by Debra Webb
“Check in with your sources,” Owens was saying. “Someone out there heard or saw something. Interview the neighbors one more time. Call on the POIs at the top of your lists again.”
Holt added, “Bauer is still going through the list of older Lincoln Town Car owners registered in the tri-county area.”
Bobbie glanced at Bauer. His jaw was bruised and his lip was split but he’d fared a hell of a lot better than the asshole who’d taken a wrench to his car. Bauer winked at her and Bobbie smiled. He’d been right about her feeling chipper this morning. She did a quick inventory and realized she didn’t feel the guilt she had expected, either. Maybe she’d turned that corner the shrink was always telling her about. A brighter day is just around the corner.
Maybe. Too early to tell, she decided.
“We have,” Owens said, dragging Bobbie’s attention forward once more, “three witnesses who saw a man in a Lincoln Town Car watching the Parker home. We need to find him. Whether he’s our killer or not, he may have seen something he doesn’t realize is relevant.”
Owens took her seat and LeDoux pushed back his chair and stood. Bobbie stared at him, hoped he noticed how much she disliked him at the moment. He’d lost weight, she noticed. Evaluating him rather than listening to him gave her a ridiculous sense of glee. Back in August when he’d returned to Montgomery to lead the task force on the Storyteller case, he hadn’t been wearing his wedding band. He still wasn’t. Evidently he’d lost his wife to the job. In addition to the weight loss, he looked as if he rarely slept. Basically he looked like hell. She recognized the face, she had looked at it in her own reflection every day for months.
As much as she wanted to hate him and blame him for his part in the loss of her family...of her life, she couldn’t. He’d lost a hell of a lot himself. More than most knew. She wondered if he’d ever told anyone what really happened in that dilapidated shack two months ago?
She had kept his secret as promised.
He droned on about all he and the Bureau were setting in motion in an effort to help MPD find the killer or killers responsible for these murders and the abductions, repeating the mantra that they must find the killer or killers before anyone else died. He highlighted the points Owens had already made.
Bobbie shifted in her seat. The chief had cast several glances at her the past few minutes. Maybe Owens had told him Nick Shade had contacted her. No, Bobbie decided, Owens wouldn’t do that. He’d likely come to that conclusion all on his own. Maybe they could talk after the briefing. She had plenty to discuss with him, but they would need privacy for her questions. Could her mother have really been friends with a man like Hanover? She’d tried to put the concept out of her head. To chalk up Hanover’s comments as nothing more than the game she knew it to be. Somehow she couldn’t.
“We’re looking more closely at the possibility that Randolph Weller is behind the events happening in Montgomery,” LeDoux was saying.
Bobbie snapped to attention. What had she missed? “Do you have evidence he’s involved?”
All eyes turned to her. She ignored the stern look from Owens and stared at LeDoux. She wanted an answer to her question.
“We’re working on that,” LeDoux said. “Unfortunately—”
“Did he provide a name?” the chief asked, appearing as surprised as Bobbie at the news.
“As I was saying,” LeDoux went on, “unfortunately we never got to those questions. Weller suffered a cardiac episode and had to be transported to Emory Hospital. He’ll be questioned again as soon as the doctor gives the okay.”
Bobbie’s ability to breathe failed her. Nick needed to know this news ASAP.
“It is our belief,” LeDoux continued, “that the unknown subject you’re dealing with is not your run-of-the-mill killer. Your department should be on high alert.”
The chief said, “I’ll expect the FBI to keep us fully informed. It’s imperative that we neutralize this threat as quickly as possible and bring those women home safe.”
“What’s Weller’s condition,” Bobbie asked as soon as the chief paused to take a breath.
LeDoux glanced at her but quickly looked away before saying, “Cautiously optimistic.”
“We have work to do, people,” Owens said. “Though our primary focus will be on the missing we still have three murders on our plate. Keep that in mind while you’re out there, but do not lose sight of the goal—we must find these women before they become homicides.”
If Weller died, would the killer he’d sent abandon his mission? Weller had looked healthy when Bobbie saw him. Every instinct warned her that this was wrong. She glared at LeDoux. She would wager there was more he wasn’t sharing.
“That’s all for now,” Owens announced.
Bobbie and LeDoux continued the stare down as chairs scooted away from the conference table. LeDoux was the first to look away.
Shake it off, Bobbie. She had questions for the chief. Then she would find Nick. She wasn’t going to waste her time trying to make LeDoux talk.
As soon as LeDoux was out the door she stopped her uncle before he could do the same. That he would have left without giving her the usual warning to be careful showed how badly this turn of events had shaken him.
“I need to ask you something.” She glanced around to ensure the room had cleared.
He looked at her with the long-suffering patience she had stretched to the limit on far too many occasions. “I don’t have a lot of time. LeDoux and I are having a conference call with the special agent in charge of the Weller situation.”
“My mother used to sing in a club over on Riveroaks called the Rusty Fiddle.”
He appeared taken aback by her statement. “Where did you hear this?” He shrugged. “Had to be thirty-two or -three years ago.”
So it was true. Jesus. “Mark Hanover showed me photos of her at this club.”
The chief held up a hand. “We’ll have to talk about this another time, Bobbie.”
“Was she having an affair?” As much as she hated voicing the question, she couldn’t let this go until she understood whether her mother and Hanover were more than acquaintances.
The chief’s eyebrows reared up. “Your mother wanted a career in the music industry.” He shrugged. “She had a beautiful voice. She was a beautiful woman. Her dreams of breaking into country music put a strain on her relationship with your father. That’s true. Hanover must have seen her sing at that club. To my knowledge she hardly knew the man. They weren’t friends and certainly weren’t in an intimate relationship. Making a career in the music industry was just a fleeting dream before you were born.”
The realization of what his words meant hit Bobbie hard as she did the math and put the time frame together. “She gave up her dream because she got pregnant with me.”
“Yes.”
The word hung in the air like an ax about to fall. She had stolen her mother’s dream. Why had she never mentioned it? Why hadn’t she gone on to pursue her dream after Bobbie was born?
Because some people put their child before their careers...but not you, Bobbie.
“We’ll talk about this again,” the chief assured her. “For now, understand that Hanover is a vile man. He’s made it his mission in life to find the vulnerabilities of those he targets and then he crushes them. He’s a person of interest in this complicated investigation. He’s toying with you, Bobbie.” His brow furrowed with worry. “Perhaps you should allow another detective to pursue his involvement in this case.”
“LeDoux’s waiting,” she reminded him. No way was she letting this go with Hanover.
When the chief was gone Devine appeared at the door. “You all right?”
She exiled the old memories and the new hurt. Whatever choices her mother had made, didn’t matter now. “I’m great. I just need to use the ladies’ room. Give me a minute.”<
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Bobbie didn’t wait for his response. She hurried to the bathroom and leaned against the door inside. Hands shaking, she called Nick’s number. She waited through two rings, her heart racing.
“Hey.”
Just hearing his voice was oddly reassuring. “There was a briefing. LeDoux was there.” She took a deep breath and said the rest. “Weller suffered what he called a cardiac episode and they moved him to Emory Hospital.”
For a moment Nick said nothing. “They should’ve let him die.”
Before Bobbie could decide how to respond he said, “I have to go. Be careful.”
She stared at her phone. Would he go to Atlanta to see Weller? The idea of him leaving tore at her. She put her phone away. Focus, Bobbie.
She had three missing women and a killer to find.
Bobbie exited the bathroom and found her partner. “Let’s go see a man about a dagger.”
“We’re going to see Hanover again? I thought Owens wanted—”
“I have more questions for him,” Bobbie said, cutting her partner off.
Devine shrugged as they moved toward the door. “He hasn’t exactly given us anything useful so far.”
“That’s because we’ve been asking the wrong questions.”
Thirty
Dexter Avenue
1:15 p.m.
She and Devine had been waiting for twenty minutes in a private lobby outside Hanover’s office. According to his assistant, he was on a conference call. Bobbie didn’t care how long she had to wait she wasn’t leaving without talking to him. Devine, on the other hand, paced the floor. He didn’t see the point in another meeting with the man. The last time Bobbie had met with Hanover he’d insinuated he thought it was time to call his lawyer. He might refuse to see her.
It was a chance she had to take.
Like his home, Hanover’s business accommodations brandished his wealth. According to her research he’d purchased this three-story historic building twenty years ago. The article claimed he’d taken the derelict piece of history and turned it into a showplace fit for a businessman of his stature. The first-floor main lobby had marble floors and decadent artwork reminiscent of the time when parts of the building were purportedly used as a high-class brothel. From the carpet to the chandelier, even this private lobby on the top floor was elegantly appointed.
What was all this beauty and elegance hiding? Could he possibly know that someone close to him was a murderer? Was framing him? Were the two of them playing a game or were they both involved in the murders?
Three people were dead, three more were missing. This was no fucking game.
Devine finally sat down in the tastefully upholstered chair next to her. The ridiculously expensive bottles of designer water the assistant had brought sat unopened on the table between them.
“He’s making us wait to get under our skin.”
“Probably,” Bobbie agreed.
“What do you make of LeDoux’s announcement that Randolph Weller may have actually orchestrated these murders?” Her partner shook his head. “I’ve heard about the friends of inmates doing their bidding, but a serial killer following orders? The entire concept is over the top.”
“Maybe it’s not so over the top. He’s a serial killer. Why wouldn’t he have friends who were killers, too?”
“I suppose it makes a kind of sense,” Devine allowed. He frowned. “So you believe we’ve been asking Hanover the wrong questions?”
“We’ve focused on Hanover’s relationship with Nigel Parker and with his show of philanthropic deeds. We’re moving past all that and focusing on what he expects to gain from being a part of this investigation.”
Devine nodded slowly but his expression told her he didn’t get it.
“If he’s not our perp there’s a reason he keeps inserting himself into the situation. Our goal is to find his motive.”
“He’s a certified weirdo, if you ask me.” Devine looked around the room as if he hoped Hanover could hear him.
Bobbie wouldn’t argue the point.
Devine leaned toward her, his face turned to her profile. “So what’s the deal between you and LeDoux?”
When had her partner become such a busybody? She turned her face to his, forcing him to draw away a few inches. “I think all this time you’re spending with your aunt is turning you into a nosy old lady.”
A smile spread across his lips. “You might be right about that.” He shifted his attention forward. “Be that as it may, I saw the way he looked at you. He’s got a thing for you, Detective Gentry.”
“I think what you saw was frustration. LeDoux and I don’t see eye to eye on much of anything.”
It was true. Although last year she had worked hard to impress him. The Storyteller case had been her first big case working on a joint task force with the FBI. Her first time working with someone as high up the food chain as LeDoux period. For months after she escaped the Storyteller, she had hated LeDoux for allowing her to be a part of the investigation. She fit the bill perfectly of the Storyteller’s preferred victim. LeDoux had recognized this immediately and had chosen Bobbie for the task force because of it. But the truth was, she had quickly realized exactly why LeDoux had picked her. Rather than back off, she’d dedicated herself that much more to the investigation. In the end she hadn’t hated LeDoux nearly as much as she’d hated herself.
To some extent she had come to terms with the decision she’d made, but she would never forgive herself. Understanding was one thing, forgiveness another one entirely.
“Perhaps,” Devine acquiesced. “Frustrated or not, he’s like you.”
Bobbie looked to her partner once more. “I’m afraid to ask what that means.”
Devine met her gaze. “My aunt says we all have demons, but there are demons and there are demons. You can always spot the folks who battle the worst demons, the burden of the war is written in their eyes.”
“Your aunt’s a smart lady.” She knew a little something about the demons that haunted LeDoux. She also understood that you couldn’t analyze the kind of criminals his team profiled without damaging your psyche.
“You’re a good cop, Bobbie.” Devine gave her a nod. “Not just anyone could survive what you endured and get up every morning to face the possibility of a similar risk over and over.”
She decided it would be best not to mention that it was always easier to take a risk when you had nothing to lose.
Hanover’s assistant, Prentice, stuck her head into the room. “Mr. Hanover can see you now.”
“’Bout time,” Devine grumbled under his breath.
He followed Bobbie from the room and down the corridor behind the attractive assistant who looked barely old enough to have finished college. Bobbie mentally skimmed through the names of those who had attended the Life Church summer youth camp. No Prentice that she recalled. As they crossed the assistant’s office space to the grand doors leading to Hanover’s office, Prentice paused. “Can I offer you anything else? Coffee, soda?”
“No, thanks.” Bobbie was ready to talk to Hanover. They’d wasted enough time.
When Prentice shifted her attention to Devine, he shook his head.
Finally, she opened the double doors. Hanover stood behind a desk, a wall of windows overlooking downtown Montgomery serving as a backdrop.
“I apologize for your wait.” He gestured to the chairs in front of his stylish desk. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
Bobbie took the seat to her left. Devine sat in the remaining one.
“Can I assume you’ve had a break in your case since yesterday?” Hanover settled into the luxurious leather chair behind his desk. “I’ve been following the progress on the news and there’s been no arrest. In fact, the only news is that you have another young woman missing.”
“Then you should have recognized her name. Deana Venable attended your pet project at the Life Church.” When he said nothing, she went on, “We’ve also learned that your missing dagger is most likely the weapon used to murder at least two people.”
Hanover frowned. “I suppose that’s good news for your investigation, if rather unsettling for me.”
“The dagger was stolen from you,” Devine offered. “You had no control over what the perpetrator did with it after he stole it.” Her partner’s gaze narrowed. “Did you?”
Hanover didn’t exactly smile but his lip twitched. “You are a clever detective.”
“There’s a problem with the video clip you provided,” Bobbie said, drawing his attention back to her.
“Problem?” Rather than look surprised, he looked intrigued.
“The clip was altered,” Bobbie explained. “Part of it had been edited out. Did your security company do that?” From the corner of her eye she saw Devine glance at her in surprise.
Hanover flared his hands as if he had no idea. “I will certainly pose that question. I have no idea why they would do such a thing.”
“For the record, Mr. Hanover,” Bobbie said, “I don’t believe you killed Nigel Parker and his wife. Or Slade Manning. I don’t even believe you kidnapped a single one of those girls.”
Hanover’s expression closed. “Well that’s certainly good to hear. Considering me a suspect simply because I lost the most money to Nigel’s scheme is ridiculous. What I lost was of little consequence to my overall wealth. Others who lost far less suffered considerably more.”
“We’re well aware of your net worth, sir,” Devine pointed out. Though he’d recovered from the surprise she’d failed to share with him quickly, she recognized the irritation in his voice.
