A Deeper Grave--A Thriller

by Debra Webb

  Pain pierced his back. Deep inside something burst and he couldn’t catch his breath. His fingers tightened on the phone. He spun slowly around and dropped to his knees. He stared at the leather shoes only a step or two in front of him. His gaze traveled up long legs and to the face that peered down at him.

  “You,” he gurgled.

  “I’ll tell your goddaughter you said goodbye while I watch her die.”

  With the last of his strength Ted tried to reach for the bastard. He missed and crumpled to the floor. The tile he’d painstakingly selected with Dorey’s help felt cold against his jaw.

  He couldn’t draw in a deep breath. He tried to make his fingers work to call 9-1-1 but he couldn’t.

  Bobbie.

  He had to warn her.

  His eyes closed and he stopped thinking.

  Forty

  Gardendale Drive

  1:45 p.m.

  Bobbie stood beneath the spray of water, her eyes closed in an attempt to shut out the world. She had to have another shower. She couldn’t get the stench of Hanover off her body. Hurt twisted through her.

  Bauer was dead.

  He’d died because of her. His killer had said as much. The others—the Parkers, Manning and Venable—were dead because of her. If those other two missing women died, it would be her fault, too. No matter how her shrink tried to convince her or how she’d fooled herself into believing that nothing that had occurred during the past year was her fault, it was a lie.

  Tears brimmed past her lashes and she turned her face up to wash them away. She shook her head and took a breath. Pull it together, Bobbie. You need to be out there finding this son of a bitch.

  Steeling herself, she backed from under the spray of water and shut off the faucet. She climbed out, scrubbed the towel over her scarred body and dried her hair as best she could without bothering with a blow-dryer. With a pair of jeans and a sweater on, she put her wet hair in a ponytail. She strapped the .22 and its holster to one ankle and her knife in its sheath to the other before shoving the Glock into her waistband at the small of her back. Weller was out there and he wanted Nick. Based on his phone call, he intended to use Bobbie to get to him.

  She hoped she got the chance to save Nick the trouble by putting a bullet between Weller’s eyes. He was the one who’d set all this in motion. He would pay. Fury charged through her. Whatever it took, she would help make that happen.

  She opened the door and stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom. The fury and fight seemed to dissipate from her the same way the steam did as it met the cooler air in the hall. For a moment she tried to steady herself. After a couple of deep breaths she put one foot in front of the other until she found Nick in the room where he’d built his case map on the wall. None of it mattered. They had lost this battle already. But they could not lose the war.

  He turned to her and before either of them could speak pounding on her front door jerked Bobbie’s attention in that direction. Another pound followed by “Detective Gentry!” echoed through the house before her weary body could react.

  Nick brushed past her, reaching the door first.

  Two uniformed officers, one Bobbie recognized, Officer Delacruz, now stood in her living room.

  “Sorry to barge in like this, ma’am.”

  “What’s going on, Delacruz?”

  “Lieutenant Owens told us to pick you up and bring you to her location.”

  Bobbie looked from the young officer to Nick. Had they found Fern or Vanessa’s body? Damn it she hoped not. “What’s her location?”

  “She’s at the ER, ma’am.”

  Worry tore at her. “What happened?” Even as she made the demand, she grabbed her bag and stepped into the shoes she had abandoned at the door when she’d come home.

  “That’s all we were told, ma’am.”

  “I’ll follow,” Nick said.

  Bobbie understood he didn’t want to let her out of his sight, but he needed to be focused on finding the killer Weller had sent, not to mention Weller himself. “No. You stay. You said you were watching someone close to Hanover. Keep doing that. We need a break. Soon.”

  Nick nodded and she was out the door. If Holt or Devine had been...

  She couldn’t think about that right now.

  Baptist Medical Center

  3:00 p.m.

  Bobbie hurried through the sliding doors. She spotted the lieutenant immediately. She sat alone in one of those damned uncomfortable preformed plastic chairs. She looked up and the devastation on Eudora Owens’s face told Bobbie two things. It was bad and it was personal.

  Uncle Teddy.

  “What happened?” Bobbie sank into the chair next to Owens. Blood roared in her ears as if her head was under a waterfall. No, this couldn’t happen. He was the only family she had left. Flashes of those moments in this same ER when Newt died had her heart pounding harder.

  “He took a quick break to sign off on the walk-through of his new town house. The Realtor had told him it was imperative he do it today.” Owens’s lips trembled and tears rolled down her cheeks. “I guess he was waiting for him there.”

  Wait. “The Realtor is a woman.” Joanne Rogers, Aunt Sarah’s sister, who was anxious to list Bobbie’s former home.

  Owens blinked and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “That’s right. Mrs. Rogers received a phone call saying their appointment was canceled so she didn’t go until the chief called her to ask why she wasn’t there. If she hadn’t gone straight over to the town house...” The LT shook her head. “He wouldn’t have made it.”

  Bobbie’s chest constricted. “Someone was waiting in the house for the chief?”

  “The perp had broken in through the back door.” Owens drew in a shaky breath. “I have uniforms talking to the residents at the community. There’s video surveillance in most of the gated communities. I’m hoping we’ll find something. We believe he was still there when the Realtor arrived. She said she heard something like glass crunching as she entered the front door. The perp likely heard her come in and call out to Ted and then he ran.” When she stopped rambling, she turned to Bobbie. “It’s bad, Bobbie. Really bad.”

  Bobbie struggled to keep the fear and anger out of her voice. “Will he make it?”

  The longer the LT hesitated before responding, the harder Bobbie’s heart slammed against her rib cage.

  “He’s in surgery. The dagger punctured a lung. There’s internal bleeding. He’s lost a lot of blood.” She swiped at her cheeks. “But he’s strong.” She finally met Bobbie’s gaze. “He has to make it.”

  Bobbie put her arm around the other woman’s shoulders. “He’ll make it.”

  Owens was right. He had to make it.

  Dagger? “Did you say ‘dagger’?” Bobbie asked.

  “Holt believes it’s the murder weapon we’ve been looking for.” Her voice broke on the last.

  Jesus Christ. Bobbie’s cell phone shuddered in her back pocket. The vibration reminded her that she needed to check in with Devine. If Holt was at the scene where the chief had been stabbed, Devine should be with her. Why the hell hadn’t anyone called her about the security footage at Bauer’s building? And now the killer had struck again? Devine should have let her know about the dagger. What the hell? They had to get this guy contained...unless there was more than one, which might explain how he was working all around them as if they were standing still.

  Bobbie dragged her cell from her pocket. She didn’t recognize the number.

  “Gentry.” She gave Owens’s arm a squeeze as she stood and moved toward the doors. Reporters were already gathered outside like vultures waiting to pick the bones. Off-duty cops were there, too...waiting to hear news on their chief and prepared to do whatever might be needed, like donating blood.

  Bobbie closed her eyes. How had her one misste
p last December culminated in all this?

  “Hey, mami, you okay?”

  The sound of Javier Quintero’s voice set her teeth on edge. “What do you want, Javier?”

  “See I can’t even talk to you without you getting all bitchy and shit. You owe me, mami, have you forgotten?”

  She did owe him. As much as it pained her to admit. “What do you want? I’m at the ER. This is not a good time.”

  “I heard your jefe got a knife in the back.”

  How was it a piece of shit like Quintero could already know the details?

  “I’m hanging up.” She didn’t have time for this.

  “Hey, hey,” he shouted before she could tap the end call button.

  “What?” He had five seconds.

  “I was calling to see if you was okay ’cause that beast of yours is out running around the street barking like crazy.”

  “D-Boy is loose?” Had Nick accidently let him get out? Doubtful and D-Boy certainly wouldn’t run from him. If the dog was running around loose, Nick was not at her house. He would have rounded D-Boy up before there was any trouble.

  “Yeah. He’s acting all crazy. One of my boys almost had to shoot him but he ran off.”

  Shit. “I’ll be right there.”

  Gardendale Drive

  4:20 p.m.

  Bobbie had borrowed the lieutenant’s car. She’d tried to reach Nick but got no answer and then she’d called for backup to meet her at the house...just in case. The radio kept playing the news about the chief over and over until Bobbie had to shut it off. Every available member of law enforcement in Montgomery County was reporting in to help find the perpetrator who dared to kill one of their own and to take a knife to the chief.

  Bobbie wheeled into her driveway. Two officers were already there.

  “The door was open like this when we arrived,” the older of the two told her.

  Bobbie drew her Glock and went inside. She listened carefully, analyzing any sound. It was quiet. She drew in a deep breath and sorted the scents of her home. The faint smell of lavender still lingered in the air from her shower. Living room and kitchen were clear. Hall was clear. Bathroom was clear. The door to the second bedroom was open. She moved through it.

  The research Nick had gathered for his case map was exactly as it had been when she’d left not two hours ago. No sign of a struggle anywhere in the house unless something had happened in her bedroom. She started for the door and one of the officers appeared there.

  “The other bedroom is clear, ma’am. No indication of a struggle or a hurried search.”

  Nick was probably following the lead he’d spoken about but why would he leave the door open? Why wasn’t he answering his phone? Had someone come into her house after he left? She checked the alarm system keypad. Unarmed. Didn’t make sense. Nick would have set the alarm when he left.

  She heard D-Boy coming before she saw him. He barked madly. Bobbie hurried past the officer and found the other one cornered by D-Boy in the living room.

  “You know this animal?” he asked, his hand already on the butt of his weapon.

  “It’s okay, boy.” The dog trotted over to her. “Go on outside,” she told the officers. “I’ll lock up and be right there.”

  When they were outside, Bobbie checked the back door and walked the house once more to ensure they hadn’t missed anything. She checked his water bowl and gave D-Boy a treat before going out the front door and locking it.

  “I’d like the two of you to check with the neighbors. Find out if anyone was seen near or going in or out of my house.”

  When they set off to do as Bobbie ordered, she loaded up in her Challenger and drove two streets over to the house where Nick had been parking his truck. She pulled into the driveway and her heart dropped to her stomach.

  His truck was parked under the carport.

  Bobbie’s cell vibrated and she checked the screen hoping it was Nick.

  Holt.

  “Yeah.” Bobbie held her breath, bracing for what might have happened now.

  “Where the hell is your partner, Gentry? Bauer’s building manager said Devine picked up the surveillance video. If he’s ID’d the killer and gone rogue on us, I’m blaming you for setting such a bad fucking example.”

  Bobbie tried to think. How many hours had passed since she’d talked to Devine? Jesus. He was supposed to stick close to Holt. “I don’t know where he is, but don’t worry I’ll find him.”

  “I want both of you reporting in within the hour.”

  Holt was gone before Bobbie could rally a “yes, ma’am.” She put a call in to Devine. When he didn’t answer she left a voice mail. “Where the hell are you?”

  As she backed out onto the street her cell sounded off again. Anticipation buzzed through her. Hopefully it was Devine.

  The Boss. If Owens was calling...

  “Is he out of surgery?”

  “Not yet, but the nurse who came out to update me said he’s holding his own. I knew you’d want to know.”

  Bobbie barely held her tears in check. “Thank God.”

  “I’m certain you’d rather be here,” Owens said, “but I really need you in the field. I beefed up the security detail on Sage Parker. I’m worried our killer is cleaning up.”

  “I think you’re right. You take care of the chief,” Bobbie urged. “We’ll take care of business.”

  Owens thanked her, her voice wobbling a bit. Bobbie tucked her phone away. Now if she’d hear from Nick with word that he was okay...and her partner, damn him. Jesus Christ it was all happening at once.

  Forty-One

  When Steven Devine had showed up at Bobbie’s house, Nick understood the detective wasn’t there because he needed to find her or because he was worried about her. He was there for Nick. Nick had been expecting him. With Bauer’s murder, Nick had sensed the big finale was near. Devine had drawn his weapon and ordered Nick into the trunk of his car. Attempting to fight him would have been pointless.

  Sometimes the only way to accomplish the desired goal was to surrender to the inevitable. Nick had spent twelve long years doing all within his power to hunt down the serial killers no one else seemed able to catch and to ensure their reign of terror ended. Though he had studied psychology, it wasn’t necessary to be a psychologist to understand his motives. Each time he stopped a serial killer he was making up in some small way for not being able to stop his father...for not recognizing sooner that his father was the sort of monster bad movies were made of.

  This time, however, wasn’t about any of that; it was about Bobbie.

  He had not been able to stop thinking about her since the day he’d made her that promise to find the Storyteller. He had kept that promise and in keeping it, he had lost the ability to move on and never look back. He wasn’t sure he could live the way he had for the last decade. Existing in the shadows and moving from one hunt to the next. He needed to know she was safe. He needed to be able to hear her voice and to see her from time to time. He couldn’t give her anything more than he already had and he expected nothing. Every part of him roared in denial of the assessment, but he would not allow sheer need to rule him.

  He would not permit Weller or anyone else to hurt her to get to him.

  Eventually the car stopped moving and Nick was taken through a pasture to a barn. He’d been bound and left on the floor in what might have once been a large storeroom but was now a secure, however rustic, prison. He’d been here an hour or more. Too long.

  He’d expected company by now but no one had come to check on him or to torture him. It was possible the room was equipped with cameras or audio. Devine had used duct tape to secure him. Stretching to loosen the binding took time, but it could be done. Slow, tugging movements were required to gradually lengthen and loosen the strips.

  T
he creak of a door opening drew his attention over his left shoulder. A single bare bulb clicked on overhead, blinding him with the sudden brightness. He squinted, tried to make out the man standing over him.

  Devine.

  He dragged a stool from the other side of the room and placed it in front of Nick. He sat down to study his hostage. “You know I wasn’t supposed to touch you.” He laughed. “I was only commissioned to get you to Montgomery and keep you distracted.” He gave his head a shake. “There’s just one problem. I can’t let you go the way he told me to. The opportunity to kill the hunter—the son of the great Randolph Weller—is far too incredible to pass up.”

  Rather than look at him, Nick assessed his prison while he had light. The walls were rough-cut lumber but the floor was dirt. Shelves lined a far wall. A couple of old boxes sat in one corner. His gaze shifted back to the table about six feet away. Long, rustic wooden table. An array of torture instruments was arranged across the top.

  “I didn’t want to rush,” Devine said, noting his attention on the table. “I wanted to take my time and savor the moment, but, unfortunately, I don’t have as much time as I had hoped. Hanover’s stupidity pushed up the timeline.”

  Nick stared at him, wanting so badly to burst loose and tear into him. “Why kill your friend? Hanover could have been a valuable asset. His money would have secured a clean escape.”

  “Friend? Hardly.” Devine leaned forward a bit. “The bastard raped me as a child. He knew what my aunt and uncle were doing to me every summer and instead of trying to help me, he joined in the fun.” He laughed. “He had the upper hand when I was a child, but no more. I knew all his dirty little secrets.”

  Sick bastard. “Your little game of one-upmanship cost lives.”

  Devine laughed. “Three of those lives was the cost of getting you to Montgomery, but who’s counting?” A shrug lifted his shoulders. “I had my first kill when I was only ten. I pushed my uncle down the stairs. The old bastard took his sweet time dying. I actually had a stiff one by the time his body stopped twitching.” He sighed. “As your father would say, once I’d had a taste there was no going back.”