The Burning Girls: A completely gripping crime thriller packed with heart-pounding twists (Detective Ellie Reeves Book 3)

by Rita Herron

  Derrick’s anger threatened to take hold as he looked at Ellie’s battered face.

  “Let me take you home and you can shower. I’ll go question Hoyt again and then pick up food.”

  “The shower can wait,” Ellie said. “I’ll look at the files while you question Hoyt. If he manipulated Weatherby’s mind, maybe he knows who’s next on the hit list.”

  The parade and festivities in the town were winding down, the vendors packing up for the evening, yet the fireworks show remained. Night had set in, people parking on the lawn in lounge chairs in anticipation of the fireworks and the concert on the square.

  Pulling into the parking spot in front of the police station, Derrick was determined to take care of Ellie. She might be right about Weatherby coming for her mother. But he might be coming for Ellie instead.

  Together they entered the police station, and Ellie stopped to speak to Deputy Landrum who’d been tasked with babysitting the station while everyone else worked the case.

  Snagging the keys to the cell, Derrick walked to the holding cells while Ellie went to her office.

  Rage at Hoyt fueled him, and he hurried to the cell. The lights were dim, and there was the sound of something rhythmic, like a tapping against the wall.

  Since Rigdon had been moved to the psych hospital for evaluation and treatment, Hoyt was in the back alone. Derrick’s boots sounded on the concrete floor as the scent of sweat and piss wafted toward him. When had the damn cells last been cleaned?

  The quiet was almost eerie, as if the place was empty. But as he reached the cell, he saw the source of the sound.

  Hoyt hanging from the bed sheet, his body swinging back and forth, banging against the wall.

  154

  Ellie opened her desk, removed a bottle of painkillers, popped two in her mouth and washed them down with a big chug of water. She set the box Ms. Eula had given her on the table in the corner and perched on the edge of the loveseat to study the files.

  Just as Ms. Eula claimed, there were sordid snapshots of her husband, much younger then, engaged in sex with young women who appeared to be drugged or asleep. Sickened at the sight, she had to inhale to keep from getting sick.

  She spread the photographs out, narrowing her eyes as she identified Agnes Curtis and Janie Huntington. She found a file on each woman detailing the sleep study, their reactions to the medication, with Hangar’s scrawled writing describing that he’d chosen them because they were most susceptible to the drug.

  It was like lightning had struck when I teamed up with Lewis Hoyt. The sleep study was the perfect venue for what we both wanted.

  It all started years ago, though, when I met Mabel. Mabel was so beautiful, with her sandy blond hair, big green eyes and curves that would take your breath away when she walked into the room. She lived in an apartment next to campus. I used a college lab for my research and would scour campus for suitable young women. I couldn’t help but watch her. She was so young and beautiful and kind to everyone. She had everything Eula had lost.

  One night at a bar, I saw the sparkle in her eyes when she looked at me and thought she wanted me. But when I tried to kiss her, she shoved me away. I thought she was just playing hard to get, that she needed to loosen up, so I slipped a drug into Mabel’s drink and watched as it took effect. Then I walked her home.

  But she didn’t take well to the drug. She started hallucinating. I just meant to calm her, to soothe her fears, but once I touched her, I couldn’t stop myself. I’d wanted her for so long.

  Three weeks later, she was still hallucinating. And she was pregnant. That’s when I knew I had to do something. I didn’t think anyone would believe her, but I couldn’t risk that chance.

  The notes stopped abruptly, but there were more photos—older, faded, not taken in a clinic. She was sure one of them was of Wanda Morely. There was also a young Hispanic woman. Isabella, Angelica’s mother?

  Ellie’s pulse clamored as she searched the box for more pages, for some sense of what had happened to Mabel, but there was nothing until, right at the bottom of the box, she found a picture of woman that matched Mabel’s description. And Ellie’s own. Furious, she snatched up the photographs, rushed from her office and through the double doors to the jail cell.

  She was damn well going to make Hoyt talk.

  155

  North Georgia State Hospital

  Mabel clutched her baby girl to her, shushing her as she rocked her in her arms. She’d known he would come for her one day. Come back and try to take her little girl away.

  She would die before she let that happen.

  Tonight, just as she’d tried to get the baby to sleep, she’d seen him. It had been years, but she recognized that dark evil look in his eyes.

  The door squeaked open and the nursing assistant appeared with her night pills and water. Mabel gently laid her infant in the crib, dug the two pills from the cup and popped them in her mouth. She made a show of swallowing hard, then stuck out her tongue for inspection

  “Good girl,” the nursing assistant said. “Sleep tight, Mabel.”

  Mabel faked a yawn and closed her eyes, grateful the woman hustled from the room to finish her rounds. As soon as the door closed, she spit the pills into her hand, then carried them to the toilet and flushed them. Quickly, she retrieved the thin piece of metal she’d pried from the broken springs in her mattress, crawled in bed and waited.

  Ticktock. Ticktock. That damn clock drove her insane. But sometimes it was the only way she knew if it was night or day. She begged to take her little girl out into the gardens for a stroll, and sometimes they obliged. It was a reward for taking her meds.

  Other times when they found she’d spit them in the toilet or the plants in the solarium, she was punished and locked inside the room for days.

  Ticktock. Ticktock. The clock struck ten o’clock. Time for all the lights to be out. Time for the crazies to sleep, the workers to gather in the break room and eat doughnuts and Little Debbie cakes and make fun of the patients.

  She watched the clock, waiting, waiting, counting the minutes. By eleven, it was quiet in the halls.

  Slipping from bed, she quickly dressed then jammed the tip of the metal wire into the door. She wiggled and twisted, but the lock didn’t budge. Blowing hair from her face, she stooped to her knees and tried again. It was hard seeing in the dark, but she didn’t dare turn on the light. That would bring the nurse back, or worse, one of the guards.

  She bent the tip of the wire again and tried once more. She pricked her finger and blood dripped from the tip, but she wiped it on her clothes and jiggled the door as she twisted the metal and maneuvered it in the lock.

  Finally she heard the sound of a pop.

  She held her breath, listening to make sure no one was outside. Thankful for the silence, she hurried to the crib, scooped her daughter into her arms, then slowly opened the door, peering left and right. Empty.

  A voice echoed down the corridor, and she froze, praying as she waited. Finally, the footsteps faded, indicating whoever it was had disappeared down the hall. She tiptoed down the hall in the opposite direction, then around the corner, stopping at every turn to make sure the hall was empty.

  She’d seen the custodian’s entrance and exit on one of her walks to the treatment room—she shuddered at the memory of that—and she made her way there. Easing into the stairwell, she pushed at the door, rushing outside.

  An alarm trilled, sending her heart racing, and she began to run. The hot night air blasted as she hurried down the steps. The parking lot was on the opposite side of the building. Maybe she could make a break for it. Someone might have left their keys in their car.

  But there were cameras out there. And if she set off one of the car alarms, they’d catch her.

  The woods were her only choice. Shivering at the thought of getting lost in the thickets of the forest, she hesitated. But she didn’t have an option.

  156

  Crooked Creek

  “You are not goin
g to take the fucking easy way out,” Derrick growled as he jumped onto the prison cot and grabbed Hoyt’s body to pull him down.

  The man struggled, kicking at Derrick and coughing as he tried to tighten the knot around his neck. “Let me go! I’m not going to prison.”

  Ellie came barreling down the hall. “What the hell?”

  “Help me,” Derrick shouted. “There’s a knife in my pocket.”

  No matter how hard Hoyt kicked out at him, Derrick held tight.

  Ellie raced into the cell, dug in his pocket and pulled it out. While he kept Hoyt steady to keep him from choking, Ellie cut the sheet and ripped it away from Hoyt’s neck.

  The man coughed and struggled, his arms flailing as Derrick dragged him down. They fell to the floor, Hoyt still trying to resist, but Ellie shook him.

  “Give it up, Hoyt,” Ellie yelled. “You can still do the right thing here.”

  He finally went still, his breath sputtering out as he gasped for a breath.

  157

  Hoyt looked at Derrick in panic. “She’s crazy. You’re not going to let her force me into confessing to something I didn’t do, are you?”

  “Innocent men don’t try to hang themselves.” Derrick gave him a cold stare. “If I were you, I’d talk.”

  “I want my lawyer,” Hoyt screeched.

  “Your lawyer can’t save you,” Ellie snapped. “It’s over, Hoyt. We already know most everything. You and Dr. Hangar worked together on the sleep study.” She shoved him against the wall. “He raped several women while they were under the influence of the drug, and you conducted mind experiments. Rigdon and Weatherby were both susceptible,” she continued. “Just what were you trying to do with that study?”

  “It was for the military,” Hoyt spat, finally relenting. “We were trying to create men who could kill without remorse.”

  “And it worked. Rigdon became a sniper. What about Weatherby? He’s a fireman.”

  “Not back then,” Hoyt admitted. “He was military also. When he got out, he decided to join the fire department.”

  “And he became your hitman,” Ellie concluded.

  “You have no proof of that,” Hoyt barked. “They don’t remember anything that happened. I made sure of that.”

  “What triggers Weatherby to kill? Does he have a hit list?”

  Hoyt shifted then nodded. “His smart watch. I call it and when he hears the sound of the clock ticking, it’s his cue. I… also planted suggestions, memories in his head so he believes that he took part in the sexual assault. At the time, it was cutting edge.”

  Ellie jerked him by the collar, sickened by his depravity. “He’s still out there and going after someone else. And this is personal to me.”

  “What do you mean personal?”

  She leaned forward, her voice filled with calm rage. “One of the women he assaulted was my mother.” One by one, Ellie picked up the photographs Hangar had kept, naming them. “Wanda Morely. Agnes Curtis. Janie Huntington.” Her breath puffed out angrily. “And then there’s Gillian Roach. You see, she handled my adoption. Worked with all these women.”

  She swallowed hard. “But why Katie Lee? And how did you know that any of them contacted Gillian?” The man looked away. Ellie gripped his collar tighter. “If you want to be saved from the death penalty, you’d better talk.”

  He scrubbed a hand down his face. “All right, all right. I kept tabs on all of my subjects and Hangar’s victims just to be on the safe side. Ike told me that Josiah mentioned that Katie Lee was asking questions. We both knew his wife Agnes didn’t have the guts to come forward, but her daughter was nosy. And she and Janie Huntington’s son were friends, so they were stirring up a hornets’ nest. So was that reporter who started it all by contacting the Roach woman.”

  “Reverend Ike was part of this?” Ellie asked.

  He nodded. “The three of us went way back.”

  “What about Gillian?”

  “I don’t think she knew at the time what had happened, but when Vanessa Morely reached out and Angelica called her, she got suspicious. She called me asking questions.”

  “So you had to silence her.” Ellie was going to nail Reverend Ike’s ass to the wall and enjoy doing it. Another nod. “What about Vanessa’s mother? She died suspiciously in childbirth.”

  Hoyt hung his head. “That was Ernie. When she decided to keep her baby, he panicked. Decided he had to do something. His entire career would be ruined if he was exposed.”

  Ellie shoved him backward and slapped her hands on the table. “As it should have been! But you and Ike and Hangar thought you were above the law and entitled. You are disgusting, and you and the good reverend are going to rot in prison.”

  Furious, she showed him another picture. This one was old and grainy, of a young dark-blond woman, taken in a bedroom. “I think this is my mother and that she was one of Hangar’s victims. That’s why Gillian Roach took files from her office. And you found out. Now tell me her full name.”

  Hoyt started to protest, but Derrick folded his arms across his chest. “You ordered hits on these women and Gillian Roach just to save your reputation. And this woman is next on the list, isn’t she?”

  Ellie pulled her gun and placed the barrel between the man’s eyes. “Tell me her name.”

  “Mabel M-Morgan,” he finally spat.

  “Where is she?” Ellie growled.

  “She went crazy,” Hoyt said. “I never knew her, but Hangar talked about her. Said he’d watched her for weeks. He met her at a bar and thought she was into him, but when he made an advance, she pushed him away. He thought she was playing hard to get so he drugged her and… then she got pregnant.”

  “She’s still alive?”

  Hoyt gave a short nod, his breathing raspy.

  “Where is she?” Ellie asked again.

  “She had a psychotic breakdown and he had her admitted to the state hospital. She had the baby there, and the state put the child into foster care.

  “What was the baby’s name?”

  “Mae,” Hoyt said. “She was named after her mother.”

  158

  North Georgia State Hospital

  Hoyt finally admitted that he’d overseen Mabel’s care while at the hospital to make sure she never remembered what had happened. Ellie wanted to kill him. But making him suffer in prison for the rest of his life would have to do.

  A call to the facility and she learned Mabel was alive.

  Fury at Dr. Hangar and his cohorts made it difficult for Ellie to breathe as she looked up at the mental hospital where she and Derrick had been on a previous investigation. The ancient stone structure looked like a gothic castle straight out of a horror movie.

  As they walked up the stone path to the door, they both scanned the property. Max Weatherby had a head start on them. If he was after Mabel, he might already be here.

  They went straight to the security desk when they entered, the chilling concrete walls a reminder that patients were locked inside like a prison. Mabel had been stuck here for life, all because of Hangar.

  She hated him with every fiber of her being.

  Ellie introduced herself and Derrick at the desk. “As I explained over the phone, Mabel Morgan may be in danger. Where is her room?”

  The guard and desk nurse exchanged nervous looks.

  “What’s going on?” Ellie asked.

  “The alarm at the custodian’s exit went off. We’re trying to reach him to see if he forgot to use his key card.”

  Ellie’s pulse jumped. “Can you show us Mae’s room?”

  The nurse clenched her phone. “There’s a night-shift doctor, but I’ll also call the doctor in charge of Mabel’s care.”

  “Of course.” Impatience nagged at Ellie as she waited for the nurse to make the call. Seconds ticked by. The building seemed unusually quiet tonight, but Ellie knew the walls were soundproofed to drown out the screams and cries that could haunt this place.

  “Dr. Buckley is twenty minutes out,” the nu
rse said. “She can meet you here in the morning.”

  “We can’t wait until then,” Ellie said. “We need to make sure Mabel is safe tonight.”

  The nurse still seemed hesitant but gestured to the guard to escort them to Mabel’s room. The walk through the dimly lit, high-ceilinged halls gave Ellie a chill. The guard led them through a set of locked doors then down another hall until they reached room number 2121.

  Ellie’s chest ached at the thought of Mabel Morgan being drugged and assaulted, then being shut in this facility for most of her life. Mabel had been a victim, and no one had even known.

  Pulling keys from his belt, the guard went to unlock the door, but the moment he touched the knob, the door creaked open. Alarm shot across his face as he stepped inside, and Ellie looked past him to see that the room was empty.

  159

  Mabel ducked behind a tree, searching all around her as she hugged her baby in her arms. The moon slanted through the treetops and across the woods in a soft glow. Leaves rustled, and twigs snapped as something darted through the forest. Thunder popped in the inky sky, raindrops splashed her.

  Terrified the man had come for her, she hugged her daughter tighter to protect her from the wind. Tears filled her eyes, trickling down her cheeks as panic seized her.

  You’re so stupid, Mabel. How can you get away when you have no idea where you are?

  But what else could she do except run? No one in the hospital would believe her if she told them she thought someone was after her. They never had before.

  She couldn’t give up. Clenching her daughter to her, she dashed through the woods. If she made it to the river maybe she could find a boat somewhere to take her downstream.

  She hadn’t been past the gardens since she’d come to live here, though, and had no idea which direction the town would be. And she’d heard others talking about the electric fence and barbed wire surrounding the property.