Cathy draped the lightweight blanket around the girl, then curved her arm over her shoulders and held her. “You’re not alone, Missy. I’m here. I’ll help you get through this.”
Missy turned and looked directly at Cathy. “He’s dead.”
Cathy took a deep breath and glanced at the older medic, who nodded his head. “Yes, darling, he’s dead.” She gently stroked Missy’s back, massaging her soothingly.
“I’m glad he’s dead.” Missy trembled uncontrollably. “I’ve thought about killing him so many times, but I just couldn’t work up the courage to do it.”
Cathy’s breath tightened in her throat. My God! Had Missy just confessed to killing her father?
Chapter Twenty-seven
Cathy rode in the ambulance with Missy, holding her hand all the way to the hospital. Dunmore General was a county facility with an excellent emergency room and a small psychiatric unit. From her home to the hospital, Missy clung to Cathy’s hand as if it were a lifeline. She kept talking, often incoherently, about her father. Some of her ramblings made sense, some didn’t. But from what Cathy could make out, Donnie Hovater had not been the man everyone believed him to be. His daughter’s accusations painted a very ugly picture of the minister.
“I begged him not to,” Missy kept saying over and over again. “He wouldn’t stop. I hated it. I hated him. I’m glad he’s dead.”
“Hush, sweetie, hush.” Cathy had known that with every word she spoke, Missy cast suspicion on herself, not just as her father’s murderer but as the Fire and Brimstone Killer. She didn’t believe this battered little girl was capable of such brutality, but when pushed beyond the limits of endurance, everyone was capable of just about anything.
The doctor admitted Missy to the psychiatric unit of Dunmore General after an initial examination and a brief questioning by Mike and Jack. But when the nurse started to wheel Missy away, she screamed for Cathy not to leave her. With the attending physician’s permission, Cathy was allowed to go with Missy.
Jack accompanied them, but once Missy was settled, he left the room after giving Cathy a quick good-bye kiss.
“How much trouble are you in for taking me to the murder scene with you tonight?” she asked as he started to close the door.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“I’m sorry. I know I promised to stay out of the way, but when I saw Missy and realized what bad shape she was in, I knew I had to do something.”
“It’s okay, honey. Mike didn’t take more than a couple of inches off my hide. And you did what you had to do, what’s your nature to do. You comforted a young girl in pain.”
“Do you have to go?”
“Yeah, I need to get back to the scene of the crime,” Jack explained. “Mike’s called in the task force, so the ABI unit could arrive at any time.”
“Missy did not kill her father.”
“Let’s hope not,” Jack said. “I hate to leave you here, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Jack had left several hours ago, and Cathy had been sitting at Missy’s bedside ever since. She stood up and slipped out of the room while Missy slept. For nearly an hour after Missy fell asleep, she had continued to clasp Cathy’s hand, and whenever Cathy moved, Missy’s eyelids fluttered in a fretful manner.
Cathy went straight to the nurse’s station and asked where she could go to use her cell phone.
“There’s a small waiting room down the hall on your right. You can use your phone there or use the hospital phone that’s provided for visitors.”
The waiting area was a room approximately twelve by twelve with one vinyl sofa and half a dozen chairs. Cathy slumped down on the sofa, opened her shoulder bag and retrieved her phone. She dialed Jack’s number. He answered on the fourth ring.
“Hey, honey, how’s it going?” he asked.
“Missy is finally sleeping. They had to give her another injection about an hour ago,” Cathy said. “Are you still at the crime scene?”
“No, we finished up there about half an hour ago and left it to the CSI team from the state. Morgan is calling a task-force meeting for eight o’clock, so we’re going over the preliminary evidence on the Hovater case right now.”
“Can you tell me if there is any evidence against Missy?”
“Honey, you know I can’t—”
“I know. Sorry I asked. I’m just so worried about her. If half of what she’s been saying is true, Donnie raped her repeatedly for years.” Cathy drew in a shaky breath, doing her best not to cry.
“Cathy?”
“Hmm?”
“Call Elliott Floyd and either have him or someone he recommends handle the legal stuff for Missy,” Jack said.
“You think she’ll need a lawyer?”
“Do it as a precaution. After all, she practically confessed in front of witnesses. Even if it turns out that there is no physical evidence against her, she’ll be questioned, and for that alone, a good lawyer at her side won’t hurt.”
“I’ll call Elliott at six,” Cathy said as she checked her watch. Ten till five. But first she had to make another phone call.
“As soon as the task-force meeting ends, I’ll try to get away and come by the hospital to pick you up. If you’re ready to leave before I get there, call Lorie.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sorry, honey. I’m used to giving orders. I know you’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself.”
“I am, but I kind of like your being concerned about me. Shows you care.”
“Oh, I care. I care a whole hell of a lot.”
“Jack?”
“Yeah, honey?”
“Donnie was the killer’s fifth victim. Y’all have to find this person and stop him before he kills again.”
“We’re trying.”
As soon as they said their good-byes, Cathy sat there and stared at her phone, wondering if she should make the call she wanted to make. After all, she didn’t know for certain that Lorie’s suspicions had any basis in fact. Just because Lorie had told Cathy that she suspected Ruth Ann had been sexually abused as a young girl didn’t mean she actually had been.
“Do you remember when the Whitmore girl was raped by her uncle a few years back?” Lorie had asked Cathy. “Well, Ruth Ann took an unusual interest in the case. She even went to court every day during the trial. And from some of the offhand comments she made, I put two and two together and came up with the obvious—that she’d been a victim of abuse when she was a kid.”
If Ruth Ann had been sexually abused as a young girl, who better to help Missy than another survivor? But what if she made the phone call and Lorie was wrong about her cousin’s wife?
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
She would wait until 5:45 to call Ruth Ann, and then at six she’d phone Elliott. In the meantime, she decided to go downstairs to the twenty-four-hour snack bar and get a cup of coffee and maybe a candy bar out of the machines.
Derek Lawrence had arrived before the others. And after being told about the things Missy Hovater had said at the scene and later in the ER, both times with witnesses present, and her reaction to her father’s murder, he’d immediately put together a scenario with Missy as the killer.
“She wouldn’t be the first girl to kill her abuser,” Derek said. “Let’s say this guy has been raping her for years, possibly since she was a little girl. She’s been powerless to stop him. She’s had to endure the pain, the shame and degradation and the feelings of helplessness for years. Finally she snaps and decides to fight back. She sees all ministers as evil because of her father’s actions, so she takes it upon herself to punish them.”
“Why not start with killing her father?” Wayne Morgan asked. “Why kill four other ministers first?”
Derek shrugged. “Any number of reasons. Possibly to throw suspicion off herself when she did kill her father. Or it could be that she wanted to test her method—death by fire.”
“Or it could be that Missy Hovater is just an innocent victim,�
� Jack said.
“Yes, that, too, is possible,” Derek agreed. “But from what you’ve told me, she was at home when her father was killed, and she didn’t call 911 when she saw him burning to death. Neighbors heard his screams and made the call. And they found Missy sitting on the porch steps. Apparently, she had sat there and watched him burn.”
“That’s total conjecture,” Mike said. “No one knows what she did or didn’t do, only that when the neighbors first saw her, she was sitting on the steps mumbling to herself and when anyone tried to approach her, she started screaming.”
“She was traumatized,” Derek suggested.
“Traumatized by having witnessed her father’s murder or traumatized by having committed the murder?” Mike asked.
“Take your pick,” Derek replied.
“No one saw Donnie Hovater being doused with gasoline and set on fire, unless his daughter didn’t do it and she witnessed the event,” Morgan said. “I take it that she was in no condition to be questioned?” He looked straight at Jack.
“No, sir. After her initial examination in the ER, she was given a sedative and sent straight to the psych unit on the fourth floor. We were given strict instructions not to question her without her doctor’s consent.”
“Do you have a guard posted at her door?” Morgan directed that question to Mike.
“No. It didn’t seem necessary. The psych unit is locked down twenty-four-seven and has its own guards on duty around the clock.”
“I’d get somebody over there ASAP,” Morgan said. “We’ll want to question her as soon as the doctor gives us the green light. And keep somebody there until we figure out if we’ve got any evidence that we can use to charge Missy Hovater.”
“All right. I’ll handle that now.”
“Wait,” Morgan called to Mike. “Did y’all find a lighter at the scene? Did y’all search Missy Hovater?”
“Nope,” Mike replied. “We didn’t find anything. No lighter. No matches. And we didn’t search Missy because the child was wearing nothing but a gown, a gown with no pockets.”
Morgan nodded. Then, when Mike quietly left his office, Jack offered Morgan a cup of coffee, which he accepted. “Want any more?” he asked Derek, who shook his head, declining a second cup.
“How old is Missy Hovater?” Morgan asked as he brought the mug of coffee to his lips.
“Seventeen,” Jack replied. “Why do you ask?”
“The Fire and Brimstone Killer’s victims have been spread out over the middle of North Alabama,” Derek said. “This means he or she had to have a means of transportation to get to the victims. An educated guess would be that he or she drove their own vehicle, and driving a vehicle would require a driver’s license.”
Jack rubbed his chin. “My guess—educated or not—is that Missy Hovater did not possess a driver’s license nearly twenty months ago when Mark Cantrell was killed. The Hovaters didn’t live here in Dunmore when Cantrell was murdered, and as far as we’re aware, Missy Hovater didn’t know Mark Cantrell.”
“Good points,” Derek said. “Let’s say that Missy isn’t the Fire and Brimstone Killer. It’s still possible that she killed her father.”
“You mean a copycat killing.” Jack hated to admit that the same thought had crossed his mind. What better way to get rid of an abusive father than to murder him and blame his death on an unknown serial killer?
Cathy checked on Missy periodically over the next couple of hours and was glad that the medication had helped her rest.
“She’ll probably sleep another hour or so,” the nurse had told Cathy. “You might want to take this opportunity to go down to the cafeteria for breakfast.”
“Thanks, I’ll grab a bite later.”
When she left Missy’s room, she paused when she saw the uniformed deputy sitting in a folding chair outside the door.
He stood up the moment he saw her. “Good morning, ma’am.”
“Good morning.” She glanced at his name tag. “Deputy Glenn. May I ask why you’ve been posted outside Missy’s door?”
“Sheriff Birkett’s orders, ma’am.”
“Oh, I see.” She offered him a halfhearted smile before heading down the hall toward the waiting room.
She pulled from her pants pocket the piece of paper on which she had jotted down a name and telephone number earlier this morning. Elliott Floyd had recommended a Chattanooga law firm to represent Missy.
“I’ll call him myself,” Elliott had offered, “and fill him in on the situation. Give me until around eight-thirty, then call his private number and work out the details with him yourself.”
The waiting area was no longer empty. An elderly couple sat in the corner, haggard expressions on their lined faces. When she entered the room, they glanced her way. Then the man returned to reading the newspaper and the woman to her knitting.
Cathy made her way to the private nook near the windows overlooking the roof of the one-story ER, a 1980s addition to the hospital. She removed her phone from her purse, checked her wristwatch—8:35—and carefully dialed the number Elliott had given her.
He answered on the third ring. “Camden Hendrix here.”
“Mr. Hendrix, this is Catherine Cantrell. Elliott Floyd called you earlier this morning and—”
“Yes, Ms. Cantrell, Elliott filled me in on the case. Have the authorities tried to question Ms. Hovater?”
“No, not really, but they have posted a deputy outside her hospital room.”
“I see. Okay, give me the name and phone number for the hospital, then her doctor’s name, the one in charge of her there in the psych ward. I don’t want anyone questioning her until after I’ve spoken to her.”
“Then you’ll represent Missy?”
“If Elliott Floyd asks me for a favor, I usually comply.”
“Thank you. I don’t know what your usual fee is, but—”
“I’m not holding you responsible for the bill, Ms. Cantrell. Elliott explained your involvement. I’ll represent Ms. Hovater pro bono. As I said, as a favor to Elliott. That, and I hate the thought of a young girl being victimized by her own father.”
“Again, thank you, Mr. Hendrix.”
“I’ll try to rearrange my schedule so that I can be in Dunmore by sometime this afternoon. It’s only a two-and-a-half-hour drive from Chattanooga.”
Dial tone. End of conversation. She didn’t know Camden Hendrix, but Elliott Floyd had sung the man’s praises.
“He’s the best of the best. The man never loses a case.”
Cathy slipped her phone back into her purse and left the waiting room. Just as she approached the nurse’s station, she saw Ruth Ann Harper coming up the hall, directly from the elevator. She threw up her hand and waved. Ruth Ann walked straight to Cathy.
“Thank you for coming.”
“How is Missy?” Ruth Ann asked.
“She was still sleeping when I left to make a phone call.”
“You said that they’re keeping her sedated.”
“That’s right.”
“Will they allow me to go in and see her?”
“Yes. I’ve already spoken to the nurses, and they’ve gotten in touch with Dr. Morrison. I also explained that you’re a close family friend. And I told a small white lie. I told them that Missy had asked for you.”
“I don’t know if I can help her. I’m afraid I might say the wrong thing.”
“She needs someone who understands what she’s been through.” Cathy’s gaze locked with Ruth Ann’s. She saw the realization in the other woman’s eyes.
“How did you know about me?” Ruth Ann asked.
“Know about…?”
“Don’t pretend with me, please. When you called me, I suspected you knew something, and just now, when you said what you did about Missy needing someone who understands what she’s been through, I knew for sure.”
“I don’t know anything about your past,” Cathy said. “It was Lorie. She picked up on some things you said a few years ago, and…well, she
told me that you’d taken a special interest in the Whitmore girl’s rape case.”
“And here I thought I hid my feelings so well that no one would ever suspect anything.”
“Look, Ruth Ann, whatever did or didn’t happen to you is none of my business. I neither want nor need to know. The only reason I called you is because I hoped you could help Missy.”
“A long time ago, someone helped me,” Ruth Ann said. “I guess it’s past time for me to do the same. I’ll talk to Missy and do whatever I can to help her.”
Cathy grasped Ruth Ann’s hand. “Thank you.”
“Would you take me to her?”
“Come on. Her room is just down the hall.”
When they entered Missy’s room, they found her awake and restless, her slender young body curled into a trembling fetal ball.
“I thought you’d left and weren’t coming back.” Missy held out her hand to Cathy, who rushed forward and took the girl’s unsteady hand.
“There’s someone here to see you,” Cathy said.
“I don’t want to see anyone.” Missy looked at her visitor and turned away. “No, please, no.”
“What happened to you was not your fault,” Ruth Ann said in a soft voice as she approached Missy’s bed. “You’re not to blame. Do you hear me?”
“I am. He told me I wanted him to do what he did. He told me that I tempted him.”
Ruth Ann and Cathy exchanged glances, both of them consumed with sympathy for the abused child. And that’s what Missy was, just a girl of seventeen, close to the same age as their own children.
Missy cried quietly, her entire body shaking with the force of her almost-silent sobs.
Ruth Ann paused beside the bed. “What your father did to you was not your fault. He was sick, and what he did to you was wrong. Believe me, I understand how you feel.”
“How could you possibly understand?” Missy asked, her voice quavering with emotion.
Ruth Ann laid her hand gently on Missy’s back. “Because when I was a young girl, my father raped me repeatedly, from the time I was ten years old until the night he died.”
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