by Rita Herron
He kept his hands raised and slowly stood, his gaze latched onto hers.
“Turn around,” Ellie ordered.
He did as she said, his big body stiff as he allowed her to handcuff him. Once the cuffs were on, she wiped the blood from her lip with the back of her hand, then snagged her phone and called Derrick.
“Ellie?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I have Rigdon in custody. I’m bringing him in now.”
114
Crooked Creek Police Station
While Derrick waited on Ellie to bring Rigdon into the station, he dug deeper into the guy. He found no reports or evidence of arson in his background, and Rigdon’s age also posed a problem. He was early thirties now. There was no way he could have assaulted her mother.
He made a phone call to a former SEAL who had worked for the same private company after he left the navy. Derrick had known Flint Cornwall since high school, before they’d gone their separate ways. A year ago, he’d reconnected when Flint had testified in a federal case involving a corrupt judge.
“This is Derrick,” he said when the voicemail picked up. “I’ve got an important case and need some information. Please call me back ASAP.”
After examining the files from the Circle of Love, he had nothing new to add to the investigation, but he got the sense that the staff at the home had been on the up and up. There was nothing connecting them to the research facility or mention of a fertility clinic.
He wanted to find Ellie’s mother for her, but he didn’t have a name. Still, he listed the women who’d given birth to cross reference with girls at the home for further investigation.
Looking for more connections, he jotted down names of anyone the girls mentioned from the home or connected to it. Gillian Roach was a common thread, always following through on her duty of care to the young women. The hair on his nape prickled as he stumbled on another name.
Reverend Ike Jones.
Skimming more files, he discovered Reverend Ike regularly visited Circle of Love to counsel the girls and pray with them. He seemed to have taken Agnes under his wing, inviting her to join a small group from his church.
Derrick turned to his computer. A quick search and his hunch was right.
Just then his phone rang. “Hey, Flint, thank you for calling me back so quickly,” he said as he answered.
“You sounded like it was important.”
“It is. Have you seen the news about the case in Crooked Creek, Georgia where the victims were torched?”
“I have. Is that where you are now?”
“It is. We have a possible person of interest, a man named Ryder Rigdon. Former military sniper. He worked for the same contractor at the same time you did, too.”
Flint made a grumbling sound. “You know I don’t like to talk about that time.”
“I know, but Rigdon is a person of interest in the case.”
“Burning the bodies doesn’t fit with Rigdon. He was an excellent marksman. Iron-clad control. His kills were always a single bullet to the head. Clean, neat, no evidence left behind.”
Derrick paused. That may have been the case once, but Rigdon had lost control with Sarah.
115
Ellie pushed Rigdon through the police station, straight to an interrogation room.
“You’re wasting your time,” he said between clenched teeth. “I did not kill those women.”
“I’ll be back.” Ellie closed the door and left him to stew, debating whether she believed him or not. She’d seen the damage he’d done to Sarah, yet there was something in his vehement denial and his voice, raw with emotion, that made her question if he was a murderer. Yes, he’d been a sniper, and a SEAL. But snipers and special forces were trained to have control, to focus on their targets. To be in and out.
The crime scenes she’d witnessed didn’t fit with that control and discipline. A sniper would line up his target in his sightline, wait patiently for the right moment. Sometimes he was so far away from his target he not only had to calculate the target’s movement, but factor in wind speed, elevation, humidity and the parabolic movement of the bullet. When that moment came, he’d strike, usually sending a single bullet straight to his target’s heart or head. Simple, clean, no mess, instant death.
Then he would be gone, like a ghost in the night.
“Did he confess?” Derrick asked, meeting her in the hall.
Ellie huffed. “Actually, he admitted to beating up Sarah but didn’t cop to the other crimes. I know abusers usually apologize afterwards and can show remorse. They shower their spouses or girlfriends with gifts and flowers to make up for their behavior. But something about Rigdon seemed strange. Maybe he’s a sociopath or—”
“He’s telling the truth,” Derrick finished.
Ellie shrugged. “It’s possible. The burning of the bodies is still bothering me.”
“I agree. I spoke with a former SEAL and military contractor who knew Rigdon. Said he never varied his method, single shot to the brain. In and out, left no evidence he’d been at the crime scene. Torching the victims doesn’t fit.”
Ellie took a breath, frustrated.
“There’s more,” Derrick said, explaining about finding references to Reverend Ike. “Agnes Curtis met the reverend at Circle of Love when she was pregnant.”
“Interesting,” Ellie said. “Why don’t you take a stab at Rigdon while I talk to the Curtises again? They’re hiding more than the fact that Mr. Curtis was not Katie Lee’s father.”
Josiah and Agnes Curtis were embroiled in this up to their eyeballs. They had kept their secrets long enough. It was time she exposed them.
116
Pigeon Lake
Ellie did not intend to leave until she had some answers. It took three knocks before Mr. Curtis opened the door. His look of animosity was as blistering as the heat scorching the flowers and foliage outside.
“What are you doing here again?” he barked. “My family is in mourning.”
“Again, I’m truly sorry for your loss, but I have to talk to you and your wife. And I’m not going to leave until I do.” She pushed past him, calling Mrs. Curtis’s name as she strode inside.
“Mrs. Curtis, we need to talk.” In the kitchen, she found the woman pulling a pan of biscuits from the oven, pouring more heat into the stifling room.
Agnes yelped when she saw her, burning her fingers as she shoved the pan onto the stove.
Mr. Curtis stormed in, jerking his son by the neck of his T-shirt. “Go upstairs, Marty. This is adult conversation.”
Marty’s frightened look made Ellie wonder what had happened in this family after her last visit. The boy ducked his head down and hurried from the room, his sneakers pounding the stairs as he climbed them.
“I have uncovered some interesting information,” Ellie said. “During the course of the investigation into your daughter’s death and the recent murders in Bluff County, we traced a connection between the victims.” She watched as Mrs. Curtis sank into a kitchen chair and wiped her face with a kitchen towel.
“Is it okay if we discuss this in front of your husband or would you rather we talk alone?”
The woman dared a glance at her husband. “Josiah can stay.”
“You need to leave,” Mr. Curtis said. “My family wants to be alone.”
“That is not going to happen, sir. Not until I get some answers, because whoever killed your daughter may be responsible for multiple deaths. Now, I understand your need for privacy, and I will do my best to respect it, but I now know that Agnes and Janie Huntington both participated in a sleep study where they later claimed they were sexually assaulted. Upon learning about their pregnancies, they went to the Circle of Love home.” She inhaled, well aware Agnes was wilting deeper and deeper into her chair as she spoke.
“I want you to leave,” Mr. Curtis snarled. He reached inside the closet, where Ellie spotted a rifle.
“Do not do that, Mr. Curtis. If you pick up that gun, I will arrest you for threatening a polic
e officer and you will go to jail.”
“Josiah,” Agnes said in a muffled whisper. “Please, we don’t want violence in our home.”
The man’s thin frame stilled, and he lowered his hands by his sides. “Why are you doing this to my family?”
Ellie licked her dry lips. “Because I want to make sure whoever killed your precious daughter is brought to justice, and I believe the assaults and the murders are linked.” She relaxed slightly as he stepped away from the weapon. “I know Reverend Ike visited the Circle of Love and that you met him there, Mrs. Curtis. That someone hurt you a long time ago.”
The woman’s lower lip trembled, and she nodded, tears filling her eyes. “I was alone and pregnant. Reverend Ike promised to save me.”
“And he did that by introducing you to Josiah, didn’t he?” Ellie glanced at the husband. “You were trying to be a good man, weren’t you? You heard Agnes needed someone and you met her and maybe you even fell in love.”
“I did love her,” Josiah said. “I… did what Reverend Ike said. And I agreed to raise Agnes’s baby as my own.”
“And you did. But you couldn’t love her, could you? Every time you looked at her you saw the man who’d assaulted Agnes.” Just as her own mother might have thought about her if she’d kept her, she thought, stomach plummeting.
“Some of the other girls gave their babies away, but I couldn’t do that,” Agnes said in a whisper.
“Tell me about Katie Lee’s father,” Ellie urged.
Agnes wiped tears from her eyes while Mr. Curtis dropped his head into his hands.
“I… don’t know who he is,” she choked out. “I joined this sleep study like some of my friends, but the pills did something to me. I… had dreams, hallucinations. I don’t really remember things clearly.”
“What happened in those dreams?” Ellie asked softly.
Agnes clutched the counter. “I… someone was on top of me. And I couldn’t move or get up. But I didn’t know if it had actually happened, it felt like a dream.”
“Did you tell anyone what happened?” Ellie asked.
“I didn’t know for sure if it was real at the time. My memory was so blurry and confused. But a few weeks later, I realized it wasn’t just a dream or hallucination.”
“Because you were pregnant,” Ellie said.
The woman nodded, pressing a hand to her mouth.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Ellie said gently. “I really am. Did you consider going to the police and telling somebody then?”
Tears flowed down her face. “I was too ashamed. I… was afraid what my parents would do, so I ran away.”
“That’s when you went to the Circle of Love, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Agnes murmured. “They were so nice to me there.”
“And you met Gillian Roach there, didn’t you?” Ellie asked. “She talked to other girls about adoption and offered to help you.”
“I did, but I just couldn’t let my baby go. But now… she’s dead.” Her fingers trembled as she wiped at her damp cheeks.
Mr. Curtis looked up then, past his wife and out the window as if in spite of marrying her, he still felt shame.
“That’s why I’m here.” Ellie pulled a photograph of Rigdon from her phone and showed it to the woman. “Do you recognize this man? Did you ever see him hanging around Katie Lee?”
Agnes rubbed at her eyes and studied the picture, confusion clouding her expression. “No… do you think he’s the man who killed my daughter?”
“I don’t know.” Ellie angled it for the husband to see. “Mr. Curtis, do you recognize him?”
He took a quick look, his body rigid. “No, now I want you to leave. You’ve upset my wife enough.”
“One more question,” Ellie said. “What was the name of the doctor who treated you during the sleep study?”
Agnes glanced at her husband, then whispered the name Dr. Hangar.
Ellie squeezed her hand. “I know that was difficult. But for Katie Lee’s sake, I’m going to bring him in. And if he killed her, I’ll make him pay for what he’s done.”
117
“Tell me about this study,” Ellie said, refusing to leave until she’d got to the bottom of this. “How exactly did it go?”
Agnes wrung her hands together. “I was having insomnia and couldn’t focus on my studies, and I wanted to do well in my classes. So when Janie told me about the study, I signed up.”
“It was a new experimental sleeping pill that you took?” Ellie asked.
The woman nodded. “‘Z’, they were calling it.”
“What happened? Were you given it in the office and then monitored while taking it?”
“Yes, at first,” she answered. “They wanted to make sure we didn’t have any adverse reactions.”
“Did you experience any side effects?”
“No, for the first time in months, I fell asleep when I went to bed. It was great. No more tossing and turning. No more counting sheep. But after a couple of weeks, it stopped working. So they altered the dosage. That’s when I started having the nightmares. I dreamed someone was in my room at night and that a stranger came in while I was asleep at the clinic. I remember waking up crying and screaming. It seemed so real.”
The breath stalled in Ellie’s chest. “Were you alone when you woke up?”
Agnes pinched the bridge of her nose. “A nurse came in, told me I was having a reaction to the drug. That I’d been hallucinating.”
“What did Dr. Hangar say?”
“He said he would document my reaction and that I should drop out of the study.” She dared a glance at her husband again, whose eyes were blazing with anger.
Then she shriveled up and stopped talking.
118
Crooked Creek
Derrick read the message from Ellie confirming that Agnes Curtis had participated in the sleep study under Dr. Hangar. The Curtises both denied knowing or seeing Rigdon around their daughter, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t killed her. Someone could have paid him.
His hard-assed face in place, he set the folder containing photos of the victims on the table. The bare room with its single table, two chairs and white walls echoed with silence. Rigdon kept his cuffed hands in his lap but held his head high.
“Mr. Rigdon,” Derrick began as he spread the victims’ photographs on the table. “You know why you’re here?”
The big man averted his gaze as if he couldn’t tolerate looking at the gruesome pictures.
“Mr. Rigdon,” Derrick repeated. “Do you know why you’re here?”
“Yes, but I told that detective, I didn’t kill any of those women.” His voice thickened. “I never saw any of them before.”
“You were a sniper,” Derrick said. “Maybe you turned your contract work with private military firms into contract work for civilians.”
Rigdon shook his head in denial. “No, I left that life behind. At least I tried to.”
“What does that mean? Did someone approach you and offer you money to make these hits?”
“No,” Rigdon said vehemently. “I meant I left the military and my sniper kills behind. I… wanted to have a real life, but I had nightmares about it all.”
“Were you having a nightmare when you hurt Sarah?”
Pain streaked the man’s dark gray eyes. “I … don’t know what happened. But—”
“You think there’s an excuse for beating a woman nearly to death?”
Rigdon heaved a labored breath. “No.” He stared Derrick in the eyes. “I don’t know why I did it. I just lost control. It was like this voice in my head yelled at me to do it and I… I didn’t even see that it was Sarah. It was like it was someone else took over my body, like she was someone else.”
The man’s deep voice rang with sincerity.
“And who else would that be?” Derrick asked quietly.
Rigdon laid his hands on the table and looked at them. They were wide and scarred, his nails blunt. Those hands had a number o
f kills to their credit.
“You mentioned nightmares,” Derrick said. “Are you taking any medication for PTSD?”
Rigdon went still. Shame colored his face, then he muttered he was. “I’m not proud of it, but ever since I was a kid, I had trouble sleeping. Bad dreams, night terrors, walking in my sleep. By the time I finished high school, I was only sleeping about ten to fifteen hours a week. I… thought I was going crazy.”
“Go on,” Derrick said.
“I was desperate, so I went to a sleep clinic. A couple of the meds didn’t work for me, so they recommended a new research trial drug and I signed up for the study.”
Derrick’s pulse jumped.
“What was the name of the research facility?” Derrick asked, even though he already knew.
Rigdon twined his fingers together and Derrick noted the bruising where he’d hit Sarah. “Mountainside,” Rigdon said. “But one of the meds only made things worse. I had hallucinations.”
“Tell me about them.”
Rigdon clenched his hands into fists, the handcuffs rattling. “I saw images of myself killing people. Torturing men and women. It shook me up, so I got off the drug, but still kept having them, so I signed up for the military. Decided I could use those dark fantasies to good use by taking out enemies.”
“So you became a sniper?”
Rigdon nodded. “But after a while, I started having trouble concentrating. Some noises set me off and… my sergeant suggested I didn’t reenlist.”
Derrick showed no reaction, but his mind was racing. More than one woman in the study had been assaulted while under the influence of the drug.
Had something happened to Rigdon there, too?
119
Ticktock, ticktock.
The click sounded in his brain. The next name on the list. He was almost finished.
Except that detective was getting too close to the truth. And so was the fucking reporter. She was just as nosy as Ellie Reeves.