* * *
Thomasina Hardy loaded the dishwasher and cleaned up her mother’s kitchen, then washed her hands and applied scented lotion. Her brother had a Friday night date and her mother had just left to go to her older sister Amanda’s to babysit the children so Amanda and her husband could go bowling over in Adams Landing. So here she was all alone on a Friday night. She and Ron broke up six months ago, so she should be back in circulation by now, shouldn’t she? She’d had a total of five dates in the past few months and not once had she accepted a second date with any one of the guys. Yes, she was picky. She might give just about any guy a chance with one date, but if he didn’t measure up, she didn’t waste her time or his.
Paul Landon, the richest bachelor in Adams County, had thought buying her dinner meant he got to screw her on a first date. The guy was a jerk. Neither his good looks nor his sizable bank account impressed her enough to give him a second chance.
Her mom had fixed her up with widower Steve Banyan, an Adams Landing pharmacist, but an hour into their date, she’d been bored to tears. All the man talked about was his kids and his deceased wife.
Her sister had fixed her up with two different duds—one worked at the phone company with Amanda’s husband and the other was a guy on their bowling team.
The only contender in the bunch had been Raymond Long, a recently divorced nice guy. But he’d never called her for a second date. Maybe she simply wasn’t his type.
Thomasina picked up the TV Guide and the remote control as she sat down on the sofa in the den and contemplated another Friday night alone. As she curled up on the sofa, she turned on the television and laid the remote at her side, then flipped through the guide. She had her choice of cop shows, reality shows and sitcoms, but she decided on a cable channel that showed an attractive young woman undergoing breast enlargement surgery. Although she filled out a C cup, Thomasina had often wondered how she’d look with a set of D or double-D boobs.
Ten minutes into the show, the telephone rang. Thomasina groaned. It was probably one of those annoying telephone solicitors. She hit the MUTE button on the remote, then got up and walked across the room to where her mom had left the cordless phone earlier this evening when she’d made a call to Amanda. Thomasina checked the caller ID. pay phone. A pay telephone? How odd. She knew there were several of those old pay phone booths still around in various areas in Adams County, but she wasn’t personally acquainted with anyone who used them. Debating whether to answer or allow the answering machine to pick up, she let the phone ring four times, then quickly hit the ON button and said, “Hello.”
“Thomasina?” the unfamiliar voice said.
“Yes.”
“Did you get my note?”
It was then that Thomasina realized his voice sounded odd. A deep, throaty baritone.
“Who is this?” she asked.
“I’m your secret admirer.”
A cold chill raced up Thomasina’s spine. Don’t overreact. Don’t assume this guy is some nut job. It could be Brandon Kelley simply being romantic, choosing to woo you as a secret admirer first, before revealing his true identity.
“Why keep your identity a secret?”
“I will reveal my identity when the time is right,” he told her. “But for now… sleep well tonight, my beautiful Thomasina, and dream of your secret lover who longs to touch you, to whisper love sonnets in your ear, to fulfill your every fantasy.”
Thomasina gasped softly, undeniably aroused by the man’s words, by the image his comments painted in her mind. Images of Brandon and her together.
“Please, tell me—”
The dial tone alerted her to the fact that he had ended their conversation.
Thomasina closed her eyes and sighed. Her Friday night wasn’t turning out to be so dull and uneventful after all. Will he call back tonight? No, probably not. But maybe tomorrow or tomorrow night. In a way, she wished Brandon would just come right out and ask her for a date, but in another way, she thought it was romantic and rather sweet that he had thought of a unique way to begin an old-fashioned courtship.
But what if it’s not Brandon? Of course, it was Brandon. Who else could it be?
She carried the phone with her when she returned to the sofa. After sitting down, she laid the phone beside the remote. For several minutes she stared at the silent television screen and considered the possibilities. If her secret admirer wasn’t Brandon Kelley, then who could it be? She couldn’t think of another man she knew who would do something so unconventional and romantic.
It has to be Brandon.
She hit the mute button again to resume the sound on the TV and tried to renew her interest in the show she’d been watching. But her mind kept wandering, alternating between fantasizing about Brandon and wondering whether she should be flattered or concerned about this little game he was playing with her.
Jim wolfed down a bologna sandwich and swigged on a Dr. Pepper as he tried to decide whether he should shave before heading over to the Adams Landing Hotel to pick up Agent Patterson for a late-evening session with the sheriff. The ABI agent had shown up less than an hour after Bernie had placed her phone call. He came with the crime scene guys, although he’d driven his own vehicle since he’d be staying in town for several days. If they didn’t break the case within a few days, Patterson would probably drive back and forth from Huntsville after that, since it was only a forty-five-minute drive. Jim’s guess was that this case wouldn’t be solved easily, maybe not for weeks or months. Maybe never. He had his own theories, but before mouthing off his opinion, he’d decided to wait until this evening and hear what Patterson had to say and get Bernie’s input after she spoke to her father. He wondered how many on-the-job years it would take before she felt confident enough not to run things by her dad. It couldn’t be easy for her trying to live up to the old man, living and working in his shadow.
Stephanie Preston’s body was on its way to Huntsville. Her family had been notified. Jim suspected that Bernie’s call to Sheriff Ed Mays probably had been the most difficult call she’d ever made. Both the ABI and the DFS were now involved due to the type of crime that had been committed, with the two agencies working with the county sheriff’s department. Bernie had called a press conference and had faced not only local reporters, but Huntsville newspaper reporters and television crews. She had kept her comments brief and refused to take questions, which was standard procedure this early in the game. Although the statement to the press had been succinct—Stephanie Preston’s body had been discovered, the cause of death to be determined by an autopsy, and yes, the death was being handled as a murder—rumors no doubt already abounded. Any of the locals who’d been at the scene could spread the word that Stephanie’s throat had been slashed and that she was naked.
After finishing off the Dr. Pepper, Jim wiped his mouth, walked over to the garbage can in the kitchen and dumped the empty cola bottle and the paper towel he’d used as a napkin. He glanced at his watch and saw that he had just enough time to shave, if he hurried. He was supposed to pick up Patterson at six-thirty; then the two of them would go to his office at the county jail, where Bernie, Ron Hensley and John Downs would meet them.
Jim made it halfway to the bathroom before his cell phone rang. Answering the call as he opened the bathroom door, he said, “Yeah?”
“Jim Norton?” He didn’t recognize the man’s voice.
“Yeah, this is Norton.”
“Mr. Norton … Jim … this is Allen Clark.” He paused, apparently waiting for a reaction from Jim. “You know, Mary Lee’s husband.”
“Yeah, I know who you are. What do you want? Is it something about Kevin? I’m supposed to get him next weekend. Mary Lee hasn’t changed her mind, has she?”
“No, no, nothing like that.”
“Then what?” Jim flipped on the light and looked at himself in the medicine cabinet mirror.
“I was wondering… that is, we were wondering if you could take Kevin earlier than we’d planned, say next T
hursday?”
“Yeah, sure, but I don’t understand what’s going on. Why would Mary Lee give me a couple of extra days with Kevin?” Since their divorce nearly seven years ago, his ex-wife had done everything she could to undermine his relationship with his son and never, ever allowed them extra time together.
“Actually, we need you to keep Kevin for several weeks, possibly until school starts in August.”
“What’s the catch?”
“Look, Mr. Norton … Jim … I don’t know any other way to explain than to just come right out and tell you. Mary Lee has been diagnosed with breast cancer. She’s having a mastectomy next Friday, here in Huntsville. Her treatment will probably include radiation and chemo. She needs complete rest.”
Mary Lee had breast cancer? The news hit him hard. But not because he still had any deep feelings for his ex. Nope, that wasn’t it. As much as he sometimes hated Mary Lee and had on more than one occasion damned her to hell, she was his son’s mother. Kevin loved her. Needed her.
“What’s the prognosis?” Jim asked, a tight knot in his throat. Okay, so maybe he did still care about Mary Lee. Maybe he always would. But he wasn’t in love with her. She’d killed that years ago.
“The doctor is optimistic. Of course, we won’t know for sure until they run tests on the lymph nodes after surgery. But we’re hoping and praying for the best.”
“Yeah, of course you are. How’s Mary Lee?” His ex-wife had always considered herself a sexy woman and had used her body as both a weapon and a reward for the men in her life.
“She’s okay. Scared. Upset. Worrying about Kevin.”
“Was my taking Kevin for the next few weeks her idea or yours?” Jim asked.
Allen Clark cleared his throat. “Mine, actually. She’s concerned that with you starting a new job, Kevin might be alone too much.”
“I’ll see to it that he’s not.”
“Then you’re okay with my bringing him to Adams Landing next Thursday?”
“Yeah. Sure. But what about Kevin? Have y’all told him—”
“Not yet, but we will. This weekend. And … uh … I’ll call you Monday and set up a time and … Thanks, Mr.—”
“Jim.”
“Thanks, Jim.”
For several seconds after their conversation ended, Jim stood in the small bathroom, his gaze fixed on the mirror in front of him. He no longer saw his reflection, no longer thought about shaving. His emotions were torn between genuine concern about his ex-wife’s health and absolute joy over the fact that he was being given the gift of spending so much time with his son.
Jim snorted. Wasn’t life always this way? He had a chance for his son to live with him for several weeks, maybe more than a month, and this opportunity came at the worst possible time for him. Just as he was starting a new job that had become exceedingly complicated on his very first day. How was he going to balance giving Kevin the quality time he needed and deserved and giving his all to the investigation into Stephanie Preston’s brutal murder?
Chapter 5
Jim had listened, commented when asked a point-blank question and otherwise let the others carry the conversation. He was the new man on the job and despite the fact that he was in charge of this case for the sheriff’s department, it was officially now an ABI case. He had sized up Agent Patterson within twenty minutes of meeting him—laid-back and easy to get along with, intelligent without being the least bit cocky. Bernie had informed Jim that Patterson held a B.S. degree in Criminal Justice, as did she, which didn’t surprise him in the least. He figured Bernie probably also had, as he had, gone through the ten-week program at the FBI National Academy in Quantico. Besides taking forensic classes, he’d learned something about management techniques during the course.
The four of them—Patterson, Hensley, Bernie and Jim—sat around in Jim’s office, everybody on their third cup of coffee and rehashed the situation.
“I think we can eliminate Kyle Preston,” Patterson said. “The guy’s a basket case. He’s been under a doctor’s care for over a week now, sedated a great deal of that time, and if I ever saw a grieving widower—”
“I agree,” Ron Hensley said. “But without the husband as a suspect, who does that leave us with?”
“It leaves us with nobody,” Patterson replied. “At least for tonight. But somebody knows something, even if they think they don’t. It’s our job to dig deep until we come up with a workable scenario. Some nut job kidnapped Stephanie Preston, raped and tortured her for two weeks, and then killed her. Was he some guy just passing through Adams County or has he lived here all his life? Did he have something personal against Stephanie? Or maybe against her husband or another family member? Or did she just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“And how was he able to kidnap her from the college campus without anyone noticing?” Bernie grimaced. “Where had he kept her for the past thirteen days? If he’s done this once, will he do it again?”
“Yes,” Jim said.
All eyes turned to him.
“Are you saying that, yes, he’ll do it again?” Bernie asked.
Jim nodded. “Is this the first case of its kind in the area that you know of?”
“What are you implying?” Hensley asked.
“You’re not thinking we’ve got the makings of a serial killer on our hands, are you, Captain?” Patterson asked.
“Oh, God.” Bernie cringed. “Whatever y’all do, don’t repeat that outside these four walls. If the phrase serial killer gets bandied about, we’ll have all-out panic on our hands.”
Even though Jim’s gut instincts told him that there was a possibility that the man who killed Stephanie would do it again and she might not have been his first victim, he wasn’t about to go out on a limb on his first day on the job. Not when he’d been wrong in the past and been slapped down for it. Not if the opinion of a seasoned ABI agent differed from his. He could always do some snooping around on his own, if he felt strongly enough about it once they had a few more facts.
“Aren’t you jumping to conclusions?” Hensley glowered at Jim. “Shouldn’t we wait on the official autopsy report and other forensic findings before we automatically assume anything about this case?”
“Nobody’s jumping to conclusions,” Patterson said. “And we’re not assuming anything. But every opinion counts. We can’t rule out anything at this point.” He turned to Jim. “It won’t hurt to check with neighboring counties to see if there’s been any similar murders. But if our killer is nomadic, it’ll make solving this case more difficult.”
Jim nodded. “I hate to bother her husband and her parents, but I think we should talk to them again and also take a look at her home.” Jim glanced at Bernie. “Maybe Sheriff Mays can help us with that.”
“You still think the husband might have done it?” Hensley asked.
“No, not really,” Jim said. “But it’s possible there’s something he or her parents haven’t told us.”
“Why would they have kept anything from us?” Hensley’s harsh gaze narrowed until his eyes were mere slits. “They were desperate to find Stephanie. They’d have done anything to—”
“I didn’t say they deliberately kept anything from us,” Jim said. “But the husband and the parents were under unbearable emotional stress and could have easily forgotten something or dismissed something they thought insignificant. Didn’t y’all mention that the husband’s been sedated for a good part of the past seven or eight days?”
“I see what you’re getting at,” Bernie said. “And you’re right. I’ll contact Ed first thing in the morning and arrange for us to talk to Stephanie’s husband and her parents and get Kyle Preston’s permission to search the house.”
“He’ll think he’s under suspicion,” Hensley said. “Even if he’s innocent, he’s liable to clam up and hire a lawyer.”
“Not if we handle things right.” Agent Patterson glanced at Jim. “We have no reason to suspect the husband and he needs to know that up fron
t. But if he refuses to allow us to search his house, well …”
Bernie glanced at her watch. Twenty till eleven. “It’s getting late. Why don’t we call it a night, get some sleep and start fresh first thing in the morning?”
“Sounds good to me.” Patterson rose from his chair.
Hensley got up and stretched. “Agent Patterson, do you need a ride to the hotel or do you have your car with you?”
“I think I’ll walk back to the hotel. It’s not that far and it’s a nice night. Besides, I do my best thinking when I take leisurely walks.”
Hensley nodded, shook Patterson’s hand and said good night to Bernie and then to Jim before heading for the door.
Patterson shook hands with Jim and Bernie. “Is seven in the morning too early for you two?”
“Seven’s fine,” Jim and Bernie replied in unison, then looked at each other and grinned.
A silly little phrase popped into Jim’s mind. Two fools here and two more coming. How many times had he heard his father use that expression whenever two people said the same thing at exactly the same time?
As soon as Patterson left, Bernie picked up the empty Styrofoam coffee cups scattered about the room and threw them into the garbage. Jim turned off the coffeemaker, picked up the glass pot and took it into the adjoining bathroom. He emptied the remainder of the coffee into the sink, rinsed out the pot and brought it back into his office.
“You didn’t have much to say about this case,” Bernie said.
“There’s not much to say at this point. We don’t have the official autopsy or—”
“What’s the official autopsy from DFS going to tell us that we don’t already know? Morris examined the body at the scene and told us she’d apparently been raped and tortured, and the cause of death was obvious—somebody slit her throat.”
“There’s more to it than the autopsy. Patterson hasn’t heard back from his crime scene unit yet.”
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