A Deeper Grave--A Thriller

by Debra Webb

  “Presumably.”

  Bobbie opened her mouth to speak twice before she decided how to ask. “Could he want you dead? I mean, could he really have sent someone to kill you?” Weller had acted so concerned for Nick’s safety. Maybe it was, as Nick said, only the face he wanted her to see.

  “If it suits his purpose.”

  The words were spoken in such a matter-of-fact tone. She bit her lip and considered how to ask about the part that troubled her most. “Are you afraid he might succeed?”

  “Death is the only true guarantee in life.” He glanced at her. “Being afraid wouldn’t help me stay alive.”

  “Good point.” Even if she didn’t like it much.

  “The real question is how many will die before I find the killer he sent.”

  “Is that what you’re doing when we’re not together? Looking for the killer?”

  “I’m doing what I always do. Watching, analyzing and researching.”

  “You make it seem so ordinary.”

  “This is what I do. Don’t you feel like the routine of investigating a murder is ordinary for you?”

  “But I’m not generally the target.”

  “You were the target last time.”

  He had her there.

  “I’m glad you’re back.” Her words rang in the silence for what felt like forever. She wondered if she should have kept them to herself. Now that she’d said them the least she could do was say the rest of what was on her mind. “I wish the circumstances were different.”

  He glanced at her again, lingering a little longer this time. “Me, too.”

  She resisted the impulse to touch him. Things had gotten a little out of control last night. It was imperative they stay focused on the case. Maybe another time. The realization that she wanted it to happen again surprised her. Rather than resist the idea, she tucked it away for later consideration.

  Nick slowed for the final turn. The parking lot of the Rusty Fiddle was empty, but there were lights on inside the long, low building. Neon beer signs were dark. A large black door served as the main entrance. A single streetlamp lit the parking lot.

  Nick reached for the door before she could. “Do we know why we’re here? What Hanover wants you to discover?”

  She shook her head. “I guess we’ll see.”

  He opened the door and the smell of stale cigarette smoke and beer filled her lungs. Chairs sat on top of tables. Stools lined a long bar on the other side of the room. The jukebox blared a slow country tune. Whoever was here was obviously in the back. Nick walked to the doors beyond the bar and called a hello.

  While Nick spoke to the man who appeared from the kitchen or whatever lay beyond the bar, Bobbie walked over to the jukebox. This was where the photo had been taken. The jukebox was newer but the sign hanging above it was the same. Rusty Fiddle.

  Bobbie scanned the place again, more slowly this time. Why would her mother be here? Had she and her friends come just to have fun? Had it even been a club back then? Maybe it had been a restaurant?

  Bobbie wandered over to the bar where the man had set up a beer for Nick.

  “Can I get you something, ma’am?”

  “No, thanks. Has this place always been a club?”

  “Sure has.” He braced his forearms on the bar. “From the fifties all the way through the eighties, all kinds of bands came through that door hoping to be noticed. A lot of music scouts hung out on these very stools.” He indicated the ones along the bar. “More than one country star got a start here.” He gestured to the other end of the room where a small stage stood. “There’s lots of photos of the groups and people who performed here back in the day if you care to have a look.”

  Bobbie nodded. “I’d love to.”

  He led the way, turning on the lights as he went. Just as he said, the back wall beyond the dance floor and the small stage was crowded with photos.

  “Some of ’em are dated. Some aren’t.”

  Bobbie scanned the framed photos, moving from one side of the wall to the other, until she reached the decade she was looking for.

  Her gaze landed on a photograph identical to the one Hanover had given her. She pointed to the photo. “Do you know these people?”

  He shook his head. “My old man could have told you every one of ’em’s name. I can’t remember the ones that far back.”

  “I’d like to speak to him. Your father, I mean.”

  “He died a couple of years ago.”

  Damn it. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  The man shrugged. “He had a good life. Sometimes a man just has to realize when his dance is over.”

  Bobbie nodded as she studied the photo once more. How could her mother have performed at a club like this and she not know it?

  “I should get back to work,” the man said.

  Bobbie thanked him, her attention still on the photo. The whole idea was crazy.

  As if her concern had beckoned him, Nick was suddenly at her side. “We all have our secrets, Bobbie. Your mother was no different.”

  She nodded, uncertain of her voice.

  “The first question you need to ask is why Hanover would want you to know it.”

  Nick was right. “He wants me off balance.”

  “Your next question should be why.”

  The answer to that question worried her the most.

  Twenty-Four

  Atlanta Federal Prison

  10:30 p.m.

  “How’re you feeling, Dr. Weller?”

  Randolph smiled at the nurse peering down at him. “Better now, thank you.”

  She patted his chest as if he were a child. “If you keep having these episodes they’re going to have to send you over to Emory for further testing.”

  “Did the doctor say so?” Randolph asked in the feeblest voice he could summon.

  “He did, indeed.” She fastened the cuff around his arm and checked his blood pressure. “Those FBI fellows want to keep you healthy.” She peered at the monitor. “Still a little high.”

  “Shouldn’t you be home by now, Anita? It’s very late.”

  She removed the cuff and set it aside. “Then who would keep you company? I’d have to leave you shackled in here all by yourself.” She touched the ring of iron encircling his left wrist. “A man shouldn’t be chained up like this and left alone when he’s not feeling well.”

  “It’s certainly not comfortable.” He twisted his wrist, making the chains rattle.

  “Would you like some music to calm you?”

  “That would be lovely, Anita.”

  She crossed the room and turned on the old-fashioned portable radio she’d brought to work with her. The station she preferred played that annoying pop music. Where was her taste? Her scrubs were two sizes too small and her eyeglasses were far too large even on her inordinately round face. She reeked of cheap perfume. It was all he could do to bear her nearness. But she served a purpose. One made the best of one’s circumstances, did he not? Randolph recalled well the unfortunate occasion when he’d been forced to choose two homeless specimens for his inspiration. The decision had been a hasty one and hadn’t served him well at all. His current circumstances were quite similar. This time, however, he’d planned far more carefully.

  The attentive nurse returned to his bedside. With her back to the camera and the music filling the room, she put on her stethoscope and pretended to listen to his heart. “Everything is ready, Randy,” she whispered and then giggled softly.

  The only other person who’d dared to call him Randy had died soon after. He’d cut him up into tiny pieces and fed him bit by bit to the neighbor’s dogs. Randolph had been young then. Young and impulsive. The ability to control his urges had taken time. He’d almost managed a perfectly average life.

&nbs
p; Until Nicholas destroyed all he’d worked so hard to build. It was time to make his wayward son see the error of his ways.

  “By this time tomorrow night,” the foolish cow murmured, “you’ll be free.”

  “Dear, dear Anita.” He gazed up at her with feigned affection, something he suspected her own mother had forced herself to do. “How will I ever fully repay you?”

  “Being with you is all the payment I will ever need. You’ve made me the happiest woman in the world.” She giggled again and drew away.

  Randolph watched as she made notes in his chart. Poor thing. She had no idea that tomorrow would be the very last day of her pathetic life.

  Twenty-Five

  Criminal Investigation Division

  Monday, October 24, Noon

  As requested, Mark Hanover appeared at CID at noon. Lieutenant Owens decided to sit in. Bobbie had no problem with her second chairing the interview. She’d suggested Devine help Holt and Bauer with the long list of names from the All Kids Matter program. Every single one had to be contacted, if possible, and interviewed. Hopefully this interview would be more productive without Devine in the room to distract Hanover. The man seemed to get some sort of jollies from yanking Devine’s chain. He did the same to Bobbie, but, unlike her partner, she managed to keep her reactions to herself.

  “Quite frankly, Lieutenant,” Hanover said, “I’m surprised the MPD would waste time harassing me. Shouldn’t you be more concerned with who took those poor girls and murdered three people?”

  Owens smiled. “You may rest assured that we’re very concerned, Mr. Hanover. That’s why you’re here.”

  Hanover gave her a nod as if to say “touché.”

  “You and your father were instrumental in making the Life Church summer youth program come to life,” Bobbie said. “Thirty years later the two of you remain the largest benefactors of the church as well as its programs.”

  “Is it a crime, Detective, to want to serve the community?” Hanover set his elbows on the interview table and steepled his fingers. “My family has a history of giving back. Perhaps if you did your homework you’d know this already.”

  Bobbie smiled. The pressure was getting to the man. Where was his haughty sense of humor today? “Your support is commendable. I’m also confident you’re aware we’re interviewing many people associated with the church and the summer programs offered there. You shouldn’t feel singled out. In fact, you’ve gone out of your way to be cooperative until now. Is there a reason you’re suddenly taken aback by our questions?”

  Bobbie had a feeling Nick was on to something. Someone might very well be trying to set Hanover up. But why? If the person Weller sent was framing Hanover, what did that make Hanover? An innocent bystander? I don’t think so.

  “As you say, I have been cooperative. There’s nothing further I can add to your efforts.” He sat back in his chair. “I find this attention on my philanthropic work to be most harassing. I didn’t think it necessary to have my attorney present, but perhaps that was a hasty decision.”

  “Is that why you wouldn’t return my calls yesterday?” Bobbie asked. “It was almost as if we had some sort of psychic connection going on until yesterday. As soon as I discovered your association with the youth camp you were unavailable.”

  Hanover smiled. “I’m an international businessman, Detective. I have meetings all over the world. Thanks to your fine detective work I have to conduct all those meetings via teleconferencing. I believe I’ve been more than accommodating.”

  Bobbie started to ask him what connection he had to the Rusty Fiddle but Owens spoke first. “Mr. Hanover, we appreciate your cooperation. If we have any additional questions we’ll let you know.”

  They all stood and before Bobbie could think how to keep Hanover from walking out, the lieutenant had already ushered him through the door. When he was gone Owens turned back to her. “Keep an eye on him. Considering what you and Devine have told me, I don’t believe he’s being fully forthcoming.”

  “I agree.” Bobbie shrugged. “I could have asked him a couple more questions.”

  “He needs to believe we’re backing off.”

  Bobbie nodded, understanding where the LT was going with her suggestion. “If he believes we’ve moved on he might grow careless.”

  “And if it’s our attention he wants, he’ll find a way to regain it.”

  Bobbie smiled. “Desperation breeds mistakes.”

  “He’ll make one soon.” Owens studied her for a moment. “What does your friend Shade have to say about all this?”

  That Devine had asked her the same thing just last evening gave Bobbie pause. She started to give her stock answer that she hadn’t seen Nick when Owens added, “This is between you and me, Bobbie. The chief doesn’t need to know.”

  Surprised, Bobbie answered the question to the best of her knowledge. “Weller’s up to something. Nick believes all of this is a distraction. Hanover is likely nothing but a scapegoat. Someone’s using him to distract us.” They had discussed Hanover and his part in Weller’s plan again this morning. She doubted Hanover had a clue where this was headed much less the real reason he was even part of it.

  Owens nodded. “I’ll talk to Agent Hadden. Put a bug in his ear.”

  Before Bobbie could join the rest of the team, Owens touched her arm. “Be careful. If this killer was handpicked by Randolph Weller, we’re not looking at your typical hired gun.”

  Bobbie was well aware of that unfortunate truth. “It’s been more than twenty-four hours since our killer made a move. Something’s coming.” She could feel it.

  The downside was that they were nowhere near ready.

  Owens hesitated and withdrew her cell from her belt. She stared at the screen and then at Bobbie. “I guess we spoke too soon. We have another young woman missing. Deana Venable.”

  Damn. “I’ll grab Devine and head that way.”

  Owens provided the address and Bobbie rounded up her partner. Somewhere between here and there she should get word to Nick.

  Fairview Avenue

  4:00 p.m.

  Evidence techs had rolled up shortly after Bobbie and Devine arrived. En route Bobbie had called Holt with the bad news and then she’d called Liddell. The pastor confirmed that Deana Venable had attended the youth camp the year before last. As soon as she had that confirmation, Bobbie sent a text to Nick to let him know.

  As deeply convinced as she was that Hanover was not the perp they were looking for, she was as certain as she could be that he knew the person behind the murders and the abductions. Was this some sort of game to him? Maybe a man who had everything as Hanover did was bored and in need of a thrill.

  Too bad he apparently didn’t care that three lives were at stake.

  Bobbie moved back into the living room where Deana’s roommate, Erin Nesmith, waited. She’d been interviewed by Devine already. Bobbie and Newt had long ago worked out a strategy for conducting interviews. One of them would go first and then the other would follow up. Whether it was the difference in technique, the time in between to think or the reaction to male versus female, the interviewee always gave a little more information the second time around.

  “How you holding up, Erin?” Bobbie settled into the recliner next to the sofa where the roommate sat.

  “I can’t believe this happened.” Erin shook her head, eyes glistening with renewed tears. “I should have been here.”

  Erin had spent the weekend with her parents in Mobile. When she’d come home around noon today she’d found the front door unlocked and slightly ajar. Deana’s purse and phone were in the house. Her car was in the driveway. There was no indication of a struggle. Erin swore she hadn’t touched a thing other than her friend’s phone. She had called their mutual friends and Deana’s family and no one had seen or heard from her since the day before. Uniforms
were canvassing the neighborhood but if this was the same perp, chances were no one saw anything.

  “The person who took Deana plans very carefully,” Bobbie explained. “He knows how to get in and get out without notice. If you’d been here you might have ended up a victim.” Bobbie was beginning to think that Manning and the Parkers were murdered because of their connection to the missing women, not vice versa.

  Erin searched Bobbie’s face. “Is she like the others?”

  The warnings had gone wide. Young women who had attended the Life Church summer youth camp were to be on guard. Liddell wasn’t too happy about that part but she understood the MPD had an obligation to warn the public. Every donor, staff member and volunteer of the camp was being interviewed.

  “We’ll operate under the assumption she is until we have reason to believe otherwise.”

  “Is she going to die?” Erin scrubbed her hands over her face. “I can’t believe this. She’s planning her wedding. You have to find her.”

  Deana was only twenty-one. She’d completed her undergraduate degree this year and was working on her MBA. Her fiancé had been in Huntsville on business for the past week. He was on his way back to Montgomery now. Deana was an adult and, with no signs of foul play, ordinarily Bobbie might suggest the woman had taken a break from her life. But, as a past participant of the same youth camp as Olson and Parker, she couldn’t afford to assume anything. Frankly, anytime a person was unaccounted for and had left their cell phone behind it was a good idea to be a little suspicious.

  “We’re doing everything we can to find them,” Bobbie offered. A missing vulnerable adult alert had been issued. “We have reason to believe Deana as well as the others are still alive.”

  Erin pressed a hand to her chest. “Thank you. I don’t think I could face her parents if you’d told me otherwise.”

  “Did Deana ever mention anyone from her time at the Life Church summer youth camp?”

  Erin shook her head. “I didn’t even know she’d attended the camp. She never talked about things like that. We moved in together a year ago and she’s been focused on school and her wedding most of that time.” She hugged herself. “I’m never getting married. It’s way too complicated. I told her they should go to the courthouse and do the deed and then tell their parents.”