8 Scream for Me

by Karen Rose

  His eyes were that piercing blue that made her shiver. “You’re beautiful.”

  “So are you. I hope I didn’t get you into any trouble, answering the phone like that.”

  He got out of bed, stretching his shoulders one way and then the other while she watched for the simple pleasure of doing so. “No,” he drawled. “Chase already knew.”

  Her eyes widened. “You told him? Daniel!”

  “No,” he drawled again. “I’m a guy, Alex. When we have head- banging sex on a sofa, it’s written all over our faces. Everybody knows.”

  “Oh. Well, okay.” She felt her cheeks heat. “So what did Chase tell you to tell me?”

  Daniel sobered abruptly. “That he’s sorry about your mother. Hurry. We need to go.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tuliptree Hollow, Georgia, Thursday, February 1, 7:00 a.m.

  Daniel walked to the ditch, the Review tucked under his arm. Ed was already down in it, watching as Malcolm and Trey lifted the newest body to a stretcher.

  “Ed, come on up,” Daniel called. “I need to show you something.”

  Ed scrambled up the wooden ramp they’d placed against the side of the ditch. “You know I’m fucking tired of finding bodies in blankets,” he said. He looked over at Daniel’s car where Alex sat huddled in one of Daniel’s overcoats. “How is she?”

  Daniel looked over his shoulder. “She’ll be okay.” He handed Ed the paper. “Look.”

  Ed’s eyes immediately widened. “Dammit. It’s the kid who bought the blankets.”

  “And picked up Janet’s Z.” Daniel tapped the page. “Byline is you know who.”

  Ed glared. “He’s up in that tree. I thought you might want to yank him down again.”

  “That’ll be a pleasure. Take a look at the kid’s name.”

  “Sean Romney, of Atlanta. So?”

  “So . . . Woolf says here that Sean Romney is the grandson of Rob Davis of Dutton, who owns the damn Bank of Dutton. That makes Romney a second cousin to Garth Davis, the mayor of Dutton. That enough Duttons for you yet? I don’t want to make any accusations,” Daniel added in a whisper, “but Garth Davis graduated a year before Simon and Wade, but from Bryson Academy.”

  Ed puffed out his cheeks. “The mayor? That’s going to be fun to prove.”

  “We’ll talk more back at the office. Now I’m going to pull Woolf out of his tree.”

  Woolf was climbing down when Daniel approached. “Goddammit, Jim. What’s gotten into you? Climbing trees like you’re twelve years old.”

  Woolf shrugged. “I’m on public property, so you can’t make me leave. This is a fascinating story, Daniel. It needs to be told.”

  Fascinating. Anger shot up in Daniel’s head like a geyser. “Damn you. Fascinating story. You tell that to the victims and their families. You’re getting your damn pictures from up in a tree. How sanitary, how damn nice. You come with me. You’re going to meet a victim up close and real personal.” He started walking, then turned. Woolf hadn’t budged. Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t make me drag you, Jim.”

  Slowly Woolf followed, a mix of curiosity and apprehension on his face. Malcolm and Trey were lifting the body from the stretcher to the body bag on the gurney. “Peel back the blanket, Malcolm,” Daniel ordered sharply.

  Malcolm complied. “It’s the same. Face beaten, bruises around the mouth.”

  “This one’s got some serious hardware,” Trey said. “Earrings up and down both ears. A nose ring and a tongue stud.” He pointed to the victim’s shoulder. “And a tat. This one says L-A-L-L. Live and let live.”

  There was a thud behind him. Daniel turned to find Jim Woolf frozen where he stood, his camera on the ground, and Daniel suddenly had a very good idea of who this woman was. He should feel guilty for making Jim look, but all he felt was pity for the young woman who’d never have a life. For all the young women who’d never have lives. It was, he thought bitterly, a fascinating turn of events. “Jim?”

  Woolf’s mouth opened in horrified silence. He said nothing, just stared.

  Daniel sighed. “Ed, can you put Mr. Woolf in your vehicle? This is his sister, Lisa.”

  Atlanta, Thursday, February 1, 8:35 a.m.

  Daniel and Ed both sank into chairs at the team table. Chase and Luke were already there. Talia had left to interview the rape victims they’d identified from the yearbooks. Daniel hoped her luck was better than his.

  “We’ve got two more bodies,” Daniel said. “Sean Romney and Lisa Woolf. Seeing his sister like that loosened Jim’s tongue a little bit. He told me that a man called him with the ‘tips’ on Janet’s and Claudia’s bodies. All the other ‘tips’ were text messages that came in on a disposable cell. It wasn’t registered to any of his accounts, so we didn’t know to include it with the warrant.”

  “And all the incoming text messages were untraceable,” Ed said with a sigh.

  “Maybe he’ll be a little less interested in pimping stories for this killer now that his sister’s a victim,” Chase said darkly.

  Luke was reading the front page of the Dutton Review Daniel had brought back with him. “Who is this Romney kid?”

  “APD received an anonymous 911 telling them a young man was dead in an alley,” Daniel said. “They found Sean Romney with a bullet in his head. Apparently they didn’t recognize him as the picture they’d posted on their visor because he was too bloody. They didn’t get a positive ID until they’d cleaned up at the morgue at about five this morning. They called Chase and Chase called me.”

  “He was only eighteen years old,” Luke noted. “He was only in kindergarten when Alicia was killed and those girls were raped. And he grew up in Atlanta.”

  “But he’s connected to Dutton,” Daniel said wearily. “Sean is the grandson of Rob Davis, who owns the bank in Dutton. Rob Davis is Garth Davis’s uncle. Garth’s dad was the mayor for years and best friends with Congressman Bowie. I think Sean is like the keys he tied to the victims’ toes. A definite message.”

  “And you’re thinking the message was addressed to Garth Davis,” Chase said.

  Daniel nodded, troubled. “Garth’s the right age, only a year ahead of Simon and Wade. Garth knew Simon. We can’t dismiss the connection to Simon’s pictures.”

  “You knew Garth,” Ed said. “Was he capable of the depravity in those pictures?”

  “I wouldn’t have thought so. I still hope not. I was a senior and he was a freshman, so I didn’t know him all that well. I do remember him coming by our house a few times though, looking for Simon. I wouldn’t say they were friends, exactly, but they hung out.”

  Luke shook his head. “He might have known Simon, but did he kill these women?”

  Daniel brought his focus back to the present. “Garth couldn’t have killed Claudia. He was at Congressman Bowie’s house Monday night during the time frame Felicity said Claudia died. But Garth is the first person we can connect to both Simon and one of these victims.”

  “No, Jim Woolf is connected to all the victims,” Chase corrected. “He’s taken every one of their pictures for his damn paper. He gets all these leads handed to him on a silver platter. The perp has to know we’re watching Woolf. Why does he continue to feed him leads if he knows Woolf’s going to be followed by us?” Chase lifted his brows. “Unless he wants us to watch Woolf.”

  “He sent Jim to his own sister’s grave,” Ed said. “Pretty powerful message.”

  “This guy went to a lot of trouble to get Lisa Woolf,” Daniel said thoughtfully. “She was a student at the university up in Athens. He had to either drive up there or lure her here. I’ve requested her phone records and I called the Athens field office. They’re going to search her apartment and interview her friends. Maybe somebody saw him following her last night.”

  Chase pointed to the Review. “I want to know how Woolf got this picture. His tail said Woolf was in the newspaper office from nine till two last night. How did Woolf get to Atlanta to snap this photo of Romney? He must have sent someone
else.”

  “He wouldn’t have trusted just anybody,” Daniel said. “I’m betting good old Marianne had something to do with it. That’s Jim’s wife. Of course, Jim neglected to mention that when he was unburdening his soul.”

  Ed was still frowning at the paper. “Wait. APD didn’t make a positive ID until about five this morning, after they’d gotten the body cleaned up at the morgue. Woolf had to have this story by press time. Even on a diddly paper like the Review, that’s gotta be around midnight. I mean, the papers are hittin’ Dutton doorsteps by six.”

  Daniel remembered the paperboy’s delivery the morning before as he and Alex still lay on her sofa, panting and trembling, and felt his cheeks heat. “Right at five-thirty,” he agreed. “So Jim Woolf somehow knew who Romney was before the cops did. That’s more than a tip. That could be conspiracy.”

  “You’re right,” Chase said. “Let’s pick him up. Maybe the threat of real jail will loosen his tongue a little more. Daniel, you’ll talk to this Marianne woman?”

  “As soon as we’re done. Have we heard from Koenig and Hatton?”

  Chase nodded. “Koenig called in about an hour and a half ago. He said they’d looked all night but couldn’t find Crighton. They were going to hit the shelters during breakfast, then call it a night and go home and sleep and try again tonight.”

  “Damn.” Daniel squared his jaw. “I was really hoping to arrest that slimy SOB.”

  “I watched the tape we made of Alex and McCrady again last night,” Ed said, “and I was thinking. Alex remembered Crighton saying that Alicia ‘asked for it with her short shorts.’ Sounds like he might have known about the rape.”

  “You’re right,” Daniel said. “He said Wade didn’t kill Alicia, but of course he would. If Wade raped Alicia, that was probably what he confessed to Reverend Beardsley before he died, and maybe what he wrote in the letters to Bailey and Crighton.”

  “I checked up on Crighton,” Luke said. “After Alicia died and Crighton killed Alex’s mother, Crighton went downhill fast. He had a good job before, but he’s been MIA for almost thirteen years. No income taxes, no record of credit cards. Nothing.”

  “Instead he’s been living on the streets playing the flute for quarters,” Daniel said with contempt. “And beating up poor old nuns.”

  “Oh.” Ed shook his head hard. “Flute. I was looking at the inventory of stuff we found at Bailey’s house and it included one empty flute case. It looked really old, like it hadn’t been used in years. Huge dust buildup in the case crevices and hinges, but the inside was clean, like it had just been opened. Did Bailey play the flute, too?”

  Daniel frowned. “I would’ve thought Alex would have mentioned that right away. I’ll ask her.”

  “Did you tell her about the hair?” Chase asked.

  “Yeah, I did. On the way to the scene this morning I asked her what happened to all of Alicia’s stuff. She said her aunt Kim had it shipped to Ohio and the boxes have been in storage ever since. But she also said that she and Bailey and Alicia shared clothes and makeup and hairbrushes, and Bailey and Alicia were sharing a bedroom at the time because Alicia was mad at Alex about something. That hair could still have come from Bailey’s house recently.”

  “I don’t think so,” Ed said. “If it had been tangled in a brush all this time, it would be kinked, but it’s straight—and free of dust. It’s been kept sealed up.”

  “A souvenir of the rape,” Chase said slowly. “Damn.”

  “And, uh, there is one other thing.” Ed put a plastic bag on the table.

  Daniel held it up to the light. “A ring with a blue stone. Where did you find this?”

  “In the bedroom Alex told us used to be hers, right under the window.”

  “She stared at her hands when Gary Fulmore talked about the ring Alicia wore,” Daniel said quietly. “Gary said it was on Alicia’s hand when he wrapped her up, but Wanda in the sheriff’s office said they found it in Fulmore’s pocket.”

  “If the ring was on her finger when she was discovered, the Dutton sheriff’s office tampered with evidence,” Chase said, just as quietly.

  Daniel sighed. “I know. We need to know if that ring was on her finger when she was found or not. I’m going down to Dutton this morning to talk to Garth and his uncle about Sean Romney’s death. I’ll stop by and talk to the Porter boys while I’m there. They found Alicia. I’ll see if I can find out if they remember a ring. Luke, will you process all the names Leigh got from the yearbooks?”

  Luke looked at the printouts their clerk had produced the day before with a grimace. “Where do you want me to start?”

  “For now, focus on the public school where Simon, Wade, and Rhett graduated and the private school where Garth and I graduated. See if any of them have records or histories of violent behavior. See if any of them have been . . . I don’t know, involved in anything weird.”

  Luke gave him a dubious look. “Weird. Okay.”

  “And I’ll finish calling all the potential targets I didn’t talk to yesterday,” Chase said with a sigh. “Maybe we can head him off at the pass before he bags another one.”

  Dutton, Thursday, February 1, 8:35 a.m.

  He stepped onto his front porch, bone-tired after another night of watching over Kate. He’d actually fallen asleep sometime after 4:00 a.m. When he’d woken, the sun was shining and Kate was pulling out of her driveway to go to work. She’d nearly seen him, and then he would have had to explain. Given the three dead women, he could probably just say he was worried, but Kate was too smart for that. She’d suspect more.

  This had to be over soon. One way or the other. His wife met him at the door, her eyes red from weeping, and his heart started to race. “What happened?”

  “Your uncle Rob’s here. He’s been waiting for you since six. Sean’s dead.”

  “What? Sean’s dead? When? How?”

  She looked at him, her lips trembling. “Who did you expect to be dead?”

  He hung his head, too exhausted to think. “Kate.”

  She let out a quiet breath. “Rob’s in the library.”

  His uncle sat by the window, his face gray and haggard. “Where have you been?”

  He took the chair next to Rob. “Watching over Kate. What happened?”

  “They found him in an alley.” His voice broke. “They couldn’t even identify him at first. There was too much blood on his face. The police said they’d been looking for Sean, that they’d put his picture on the news. My grandson, on the news.”

  “Why were they looking for him?”

  Rob’s eyes filled with rage. “Because,” he gritted out, “they said they had proof he was helping the person who killed Claudia Silva and Janet Bowie and Gemma Martin.”

  “And Lisa Woolf,” his wife added from the library doorway. “I just saw it on CNN.”

  Rob turned to him, bitterness in every line of his face. “And Lisa Woolf. So you tell me what you know. And you tell me now.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know anything.”

  Rob lurched to his feet. “You lie! I know you lie.” He pointed a trembling finger. “You wire a hundred thousand dollars to an offshore account Tuesday night. Then yesterday I get a visitor in the bank, checking out Rhett Porter’s safe-deposit box.”

  He felt the color drain from his face. Still, he lifted his chin. “So?”

  “So, when he left he said, ‘Tell Garth I have it.’ What does he mean?”

  “You paid someone a hundred thousand dollars?” His wife’s expression was one of stunned shock. “We don’t have that kind of money, Garth.”

  “He took it from the kids’ college fund,” Rob said coldly.

  His wife’s mouth dropped open. “You sonofabitch. I have taken a lot from you over the years, but now you steal from your own children?”

  It was unraveling. All of it. “He threatened Kate.”

  “Who?” Rob demanded.

  “Whoever’s killing all these women. He threatened Kate and Rhett. So I pai
d to keep Kate alive. The next morning Rhett was dead.” He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. “And to keep Kate safe, I’ll pay again.”

  “You will not,” his wife screeched. “My God, Garth, are you crazy?”

  “No,” he said quietly. “I’m not crazy. Rhett is dead.”

  “And you think this guy killed him,” Rob said calmly. “Like he killed Sean.”

  “I didn’t know about Sean,” he said. “I swear. He didn’t send Sean’s picture.”

  Rob lowered himself to the chair. “He sent you pictures,” he said thinly.

  “Yes. Of Kate. And Rhett.” He hesitated. “And of others.”

  His wife slowly sat on the loveseat. “We have to tell the police,” she said.

  He laughed bitterly. “That we definitely will not do.”

  “He could come after our children. Have you considered that?”

  “In the last five minutes? Yes. Before I heard about Sean, no.”

  “You know why this killer is doing all this,” Rob said coldly. “You will tell me and you will tell me now.”

  He shook his head. “No, I won’t.”

  Rob’s eyes narrowed. “And why not?”

  “Because I don’t know who killed Rhett.”

  “Garth, what’s going on here?” his wife whispered. “Why can’t we go to the police?”

  “I’m not going to tell you. Believe me, you’re safer not knowing.”

  “You don’t care about our safety. You’ve gotten yourself sucked into some mess that involves us. Me and your children. So don’t give me that . . . bullshit. Tell me or I’m walking out of here and going to the police right now.”

  She was serious. She would go to the police. “Do you remember Jared O’Brien?”

  “He disappeared,” Rob said, his voice flat and detached.

  “Well, yeah. He probably got drunk and ran himself off a road one night and . . .” She went pale. “Like Rhett. Oh my God. Garth, what have you done?”

  He didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer.