by Rita Herron
Still, she decided to look around the property. A graveyard bathed in darkness occupied one side of the property, artificial flowers waving back and forth in the wind. She headed in that direction, veering away from the revival and the holy rollers who’d begun crying and speaking in tongues.
Just as she reached the gate to the cemetery, her phone buzzed. Dread tightened her stomach as she answered. “Cord?”
“I got your message about another victim.”
“I’m at the Church of Grace now,” Ellie said.
“She’s not there,” Cord said.
Ellie stilled, her gaze skipping over names carved on tombstones with dates going back to the early 1900s. “How do you know?”
“Because I found her.”
Twenty-Two
Ole Glory Church
Perspiration beaded on Ellie’s skin as she pulled down the graveled road to the old-as-dirt chapel at the edge of Red River, named so because at dusk the water shimmered with red streaks. Some attributed the color to the Georgia red clay soil although others professed it was blood shed by Jesus. The ways of the church dated back centuries, with rumors that snake handling and exorcisms abounded in the parish. The men were heads of the households and in total control, while the women were not allowed to wear pants or makeup, subservient to their husbands.
The small white wooden building was nestled in the woods and known for its traditional baptisms. At the water’s edge, people gathered to sing hymns while the Southern Baptist preacher dunked lost souls beneath the icy water to cleanse their sins.
Cord’s truck was parked beneath a live oak. She’d called the captain on her way, and he was sending out Laney and the Evidence Response Team. Getting out with her flashlight, Ellie walked down the hill to meet him. For a moment, she was struck by the odd way he was stooped beside the body, staring at the woman.
Cord knew better than to disturb a crime scene, but there was something strange about the intense look on his face and his breathing, which sounded erratic.
The whoosh of the water rushing over the jagged river rocks blended with the whistle of the wind. Slowly, she approached, her boots skidding on the damp ground as she went down the hill. Algae and stonewort crept along the riverbank and she knew from fishing with her father that trout, bass and carp swam below the surface. At the thought of her father, her stomach churned.
Moonlight glowed through the tree branches, shimmering along the water and illuminating the wildflowers covering the ground.
“Cord?”
As if he’d been lost somewhere in his mind, he startled and turned his head towards her.
A haunted look darkened his eyes, and he stood, jamming his hands inside his jeans pockets, and slowly backed away from the body.
The image of the crime scene soaked into Ellie’s subconscious. “Are you okay?”
Cord glanced back down at the woman, his jaw clenched, then gave a little nod. “When you called and talked about churches, I… thought about this place.”
“Have you been here before?” Ellie asked.
His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “A couple of times.”
She didn’t see Cord as a church-going kind of guy. But then again, he never talked about his past. She knew he’d been in foster care. Maybe one of those families brought him here.
“I didn’t touch her,” Cord said, as if he suddenly realized he’d been close to the body when Ellie arrived.
“Good. We’ll need your boot prints though, to eliminate you in case we find others.”
He nodded, and slowly she walked nearer, careful to look for prints on the wet moss and noting disturbed patches of weeds. Emotions warred with her professionalism as she paused to study the body.
This woman had dark brown hair, long legs, and deep brown eyes that looked tormented in death. This time, the killer had dressed her in a crimson dress with tiny white pearl buttons that fastened up to her neck, and simple black flats. Her nails were clipped short again, and her hands were folded in prayer. A page from the Bible was tucked between her fingers. Leaning forward, she realized it was from Genesis, where Eve took a bite of the forbidden fruit.
Red lipstick and rouge completed her makeup, which was smeared, resembling blood.
The location of her body beside the Red River, where baptisms took place, fit with Tuesday’s child, and the MO was similar enough to tell her they were dealing with one killer.
The rhyme taunted her again. Monday’s child is fair of face, Tuesday’s child is full of grace, Wednesday’s child is full of woe, Thursday’s child has far to go, Friday’s child is loving and giving, Saturday’s child works hard for a living, and the child that is born on the Sabbath day, is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.
Ellie shivered as the implication set in. If the killer stayed true to the nursery rhyme, five more women would die unless she stopped him.
Twenty-Three
Twenty minutes later, Ellie guided Laney and the Evidence Response Team to the body, while Cord stood staring out into the woods, the same brooding, intense expression on his face. Something was clearly bothering him.
Hell, the grisly sight of the dead woman buried beneath the wildflowers was disturbing.
“We’re dealing with the same offender, aren’t we?” Laney asked as she knelt beside the victim.
Ellie nodded, explaining about the text.
Worry lines creased Laney’s forehead. “It’s interesting that he’s chosen to contact you personally.”
Ellie pursed her lips. Why her? Why not Bryce, the new sheriff? He’d been all over the media.
“COD looks the same, exsanguination from blood loss,” said Laney, examining the victim. “Although he didn’t clean her injuries. Blood is smeared down her neck into that red dress.” She unfastened the pearl buttons and eased the fabric away. “Similar plain white bra, although…” She adjusted her glasses and peered closer.
Ellie leaned over for a closer look. “Although what?”
“Look at this.” Laney pointed out x’s that had been carved into the woman’s breasts. “She had implants.”
“Good Lord, he punctured them,” Ellie muttered.
“He sure did.” Laney sighed. “But the implants will help us identify her more quickly.”
“Was that done before he killed her?”
“No, there would be more blood loss if that was the case.”
More questions pummeled Ellie as Laney finished and the crime techs began to gather the flower petals to bag for analysis. Courtney’s past had revealed the lawsuits, which meant she had enemies.
What about this victim?
At first glance, their hair color and body types were different.
So what was it about these two women that made the killer choose them?
Twenty-Four
Haints Bar
The first one he’d taken was a tough one. She hadn’t broken yet. Hadn’t begged or pleaded or prayed.
But she would. They all did at some point. It was just a matter of time.
His hand palmed his phone where the message to Detective Reeves waited. He’d send it later. For now, he reveled in the fact that Reeves might be looking at Tuesday’s victim.
Now he had a short window of time to take Wednesday’s child. He had to stay on schedule.
Eagerly he slipped inside Haints, a local bar and the best place for hardworking men to gather and shoot the shit. The place where booze made loose tongues wag.
Places had great meaning, just as the places he chose to dispose of his victims.
A few females dared to grace the establishment, but most learned their place real quick and decided to take their business to the local wine bar or Bulls, the honkytonk down the street. Women from all over Bluff County met there to vent, male bash and flirt with the rowdy cowboys. Testosterone and estrogen flowed as freely as the liquor and spirits, egged on by the soft croon of male country stars who sang of beer, whiskey, trucks, dogs, love and, of course, cheating women.
Vo
ices dragged him back to the moment, and he turned to scan the crowd. There were a few women here.
Tonight, one of them would be leaving with him.
All he had to do was paste on a smile, buy her a drink, and use his smoky-eyed look to draw her under his spell.
He already knew her name. Knew her weaknesses.
Parking himself on a bar stool, he nudged his Stetson hat lower to shade his face, then scanned the gyrating bodies and the bar for the woman he’d come to find.
He was a patient man. He’d wait until the time was right. Then he’d take her home and she would be his for the night––and forevermore.
Twenty-Five
Crooked Creek
Her body throbbing with fatigue and debating her plan of action, Ellie let herself inside her bungalow.
There was no doubt in her mind she was dealing with a serial killer. Although Heath was still looking into the first victim’s enemies, she thought they could safely put that theory on the back burner. If killing Courtney had been personal, there was no reason to kill another woman.
Yet self-doubt nagged at her. Was she equipped to handle another big case?
Pouring herself a vodka, she carried it to her back deck and curled onto the glider. Tonight the sharp mountains towered toward the dark sky, tall and ominous.
Knowing the images of the wildflower graves would haunt her sleep, she grabbed her phone and debated calling her therapist. She’d said to call anytime, day or night.
But first she needed to process the crime scenes herself.
Inhaling the crisp citrusy scent of her favorite Ketel One, Ellie took a long slow sip before booting up her laptop and making notes about the latest crime scene for the file she’d created for the Wooten murder. She listed each detail of the woman’s appearance, outfit, injuries and the location where the body had been left.
Laney’s earlier comment echoed in her head. Why had the killer sent her the message instead of the sheriff? She had been thrust into the limelight, but so had Bryce.
With the bodies being left on the AT, she had to consider the fact that the perp might live in Bluff County. Or perhaps he’d seen the story about the Ghost case and was drawn to the area because of it, researching locations of significance that fit his pathology.
And why the nursery rhyme? It had to mean something. In itself, it wasn’t creepy. But the sinister aspect came from the fact that the rhyme didn’t fit the victim, that it seemed to contrast. So what had this woman done to fall from grace?
Leaning back, Ellie rubbed her temples. The one thing she knew for certain was that he was going to kill again. And if he stuck with his pattern, another woman would die tomorrow. At that thought, Derrick Fox’s face floated through her mind. He was more experienced with serial predators and profiling. But did she want to invite him back into her life, even just for work?
Her phone buzzed, dragging her away from thoughts of Derrick. She checked the number calling. It was unknown.
Her stomach tightened. Was it the killer?
She clenched her drink in one hand, then pressed accept, her pulse hammering.
“Ellie… help me.”
The glass slipped through Ellie’s fingers and crashed to the floor, spilling vodka across the wood. The citrus odor flooded her senses, growing stronger as it splashed on her legs.
“Shondra?”
“Help,” her friend cried.
A second later, there was another voice, an altered one.
“Wednesday’s child is full of woe,” the voice said. “Will you find her in time, Detective?”
Twenty-Six
Nerves clawed at Ellie as she phoned back. If the killer was taunting her, maybe he’d want to talk. But yet again the call didn’t go through.
Shaking all over, she stabbed the sheriff’s number, pacing in front of the doors leading to her back deck. A plane buzzed above, disappearing into the clouds that crept across the sky, obliterating the stars and the moonlight, casting the mountains in gray.
“Dammit, Bryce, where are you?”
The call rolled to voicemail, and she hung up and rung again. Finally, he answered.
“Sheriff Waters.”
Her stomach curled at his voice, but she steeled herself. Shondra needed her to be strong. “It’s Ellie.”
“Are you finally calling to tell me you found another body?”
“I just got home,” she said, irritated at his tone. “The victim is on her way to the morgue. But that’s not the reason I’m calling.” Panic made it hard to breathe. “It’s Shondra.”
“Shondra?” He made a disgruntled noise. “So you talked to her and what? Does she want me to beg her to work for me? Because I’m about to fire her ass.”
“Listen to me, Bryce. He has her.”
The sheriff cleared his throat. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I just got a call. It was her… crying for help.”
A tense heartbeat of silence passed. “Are you sure? Shondra was pissed at me and probably just went off to pout.”
She inwardly cursed. Why did she think Bryce would actually care?
“I know it was her. I’m going to her place to look around.”
“I’m tied up right now or I’d meet you there,” Bryce said. “But keep me posted.”
“You could put her on the missing persons list and spread the word.”
“Don’t tell me how to do my job. Find some proof that she’s actually missing and I will.”
Technically he was right. But that call… it had been real. If the killer had abducted Shondra and they waited too long, she might already be dead.
Twenty-Seven
Marvin’s Mobile Home Park
Her anxiety rocket-high, Ellie raced to Shondra’s trailer. The mobile home park had seen better days. The owner, Marvin, charged too much for rent, and last year, Ellie had busted him for using two trailers in the rear as brothels. But Shondra was not one to complain or to care about material things––and she felt like her presence might keep the other single women living there safe from the pimps that came around at all hours of the night to collect their cut and beat up on the girls.
Shondra had grown up with no one to look out for her, so she’d learned to do that herself. She was as independent as they came.
But lately, she’d hinted about a girlfriend.
What was her name?
Self-recriminations screamed in Ellie’s head. She’d been so caught up in her own problems, she hadn’t been a good friend. She’d only half listened when Shondra mentioned her new love interest.
If Shondra was dead, she’d never forgive herself.
As Ellie climbed from her jeep, three black crows gathered on the power line, giving her an eerie feeling. According to a high school teacher, crows were symbols of danger and death, said to be God’s messengers to the mortal world.
Ellie had never been superstitious, but she couldn’t shake the sensation that they were here for a reason.
Shondra’s black pick-up truck was parked beneath the carport, and the sound of dogs barking filled the air, the wind slapping a loose awning against the metal structure.
Unease crawled up her spine as she gauged the property. The grass needed cutting, the side of the trailer was splattered with mud from the recent thunderstorms. An animal had foraged through the trash, strewing plastic bottles, fast food wrappers, and beer cans everywhere.
Walking up to the carport, Ellie used her flashlight to peer inside Shondra’s truck from the passenger side.
Candy wrappers were discarded on the passenger seat, a reusable water bottle was in the console, with a Warriors hat from the girls’ soccer team she helped coach beside it. As far as Ellie could see, there was nothing amiss.
As she headed to the driver’s side, Ellie’s foot hit something and sent the object skidding. Looking down, she spotted Shondra’s cell phone in its silver sparkly case. Scuff marks darkened the area by the driver’s door and the keys to the truck glinted from th
e weeds.
Her breathing growing labored, she pulled latex gloves from her pocket and retrieved the phone and keys. A quick check revealed the cell battery was dead.
Ellie moved toward the front door of the trailer, glancing through the window. There was no movement inside. Raising her hand, she knocked, then tapped her foot while she waited. Seconds passed. No one answered.
She pounded the door again with her fist. “Shondra, if you’re in there, open up. It’s El.”
But the knot in her chest told her no one was inside. Her friend would never just disappear, never give Bryce the satisfaction of allowing him to think he’d run her off.
And that had been Shondra’s voice. There was no doubt in her mind.
Wind whistled in the silence, and a stray cat meowed from somewhere nearby. Worry knotting her muscles, Ellie walked to the opposite window, which offered a view of the living area. Remembering that her friend left a key beneath the bird feeder in the side yard, Ellie hurried to retrieve it. Seconds later, she snagged the key and let herself inside, checking the living room and kitchen, both of which were empty.
Turning into the hallway, she held her breath as she spotted a trail of daffodil petals––leading all the way to Shondra’s bedroom.
She followed the trail, her pulse clamoring. Stopping in the doorway, she saw that her friend’s bed and the entire floor were covered in petals.
Twenty-Eight
Somewhere on the AT
Shondra lay curled on the floor in the metal cage, shivering from the cold and pain. Her shoulder was twisted and aching, her ribs bruised, maybe even broken, and her fingers bloody from trying to claw open the metal cage.