by Rita Herron
24.
Somewhere on the AT
They called him the Watcher.
He lived in the shadows of the forest, slipping from one dark corner to another. Searching. He’d been searching for a long time.
For answers. For the truth. For the bones.
He carried his burlap bag with him over his shoulder, his eyes trained on the rocky, nearly frozen ground. On the sounds around him. Squirrels foraging for food. Frogs croaking. The river water crashing onto the bank. A snake hissing somewhere in the woods.
Sometimes his pain weighed him down. But today, he shoved it to distant parts of his mind. His job was to watch over the forest. Protect the innocents.
Except once again he had failed.
Another search party had been in the woods last night. Calling a little girl’s name. Dogs sniffing and chasing her scent. People frantic to find her before night set in and the cold enveloped her.
Before the big storm struck like a cannonball.
Just when folks thought spring was going to show its face, Tempest had decided to spin toward the South and wreak havoc. Locals and tourists were not prepared. Roads would turn to black ice. Temperatures would be frigid. Some wouldn’t heed warnings, certain the weathermen were just creating hype.
But he felt the brutal chill robbing the warmth from the air and feared for the lost little child.
She was still missing. Hidden somewhere in the cracks and crevices of the mountain. If she cried out for help, the searchers wouldn’t hear her pleas for the roar of the wind.
He trudged for miles and miles up into the hills to a place called Bloody Rock. Locals claimed a brutal battle between the Native Americans and white men happened here years ago. Rain and snow had weathered the rock over the years, but the crimson stain remained as a reminder that the world could be a dark and ugly place.
A reminder that some who entered the woods never came out. At least not alive.
He hiked over tree roots so gnarled and embedded in the ground they snaked for miles. Tree branches held hands in the wilderness, blocking out light, trapping the lost inside until they spun in circles and lost their minds.
Some might say he was one of them.
Others… well, it didn’t matter.
His foot brushed something hard, another jagged steep incline that jutted over the mountainside. A beam of sunlight slanted across the thick mass of tree limbs, dead leaves, vines and crumbling rock below.
He suddenly halted, his gaze drawn to the deep brush to the right. A tiny sliver of alabaster. Bone.
Pulse pounding at the possibility he’d discovered a body, he shoved aside tree limbs and brush, hacking them away with his pocketknife. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, the icy rain turning the strands of his beard into brittle-like straw.
He lost his footing, tripped over a stump, nearly plunging over the side of the ridge. Grabbing a root, he pulled himself back up. Panting for a breath, he got to his feet and skidded down the treacherous path.
Finally, he reached the bottom. Yanking on gloves, he treaded carefully through the sticks, debris and foliage until he reached the spot where he’d seen the bone.
He knelt to examine the area, then slowly dislodged the bone from where it was caught in a cluster of twigs.
It definitely was a bone. A human one. A child’s.
His fingers brushed over something smooth, wood. A tiny little wooden doll. He gently scraped away the rotten leaves and mud around the toy, and saw it was nestled in the skeletal remains of a hand.
He bowed his head and choked back a cry. For a brief moment, he mourned the little person to whom the bones belonged.
But if there was one bone, there would be more. With his gloved hands, he began digging.
Sorrow and regret welled inside him, emotion choking his throat.
But he couldn’t report what he’d found. Then he’d have to join the world again. Face the questions. They’d accuse him of the crime.
He found the skull, gently lifted it and ran his fingers over the delicate bones. Bones that were brittle now and crumbling. The alabaster was darkening, fragile, thin, clean of hair and skin. How long had she been here?
He wondered what the little girl’s name was. Who had lost her. If she’d suffered before she died.
Using his knife, he carefully uncovered the remaining fragments of the body, collecting and placing them carefully in his bag. Finally, when his search unearthed no more, he tied the sack closed.
Satisfied there had just been one set of remains, he carried the bag back up the steep incline. The sound of the creek water crashing over rocks mingled with his labored breathing.
When he reached a small clearing covered in emerald green moss and lichen, he paused. Tucked beneath a cluster of live oaks and facing the water, it was shielded from the elements and animals. He set his sack down, retrieved his trowel and began to dig a grave. Inch by inch, he tossed the dirt aside until he made a safe place for the bones, gently laying them inside.
He covered them back up, making sure the grave was deep enough that an animal foraging for food wouldn’t disturb the small body’s final resting place.
He wanted her to be found, though. Not to lie here in eternity without her family knowing where she was or wondering if she might ever come home. With no place to visit her and whisper how much they loved her, how sorry they were she was gone.
He found a large rock, and a branch that had fallen in a storm, and crafted a small headstone for the bones. He lay the wood in a cross, then used his pocketknife to carve a number into the wood.
Number one.
She was the first one he’d found. But he’d lived in these mountains for years now. He knew there were more.
25.
Crooked Creek
Derrick clenched his jaw to control his emotions. He hadn’t come here for sympathy. He wanted answers.
“I’m sorry, Special Agent Fox,” Detective Reeves said, her voice softer than before. “I can’t imagine what you and your family have been through.”
“It was a difficult time. Still is.” He averted his eyes. “And if we’re going to work together, call me Derrick.”
She nodded. “All right. I’m Ellie.” She walked over to the board and studied the faces. “None of the little girls were ever found?”
He shook his head. “Local authorities investigated each case just as you’ve been doing. Parents were questioned, family members, neighbors, friends, teachers. Search parties combed the woods and mountains for days. No evidence pointing to a specific suspect.” Although her father was on his list. And another name had cropped up in more than one investigator’s report. Cord McClain—the ranger who’d helped with the search teams. His partner was digging for more information on the man now.
Derrick had been mentally composing a profile of the killer. The perp had to know the trail, the entry points, where to hide. He might live in the mountains or even on the trail or a neighboring town.
Who would know that better than a ranger?
Ellie cleared her throat. “The parents were cleared?”
“Yes. Each story was slightly different, but similar. The families were on vacation, hiking, fishing, swimming, camping. Two different foster kids disappeared from a field trip, a year apart. In each case, the girls just vanished.”
“Were the fosters from the same family?” Ellie asked.
He shook his head. “No connection between any of the families or the agencies they were affiliated with.”
“So, he’s choosing the girls at random. An opportunist.”
“Looks that way. Although he only chooses females.”
The fact that the victims were all female twisted at Derrick’s gut. He prayed every day that they weren’t dealing with a sexual predator. Without a body to autopsy, they couldn’t be sure of that.
Ellie began sticking pushpins on the wall map in the various locations where the girls had vanished.
“Let’s say you’re right,” s
he said, standing back to follow the trail of pins. “You believe your sister was his first victim. She disappeared near Stony Gap. The next two girls also disappeared in Georgia. Then he moved onto North Carolina where he took three more. After that he went to Gatlinburg, Tennessee where he took another. Then Virginia where he took two more. Then he came back to the Smokies and Georgia, taking two more girls. And now Penny Matthews here in Georgia again.”
Derrick studied the detective as she analyzed the information. He hadn’t known what to expect from her.
But he’d done his homework before coming. Not only was she Randall Reeves’ daughter and a looker, she’d graduated top at the police academy. Had been cleaning up meth labs around the area. Earned her detective shield two years ago. No blemishes on her record, just glowing reports. Although she was young. Thirty maybe? How much experience could she have had?
Her whiteboard was impressive, and it appeared she was following protocol, asking the right questions, open to all the possible scenarios. She’d even expressed compassion for Stan Matthews. Derrick felt the same mixed emotion.
His family had been put through the ringer when Kim went missing. His parents treated like persons of interest. The police also interrogated him as if he’d done something to Kim.
He’d never forget Randall Reeves’ harsh voice as he’d grilled him. Little sisters can be annoying. Does your sister bug you? Are you jealous of her? Maybe it was an accident, the two of you got in a fight and you shoved her, and she fell off a ledge?
As an adult agent, he understood the man had been doing his job. Only recently, he’d reviewed the sheriff’s initial reports on the investigation.
But something felt off.
Not that Reeves hadn’t asked questions, interviewed locals, sent out search parties looking for Kim, but… his notes had inconsistencies. At first, the sheriff had been adamant that he wouldn’t give up until he found Derrick’s baby sister.
Then suddenly he’d closed the case.
Derrick’s mother had plunged downhill into depression. And his father… he’d been enraged one minute, despondent the next. Being accused of hurting his child had torn him apart. The press had made it worse, plastering their pictures everywhere. Some friends and neighbors supported them and had sympathy. Others gossiped and looked at them with suspicion and fear. Derrick’s friends’ parents had suddenly stopped them from seeing him.
Weighed down by grief and fear and the accusations, his father had run his truck off a cliff. The truck exploded on impact, and his body had never been found. He still remembered his mother’s anguished sob when the police had showed up to deliver the news.
Derrick released a heavy breath. Within months, his sister and his father were both gone.
Bitter anger bled through him. If Randall Reeves hadn’t given up so easily, maybe they would have found Kim. And his father would still be alive.
26.
Ellie studied the timing of the disappearances. Derrick was right. The lapse between them varied by months, sometimes more than a year.
It was odd for a serial killer to lay dormant for long periods, although it happened. Sometimes they found a family, friend or job that made them content for a while, before something happened to trigger their need to hunt again. Another possibility was that they could have been ill or even incarcerated.
That is, if they were dealing with one perpetrator. Child kidnapping and human trafficking rings were a growing problem. The thought made her ill, but she couldn’t dismiss it.
“You checked prison records and psychiatric hospitals for a possible suspect?” Ellie asked.
“Of course,” Derrick said. “I’ve considered that there may be more victims than the ones I’ve identified. During those time lapses, he could have still been hunting, but no one reported the child missing or the name got lost in the system.”
“How could a person not report a missing child?” Even as she asked the question, the dark answers nagged at her. “Wait. Don’t answer that. I know. Foster parents who didn’t want to lose their monthly paycheck.”
Derrick gave a grim nod. “Parents in custody battles or with drug or alcohol problems. Possibly illegals. For now, we should focus on the victims we know about. Those old cases might give us a lead.”
Ellie thought out loud. “A serial predator’s first is usually significant. Someone who meant something to the perpetrator.”
“True.” A muscle ticked in his strong jaw. “But trust me, my family was dissected like bugs under a microscope.”
“Could someone have been watching or stalking your sister? A neighbor or relative?”
“Not that we’d noticed, although my parents considered that theory,” Derrick said, his voice terse. “By the time the sheriff stopped pointing the finger at my family, the kidnapper was long gone.”
“How old were you at the time?”
“Fourteen,” Derrick replied. “I was supposed to be watching her, but I told her to sit by the rocks while I waded in the creek. When I looked up later, she was gone.”
Ellie’s heart gave a pang. “I can’t imagine how scary that was.”
His jaw tightened, and a heartbeat passed before she pushed her emotions aside. “If you’re right, we have to broaden our investigation.” Which meant she needed to review the old cases herself. “Tourist season is just beginning,” Ellie continued. “People are pouring in for the festival and to begin their trek northward. Whoever took Penny could easily be hiding in plain sight.”
The date his sister went missing suddenly struck Ellie. Kim had been six. About the same age as Ellie when they’d moved to Stony Gap.
“Derrick, who was the lead investigator on your sister’s case?”
His body went still, tension radiating from him. “Sheriff Randall Reeves.”
A strained silence stretched between them. That was the reason he’d come to her first.
“You know he’s my father?”
He gave a clipped nod. “I tried to discuss my theory with him before, but he wouldn’t listen,” Derrick said. “When I saw you were heading up the Matthews case, I drove straight here.”
Ellie folded her arms. “I don’t understand. Presented with this information, how could he not have listened?”
“He said I was seeing things that weren’t there. That I should talk to a shrink.” Derrick cursed. “But I think he closed the case long before he should have. There are also discrepancies in the interviews he conducted.”
His accusation took her off guard. Her father was respected and admired in Bluff County. For over twenty years, he’d protected the residents and was instrumental in helping rescues on the trail. He wouldn’t have made mistakes in a missing child case. “What kind of discrepancies?”
“A couple of months ago, I talked to two of the locals he interviewed. Their stories don’t match your father’s notes.”
“After two decades, people forget details,” Ellie pointed out. “They confuse memories, get the days mixed up.”
“My memory is clear,” Derrick said. “I recall your father grilling my parents and me. He thought we hurt Kim.”
Ellie’s chest clenched. “As a federal agent, you know it’s necessary to treat everyone as a person of interest until they’re ruled out.”
“I do know that now,” Derrick said. “But something wasn’t right about the investigation. My gut’s telling me. And I intend to figure out what it was.”
He was right. If that case was connected to the Matthews girl, she couldn’t ignore the evidence Derrick had presented.
She had a child to find.
27.
“Let me see those files,” Ellie told Derrick. “Then we’ll talk.”
He gave a quick nod, then unpocketed his phone. “I need to make a call. Take all the time you need.”
As soon as he closed the door, Ellie checked in with Cord. It was past noon.
“We’ve covered over ten miles now,” Cord said. “No sign of Penny or anyone else. But the storm is
coming, El. The wind has picked up and it feels more like twenty than thirty-five. The sleet will start any minute.”
He sounded bone tired and worried. “No footprints?” There had to be something.
“If there were, the rain last night washed them away,” Cord replied.
“Are there security cameras in the parking lot at the park?”
“Afraid not. But when this is over, I’m going to push the NPS to install them.”
“Good. What about the dogs?”
“They followed downstream but lost the scent. Workers searched the creek and park for miles. No sign of Penny.”
Frustration overcame Ellie, and she glanced at the faces on the whiteboard with a growing sense of horror.
“Focus on the shelters or caves in the woods now,” Ellie said. “If Penny was abducted and her kidnapper didn’t leave via car, he found a place to hide out.”
“Copy that.”
She hung up, grabbed another cup of coffee, then skimmed her father’s notes.
Derrick’s father, Gerrard Fox, was a pathologist who’d worked in a research lab. According to Randall, both parents were distraught.
During the weekend camping trip, Mr. Fox left for a couple of hours to meet a colleague. Colleague and wife confirmed his alibi. The mother, Margaret Fox, a florist, had set off to gather wildflowers for an upcoming wedding and left the son in charge of Kim.
Ellie’s gut tightened.
Father blamed himself for not staying at the camp. Mother blamed herself for not keeping Kim with her. Derrick blamed himself because he was supposed to be watching his little sister.
Except for his mother’s coworker, who hinted the couple had marital problems, there was no evidence indicating they weren’t happy.
Her father had grilled Derrick. Had he gotten sick of his sister bugging him? Had they fought? Had he pushed her, and she’d fallen?
According to the sheriff, Derrick had been sullen and angry, and denied the accusation.
