by Rita Herron
Shondra was out there somewhere with the killer. Would she live through the night? Or was she already dead? Ellie’s head swirled with it all.
Rain drizzled down steadily, the gray clouds robbing the sky of moonlight. A frown pulled at her mouth as she cut the engine and realized her porch light was off. So was the light inside her kitchen. Not wanting to come home to a dark house, she always left the outside light on and one burning in her kitchen.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she scanned her property for signs someone had been there. There were no vehicles or tire marks in sight.
Pulling her gun at the ready, she tugged her jacket on, then slowly maneuvered down the path to her porch. The steps were slick with rain, and she paused to listen at the top for sounds someone was inside.
Fear pounded at her as she touched the doorknob, and her hand came away sticky. Jerking her fingers back, she pulled her flashlight and shined it on the door. The coppery scent of blood inundated her as she saw what was there.
Dear God. Someone had written the words “It’s Your Fault” in blood on her door.
For a second, she was too stunned to do anything but stare. Her own voice of guilt whispered through her mind followed by the sound of the protestors in town and the hate mail she’d received.
Fury that this bastard was toying with her triggered her into detective mode.
She wiped her hand on her pants, then yanked on latex gloves. Careful not to touch the blood, she jiggled the doorknob, and the door swung open. Dammit. Her alarm was off.
A slight musky odor wafted through the house, an earthy scent of wood, sweat and oil. And she was sure she could also detect the faint odor of the ointment her mother had slathered on her when she’d been stung by a bee and broke out in hives.
Someone had been inside.
Gripping her gun at the ready, she eased inside her hall. The pungent scent assaulted her again, and she shivered as the pitch black swallowed her. For a moment, she forgot to breathe.
Memories of Hiram trapping her in the dark tunnel, and the faces of the terrified little girls he’d kidnapped flooded her. Then the image. She could hear Hiram’s shrill voice, the sound of his knife shaving away wood as he carved the little dolls he’d used to lure her and his other victims to follow him into the forest. He’d promised a pretty pink dollhouse with furniture and doll clothes, but that had all been a lie.
Her body trembled. Nausea climbed her throat.
A noise from the back of the house jarred her from her fear-induced stupor, and she shined her flashlight around the space, scanning the living area and kitchen. After a quick sweep of the hall, she crept to the bedrooms.
The wood floor creaked as she crossed her room, searching her closet and the master bath.
The rooms were empty. Nothing seemed out of place.
Releasing a breath, she relaxed slightly, then made her way back to the living room. In the kitchen, a damp breeze blew through a window which stood wide-open, cold night air filling the room and giving her a chill.
She’d left the window locked, she was sure of that.
Flipping on the light, she gasped. A small wooden doll lay on the kitchen table. It was on top of a bed of daffodils with a river rock tombstone marker at the head of the grave.
On the stone her name was drawn in blood.
Fifty-Five
Thursday
Crooked Creek
The next morning, worry for Shondra dominated Ellie as she and Derrick stopped at the Corner Café for breakfast. She’d barely slept for the nightmares. It had literally taken half the night for the crime team to process her house, and the doll and blood had been sent to the lab.
She and Derrick had theorized while the crime team worked. Could Hiram possibly be behind all this? He’d gotten away with a dozen murders over a twenty-five year span. And if the killer was taunting her because of his hatred of her, it was part of his pathology. The only person Ellie could think of who hated her enough was Hiram.
But how could he orchestrate multiple murders from prison?
Then she’d seen the news, where Bryce had addressed the press. He’d informed them that now they had three victims, but at least he’d kept his mouth shut regarding MO, details they intentionally decided to keep from the media and public in case some lunatic attention-seeker decided to take credit as the Weekday Killer.
She rubbed her aching head, hoping the painkillers would kick in soon. Last night in her dream, the mountain trail was a dumping ground for bodies. Dead women were everywhere. Laid along the paths, deep in the woods, hanging from trees, floating in the river. Bugs and insects feasting on the remains. Just as she left one, she turned and saw another. Sightless eyes stared up at her begging for help, mouths stood wide open in silent screams.
Terrorized cries echoed through the long dark night as she stumbled to escape them.
“You okay?” Derrick asked as they entered the café.
She nodded, although they both knew she was lying. Inside, she spotted Angelica at a table where she was deep in conversation with someone. Always working her story. The strong scent of sausage gravy and homemade biscuits made her mouth water. Lola waved from the counter, and she and Derrick headed to a booth in the back. All eyes and heads turned their way, wary looks passing among the patrons.
Willie Grace, Fanny Mae’s twin and the other half of the Stitchin’ Sisters, pointed a crooked finger at Ellie. “What’s she doing here?”
“She ought to be looking for that killer.”
“Just as sorry as her daddy.”
Ellie gritted her teeth, telling herself to ignore them. But Meddlin’ Maude had the nerve to stand up and block her way. The woman’s hot-pink warm-up suit made her look like a raspberry Popsicle, but there was no sweetness in Maude’s cutting tone. “I hope you do a better job finding this maniac hurting our young women than you did saving all those poor children.”
Edwina Waters, Bryce’s mother, tugged at Maude’s arm. “Come on, Maude. Bryce will find this killer, then our kids and families will be safe again.” She threw a nasty look over her shoulder and Ellie, stomach in knots, for the first time spotted her parents huddled together in the back corner of the room.
Maude lifted a haughty head and strutted past Ellie, with Carol Sue, Lily and other gossipmongers trailing after her like a brood of hens.
Derrick took Ellie’s arm, guiding her to their booth.
From the back of the café where her parents sat, she heard crying, before her mother jumped up from the table and ran out the back door.
Pulse racing, Ellie’s gaze met her father’s worried one, then he chased after her. At the back door, she heard raised voices and saw Philip Paulson, the father of one of the Ghost’s victims, and another man she didn’t recognize accost her dad.
So much pain caused by Hiram, she thought with a heavy heart. She wanted to talk to him today. Make him look her in the eye and see if he was behind these latest murders. If he had an accomplice or had garnered an apprentice.
“I heard you’re making a deal,” Paulson shouted. “How can they let you off for letting our little girls die?”
“Let’s get food to go,” Ellie muttered as she saw Angelica Gomez rush from her table to cover the debacle. “I want to question Hiram and see if he has something to do with this.”
Fifty-Six
Somewhere on the AT
He could not fight the demons inside him any longer. They ate at him like live beasts, tormenting him with the need to get justice for the one he hadn’t been able to save.
Gripping the woman’s face so tightly he thought her jawbone might crack, he stooped down to look at her. She disgusted him. They all did. “Do you know why I chose you, Cathy?”
Her hazel eyes were glazed with shock and defiance. “My name is not Cathy,” she snarled. “Now, let me go.”
“The only place you’re going to is hell.” His laughter boomed off the concrete walls, and he fastened the metal collar around her n
eck, making sure the chain was securely attached. She dug her fingernails into his gloved hands and spat at him.
“You bitch,” he said, giving her a hard slap across the face. “You’re a fighter, aren’t you?”
“Is that how you get off?” she asked as she turned a hate-filled look toward him. “Beating up on women?”
He dragged her toward the cage. “You talk like you’re some fucking saint.” He raised the whip and slapped it across her back. “Thursday’s child has far to go. But you’re going to hell, Cathy.”
He shoved her in the cage, then locked it. “You know what the Ten Commandments are, don’t you?” His laugh boomed from him. “You must not, because you didn’t obey them.”
Fifty-Seven
Bluff County Prison
An hour later, after Ellie and Derrick downed their dinner, they arrived at the county prison where Hiram was being held until he could be transferred to a federal facility. “Let’s get this over with,” Derrick said as he climbed from the car.
“You don’t have to go in there and face him after everything he did to you. I can handle it,” Ellie said, reaching out and touching his arm.
Derrick’s gaze locked with hers. “I was going to tell you the same thing, Ellie. After all, he tried to kill you.”
Ellie licked her suddenly dry lips. He didn’t have to remind her what Hiram had done. All the sweet children’s lives lost because of her. “All the more reason to confront him. I want to show him I’m not afraid of him anymore. And if he’s somehow pulling strings from in here to help this killer, or if they were working together, then I want to know.”
When they reached the front steps of the prison, Angelica Gomez was exiting the building. Damn, the reporter seemed to be everywhere they were.
Ellie’s first instinct was to run, but the reporter might have persuaded Hiram to talk about an accomplice in the Ghost murders, so she forged ahead.
“Detective Reeves, Special Agent Fox, nice to see you,” Angelica said.
Ellie couldn’t say the same. “You just interviewed Hiram?”
Angelica nodded, tucking a strand of her long ebony hair behind one ear. Her coal black pantsuit and heels looked expensive and sophisticated, out of place against the aging stone prison walls behind her.
“He’s interesting,” Angelica said. “He wants me to tell his side of the story.”
Ellie stiffened. “Interesting? That’s a strange choice of word for a serial killer. Did he give you any information about a possible accomplice?”
Angelica shook her head. “He mostly wanted to talk about his childhood. I think it’s going to take several visits before he gets past that and we can discuss the details of the crimes. He likes the attention, so we can use that to our advantage.”
Ellie raised a brow at Angelica using the word we, as if they were partners.
“He did hint that he had a fan, although he refused to divulge his name,” the reporter said, twisting the strap of her handbag.
Surprise fluttered through Ellie. “This fan could be the Weekday Killer.”
Angelica nodded. “I thought of that, and I’ll keep pushing. Do you have any updates?”
“You talked to the sheriff, you heard what he had to say,” Ellie pointed out.
“I was hoping you had more,” Angelica said with an eyebrow lift.
Derrick squared his shoulders. “We’re exploring possibilities.”
Angelica glanced back at Ellie. “He also talked about your family. He said they had more secrets.”
Ellie grinded her teeth. “You know you can’t go public with any of this right now. If you do, you could jeopardize the case against my parents.”
“I’m surprised you want to protect them,” Angelica said. “Considering.”
Ellie shot her a warning look, daring her to say more.
The journalist remained cool, but she’d made her point. “I hope you find Deputy Eastwood.”
“We will,” Ellie said. She just prayed they found her alive.
As Angelica headed off, Ellie motioned at Derrick to head inside. Maybe talking to the reporter had warmed Hiram up enough to spill his guts to her.
Remaining silent as they entered the prison and went through security, Derrick’s face was a mask of control. While his mind must be occupied with thoughts of his sister and the fact that he was about to confront the man who’d killed her, he never once showed it.
The warden steepled his hands on his desk as they were shown into his office. The man was big and brawny, a former cop with mammoth-sized hands and arms, and eyes the color of cold steel.
“We think Hiram has a follower,” Derrick said. “Do you know anything about that?”
“Captain Hale asked me to check Hiram’s correspondence. He’s received hate mail for the crimes he committed. And also some fan mail. Disgusting.” He gestured toward a folder on the desk. “And last week, a man tried to visit him. Gave the name Vinny Harper, although he didn’t have proper ID or clearance, so we turned him away.”
“Can you have your people pull security footage from when he tried to enter?” Derrick asked.
“Certainly.” The warden buzzed security, asking them to locate the recording.
“Has he had any other visitors?” Ellie asked.
“Your mother came once,” the warden said. “But Hiram refused to see her.”
Ellie squeezed her fingers around the chair edge, stifling her reaction.
“What about his cellmate?” Derrick asked. “Or friends? Has Hiram made any since he’s been locked up?”
The warden shook his head. “Child molesters and killers are considered the lowest of the low, even to other felon offenders. His first cellmate tried to shank him, so we had to move him to a cell by himself instead of being in the general population.”
The warden buzzed for a security guard, who escorted them through the dingy halls to the main security office where dozens of cameras displayed various areas of the prison, including individual cells, the common areas, the yard and mess hall. He pulled up the footage of the main entrance and security station, zeroing in on the man who’d called himself Vinny.
The man, dressed in dark clothes, looked wiry and jumpy. He had a pointed chin, shifting eyes set a little too far apart and a ruddy complexion.
Derrick had the guard send the footage to the Bureau so they could run it through facial recognition software, while Ellie texted Heath and asked him to find out what he could on the man.
A coldness swept over Ellie as they were escorted through another dank cement hallway that smelled of sweat, urine and feces.
She and Derrick seated themselves at a metal table attached to the floor, and a guard brought Hiram in. Nerves pinched at Ellie, the memory of Hiram throwing her body into that hole and burying her alive returning to make her sweat.
Handcuffs and shackles clinked and clanged as he shuffled toward the chair. His limp seemed more pronounced today and a fresh scar marked his cheek, as if he’d been cut by a razor.
His crazed eyes skated over Ellie with a mixture of disdain and victory. “Hello, sis,” he said with a smile as he slid onto the chair across from her. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Fifty-Eight
Derrick barely controlled his rage as he stared at the sick son of a bitch who’d murdered his little sister. His mother had talked to him about letting go of his hatred, but Hiram’s lack of remorse for the girls he’d killed made that impossible.
Still, he had another case to solve, so he pasted on his game face, shoving aside his fury.
Hiram spread his scarred hands on the table, the nervous twitch to his eye adding to his sinister look. The orange jumpsuit made his skin look even more sallow.
“How’s Mommy dearest?” Hiram asked Ellie with a toothy grin.
“I’m not here to discuss the family,” she said sharply. “I’m here for information.”
Hiram’s bushy brow rose. “Information about what? About where you came from?”
&nbs
p; As anger flashed across Ellie’s face, Derrick realized the man was playing games. What did Hiram mean?
“About the Weekday Killer,” Ellie replied, leaning forward.
Hiram stretched his hands out to touch her. The minute he did, Ellie leaned back, just out of reach. “Do you know who he is?” she asked.
Hiram smiled. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Derrick removed photographs of the victims from his briefcase and spread them on the table. The pictures were black and whites of the women’s faces, their bodies covered in a sheet on the autopsy table. “Each of these women was brutally murdered a day apart,” Derrick said.
Excitement lit Hiram’s eyes at the sight of the women’s corpses, and Derrick barely restrained himself from jerking him across the table and pounding his face.
Sometimes at night, he fantasized about killing Hiram. He’d almost done so when he’d caught him but, in the end, he’d managed to stop himself, for his mother’s sake. She’d grieved so much over her daughter and her husband, he hadn’t wanted her to lose her son too. He’d never forgive himself for that.
But now the urge hit him full force again, tightening his lungs.
“Pretty ladies,” Hiram sneered. “Just like you, Ellie.”
“They look nothing like me,” Ellie said. “But they are dead because some madman slashed their throats. That madman also texted me to tell me about them. The only person I can think of that would want to torment me is you.”
Hiram threw up his hands, the handcuffs clanging. “Wish I could take the credit, but I’ve been right here.” He glanced at the pictures with a sick smile. “Besides, I like them younger.”
Derrick stood, leaning over and grabbing Hiram by the neck of his jumpsuit. “So it’s your partner who likes them older?”