He’d had a few uneasy moments when the team led by R.B. Granger reported in late this afternoon from the general vicinity of where Abby was waiting for him. Of course, not even the former sheriff was smart enough to figure out his perfect hiding place.
By the time he’d be able to risk going to her—probably tomorrow night—she would not only be hungry, but she’d probably be filthy. He’d have to change the bed linens, and then bathe her before they made love for the first time. Of course, this morning, when he had deposited her in their little love nest and while she’d still been unconscious from the chloroform, he had touched her and kissed her and …
Just thinking about jerking off, his semen spewing out all over her naked belly, aroused him. He had to stop thinking about her, about all the delicious things they would do together, or one of the guys was bound to ask him what he was doing walking around with a hard-on.
Bernie took a quick shower in her mom’s bathroom, then slipped into clean jeans and a tank top her mother had laid out for her. Brenda Granger thought of everything. Having a key to both Bernie’s house and Jim’s duplex had allowed her to send Robyn and Raymond to both places to pick up a change of clothes for each of them. Her mother was nothing if not organized and efficient.
When Bernie entered the kitchen, she found Jim at the round table, wolfing down a plate of summer vegetables and cornbread. Robyn and Raymond sat at the table with him, each of them nursing a glass of sweet iced tea. Brenda, who sat at the bar, and Robyn were chattering back and forth about everything and anything except Abby Miller’s disappearance. Raymond remained as quite as a mouse, his dark eyes focused on Robyn.
Poor guy. He’s got it bad. And he’s actually happy that Robyn is leading him around by the nose. Maybe Jim’s right—Raymond just might be the perfect man for my sister.
The moment Brenda saw Bernie, she slid off the bar stool and hurried over to the stove. “I’ve kept your plate warm. Sit down, dear,” she ordered, then glanced at Robyn. “Get your sister a glass of tea.”
Robyn obeyed her mother instantly. By the time Bernie sat down across from Jim, her mother had removed her meal from the oven and set the warm plate in front of her. Then Robyn placed a tall glass of iced tea on the table.
Standing behind Bernie, Robyn gripped her sister’s tense shoulders. “You need a massage.” She kneaded Bernie’s neck and shoulders, eliciting a groan from Bernie.
“You’re killing me, but don’t stop,” Bernie said.
“Dad called about ten minutes ago,” Robyn said while she continued the massage. “He’ll be home by ten. A couple of search teams are going to continue throughout the night, but most of them are calling it quits until daylight.” Robyn ended the massage, then gave Bernie’s shoulders a hard squeeze.
“Jim’s been telling us that Brett Dennison is still unconscious,” Brenda said. “That poor boy. His parents are such good people. Brett’s engaged, you know, to Melissa Anderson. They’re planning a Christmas wedding at the church.” Tears flooded Brenda’s eyes.
“Mom …” Robyn turned and hugged her mother.
“I know. I know.” Brenda wiped her eyes with the edge of her lace apron. “I was the sheriff’s wife for thirty years and now I’m the sheriff’s mother. You’d think that after all these years, I wouldn’t allow things like this to upset me so, but I swear, we’ve never had to face anything like this … nothing so horrible. When I think about what might be happening to Abby right this minute—”
“Mother!”
“Oh, Lord, I’m sorry, but this whole Secret Admirer killer stuff has me so nervous. It’s got every dark-haired woman in the whole county scared to death.”
“We should let Bernie and Jim eat in peace, Mom.” Robyn grabbed Brenda’s arm and tactfully led her out of the kitchen.
Raymond scooted back his chair and stood. “I’ll go see if Robyn needs me.”
Alone in the kitchen, Bernie and Jim glanced at each other, but neither of them said anything. What was there to say at this point? They sat there and ate in silence. Despite how much she usually loved her mother’s cooking, especially fresh summer vegetables prepared as only Brenda Granger could prepare them, Bernie had to force down every bite. Like her mother, she couldn’t stop her mind from wandering into dangerous territory—into the land of imagine the worst. Where was Abby Miller right this minute? And what was happening to her?
Bernie moaned softly as images of Abby’s nude body appeared in her mind. Dried blood created a half moon across her neck and droplets of bright red blood dripped from her nipples.
“Don’t,” Jim said roughly. “Stop it, right now. Do you hear me?”
“He’s going to rape her and torture her and then kill her,” Bernie said. “And there’s not a damn thing we can do to stop him.”
Jim shoved back his chair, got up and went over to Bernie. He dropped down on his haunches in front of her, dragged her chair from the table and pulled her into his arms. She went without protest, resting her head on his shoulder and doing her damnedest not to cry. Jim eased her to her feet as she stood up, all the while keeping her wrapped in his embrace.
He rested his chin against her temple. “You need some rest.” Without any warning, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her out of the kitchen.
After the initial shock wore off, Bernie draped her arm around Jim’s neck. She thought about telling him to put her down, that she didn’t need him to take care of her, that she was perfectly capable of walking to her old bedroom upstairs. But she was too tired, too weak and much too comfortable in Jim’s arms to voice a word of protest.
When Jim passed by the living room as he headed for the staircase, Brenda, Robyn, and Raymond all stared at them with keen interest.
“What’s wrong with Bernie?” Brenda cried.
“She’s tired,” Jim replied. “So I’m taking her upstairs and putting her to bed.”
“Oh.” Brenda smiled.
Bernie closed her eyes and blocked out everything and everyone as Jim carried her up the stairs. This moment was to be savored, to be enjoyed.
“Which room?” he asked.
“Second one on the right. It’s a guest bedroom now.”
Jim shoved the door open, carried Bernie over to the bed and deposited her gently on the far side; then he removed her shoes and socks and set them on the floor. She closed her eyes and sighed. A couple of minutes later, she felt the other side of the bed give a little. Her eyes shot open. Jim lay there beside her.
“Go to sleep, honey,” he told her. “I’ll wake you in a few hours.”
“Are you staying here with me?”
“Yeah, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.”
He closed his eyes. They lay there, breathing steadily, not touching, not talking. Then after a few minutes, Jim turned on his side and draped his big arm across Bernie’s waist.
Abby had no idea where she was, what time it was or why he had left her alone here in this dark, dismal, underground room.
This is where he’d kept Stephanie Preston before he killed her. And Thomasina Hardy had probably been shackled to this same bed.
Oh, God, help me!
Had Stephanie begged God for mercy? Had Thomasina pleaded for her life?
Damn him. I will not let him kill me. I’ll fight him. I’ll claw him and hit him and …
Ron, where are you? Why haven’t you found me? You promised me that I’d be safe. You told me to trust you.
This wasn’t Ron’s fault. He had no way of knowing the identity of the killer.
No one would ever suspect him. He was the last person on earth she’d have ever thought of as a sadistic killer. She had trusted him, just as she felt certain Stephanie and Thomasina had. As everyone in Adams Landing did.
Abby struggled against the ankle chain that bound her, forcing the metal to dig into her flesh. The pain radiated from her ankle up and through her whole body. She clamped her teeth together and endured the pain as she tried harder and
harder to free herself.
Finally exhausted, her ankle bleeding, she accepted the fact that she could not escape, couldn’t move beyond a few feet from the bed, just far enough to reach the sink, but not the commode or the shower. She would have to lie here like a caged animal and wait for her captor’s return. She was hungry and needed to pee. Again. She’d already wet herself twice, and the stench of her own urine overpowered the metallic scent of her blood.
Despite the condition you’re in, be thankful. When he comes back, you don’t know what he’ll do to you. Prepare yourself to endure whatever happens, no matter how terrible. Survival is all that matters.
Chapter 24
Abby Miller’s nude body was found by hikers near a campsite at Adams County Park fifteen days after she disappeared from her home. Like the Secret Admirer killer’s other victims, she had been repeatedly raped and tortured before her abductor slit her throat, probably with the same knife he’d used at least nine other times. Jim was now convinced, more than ever, that Abby was the madman’s tenth victim and twenty-one-year-old Heather Stevens had been his first victim nearly seven years ago.
Jim had spoken to Bernie this morning, shortly before she left home to attend Abby’s funeral. The entire town of Adams Landing was in mourning, the whole county shocked and outraged over the third murder that had shattered their quiet, peaceful, safe lives. He wished he could be in two places at once so that he could stand at Bernie’s side today. She needed all the moral support she could get. She not only felt overwhelmed by a great sense of responsibility to the citizens who had elected her, but there were rumblings throughout the county that if R.B. was still sheriff, the killer would be behind bars by now. As much as Bernie might need him today, Jim felt certain that what he was doing now would, in the long run, prove more beneficial in solving the case that, up to this point, had proved unsolvable.
As he parked his rental car on the street in front of Hilary Etheridge’s home in Greenville, South Carolina, Jim thought about his brief telephone conversation with his boss. Only two months ago, he had dreaded leaving Memphis to live and work in Adams Landing. Now, he realized that making that particular move had probably been the smartest thing he’d ever done. He and Kevin were building a true father/son relationship, and he had formed a friendship with Bernie Granger that meant more to him than he liked to admit.
“I’ve given Ron a one-month leave of absence,” Bernie had said. “He doesn’t want to take it, but—”
“You can’t let him make that decision. He’s in no shape to work. You did the right thing. He needs some time off to mourn and get his head straight.”
“I know. It’s just I worry that I’ll wind up having to put him in jail for interfering in this case. He’s sworn he’ll keep searching for Abby’s killer, whether or not he’s officially on the case.”
“Have R.B. talk to him. And if that doesn’t work, lock his ass up for a few days.”
“Ron’s not our only problem.”
“Are you saying everything’s fallen apart since I’ve been gone? Honey, it’s been less than twenty-four hours since I left.”
She hadn’t laughed, but in his mind’s eye, he could see her smiling. “I told you that you were needed here.”
“What else is wrong?”
“Brandon Kelley has hired himself a lawyer. He says he’s sick and tired of being harassed every time a new body shows up.”
“That was to be expected,” Jim had told her. “If I’d known all three victims the way Dr. Kelley did, I’d have already hired myself a lawyer.”
“Mmm … yeah, I know. So, are you going to talk to Heather Stevens’s family today?”
“Her father is dead and her mother refused to talk to me. But she has a younger sister. I spoke to her last night and she’s agreed to see me this morning.”
“Good luck, Jim. I hope you find out something that can help us before our killer chooses his next victim.”
Jim didn’t know what he’d find out from Heather’s sister, if anything. He had no idea what he was looking for, but his gut instincts told him that the answer to all their questions about the Secret Admirer killer were here in Greenville. He felt certain that Heather Stevens was the key to unlocking the mystery.
Hilary Stevens Etheridge had been seventeen when her twenty-one-year-old sister Heather was murdered. The lead detective on Heather’s case, Hal Shepard, had met with Jim late yesterday at the police station and had pulled strings to get copies made of the old files. Jim had spent half the night going over those files, reading and rereading the information, hoping something would give him a clue to the identity of Heather’s killer. After nearly seven years, the case was still unsolved, as was the murder of Heather’s best friend, Shannon Elmore, which occured a year later, here in Greenville.
Jim got out of the rental car, locked it and walked up the sidewalk to the neat two-story brick house in a new, upscale neighborhood. The Stevens family had money and social standing in the community, as did Kyle Etheridge, the man Hilary had married two years ago. If the police could have solved Heather’s murder case, they would have. Her family had used all their influence to pressure local law enforcement.
Jim rang the doorbell and waited. Several minutes later, an attractive young woman, obviously very pregnant, opened the door.
“Mrs. Etheridge?”
“Yes.” She offered him a fragile smile. “And you’re Captain Norton?”
He nodded.
“Please come in.”
He followed her from the foyer into the twenty-by-twenty living room and took the seat she indicated on the sleek, modern sofa. She eased her rotund body into a large, overstuffed chair and placed her hands beneath her protruding belly.
“I appreciate your talking to me,” Jim said.
“If what you say is true—that the person who killed Heather has gone on to kill nine more women—” Her voice cracked. She twined her fingers together.
“I’ve spoken to former police captain Hal Shepard,” Jim said. “He’s gone over the case with me and I’ve scoured the records, searching for anything that might help me.”
“But you found nothing.”
“Yeah.”
“In the end, the police concluded that Heather had been kidnapped, raped and murdered by some transient crazy who moved on right after the murder.”
“No one in her family, none of her friends or acquaintances knew of anyone who had something against Heather, right?” Jim asked.
“That’s right. My sister was very popular in high school and college and well liked by everybody. She was bright and beautiful and—” Hilary swallowed her tears.
“Are you saying she didn’t have any enemies, no one who was jealous of her? No old boyfriend who might not have been able to accept that she had someone new in her life?”
Hilary looked directly at Jim. “Of course, there were girls jealous of her. All the girls envied her. There wasn’t a brunette at Leighton Prep who didn’t want to be one of the Sable Girls. But a woman didn’t rape and murder my sister. And as for old boyfriends …” Hilary shook her head. “If you read the police files, you know that Captain Shepard questioned all of Heather’s old boyfriends and not one was ever a suspect.”
“What’s a Sable Girl?” Jim asked.
Hilary smiled. “Oh, that was a very exclusive little club that Heather created, just for her and a few of her best friends who were also brunettes. She formed the group her junior year, when she was sixteen.”
Jim’s gut tightened. “How many members were there in the Sable Girls club?”
“Oh my, I’m not sure. It was years ago. Not many. Four or five, I think, counting Heather.” Hilary laughed. “I did so want to grow up to be a Sable Girl.” She ran her fingers through her silky red hair. “But I’m afraid I didn’t possess the right color hair.”
“Would you mind trying to remember exactly how many members there were and what their names were?” Realizing his tone of voice bordered on badgering, he added, �
��Please.”
“Oh, yes … well, let me see. There was Heather and Shannon, of course.”
“Shannon Elmore.”
Hilary frowned. “She was murdered, too, and for a while we thought … The police could never prove the two murders were related. Shannon was killed over a year later, and although there were similarities …” Hilary took a deep breath. “But you already know all this, don’t you?”
Jim nodded. “Can you recall the names of any of the other girls in Heather’s exclusive little club?”
“I’m not sure. You know people from out of state send their kids to Leighton Prep. It’s one of the most prestigious private schools in the Southeast.”
“Give me a first name, a description … anything.”
“There was a girl from Tennessee. I can’t remember her name. She didn’t graduate from Leighton Prep. For some reason, she left at the end of her junior year.”
“Was her name Courtney Pettus?”
“It could have been. I only met her once … at Heather’s birthday party, and there were hundreds of people there.”
“Does the name Sara Hayes sound familiar?”
“Hmm … Sara Hayes has a familiar ring to it. I’m pretty sure one of the Sable Girls was named Sara, but I’m not sure about the last name. She graduated with Heather, but they went off to different colleges.” Hilary pinned him with a sharp glare. “Why are you asking me questions about the Sable Girls?”
“Just curious. Grasping at straws.” Jim rose to his feet. “I don’t suppose you have a yearbook from Leighton Prep, do you? One from your sister’s junior year?”
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t, but Mother may have kept Heather’s yearbooks.”
“Do you think you might be able to get your hands on a copy and send it to me?”
“Why do you—?”
“If you thought it might help to catch your sister’s killer, would you send me a copy of that yearbook?”
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