Never Look Back

by Mary Burton

  This time the girl’s little hand connected with Melina’s with a hard smack. “Good job. See you all soon.”

  “Can we do bubbles?” Elena said.

  Ramsey nodded. “I’ll get a case of them.”

  Elena smiled.

  Melina was grateful Ramsey was driving. Her nerves were shot, and she did not release the breath she was holding until they pulled out of her parents’ neighborhood.

  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “Outstanding,” she said.

  “It’s understandable that Bonnie upset you.”

  “I’ve been living with Bonnie leaving me on the roadside since I was five years old. Don’t worry about me.”

  “On the positive side, I like your parents.”

  None of the other agents had met her parents. “I’ve always kept a firm line between my private and professional lives. Now that line is blurring.”

  “Both your parents look like they can take care of themselves.”

  “Dad’s in his late sixties. He’s recovering from a fall off a ladder he had no business being on.”

  “How’s he handling retirement?”

  “Getting old sucks, but he’s tough.”

  “Yeah. I could see that. He misses the excitement of the job. He’s not worried about going to the mat or pulling his weapon. But he’s worried about you, your mother, and Elena.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “He sees that. But he wants to be needed by you and your mother.”

  “How would you know? You’re the lone wolf type.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Not by choice, but the job gets in the way.”

  She was one to talk. She shared her morning coffee with the neighbor’s cat. “Does that bother you?”

  “It never did until recently.”

  The car grew silent.

  “Your parents look like they’re bonding with Elena,” he said.

  “If Mom has it her way, Elena is going to be a part of their home for good.” Melina had been replaced, but in a good way. Her parents needed that little girl as much as Elena needed them.

  “You really okay?” he asked.

  The stress and adrenaline spike had pricked the underside of her skin. “Hearing Bonnie talk about Elena and love in the same breath churns up memories. When I was a kid, I must have thought she did love me.”

  “Maybe she did. But self-preservation runs deep in Bonnie Guthrie.”

  “Maybe she did love me enough to keep me out of foster care. But she’s not the kind of mother who deals with a difficult child well for long.” This was a conversation she should have had with her adopted mother, but oddly it was easier to share with a near stranger. “Bonnie was lying when she said I got out of the car on the side of the road and ran off.”

  “She doesn’t want a child abandonment case on top of everything else.”

  “She is a survivor, first and foremost.”

  “She was surprised when you mentioned the call from the diner,” he said. “She recovered pretty quickly, but it was there.”

  “I saw that, too.” She watched as the houses moved past her and the residential road fed into a bigger one. “She’s protecting Sonny. And he’s still the little boy who wanted Bonnie to love him. Love and need tangled up and knotted in a tight ball with anger,” she said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Thursday, August 27, 8:00 p.m.

  Ramsey drove, feeling Melina sink deeper into her thoughts as she sat in silence. He rifled through his best comforting words of wisdom, but they all fell short of the mark. He wanted to help her but did not know how.

  Her phone rang and she sat forward, clearing her throat before saying, “Agent Shepard.”

  He noted a shift in Melina’s body language as she tilted her body forward.

  “Text me the address. We’re on our way.”

  In a blink, her melancholy mood had vanished, and he was glad she sounded more like herself. “What is it?”

  “911 call came in at 7:15 p.m. A woman reported a break-in. The officer who visited her realized this wasn’t an ordinary B and E. The intruder drew a warm bath and left behind a pair of garden shears.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, looks like Bonnie is pressing Sonny’s buttons.”

  Ramsey increased his speed and rerouted to the new address. The home was very similar in construction to the last victim’s house. One story. Brick.

  “I have Sandra Wallace’s DMV picture,” Melina said.

  He glanced at the picture. Wallace was thirty-eight, blond, and buxom. “Our guy is sticking to his pattern.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  Out of the car, Ramsey followed Melina up the front steps and into the house. They were met by an officer at the front door who introduced them to Sandra Wallace. She could have been Bonnie Guthrie’s younger sister.

  “We came as soon as we heard,” Ramsey said. “Can you walk us through the evening? When did you arrive home?”

  “It’s like I told the other cop. I came in the door with my guy and saw a light on in the bathroom. My friend went to look and found the tub full and the window open.”

  “Who is your guy?” Melina asked.

  “His name is Perry Nelson. I met him at the club last night.”

  “What club?” Melina asked.

  Sandra tucked a curl behind her ear. “Red’s Saloon.”

  “Red’s?” Ramsey asked. “On Union Street?”

  “Yeah,” Sandra said. “I’m a bartender there.”

  It was not coincidental that their other victim had spent time at Red’s. “Have you known Perry long?” he asked.

  Sandra shook her head. “No, and after tonight, I don’t care if I ever see him again.”

  “Why is that?” Melina said.

  “He got real freaked out when he saw the shears. Thought I had something kinky planned for him. I tried to tell him I had nothing to do with it, but he wouldn’t listen. He split.”

  “Do you have his contact information?” Ramsey asked.

  “I know where to find him. He’s a bartender down the street at the Boot ’n’ Scoot.”

  “He leaves and then what?” Melina asked.

  “I called the cops. Then I sat in my room, cradled a baseball bat, and tried not to lose my shit.”

  “When did the police arrive?” Ramsey asked.

  “Pretty quickly. They seemed interested when I told them about the shears. And I didn’t touch anything while I was waiting. Your boys in the forensic van just showed up about a half hour ago. And now I got FBI and TBI in my living room. What the hell is going on?”

  “Evidence suggests that a person we’re looking for may have broken into your house,” Melina said.

  “What gave it away, the tub or the shears?” Sandra asked.

  Instead of answering, Ramsey fired back with, “Was there anyone else in the bar last night who might have chatted you up or suggested a date?”

  “Sure. There are always a few guys each night. Flirting helps with tips, and every so often I do like to spend a little one-on-one time with the cute ones.”

  “Other than Perry, was there anyone else?” Melina pressed. “Someone who made an impression.”

  “There was a guy. Real cute. I thought we might hook up. But he didn’t come back today.”

  “Did he have a name?” Melina asked.

  Sandra chewed her fingernail as she tried to recall. “I don’t remember. It was real busy that night.”

  “What did he look like?” Ramsey asked.

  “Good looking. Kind of tall like you. Strong build.”

  “Caucasian, African American, Hispanic?” Melina asked.

  “He was a white guy. I’d say in his midthirties.”

  “And this was the night before?” Ramsey asked.

  “That’s right. The bar has security cameras if that helps.”

  “It could a great deal,” Ramsey said.

  “If we don’t get a clear picture of him,
would you meet with a sketch artist?” Melina asked.

  “Yeah, I guess. Who the hell is this guy? I mean, should I be worried?”

  “We haven’t quite figured that out yet,” Melina said. “But we think he’s very dangerous.”

  Sandra looked toward the bathroom where a technician was dusting the doorknob for prints. “What’s the deal with the shears?”

  “Still working on that,” Ramsey said, dodging the question. “Mind if we have a look around the house?”

  “Be my guest.”

  When they had arrived at the last crime scene, much of the water had all but drained from the tub. Now they had a chance to see this killer’s ritualistic room setup firsthand.

  Both Ramsey and Melina pulled on latex gloves and stood at the threshold of the bathroom. A large claw-foot tub that appeared original dominated the room. Black and white tiled floor, a small pedestal sink, and a mirror that covered a medicine chest set into the wall.

  The space was fairly large considering the house could not be more than twelve hundred square feet. There was a window that opened onto a small backyard ringed with trees.

  There was no way Sonny would have known about the tub and the room’s setup unless he had done some kind of reconnaissance.

  “He went out the window,” the tech said. “I looked outside and there’s a print below. Looks like a men’s size ten sports shoe. But other than the shoe impression, there doesn’t appear to be much evidence. The shears are old and may give us something. After I’ve made impressions of the blades, I will pull them apart and see if there’s traces of blood.”

  “Thank you,” Ramsey said.

  He left the techs to their data collection and walked through the house. It was not a cozy setup. The furniture was threadbare and covered in stains. There were discarded wrappers and used plates on the coffee table and in the kitchen sink. And by the back and front doors, piles of shoes lay haphazardly about. However, the bathroom was relatively clean and organized.

  Melina came up behind and the two walked silently out the front door and around the back of the house. Both moved toward the yellow-tented markers indicating a trail of footprints that led toward the woods.

  “He was here. He preplanned his escape route,” he said.

  “A one-level house was a smart play for him. Multiple exit opportunities, especially if in a rush.”

  “He wasn’t expecting Sandra to have company,” he said, looking back toward the window. “But his preplanning saved him.”

  “If Sandra is remembering the right guy, then Sonny made contact with her,” Melina said. “But is it unusual for serial killers to have such a short downtime between murders?” she asked.

  “Sometimes. Some killers cluster their murders. A trigger sets them off and they kill until whatever is driving them is exorcised or they are caught. This killer’s confirmed murders were spaced years apart. Now he may have one confirmed murder with another attempted murder within two weeks.”

  “If we’re dealing with Sonny, and he does have a relationship with Bonnie, her arrival would be a serious stressor,” she said. “She’s doing her best to turn me inside out.”

  “Has she managed it?” Ramsey asked.

  She tilted her chin up. “Not quite.”

  “Good.” He drew in a breath, glad to hear the brittleness softening in her tone. He needed Melina focused. “If you’re a little off your game . . .”

  “I’m not.”

  “If you were, how would you react to Bonnie’s arrival?”

  “Anger, fear, and frustration are powerful motivators. If I were a little less controlled, I might have shot Bonnie an hour ago while she stood on my parents’ lawn with that shit-eating grin on her face.”

  Bonnie had the same effect on Sonny, only he followed through on his impulses. “Stress could have pushed him to kill again, and maybe this time he was rushed and wasn’t as deliberate as he is normally.”

  “There was no sign of sexual intercourse with Jennifer Brown,” she said.

  “Yet the scene we saw at Jennifer Brown’s had a sexual component to it.”

  “We have a killer who’s under more stress, and the cooling-off period between kills is shortening,” she said.

  “This failed attempt cannot be sitting well with him.”

  “He’ll strike again?”

  “He may already have,” he said.

  “Why not just kill Bonnie? Why all the surrogates?” she asked.

  “You know the answer. She holds power over him. He kills her and he really is alone.”

  “Mommy dearest.”

  “I’d say so,” he said.

  “What’re the chances that he’ll leave Nashville?” she asked. “Why not pull up stakes and leave?”

  “It’s like the Key Killer. The area is familiar. Creature of habit. Like us, they, too, want to keep the stress in check.”

  “We need to locate the bail bondsman who put up bail for Bonnie. He should have some record of who reached out to him.”

  Sonny stood across the street from the small house, standing behind a privacy fence in a neighbor’s yard. He watched as the cops escorted Sandra to her car. An officer placed a suitcase in her trunk.

  He should not have delayed taking Sandra. That extra night he had been distracted by Bonnie had nearly gotten him caught.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  Bonnie had taught him planning was the difference between the pros and amateurs. Prison was full of lazy cons doing it on the fly.

  He closed his eyes, pushing down a primal urge to kill. Bonnie had hammered the rules over and over.

  And then she had done the unforgiveable. She had gotten sloppy and decided just like that to take a credit card from a regular customer at a bar where she worked. The guy had been too drunk to notice the missing card, until he had sobered up.

  She had not even used the card for stuff they needed. Instead, she had gone on a shopping spree that included designer shoes, handbags, and dresses. She’d left such an obvious trail that even the dumbest cop could have found her. She had been taken away in handcuffs five days after she’d purchased $8,000 worth of useless shit.

  Only sixteen, he had been so damn scared. Sonny knew she was going to do serious jail time when he arrived at the San Diego Central Jail. As he waded through the people, he tried to crush down the waves of panic crashing over him. When he saw her in the booth waiting to talk to him, he nearly cried.

  “How did this happen?” His voice was a ragged whisper.

  “Sorry, baby,” she said.

  “Sorry!” he said.

  She frowned, doing her best imitation of contrition. “I didn’t think about you. I know that. Did you talk to the bail bondsman?”

  “The judge found out about your priors. There are also outstanding arrest warrants out for you.”

  “I’ll beat this.”

  “You didn’t get bail,” he said. “The cops mean business this time. No slap on the wrist.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll get out. All you have to do is keep that key safe. And when I’m free, we’ll get the cash I put aside and go on a real vacation. You can even pick where we go.”

  “Did you do this on purpose?” he demanded.

  “Why would I want to be here?”

  “You said yourself you were tired of bartending and going legit.”

  “I was doing that for you, so you could go to school.”

  He sat back, staring at her, wishing he could hug her even as he wanted to curse her out. “This is your way to check out of my life, isn’t it?”

  “That’s not true.”

  The buzz of conversation in the visiting room was drowned out by his pulse thrumming in his temple. His vision narrowed and his palms sweat. Fuck. She was doing her version of leaving him on the side of the road.

  It had been a long time since he had felt that raw kind of fear. And shame on him, it was not the last time Bonnie would sweep into his life and make a fool out of him.

  Fuck he
r.

  She would not use him again. He would use her and all the others like her. He deserved to be fucking loved.

  He inched back from the fence, feeling as if the noose were tightening around his neck. It was not the cops he was worried about, but Melina. She was smart, cunning like him, and no one could possibly understand him better than she. They were cut from the same cloth.

  He jogged to the back fence, slipped through the gate, and carefully relocked it before getting into his car.

  How many times had he sworn he would never ask Bonnie for help? How many vows had he made to never, ever trust any of her “deals”? And yet here he was, wanting what she was offering.

  But this time, it would be different. He was different.

  Maybe he could have his clean slate with Bonnie. He was sorry that fresh start would not include Melina. That dream had sustained him for years. But dreams had to change. Life went on.

  Getting back with Bonnie and Elena was all that mattered now.

  They were his future.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Friday, August 28, 1:00 a.m.

  Melina’s eyes stung from fatigue when she opened the front door of her town house.

  The surveillance footage from Sandra’s bar had arrived at her office shortly after nine, so she and Ramsey had ordered Chinese food and spent the evening eating stir-fried beef with mixed vegetables, shrimp fried rice, and egg rolls as they watched the footage.

  After an hour, she began to recognize the regulars at Red’s. Mr. Handlebar Mustache, Mr. Urban Cowboy, and Mr. Baseball Cap, as she now called them. They always entered the establishment around ten or eleven, and all had paid extra close attention to Sandra. Melina was able to grab a clean screenshot of the first two, but Mr. Baseball Cap kept his face turned from the camera.

  Both Ramsey and she studied this man. The night Jennifer Brown had last been seen in the bar, Mr. Baseball Cap had appeared briefly, and again he had been careful not to show his face.

  Melina dispatched several local detectives to canvass the surrounding retail outlets to see if they had cameras. Mr. Baseball Cap might have been careful in Red’s, but sooner or later he would have to let his guard down.