by Debra Webb
She screamed so long and hard her lungs ached from lack of air.
Then the fury came. She stared down at the man she loved like a brother. “I’m so sorry.” She kissed his bruised jaw and lowered him back to the floor.
Think like a detective, Bobbie.
She’d already contaminated the crime scene. Not that this fucker ever left any evidence behind. But this scene was different. It was a mess. It spoke of emotion. Of rage.
She rubbed the blood from the screen of her phone and called Devine. “Find Holt. Bring her to Bauer’s apartment.” She took a deep breath, shook all over as a fresh wave of hot tears blurred her gaze. “It’s bad.”
Her next call was to Andy. She wanted the best they had here. Andy was the best.
She clipped her phone back on her belt and surveyed the room. “No indication of a struggle,” she said aloud, her voice wobbling. “No forced entry.” Adrenaline exploded in her chest. He knew his killer?
Legs feeling rubbery, she started to move and realized her shoes were covered in blood. She removed them, scrubbed her hands on her slacks. Her blouse and jacket were saturated with blood. God damn it!
Forcing her mind to work, she walked around the blood, picked up her Glock. Didn’t care that it had Bauer’s blood all over it, too. She checked the bedroom and bathroom. She should have checked the rest of the apartment when she first came in.
Clear.
The sirens were wailing outside now. She came back into the main room. Inventory the details, Bobbie. Blood was thick and pasty. His arms had felt slightly stiff. He’d been dead several hours. Carroll. She should call the coroner. On the floor partially hidden by the sofa was a large metal object. She could only see part of it. Looked like a wrench. The murder weapon, she presumed. The idea that the wife beater—what was his name?—could have hurt Bauer flittered through her head. No way. He wouldn’t know to leave the message.
Think, Bobbie. She needed Carroll and those techs here now.
“Bobbie.”
Her head shot up. Nick was at the door.
She held up a hand. “Don’t come in.” She wiped her face with the back of her forearm. “Bauer’s dead.” Her voice shook so hard she wasn’t sure he would understand what she said.
Nick stepped back for the uniformed officers who rushed up behind him.
“Talk to the neighbors,” she said in a relatively steady voice. “See if anyone heard or saw anything. Call the building manager and get access to any video surveillance they have.” She took a moment to compose herself. “This is one of our own.”
Holt appeared at the door next. “Is he...?”
Bobbie nodded. More of those damned tears slid down her cheeks. “Whoever did this... Bauer must have known him.”
The sergeant crossed the room, Devine right behind her. She knelt next to Bauer. Her body shook with her quiet sobs. Bobbie dropped to her knees next to her.
Holt gasped.
Bobbie followed her gaze to the message written in Bauer’s blood. She turned to Bobbie. Fury tightened her lips. She shot to her feet and strode out of the apartment. Bobbie dragged herself up and went after her.
Her partner’s blood smeared on her clothes, Holt drew her weapon on Nick. “This is about you.”
Bobbie put her hand on her arm. “This is not about any of us. It’s about a fucking sadistic killer who doesn’t give one shit about anyone.”
Nick didn’t flinch. Despite the profound sadness she felt, Bobbie abruptly wondered if he cared whether or not he lived beyond this point. Two months ago she wouldn’t have cared if she died as long as the Storyteller died first. Was Nick doing what he could do until his heart stopped beating? His existence couldn’t be considered living.
Holt lowered her weapon. “Get out of here. I can’t look at you right now.” She turned to Bobbie. “Go home.” Her voice faltered. “Wash off Bauer’s blood and then find the son of a bitch who did this.”
Bobbie held her ground. “As long as Devine stays with you.”
“What the fuck ever,” Holt growled.
Bobbie pulled Devine aside. “Do not leave her no matter what she says.”
He nodded his understanding. “I called the LT. She’s notifying the chief and then coming straight here.” He glanced at Nick before asking Bobbie, “You’ll be okay?”
“Yeah.” Bobbie dragged in a breath. “Thank you.”
She looked back once more before heading for the stairs. She could feel Nick behind her but she couldn’t look at him or speak to him.
Not because she believed this was his fault.
This was her fault.
She had let the Storyteller into her life last year and that one mistake had stolen every single thing she cared about.
She’d had enough. If Weller and whoever he’d commissioned to do his dirty work wanted her, all they had to do was come and get her.
She sat down in her car, blood smearing on the black leather seats, and suddenly realized she had left her shoes in Bauer’s apartment. Her socks were soaked in his blood.
Bauer was dead.
He was dead because of her. She laid her head against the steering wheel and cried.
“Maybe I should drive.”
She looked at Nick standing in the vee made by the open door. She hadn’t even closed the door. Without a word, she crawled over the console, leaving a trail of blood, and drew herself into a ball. She buried her face in her knees and wept like a child.
She wanted all the emotion to drain from her body. All the hurt and agony. All the sadness. The loss. She wanted it all to go.
And then she was going to beat the truth out of Mark Hanover.
Thirty-Eight
Dexter Avenue
11:30 a.m.
Nick had done everything short of picking Bobbie up and hauling her away from Hanover’s office. He couldn’t make her see that nothing she did was going to stop what was coming.
This was between him and Weller.
He shouldn’t have come back to Montgomery. He’d fallen right into the bastard’s trap. Now he had to keep Bobbie clear of the fallout. He had allowed her to become an increasingly dangerous weakness and now Weller was using that weakness against him.
How would he ever protect her?
“I’m sorry, Detective,” the assistant said. “Mr. Hanover isn’t here. He didn’t come in this morning. I haven’t seen him since day before yesterday.”
“If you know where he is,” Bobbie warned, flashing her badge just in case the woman had forgotten who she was, “you’d better talk now or you’ll end up a potential accessory to murder.”
The assistant continued to plead her case. She had not seen or heard from her boss. Nick watched Bobbie put her badge away. While she had showered, Nick had cleaned the blood off her phone, badge and gun. He didn’t want her to have to do it. He’d put her bloody clothes in a bag and tossed them into the trash can outside her house. She never needed to see those clothes again. Then he’d cleaned her car as best he could.
Owens had called and told Bobbie the wife beater who lived down the street from Holt had an airtight alibi. The guy had taken a large wrench to Bauer’s Mustang the day before. Though a lawyer had quickly gotten him released after assaulting Bauer yesterday, Shelton had gone straight home, knocked his wife around and then gone out and gotten shitfaced. Prattville PD had picked him up on a driving under the influence charge and he’d spent the night in jail. Was still there. The only good news was that the wife had obtained a restraining order and filed charges. She and her daughter had moved to a shelter for the time being.
Shelton was facing serious prison time for assaulting a police officer in addition to the charges his wife had filed. Though a similar wrench had been used to bash in the back of Bauer’s head, it was nothing but a divers
ion. The message to Bobbie showed the killer was deteriorating. Why leave a distraction to throw the police off and then leave the message that conclusively tied the murder to previous scenes? The killer had murdered five people, up close and personal, and abducted three in a mere six days. He had to be running on empty, starting to screw up. The end was near.
Nick was ready. The evidence in Bauer’s apartment—the lack of a struggle or forced entry—confirmed his latest assessment about the identity of the killer.
The chief of police had called Bobbie twice. For a change he seemed grateful she was with Nick. A turn Nick hadn’t expected.
“I swear I have no idea where he is,” the assistant said again. “Have you spoken to his attorney, Sawyer Eddington? He will probably know where he is.”
Bobbie took the attorney’s number and wheeled around to exit the office. Nick followed.
“He could be on his way out of the country by now,” Nick warned. If Hanover was even remotely involved, he no doubt had realized that he was in way over his head.
Bobbie said, “We’ll check his house.”
Nick didn’t argue. While he drove to Greystone Place, Bobbie called Eddington who, like the assistant, swore he had not seen or spoken to Hanover. Bobbie sent a text to Owens requesting a warrant for Hanover’s and Eddington’s phone records.
At Hanover’s house Bobbie rang the doorbell four times before she gave up and walked around to the side yard. Nick’s senses shifted, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. They checked the side door. Locked. No sound came from the house.
“We should proceed with caution,” he advised.
Bobbie removed her weapon from its holster and made an agreeable sound.
When they reached the rear courtyard, the French doors stood open. Nick stepped in front of Bobbie. Before she could stop him he crossed the threshold into a den or keeping room near the kitchen. They moved soundlessly through the house.
Nick spotted the blood on the marble entry floor first. He held up a hand and pointed in that direction. They moved along the center hall and the bloody mess near the staircase came fully into view. Organs lay in a pile in the circle of thickening blood with the heart crowning the mound.
Naked and sprawled on his side on the cold marble floor was Mark Hanover. He’d been gutted in a similar manner as the Parkers without the suturing and cleanup. On top of that, he’d been castrated the same way as Manning. From where Nick stood he could see that a pink dildo had been crammed into his anal canal. The severed penis had been tucked into his mouth.
“Stay back,” Bobbie cautioned.
No matter that he didn’t want to, he deferred to her request. He understood he shouldn’t contaminate the crime scene.
Bobbie held her left forearm in front of her nose. The smell of coagulating blood and feces was heavy in the air. “I need to call this in and ensure the house is clear.” She reached down and retrieved her backup piece and handed it to Nick. “Stay put.”
He took the weapon and walked around the pool of blood. “Call it in. I’ll make sure the house is clear.”
She wasn’t happy about it but she let him go.
He bounded up the stairs and moved from room to room. As long as he could hear Bobbie’s voice as she spoke on the phone he was okay with her being out of his sight. Once she stopped talking he couldn’t get back to her fast enough.
“Upstairs is clear.” He moved toward the dining room to help her check the rest of the downstairs rooms.
The killer had obviously deviated from Weller’s agenda into his own. He’d grown desperate and sloppy. He was unraveling.
“Evidence techs and the coroner are on the way,” Bobbie told him when they returned to the entry hall.
She stared at Hanover’s body as if she hoped he would give her the answers she sought. Even in death the bastard was still playing with her head.
“He’s either tying up the loose ends,” Nick said, “or he’s gone completely off the rails. This is an emotional kill.” The killer had wanted Hanover to suffer. Nick would wager there hadn’t been any drugs used in this kill.
Bobbie rubbed a hand over her mouth. “Jesus Christ I don’t want Fern and Vanessa to die.”
Nick wished he could give her some hope but chances were the women were dead already. “I’ll check the exterior perimeter.”
She nodded, her gaze still on the dead man. Her cell rang as Nick moved into the kitchen. He heard her answer.
“Where the hell are you?”
At the sound of her demand Nick turned around to find Bobbie had followed him into the kitchen.
Her eyes were wide with disbelief. She tapped the screen, putting her cell on Speaker.
“Before we get to the reason I called, there’s something I’d like to say to you, Bobbie.”
Weller. Son of a bitch!
Nick’s body hardened with fury. He battled the need to snatch the phone from her and to tell the bastard he was coming for him. As if Bobbie had read the need on his face she pressed a finger to her lips.
“I’m startled by how much I respect you,” Weller said. “I admire such determination and dedication to the job, especially after all you’ve been through.”
“I’m sure you didn’t call to compliment me on my work ethic. What do you want?” Bobbie’s own fury was written all over her face.
“Right now you may feel as if things can’t possibly get worse, but you have my word that I’ve only begun. What you’ve seen so far is merely a prelude. Every ounce of courage and tenacity you possess will be required to survive what’s coming, Bobbie. Remember those words if you remember nothing else.”
“Where the hell are you?” she demanded. “If you give yourself up now maybe you won’t end up dead.”
“You needn’t worry about me, Bobbie. I’m quite adept at taking care of myself.”
When she said nothing in return, he continued, “My son is there with you, isn’t he? I don’t need your confirmation. I can sense his presence in the sound of your voice.”
“I will find you,” Nick warned. “This time I will kill you.”
Weller laughed, the piece of shit. “I look forward to that day, son. Remember what I said, Bobbie.”
The call dropped off. She and Nick stood there staring at each other until the wail of sirens shattered the silence.
“He wants you to come after him,” she said, her voice soft and filled with the worry he saw in her eyes.
Nick had no choice in the matter. Weller had made the first move. He was waiting for Nick to make the next one. But he couldn’t leave until this—he looked at the dead man on the floor—was done.
The bigger picture cleared for Nick.
Weller had planned his escape carefully. He had known he would need a head start. If there had been any lingering doubts about his involvement in all this, there were none now. The killer he’d sent to Montgomery had nothing to do with stopping Nick or hurting Bobbie. Not really.
Six people were dead and two were still missing—all to distract Nick long enough for the bastard to escape and to gain a head start on this cat-and-mouse game.
Thirty-Nine
Lockwood Place
1:10 p.m.
Where was Joanne? Ted checked the time again. He should have canceled this damned walk-through. One of his detectives had been murdered this morning but Joanne had insisted that half a dozen other buyers were chomping at the bit to get their hands on this place. He had to take the time to do this. Even the chief of police deserved a quick lunch break whether he bothered to eat or not.
He glanced at the street. She had promised it would only take a few minutes. Where the hell was she?
Frustrated, Ted climbed out of his vehicle and walked to the door. He put in a call to Joanne to find out what the holdup was. When
she answered, he said, “I thought we were meeting at one.”
“But your office called to say you couldn’t meet until after three,” she argued. “My secretary gave me the message an hour ago.”
“Who called?” He hadn’t even mentioned the walk-through to Stella. He’d only told her he was taking a quick lunch break.
“I’m out of the office right now,” Joanne said, “I’ll ask my secretary when I get back. Are you at the town house? I was headed to a showing near Lockwood so I’m only a few minutes from you. I can be there in five or so minutes.”
Ted puffed out a breath. “I’m here. I suppose we might as well get this done.”
Joanne apologized and assured him she was on her way. His irritation mounting, he tucked his phone back into his pocket. He cupped his hands around his eyes to peer through the glass in the door. He hoped that one cracked tile in the entry hall had been replaced. When he leaned against the door it swung inward.
Well, damn. It wasn’t uncommon for vandals to break in and destroy newly built homes. As secure as this community was, there could still be trouble. An angry subcontractor who’d been let go, or just a rebellious teenager with too much time on his hands and too little supervision. Ted pushed the door open further and stepped inside. All appeared to be as it should including the broken tile. It had been replaced. He breathed a little easier.
Ted palmed the .22 he carried in the holster under his jacket. He preferred not to wag around a larger weapon. Dorey would say it was the politician in him and he would argue that he wasn’t a politician, but the truth was some degree of political finesse was necessary to do the job.
He moved from the foyer to the side hall and checked the master bedroom first. All was as it should be. Seeing the serene blue on the walls that Dorey had helped him select made him smile. He couldn’t wait to start the rest of his life here. He returned to the family room and moved into the kitchen. So far so good—he drew up short. The glass in the window of the rear door had been smashed.
“Son of a bitch.” He reached for his cell with his free hand. A report would need to be filed for insurance purposes. He should check upstairs, too.
