by Rita Herron
“Detective Reeves speaking.”
“It’s Melissa White,” the young woman cried. “Have you found Shondra?”
“Not yet, but we’re looking for her,” Ellie said in a calming tone. “Trust me. Shondra and I are friends. I want to find her as much as you do.”
“If you’re such good friends, why haven’t we met before?” Melissa asked, her voice accusatory.
Her jab struck home. “I don’t know,” Ellie said. “Shondra mentioned she had a girlfriend, but the last few weeks we were busy investigating the Ghost case.”
“That’s right,” she said in a shaky voice. “I’m s-sorry. I’m a mess. I… just can’t believe she’s missing.”
“Why don’t you come into the station and talk to my deputy? Maybe you’ll recall something you haven’t thought of before.”
“I can’t,” Melissa cried. “My mom isn’t doing well right now. I can’t leave her.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe you can talk to him on the phone instead? We’d like to show you some photos of the victims, see if that sparks anything,” Ellie said. “I know that’s tough, but it might help us. Would you be okay with that?”
Melissa’s breathing rattled out. “All right, but I don’t really think I can help.”
“Sometimes we know things we don’t even realize,” Ellie said. “I’m going to get him now and have him call you back.”
Hanging up, Ellie hurried over to Heath. “Heath, send Melissa pics of the victims and see if she recognizes either of them. We have to find out if there’s a link between the women.”
Giving a nod of understanding, Heath returned to his desk with Melissa’s number. Grateful he was detail-oriented, Ellie headed back to her office to call Cord.
The day was getting away from her. Just like the killer.
Thirty-Seven
“I need your help, Cord.”
His heavy breathing echoed back, and she pictured him chopping wood for his stove. It was a less unsettling image than the taxidermy wildcats he kept in his dark house. Lately, she’d had nightmares where she woke up and the feral animals were watching her, teeth bared, ready to tear her apart.
“What is it?” Cord asked.
Fear made her voice crack. “The man who killed those two women—he took Shondra.”
“What?”
Ellie closed her eyes. She suddenly felt as if she was suffocating. When she’d rescued Penny Matthews and the other little girl after Hiram took them, Hiram had buried her alive. Cord had literally dug her from the ground and saved her. He also admired her father, who’d been a mentor to him over the years. But she’d been so wrapped up in her own shock and pain she hadn’t considered how the fallout had affected him.
Forcing aside the thoughts, Ellie exhaled. “Special Agent Fox, the captain and Deputy Landrum just met for a briefing. We know where he left the first two victims. If he’s true to pattern, the nursery rhyme ‘Monday’s child’ is a clue. And he’s going to kill a woman for each day of the week. The sheriff has already named him the Weekday Killer.”
Emotions threatened to overcome her. “Shondra may be next, Cord.” Her voice cracked. “Bryce has deputies searching abandoned buildings and properties. But the rhyme may be a clue.”
“What can I do?” Cord asked gruffly.
“Help me think. According to the rhyme, Wednesday’s child is full of woe. The captain is dispatching deputies to cover local cemeteries and church graveyards. Woe means sadness, so look at the map and see if any place strikes you as significant.”
“I’ll get right on it,” Cord agreed.
“Good. Agent Fox and I are going to search the second victim’s house and look for her computer and phone. Call me if you come up with anything.”
“Sure.” His voice rasped out as if he was hurrying somewhere. “And Ellie, this man is dangerous. If he contacted you, he may be trying to lure you into a trap.”
“I survived my own brother’s attempt to kill me,” Ellie said. “This son of a bitch is not about to make me back down.”
Thirty-Eight
Somewhere on the AT
Shondra jerked at the chain around her neck, desperate to escape. All night long she’d listened to the other woman crying, weeping as the hours crept by.
Her heart ached. She’d tried to call out to her, to let her know that she wasn’t alone.
But her voice had made the woman only sob harder.
Shondra knew that her days were numbered. But for some reason, the monster was holding her, making her suffer first. Not like the others, who he kept a day or two before killing them. Why didn’t he just kill her, too?
Damn him to hell and back. He’d shown her the pictures of the women after he’d cut their throats. The sick way he’d posed them on beds of daffodils. The bramble around their necks.
He was sadistic. He killed for the thrill. Enjoyed watching a woman beg to live as she drew her last breath.
A noise sounded above, jerking Shondra from her thoughts. He was back. Storming through the house. Shouting and stomping and throwing something.
Frantic to free herself, she fumbled yet again in the dark for a way to release the chain, but there was no way to loosen it. Her fingers were bloody and raw from prying endlessly at the cage door. Summoning her strength, she struggled to loosen one of the screws holding the cage door shut, but it wouldn’t budge. The sharp metal stabbed the tip of her finger and blood trickled down her hand.
Exhausted and sore, she clenched her teeth and sagged against the floor of the cage, tears of anger filling her eyes.
You’re trash, her daddy used to say. Good for nothing trash.
When she was little, she’d believed it. She’d worn thrift-store clothes and used an outdoor toilet. She had free lunches at school, and the other kids made fun of her.
One day she’d had enough of being pushed around and she’d fought back. Sure, she’d gotten suspended for three days, but it was worth it. The bullies left her alone after that.
A crash sounded above, then the door creaked open. A sliver of light wormed its way through the opening, then his heavy breathing punctuated the silence. She thought she heard a dog barking again. But it sounded far away, outside somewhere.
She craned her neck to see her abductor’s face, but then the door slammed shut and blackness engulfed him.
His sinister chanting filled the shadows, the wood steps squeaking as he descended.
In spite of her training, fear seized her.
You’re a survivor, she told herself. Look for your opening and attack.
Sucking in a breath, she steeled herself to take whatever he dished out. She’d grown up tough. She’d play along with him if necessary, get him to talk, get inside his head.
And when she got her chance, she’d claw his damn eyes out.
But instead of coming to her, footsteps echoed in the opposite direction. He kept more cages in there. More screaming women––his next victims.
“Wednesday’s child is full of woe…” he chanted.
A shrill shriek made chills rip through Shondra, as the woman cried and pleaded, “Please don’t do this, please let me go.”
A sob welled in Shondra’s throat.
The chain around her neck rattled as she yanked at the metal bars of the cage. As a police officer, she’d vowed to protect others.
But helpless frustration seized her. She couldn’t save this woman now. She couldn’t even save herself.
Thirty-Nine
Crooked Creek
Ellie retrieved Carrie Winters’ address from the file before striding back to the conference room. She tensed at the sight of the TV airing a late breaking news story. Derrick and her captain were watching it with solemn faces, and her stomach pitched as she realized it was the reason the sheriff had left so abruptly.
“This is Angelica Gomez coming to you live outside the Bluff County courthouse, where this morning former Sheriff Randall Reeves and his wife met with the DA in hopes of settling the
court case that has rocked the good citizens of Bluff County.”
In horror, Ellie watched as the protestors chanted and waved signs condemning her father. The mayor, Bryce’s father, who’d been friends with her own dad for years, stood to the side at a distance. Several women from the Garden Club, who’d hosted charity events with her mother for a decade, held signs slandering her family.
“As you can see, the county is vocal over their desire to see that Sheriff Reeves is punished for allegedly withholding information regarding the search for the serial killer who killed a dozen small children over the span of twenty-five years.”
In the footage the doors to the courthouse suddenly opened, Ellie’s father and mother emerging, both looking haggard, flanked by two deputies. Angelica and her cameraman hurried toward them, more shouts and ugly comments erupting from the crowd.
“Sheriff Reeves, Mrs. Reeves,” Angelica said. “Would you like to make a statement to the public?”
Vera clung to Ellie’s father, and he tenderly patted her hand, then stared into the camera. Ellie had never seen him look so tormented. And her mother… She looked weak-eyed, disoriented.
Randall cleared his throat. “I want everyone in the county to know that I deeply regret the fact that so many children’s lives were lost. My wife and I would do anything to bring back those little girls. While we did not know the whereabouts of Hiram, the man who took those innocent children, as sheriff I was working behind the scenes to investigate each murder.” He paused, his voice hoarse. “I’m truly sorry for the families who suffered.”
More noises and angry comments filled the air, and Angelica pushed the microphone closer to Ellie’s father. “Sheriff Reeves, we understand a deal is in the works regarding the charges you face. Can you elaborate on that?”
Her father’s lawyer laid a hand on his arm, before he addressed the reporter. “We are working swiftly and with respect toward all parties to see that justice is served. Please bear in mind that our country is founded on the principle of innocent until proven guilty.”
A litany of shouts filled the air and the crowd’s attitude morphed into mob-like rage as two men pushed through the crowd and came at Randall.
“Killer!”
“You murdered our little girls!”
“Your daughter is no better!”
One man lunged toward her father, while the other attacked her mother. Vera screamed and her father threw his arm in front of her to protect her, as deputies rushed to contain the crowd and usher her parents into their vehicle.
As three men stormed her parents’ car, rocking it back and forth in an attempt to block them from leaving, Ellie realized she was shaking. Bryce and his men took charge, with the sheriff personally guarding the driver’s side as her father started the engine and slowly pulled away.
“Jesus, Ellie, things are getting out of hand,” Captain Hale muttered.
Suddenly Ellie was finding it difficult to breathe. She walked into the hallway, Hale following. She pinched the bridge of her nose to stem her panic.
Bryce was taking care of her parents, she told herself. For now, she had to focus on finding Shondra and the killer.
“I have to get back to work, Captain,” she finally said.
“Are you sure you’re up to it?”
“Is that the reason you called Fox? You don’t think I can handle this case?”
He ran a hand over his balding head. “You’ve been through a lot lately, Detective. I thought you and Agent Fox made a good team.”
“He hates my family, or have you forgotten that?”
“I’m not saying there isn’t tension, but you both handled it and got the job done.” He reached into his pocket for a mint. “Now is not the time to let personal feelings interfere.”
Pulling herself together, Ellie walked back into the conference room to Derrick, and cleared her throat. “I talked to Cord. He’s looking for places that might fit our rhyme. Meanwhile, I’m going to Carrie Winters’ place.”
“Let’s go.”
Laney’s comment about the killer contacting her personally played through her head. Did he have some personal vendetta against her? At that thought, the hate mail she’d received taunted her.
“Let me get something I need you to look at while I drive.”
A puzzled expression flashed on Derrick’s face but he simply followed her to her office.
Opening a drawer, Ellie took out a folder. “I’ve been thinking about the killer, why he’d contact me. It could have something to do with the hate mail I received.”
Derrick went stone still, eyes narrowing. “What hate mail?”
She hadn’t wanted to share this with him––with anyone. It was humiliating. But if it helped find the Weekday Killer, she had to suck up her pride. “The last couple of weeks, I’ve received several letters blaming me for those little girls’ deaths. Some accuse me of knowing and covering up.” Just like Derrick had at one point.
A muscle twitched in his jaw, as if he remembered his accusations. Maybe he still believed them.
“What if one of the people who wrote to me is killing these women to punish me? Or to make me look incompetent?”
A tense heartbeat passed between them. “That seems extreme.”
“Maybe. But you saw how the people in the county are reacting to my family.”
He exhaled. “Let me take a look at the letters.”
Heat climbed Ellie’s neck as she handed over the folder. He gripped it and followed her back through the bullpen and outside to her car.
Derrick slid into the passenger side, and she got in, started the engine and headed toward Carrie Winters’ address. Pulling on latex gloves, he shook out the individual envelopes, his jaw stiff as he saw the pile. “Did you send these to the lab to be analyzed?”
Ellie bit her lip. “No.”
His gaze jerked to hers. “Why the hell not?”
“I figured people were just blowing off steam.” Besides, maybe she deserved their wrath.
Derrick’s eyes darkened as he studied her for a moment. Then he released a breath and returned to the mail. The letters held no return addresses and, barring a couple of people, no one had signed their names.
There was no way to trace the sender just as there was no way to trace the burner phone the Weekday Killer used to taunt her.
One by one, he unfolded the letters, his expression growing more intense as he skimmed the contents. She didn’t have to read them twice. The hate-filled words were seared into her brain.
Your family killed those girls. Go to hell.
You should have died instead of my daughter.
I hope your family rots in prison for what they did.
Evil runs in your blood.
Leave town and never come back.
Tell the truth for once and beg God for forgiveness.
You’ll be sorry.
You have to pay.
A good cop would have stopped the Ghost long ago.
How could you cover for a killer?
You should be buried on the trail like the children.
Sometimes even Ellie had trouble not believing that last one.
Forty
Clifton Heights
“That mail is going to the lab,” Derrick said.
“It could be unrelated, but at this point, I guess we have to examine every angle,” Ellie agreed.
“What do you know about Ms. Winters?” Derrick asked as he checked the front door and found it locked.
“She owns her own house,” Ellie said. Clifton Heights, which was situated on a cliff with a seventy-five-feet overhang, consisted of small rustic townhomes and cluster homes with manicured lawns and flower beds filled with purple, red and yellow petunias and red-tipped azaleas that provided privacy for the individual homes. Nestled close to the parkway, they were close to the highway for easy access to both the mountains and the small-town tourist attractions along the highway running from Atlanta to North Georgia.
Considering how
well-to-do the area was, it struck Ellie as odd Carrie Winters, with her career as an exotic dancer, would have lived in the neighborhood.
As they walked around the side of the property, Ellie noted that the closest unit to Carrie’s was empty while the one on the right had lights on. Stopping at each window to search for clues indicating the killer had abducted Carrie from her home, Ellie didn’t see a broken window or signs of forced entry. Needing a look inside, she jimmied the door open, wincing when it screeched and a gray cat meowed, rubbing up against her leg.
“Hey, kitty,” she said as she petted the shorthaired animal.
An array of scents hit her—some kind of potpourri and burned coffee and the litter box, which needed to be cleaned.
Ellie scanned the kitchen but nothing seemed amiss. They moved onto the living area, where there was a plush black leather sofa, a white leather club chair, and a cowskin rug. Carrie clearly had expensive taste and the décor of the place was very contemporary, at odds with its rustic exterior.
Derrick gestured toward the hallway and Ellie inched to the right, with Derrick following. The first room was a guest room, with a white desk and daybed. Everything neat and orderly.
In the master suite, the king-sized iron bed was draped in a bright red comforter with an accent wall of black. Again, sleek and modern.
Everything was perfectly in place, as if Carrie hadn’t been here for some time. Or perhaps she was OCD or had a housekeeper.
The bathroom held an array of cosmetics, perfume, and lipsticks in a dozen different colors, all expensive brands. Derrick ducked into the closet while Ellie checked the dresser. Sexy, lacy lingerie was folded neatly in the drawers––the opposite of the plain white cotton panties and bra she’d been dressed in by the killer.
“Did you find anything?” Ellie asked Derrick as she looked over his shoulder into the closet.
He stepped aside with an eyebrow raise and indicated the wall of wigs and dance costumes, complete with feathered boas, sequin bras, and tiaras.