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There had to be something going on. He’d been mostly out of touch the past forty-eight hours. When he closed in on his prey, it was important that he not be distracted. Even a major homicide case wouldn’t explain why Bobbie would go to Weller. Whatever had happened, it had to be specific to a serial killer she believed Weller would know, and even then the FBI would likely insist any questions be funneled through their channels.
Nick glanced at his phone and resisted the temptation to call her. Five or six times in the past two months he’d pulled out the one video of her he’d kept and watched it just to hear her voice. The video had been made before her abduction by the Storyteller. She’d been in the backyard with her husband and child—the husband and child the Storyteller had stolen from her. Nick kicked himself every time he watched. What kind of fool was jealous of the life a dead man had lived? And yet, Nick watched the video over and over, the life depicted in those captured moments making him yearn for things he could never have.
“This is your life,” he reminded himself. There was no need to pretend otherwise. Feeling sorry for himself wouldn’t get the job done.
Nick made the trip across town to the low-rent motel he’d been staying at since his arrival in New Orleans. He backed into the parking slot directly in front of his door. Inside, the dark room smelled musty but it was cool and quiet, two things he required on a hunt. He closed the door and turned on the light.
The reports and photos he had gathered on the Executive Executioner lined one wall. He knew many things about Adele. Where she was born, where she’d lost her virginity, how she lured her prey. His research was always in hard copy. He didn’t have to worry about a housekeeper stumbling upon his work since he always made an arrangement with motel management. He cleaned up after himself and picked up fresh towels and linens at the front desk. There was some risk using this method but not nearly so much as leaving electronic tracks for his friends in the FBI to follow.
Now that the hunt was done, he would pack up his research, drive to some place well outside the city and burn the whole lot. But first he had to know why Bobbie had visited Weller.
He opened his laptop, entered the passcode and then searched the news for the Montgomery area. The first headline to top the Google search gave him the answer.
Seppuku-Style Killings Take the Lives of Wealthy Montgomery Couple
He read the story, noting that Bobbie was the lead detective on the case. According to the reporter’s inside source, the murders were carried out in the same MO as the Seppuku Killer from the last decade. Had to be nothing more than a copycat. But Bobbie having shown up to visit Weller after being assigned the case was far too big a coincidence to ignore.
Nick closed the laptop. If someone was trying to send him a message, he or she had known exactly how to get his attention.
He would shower, grab a few hours of sleep, and then he was going to Montgomery.
To Bobbie.
Five (#u022ee035-69f9-5715-ab13-603421c4398f)
Baptist Medical Center
Friday, October 21, 7:00 a.m.
Bobbie watched Sage Parker sleep. According to the uniform who’d just gone off duty, the boy had a bad night. Nightmares had disturbed his sleep. Bobbie’s heart went out to the child. No matter that his aunt had arrived yesterday to be with him, he was alone in a way every child feared. Both parents had been taken from him in one fell swoop; his sister was still missing. Every hour that passed diminished the expectation of finding her alive.
When she was twelve years old Bobbie lost her mother, but she’d had her father. Her father hadn’t passed away until she was in college, but his sudden death had been extremely difficult to accept. Not because she had loved him more than she had her mother, but because his death had been like losing her history. There was something intensely painful about losing the roots that bound you to this life. Sage Parker’s pain had only just begun.
She sighed, resisting the impulse to sweep a lock of light brown, very nearly blond, hair from his forehead. Freckles dotted his nose and cheeks. His fingernails were dirty from playing the way little boys play. Digging in the dirt and pocketing rocks were two of his favorite things to do, according to his aunt. He was a climber and had the broken collarbone to prove his fearlessness. He would need all the courage he owned to get through the next couple of years. His parents were gone, murdered. He’d have to leave his friends and all that he knew and move to Nashville, assuming his aunt was willing to take him, and start over again.
Then and there Bobbie silently made two promises to the kid. She would find his sister and she would get the person or persons responsible for devastating his life. His parents, no matter their sins, deserved justice. Sage deserved the ability to move forward without looking over his shoulder or wondering for the rest of his life.
Marla Lowery, his aunt, appeared at the door, her coffee cradled in both hands. Bobbie stood and, with one last look at the boy, walked toward the door.
“I thought I’d get some breakfast while he was resting,” Marla offered in explanation for her absence.
The officer on duty when Bobbie arrived had told her as much. The FBI agent had taken a break, as well. “I’m sure you’re exhausted.” Bobbie flashed a smile at the new uniform who’d come on shift a few minutes ago.
Marla peered into her coffee cup. “I’ve been thinking about what you asked me.”
Bobbie gestured to the hall and moved away from the door of Sage’s room. She preferred not to have him overhear anything that might upset him more than he was already. When they were a couple of yards away, she asked, “About Fern?”
Marla nodded. “My oldest said Fern has been at war with several students at her old school. She was...” Her voice stalled and her lips quivered. “Receiving a lot of hate messages on social media.”
Marla had three children, all girls. The oldest was about the same age as Fern. “How long have these problems with the other kids been going on?”
Based on her social media accounts, Fern had a love-hate relationship with most of her friends the past few months. She had made quite a list of enemies. Bobbie had interviewed her principals and teachers at both the old school and the new one. The sixteen-year-old’s recent behavior was completely at odds with the rest of her school experience. She had always been a straight-A student. Her teachers loved her, or at least they had until the real trouble started about three months ago. Fern’s behavior became erratic and angry outbursts were suddenly the norm. Her grade-point average slipped. She started to dress and speak differently as if she wanted to be someone else.
“My daughter said Fern confided that the school was threatening to expel her.”
Bobbie had learned as much from the school counselor. “Was there anyone in particular Fern couldn’t get along with?”
Marla shrugged. “I have no idea. I really can’t believe she changed so much. Six months ago she was the sweetest, most thoughtful girl you would ever meet. And so smart. Suddenly she was sporting all those body piercings and wearing black and using horrible language. I can’t imagine what happened to make her turn so rebellious and mean-spirited.” Her lips trembled and tears welled in her eyes. “Or maybe I can. God only knows what the kids have suffered with what their parents have been going through. I’m ashamed to say we’ve only seen them twice in the last year. Heather and Nigel were always so busy and then all the legal trouble started.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have allowed that much time to pass between visits.”
“We all get busy sometimes,” Bobbie offered. “You spoke to Heather regularly?”
“One of us called the other every three or four weeks. She never even hinted there were problems at home...beyond what’s in the news obviously.” She frowned. “Fern’s problems at school couldn’t be the reason for...this. These are children we’re talking about.” Her lips worked for a moment before she managed to say the rest. “You don’t think Fern or one of her classmates had anything to do with their deaths.”
Fern was missing. There was no sign of forced entry into the Parker home and no indication of foul play related to her disappearance, both of which didn’t look good. On top of that the girl had issues at home and at school. She wouldn’t be the first teenager to murder her parents, but Bobbie was relatively certain the killer wasn’t Fern or one of her friends. As true as that was she wasn’t prepared to pass along those conclusions yet. The bottom line was the students Fern angered had parents. There were few things more ferocious than a parent determined to protect his or her offspring.
“In truth it’s too early to say. We’ll operate under the assumption she’s a victim until we have evidence to suggest otherwise,” Bobbie hedged.
Randolph Weller’s words rang in her ears. She ignored that warning voice. She had an obligation to conduct the investigation of this case the same way she did all others. Weller’s input would not be a part of the process until she had reason to believe it held merit. The whole idea of a consortium of serial killers was over the top to say the least. She hadn’t decided whether or not he was playing her somehow.
“Six months ago I would have said there was no possibility Fern would be involved in anything like this.” Marla glanced at the door of her nephew’s room. “Now, I don’t know.” Her gaze rested on Bobbie’s once more. “Is it true that Heather was running a...sex service of some sort disguised as a dating service?”
Bobbie wanted to tread carefully there. “This investigation has a lot of unknowns, ma’am. We’re nowhere near ready to say who was doing what. Give us time to get the facts straight before we pass them along to you. Frankly, that aspect of the case is more the FBI’s purview.” The pain in Marla’s expression prompted Bobbie to add, “We both know that sometimes people do things they don’t want to do for reasons we might not readily see or understand.”
“The FBI questioned me about Nigel.” Marla shook her head as if trying to deny the ugliness. “I can’t believe he robbed all those people. We’ve known him for twenty years and he always seemed so nice. Heather never said a word.” She drew in a deep shuddering breath. “I’m just glad our parents didn’t live to see this.”
Bobbie understood Marla meant the illegal activities the Parkers were allegedly involved in and the vicious murders, not to mention a missing child. Whatever the age or the circumstances of death the truth was no parent wanted to survive a child. She knew this better than most.
A scream rent the air. Bobbie whipped around and rushed toward Sage’s room, her hand on the butt of her Glock. The uniform stationed at his door was already at his bedside.
As soon as Bobbie’s brain assimilated the fact that the boy was okay, she analyzed the scene. A male dressed in scrubs, a nurse she presumed, stood back from the end of the bed, his hands out to his sides, patient chart on the floor as if he’d dropped it. A plastic caddy that contained a blood pressure cuff and other medical tools sat on the foot of the bed. Sage was curled into a protective ball as close to the headboard as he could get, the sheet pulled up to his chin.
“I just need to take his vitals,” the obviously shaken man said, looking from Bobbie to the uniform.
“Let’s see your badge,” Bobbie ordered.
Marla hurried around the bed to comfort her nephew. “He’s been doing this since I got here. Every time a man enters the room, he gets upset.”
Thomas Brewer, LPN. Bobbie compared the photo to the man whose face was a couple shades paler than the one in the photo. A match. She passed the badge back to him. “Why don’t we have a female nurse take care of him?”
Brewer bent down and picked up the chart. “I’ll make a note in his chart. I don’t know why they didn’t do that already if this happened before.” He reached for the caddy and Sage gasped. His aunt made soothing sounds and smoothed his ruffled hair.
Bobbie nodded to the officer. He followed Brewer into the corridor and returned to his post. “You don’t need to be afraid, Sage. We’ll keep you safe.”
Brown eyes peered up at her. “That’s what my daddy said.”
Bobbie moved closer to the bed. She chose her words carefully. “Did something scare you before what happened while you were in the attic?”
He dropped his gaze to the sheet but he nodded. “The other day I was at home alone and someone came in the house.”
Bobbie’s instincts nudged her. “This is very important, Sage. Can you remember what day this happened?” She found herself holding her breath as she waited for his answer.
“Monday. Mrs. Snodgrass does the grocery shopping on Mondays. I was supposed to be at school.” He shrugged skinny shoulders. “There was a big test and I forgot to study.”
“So you decided to stay home?” Bobbie understood that feeling. After her mother died, she’d felt the need to hide from the big things like a test at school and the birthday party down the street. Her mother had always taken her homemade cookies to neighborhood parties. Bobbie hadn’t wanted to tell anyone who asked that her mother couldn’t bring cookies because she was buried in the graveyard by the church.
“But, Sage,” his aunt protested, “you’ve always made honor roll. You’ve never been afraid of a test.” Marla looked to Bobbie and shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes.
“Has someone at school been bothering you?” Bobbie remembered that part, too. Kids could be so damned cruel. Who you gonna tell, Bobbie Sue? Your momma’s dead. She could imagine the things said to Sage about his parents considering the exploits the news channels and social media had been reporting. His mother had likely been called a whore and his father a thief. The image of the letters painted on their foreheads swarmed in front of Bobbie’s eyes. Poor kid. The trouble had just begun for him and his sister—if she was still alive.
Sage nodded, but kept his gaze lowered. “Jacob Cook was calling my mom names. That’s why my sister was fighting with his sister all the time. A bunch of people were being mean to her and me.” He looked up at his aunt. “Is that why she ran away?”
A hit of adrenaline detonated in Bobbie’s veins. “Do you think your sister wanted to run away?”
Sage shrugged his skinny shoulders. “She promised she wouldn’t leave me. She said she’d take care of me if our parents went to prison. I guess she changed her mind.”
Bobbie and Marla exchanged a look. “Don’t worry about your sister. I’m certain she didn’t run away from you. We’ll find her,” his aunt promised.
Bobbie gave him a nod and a promise of her own. “That’s right and I’ll make sure Jacob Cook never bothers you again.” She had a feeling Fern’s recent behavior was not about drugs or some other self-destructive behavior. It was survival for her and her brother. “Tell me about what happened on Monday.”
“I was in my room building a Lego fort when I heard someone in the kitchen. I thought my mom had come home for lunch so I sneaked into the attic. I knew I’d be in big trouble.” His eyes grew rounder with each word.
“Are you sure it wasn’t your mom?” Bobbie’s pulse hammered with mounting anticipation. The sooner they had a break in this case the better. One theory was that the killer had staged the scene to muddle the investigation. If that wasn’t the case and this copycat was a serial killer, they could have more bodies all too soon, Fern Parker’s being one of them.
Sage nodded. “It was a man. He came into my parents’ room. I could hear him.”
“Could you see him?” Bobbie held her breath.
Sage shook his head no. “I only know it was a man ’cause I heard him cussing. He said bad words.”
Bobbie asked, “Did his voice sound like your father’s or like mine?”
“You’re a woman,” he said with a frown. “His voice sounded like my dad’s, but it wasn’t my dad. He said stuff like this—shit, damn it!” he repeated in an extra deep voice, and then he winced. “Sorry, but that’s what he said.”
“That’s okay,” Bobbie assured him. “Anything you tell me will be a big help. Are you certain you didn’t see him in your parents’ room?”
The boy nodded. The killer may have been laying out his game plan. Since the Seppuku Killer had murdered victims whom he considered to have shamed themselves, the Parkers’ recent notoriety was likely the motive for their murders. But what about Fern? There was no record of an abduction or a child victim in the Seppuku case. Not that Bobbie had found, anyway. Copycats often deviated somewhat from the original MOs but this one was quite a giant step. The range of vile things the killer may have done to Fern checked off in Bobbie’s head, made her stomach knot. Don’t let that girl be dead.
Sage jumped. Bobbie snapped her attention back to the present and followed his gaze to the door. The agent had returned and he and the MPD uniform were talking to a man in a white coat. She recognized the pediatrician in the lab coat and her heart rose into her throat. Charles Upchurch. Dr. Upchurch had been her little boy’s doctor.
She steeled herself for the encounter. She couldn’t keep avoiding the people who had known her before. “Don’t worry, Sage. Dr. Upchurch is a friend of mine. I know him really well. You don’t have to be afraid. Okay?”
The boy nodded, still looking uncertain.
“Have your aunt call me if you remember anything else. It’s really important that you do, okay?”
Sage nodded again, this time with obvious eagerness.
“Call me if you need anything,” Bobbie said to the aunt.
Since Marla already had Bobbie’s cell number, she moved into the corridor to speak with Dr. Upchurch. The hospital needed to ensure Sage was cared for by females for the duration of his stay and MPD would have to get female officers here to keep him secure. The more comfortable he was, the more likely he would remember something that might help the case.
Upchurch recognized her and smiled. “Bobbie, it’s good to see you.” He thrust out his hand. “How is...?” His voice trailed off and his expression fell as his mind filled in the events of the past year.
“Good to see you, too, Doctor.” She gave his hand a shake, then jerked her head toward the room. “Sage is having some anxiety with male strangers. I assured him he was safe with you, but...just so you know.”
“Got it.” Upchurch nodded. “I’ll see that the rest of his stay is comfortable. We’re running a few more tests just to be sure he’s okay. He vomited a couple of times last night but those incidents may have been related to anxiety.”
“Let me know,” Bobbie urged.
When the doctor remarked that she looked well, Bobbie thanked him and excused herself. She stepped a few feet away from the room and made the call to Lieutenant Owens to bring her up to speed on the Parker boy’s needs and what he’d told her. A female officer would replace the one on duty ASAP. After ensuring the officer on duty understood the new arrangements, Bobbie couldn’t get out of the hospital quickly enough. She took the stairs and headed for the maintenance exit to avoid the reporters loitering in the visitors’ parking lot. Plowing through the crowd and fending off their questions would be pointless. She had nothing she was authorized to share just yet. Fern’s picture was in every paper, on the internet and on the television news. Hotlines had been set up for callers who might have seen or heard anything useful. Marla Lowery had gone on the local news and offered an urgent plea for help as well as a reward for any information about her niece.
As true as it was that the passing hours lessened the likelihood of finding Fern still breathing, Bobbie intended to stay focused on the idea that she was alive out there somewhere and needed to be found.
Her right leg protested the hustle down the flights of stairs. The pain was a consistent reminder that she was lucky to be alive. She opened the door into the morning sun and headed across the asphalt to where she’d parked her car amid the vehicles belonging to hospital employees. The man leaning against her Challenger stopped her in her tracks and very nearly stopped her heart.
Nick Shade. The stranger who’d made such an impact on her at a time when she believed her life was over.
The blue button-down shirt stretched over his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up his muscled forearms, the well-worn jeans hugged his body. He wore black work boots as usual. His dark hair was a little shorter, not quite touching his collar now. The way he watched her as she approached startled her all over again, the same way it had the first time they met. There was just something about those dark eyes...as if he could see her thoughts, could sense her feelings.
“Good morning, Detective.”
That voice. His voice had haunted her well before he showed up at her door to tell her to stay out of his way in the hunt for the Storyteller. She hadn’t known at the time, but he had visited her in the hospital while she was in a coma recovering from her first encounter with the Storyteller. She’d been at her worst, refusing to fight for her life. She’d wanted to die. Come back, Detective Gentry. His words had somehow drawn her back to the land of the living.
She smiled, couldn’t help herself. “Morning.” What was he doing here? She hadn’t gotten around to calling him. “You’re about the last person I expected to run into today.”
He straightened away from her car. “We need to talk. Do you have a few minutes?”
Devine was back at CID lining up today’s interviews. She had a few minutes. “Sure.”
“Take a ride with me.”
She nodded. “All right.” He led the way to a midsize black Chevrolet truck. Beyond the illegal tint on the windows, the vehicle was fairly nondescript. “What happened to your car?”
He opened the passenger-side door for her. “I trade frequently.”
She opted not to mention that the routine was in all probability a smart move considering he hunted serial killers using methods that skirted the law more often than not. “Where’re we going?”
He slid behind the wheel. “No place in particular.”
As he pulled away from the hospital’s rear parking she studied his profile. Nick Shade was an attractive man and...as damaged as she was. He, too, had survived a ruthless serial killer—his own father. She doubted either of them would ever have a normal life. At least she had experienced a glimpse of what a real life was supposed to be. She would cherish those memories the rest of her days.
Would Nick ever allow himself to have that?
“You look good.”
His deep voice drew her back to the present. “Thanks.” It had taken her a long while to be able to accept a compliment. “You, too.”
Silence settled between them as he drove. Back in August they’d spent a lot of time exactly like this, driving and hoping they would find a lead that would break the Storyteller case. Nick had been there for her during those shattering days before and after her partner’s death. God she missed Newt.
