She paused, still processing the fact that her mother, Anna, had been in love with Johnny at the time, and that she’d had Johnny’s baby, a little girl her mother had given up for adoption.
Solving both cases had led to Johnny’s conviction being overturned, and now her mother and Johnny had finally married. They’d also reconnected with the baby her mother had given up, and now Josie had a sister, Mona. She and Mona were not only close in age but had become good friends. She’d even studied criminology like Mona.
“Billy Linder was the Bride Killer?” the reporter asked.
“Yes. Charlene was abused by her father, and she repeated the cycle by abusing her son. Billy’s bedtime stories consisted of tales about the teenagers she’d killed and left at the base of the waterfalls. She referred to the victims as little liars.”
Another reporter waved her hand. “Why did she call them that?”
Josie blinked as the flash of a camera nearly blinded her. The sky was darkening from the threatening storm, the trees shaking with its force. “Charlene was disturbed. Her victims were popular cheerleaders who shunned her. According to her journals, she saw them as Goody Two-shoes who lied about being virgins. Apparently the three victims had made a pact to sleep with Johnny Pike, and she was jealous because he paid attention to them and not her.”
The crowd of locals who’d gathered for the press conference shifted and whispered, still in shock from the events that had transpired in their town.
Some residents were also upset about the movie. They felt as if her book and the negative publicity glorified the killers and would drive families to leave town out of fear.
But Josie had been so close to the case that she’d had to write it and share the sordid story. In some ways it was therapeutic for her to talk about the kidnapping, even more so for her to study Billy’s background and understand the reasons he’d done what he’d done.
Getting into a killer’s mind was something her sister, Mona, who worked as a counselor, had helped her with. That insight had added depth to the story.
A male reporter in the shadows raised a hand to get her attention. “Have you been to visit Billy in the psychiatric unit?”
Josie fought a shiver. “Yes, both my sister and I have. Billy is a very disturbed man.”
“That doesn’t justify the fact that he killed three of our local girls,” someone shouted.
“He should be put to death like they were,” another woman said.
A raindrop fell and plopped against the podium, lightning zigzagging across the sky. More whispers and rumblings of protest echoed through the group.
Josie lifted a hand to signal them to let her speak. “I didn’t write this story to condone what Billy and his mother did. But I believe the citizens of Graveyard Falls should know the truth.” She took a deep breath. “And I think that understanding what caused both of these individuals to commit these heinous crimes may help the victims and their families recover. Hopefully it will also raise awareness of the cycle of domestic abuse.” And maybe teenage bullying. Although the mothers of the teenagers would balk at the idea that their children had treated Charlene unfairly.
“Nothing will bring back our daughters,” one woman cried.
“You should let them rest in peace,” another local added with disdain. “Not cause more pain to their families by making them relive the sadistic crimes over and over.”
Sara Levinson, mother of one of the Thorn Ripper’s victims, stepped to the front. “Every time I see your book and think about watching my daughter being murdered on screen, I feel sick.”
Josie tensed. Sara had balked over doing interviews. But she had finally agreed.
Apparently she had regrets now.
“I’m sorry, Sara,” Josie said softly. “I understand your grief and pain. I still have bad dreams about being held by Billy Linder myself. But I think this book honors those we lost, and I hope you will see it that way as well.”
Tension broke out as a cluster of folks in the back shouted disagreement. Someone yelled at her to leave town.
Others called out support, excited that the filming would boost the town’s fledgling economy. Already the inn had been refurbished, and a local builder had renovated cabins on the river for production crews and others involved in the filmmaking process.
“We don’t care about the money.” This voice from someone in the back of the crowd. “We want our nice quiet town back.”
She wasn’t sure Graveyard Falls had ever been a nice quiet town.
An argument broke out, and the mayor stepped up to try to defuse the situation.
Voices grew louder and more heated as he fielded questions, so she decided it was time for her to exit.
She scanned the group, searching for the sheriff, who was supposed to be on guard in case of problems. But he’d texted earlier that he was meeting Agent Dane Hamrick from the FBI, and she didn’t spot him anywhere. She’d met the federal agent when she was interviewing people for the book. He worked on a special task force.
Had another crime occurred nearby?
The wind stirred again, and the hair on the back of her neck bristled as she started down the podium. She had the uneasy feeling that something bad was going to happen.
Or maybe it already had.
Last week she’d received hate mail accusing her of sensationalizing the tragic deaths of the women.
Was the person who sent that letter watching her now?
He watched Josie DuKane through the crowd, amazed that she seemed humble when the true crime book she’d written had garnered so much attention.
With those sparkling green eyes, Josie was attractive, too. Not beautiful like the models and actresses or even the high-class women who paid to perfect their faces to magazine quality.
But pretty in a natural way. She mesmerized him because she seemed real, not superficial. She was also smart and used her brain, not just her looks, to get ahead in life.
Yes, Josie was the perfect one to tell his story.
The others, though—they were just pretty faces waiting to be carved by his hands.
Pretty faces that would look even more beautiful in death.
He lifted his phone and smiled at the photograph he’d taken of the woman, then traced his finger over her face. His pulse pounded as he studied the claw marks. So fitting that she be marked by claws when she’d tried to sink hers into men to get what she wanted.
He clicked on the text symbol and sent the picture to Josie.
She was just stepping down from the stage, about to dart away from the cameras, reporters, and locals when the message went through. She checked her phone, then hesitated on the steps, her eyes flaring with shock as she lifted her head and searched the crowd.
She was looking for him.
He smiled, blending into the shadows.
“This is just the beginning of our friendship, Josie,” he murmured. Just the beginning.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2008 Marie Williams
USA Today best-selling author Rita Herron has written more than sixty romance novels and loves penning dark, romantic suspense tales, especially those set in small Southern towns. She earned an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award for her work in Series
Romantic Suspense and has received rave reviews for the Slaughter Creek novels Dying to Tell and Her Dying Breath. She is a native of Milledgeville, Georgia, and a proud mother and grandmother.