Don't Say a Word

by Beverly Barton

  “Most of the pictures of persons of interest are ready to e-mail. Varranzo’s defense team always took pictures of the courtroom and the jury members for their files. I put them in, too. Who knows, maybe the killer liked to watch his victims’ trials. Got himself all worked up that way.” He leaned back in his chair, looked up at the ceiling, and huffed out his own tired breath. “I’m going to e-mail them to Archie York at LVPD. I hope to God Maria can identify somebody.” He massaged the back of his neck. “Hey, want a beer? I’ve got some wine and hard stuff, too. Bottled water. Milk. V8 juice.”

  “Do you have sodas? I want to keep my mind clear. I like Pepsi better than Coke.”

  After he returned with an ice-cold Pepsi for her and his own bottle of water, they fell into a comfortable working silence again. Truth was, he was as eager as she to get this brutal bastard. Whatever drove the guy had to be something really bad. He’d not worked on that many mutilation murders, but this guy had a deep personal beef, all right. A big one. Revenge, hatred, anger—his gruesome acts dripped with all of that.

  “Oh my God.”

  Will turned around to look at Julia, who was now leaning close to her monitor. Her voice sounded excited.

  “What’d you find?”

  “Pull up the State of Tennessee versus Folger Parmentier. June sixteenth, ten years ago.”

  Will did a quick search and watched the case flash up on his screen.

  “Got it yet?”

  “Gloria was defending Parmentier, who was eighteen at the time. He was accused of drunk driving and three counts of vehicular homicide.”

  “Judge Lucien Lockhart presided.”

  “Bingo,” Will said. Skimming through Varranzo’s notes and the transcript of the Parmentier trial, Will read aloud, “ ‘His passenger died in the crash, as well as two people in the other car.’ ”

  Julia nodded. “Yeah, two of them were little kids: Abigail Cummings, two, and Thomas Cummings, four. Their mother was Victoria Cummings, a divorcée. The two children died at the crash site. The mother survived the crash with severe injuries. Oh, man, Will, this could be it. This could be the connection.”

  “This says Folger Parmentier’s girlfriend, the girl who died in the crash, was Joanne Gentry. Says she’s the daughter of Mack and Jennifer Gentry of Nashville.”

  That got Julia’s attention. “Are you kidding me? She was Mack Gentry’s daughter?” Julia asked him. “You’ve heard of him, haven’t you, Will? He’s a bigwig in Nashville, hobnobs with the governor and lots of other important politicos. Supposedly richer than Croesus. Always on the news, either charitable giving or hosting fund-raisers. But rumors abounded that a lot of his dealings were shady.”

  “Gloria won that case. Parmentier got off—not even probation.” Will scrolled down through the lengthy case history. “There were several appeals, but none of them worked. The boy walked every single time. Hung juries.”

  “Sounds like a good reason for revenge to me. The judge and his lawyer went down. Guess who’s next?”

  “Folger Parmentier.”

  “Dead right, Brannock.”

  Will reached for his cell phone. “We’ve got to warn him.”

  “Wait. Varranzo has news clips about the case attached to her file. Let’s see if Roc VanVeter’s involved. That would pretty much nail it shut.”

  Will clicked some buttons, and the first attached video appeared on a fifty-five-inch LCD screen attached to the wall across the room. The first one was from WDSI in Chattanooga. A pretty reporter with long brown hair and a Fox 61 black cap came on, her voice quick and breathless with excitement. “I’m reporting from the Hamilton County criminal court building in downtown Chattanooga at the Folger Parmentier trial. We have Gloria Varranzo here with us. As you know, she is the lead attorney for the accused driver of the vehicle, Folger Parmentier.”

  In her close-up shot, Gloria Varranzo looked like she’d stepped out of a Vogue photo spread. Ten years ago, she had been an attractive woman, oozing confidence and well-groomed elegance, never dreaming she would end up a mutilated corpse hanging off the bedroom balcony of her palatial house.

  “My client is innocent of all charges. He wasn’t driving the car. His girlfriend, Joanne Gentry, was not only behind the wheel but drinking and driving. Of course, we all mourn her passing, my client most of all, but he cannot be jailed for her wrongdoing. The driver of the other car, Victoria Cummings, has a DUI on her record. Unlike my client, she’s also got a rap sheet for past criminal behavior. Folger’s record is clean. He’s innocent of any crime whatsoever, and I intend to prove that.”

  “What do you bet that Mack Gentry was furious over the remark about his dead daughter?” Will said. The second clip came on and was more of the same. Most of the contents smeared the deceased occupants of both vehicles: more allegations against Parmentier’s girlfriend’s history of drinking, rehab, and drugs; some against the Cummings woman, insinuating she was a prostitute, and worse. Another video clip revealed that Victoria Cummings had committed suicide, ostensibly because of the loss of her children. Several news cameras picked up Mack Gentry entering the courthouse, his face set in anger and anguish over the loss of his only daughter. He glared at the reporter who called out to him. Yeah, he had been enraged, all right.

  Julia was watching as another TV station, this one the NBC affiliate, flashed up pictures of Victoria Cummings’s two children. Both were beautiful, with blond hair and blue eyes, killed before they got a chance to live.

  “This case is so sad, so many victims,” he said to Julia.

  “Yes, it is, and it’s still going on.”

  They hit pay dirt with the next video. It was a clip from Roc VanVeter’s televised radio show. He looked young and powerful and sure of himself, but his pompous attitude and the condescending vitriol that he sent out over the airwaves for anybody to hear, absolutely turned Will’s stomach.

  “Yeah, baby”—VanVeter was speaking with Gloria Varranzo, who was his solo guest—“it’s probably a good thing both those bitches are dead. The Gentry dame is a cokehead and caused the whole damn accident. The world’s better off without her. And that slut Victoria Cummings. What kind of mother was she? She’s a drunk, too, and went driving around with her kids in the car. It’s her fault they’re dead, not anybody else’s. She deserves to lose them with that kind of criminal background. They’re better off dead, too, with a mother like her.”

  “Oh my God, Will, this is what they were saying about Victoria after she survived the crash. No wonder she killed herself.”

  “Did you notice Mack Gentry’s face in those clips? He was out for blood.”

  “And didn’t get it,” Julia returned. “He was well-known in Nashville for getting even with his enemies.”

  “How?”

  “Usually he just connived until he managed to bankrupt them. A few died under mysterious circumstances. He is not a nice man.”

  “But would he hunt down and mutilate this many people after so long?”

  “I doubt it, but he’s the kind of man who’d hire assassins to do his dirty work for him. Just like Oscar Kraft.”

  “I think we’ve heard enough to officially warn Folger Parmentier. Even if we’re wrong. He needs to know he could be the next target.”

  “It won’t hurt to interview him, either. He’s obviously involved in this up to his eyeballs.”

  Will dialed up Quantico and asked for Folger Parmentier’s current address and telephone number and then asked them to run a history on Joanne Gentry, Victoria Cummings, and Mack Gentry and e-mail it to his smart phone. He wanted to find out if anything Varranzo and VanVeter said about the victims was true. Somehow he doubted it. Roc VanVeter was known for smearing innocent people, and Gloria’s firm had a built-in reputation for defending low-life types. He wanted to know where Gentry was and what he’d been up to since his daughter died. Parmentier’s number came back to him after a couple of minutes.

  “Yeah, and can you run a check on Victoria Cummings’s husb
and? They had two children, Abigail and Thomas, both killed in a car crash on Signal Mountain around ten years ago.” Will hung up and dialed Parmentier’s number. No answer. No answering machine. “I say we go find him, interview him, and tell him to be on the lookout for any suspicious people around him.”

  Julia said, “I’m with you. Do you know how to locate his house?”

  “Not exactly, but my GPS does. If my guess is correct, I’d say it’ll take, maybe, fifteen, twenty minutes to get there, considering the mountain roads in that area.”

  “Let’s go. You might have to hold me back, though. I’m beginning to understand the perpetrator’s motives. I already loathe this creep.”

  “Not as much as someone else did. If the killer gets to him, he’s never going to cast slurs on anyone again.”

  “Yeah, the fraudulent tongue shall be cut out.”

  Tam Lovelady left the medical examiner’s office, a deep frown darkening her face. The test results she’d just gotten from Pete Tipton were not the ones they’d wanted. Julia Cass was not going to like it one bit. But she had to tell her. Julia and Will were probably back from Las Vegas. She stopped at her car and punched in Julia’s cell phone number. She waited.

  Julia picked up on the first ring. “This is Detective Cass.”

  “Hey, Julia. It’s me. Tam. Where are you?”

  “We’re on our way to a guy named Folger Parmentier’s house. We think we’ve pinned down a case that’s a good fit for a revenge killing and concerns all our victims. You need to take a look at it. I e-mailed the info to you about fifteen minutes ago. We didn’t read it all the way through yet because we figured that Parmentier could be a target. We’re getting close to his house now.”

  “I’ll get right on it.” Tam hesitated, not thrilled about telling Julia the bad news.

  Julia noticed. “What’s wrong? You okay, Tam?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Something going on with Marcus?”

  Tam had to smile, just because things were going so well. “No, we’re good.”

  “That’s fantastic, Tam.”

  Tam was still putting off the reason for her call. “What about you and Will? You gettin’ it on yet?” There was a short silence, and Tam could almost see Julia’s face turning red on the other end. “Okay, I get it. That what happens in Vegas thing. That it?”

  “On the nose.”

  “Okay, listen. I really hate to tell you this, but you know that dog hair you gave to Pete Tipton? He just got a report back from TBI forensics, and it’s a match with the one found at the crime scene. Will should be getting the same report anytime now.”

  Silence at the other end. “Is he a hundred percent sure?”

  “ ’Fraid so. Sorry, Julia.”

  “Okay. I just don’t see how that could’ve happened. I’m extra careful about any kind of trace evidence.”

  “I know, but transference happens. We’ve all done it at one time or another.”

  “Okay, thanks for letting me know. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Tam clicked off her phone and turned the ignition key. Marcus was waiting for her at home. She couldn’t wait to see him. He was back in her life, for good this time. Maybe they could start a family now; maybe they could be happy and not just content. She loved him. When she pulled up in front of the house they shared together, she felt an inner excitement that she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  On their way to Folger Parmentier’s house, Will glanced across the front seat as Julia hung up her phone. She shook her head. “You know that hair they found at the crime scene? It was Jasper’s. I cross-contaminated.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It didn’t corrupt the crime scene.”

  “No, but it’s careless on my part. I’ve never done it before, and I worked the K-9 unit for years.”

  “It happens.”

  “That’s exactly what Tam said. I’m careful, Will.”

  “I noticed. Quit worrying, okay? Everybody makes mistakes.” Will was watching the road as the GPS intoned the directions. “Parmentier’s house should be right up there around this next curve. On the left.”

  Folger Parmentier’s property was hard to miss. The house sat on the side of a mountain, forest above it, and the starry night sky was like a black velvet backdrop sparkling with silver glitter. The fields around the house were cleared of trees and underbrush—grassy and open.

  “Looks like Parmentier prefers to see who’s coming to visit,” Will said as they turned off the road and found a white fence encircling the place, with a motorized gate and intercom box similar to Will’s.

  “This guy’s as security conscious as you are, Will.”

  “Except that he left the gate wide open. Not exactly brilliant.”

  Will stopped the Hummer beside the intercom, rolled down the window, and pressed the button. He was polite that way. Julia would have just driven on through and forgotten formalities. Will pushed it again, and they waited again. There was not going to be a response.

  “There aren’t any lights on in the house,” Julia pointed out. “But the dusk-to-dawns are on around the yard. Let’s go on up. He didn’t shut the gate—he can’t get too ticked off.”

  “I can’t figure him leaving in such a hurry that he doesn’t take time to secure the outside gate. Why go to all this expense for security if you’re so cavalier about using the precautions?”

  “Good question,” Julia said. “Except that this guy’s a moron. And gets off every charge leveled against him. Let’s go up and see if he’s as arrogant and obnoxious as all his ex-girlfriends testified to on the witness stand.”

  Will drove up the narrow blacktop drive and rolled to a stop in front of the house. It was a big white Tudor, with lots of dark, heavy crossbeams. All was dark inside. All was quiet. Not a mouse was stirring, but maybe a rat was.

  “I don’t like this,” Julia said, suddenly registering a very foreboding feeling. Her gut was screaming that something wicked this way came, had come, or was coming. When such instinctive and creepy sensations visited her inner psyche, she always paid heed.

  Will’s face was as wary as hers. “Maybe the killer’s been here and gone.”

  “Yeah, or is here.”

  “Let’s find out.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Julia felt the familiar excitement roll up inside her chest, and her heart was pounding like some kind of crazy African bongo drum. That sixth sense of hers—she was going to listen to it. She would bet a week’s salary that Folger Parmentier was the Tongue Slasher’s next victim. Worse, he might be inside, already done for.

  Weapons out and at the ready, they moved together toward the porch. Quiet, stealthy, keeping to the deep shadows. When they got to the front door, they stood one on each side, weapons down, fingers alongside the trigger. Julia tried not to think of Bobby.

  “Ready, Cass?”

  “You bet.”

  “Okay, stay behind me.”

  “Yeah, right, Brannock. I don’t think so.”

  Brannock reached out and rapped on the door. “TBI, open up.”

  More silence. Heavy. Disconcerting. Nerve-wracking.

  Julia reached out and tried the knob. It turned easily. She got the door open and pushed it back until it hit the inside wall. She reached inside and felt around for the light switch. When she found it, the dark room blazed with light. It was empty, but they still went in low, guns out front, moving with their backs against the walls. They checked out the rest of the house and found nothing and no one, but they did find a locked door. The key was inserted in the lock, and Will turned it, revealing a stairway down to a lower level. They went down slowly and cleared the rooms, one by one. Extra bedroom, washroom, and storage room. Folger Parmentier was not home, but there was a second locked door with the key still in the lock. Julia turned the key and hit the inside wall switch.

  Shocked, she could only stare at the terrible sight before them.

  “Oh my God,” Will said. “Parmentier’s g
ot a virtual torture dungeon down here.”

  “Yes, replete with blood. Look at that whipping post.”

  Sheathing his weapon, Will moved to it, sidestepping the bloody mess on the floor. “Somebody died in here.”

  “Yes, but there were no bloodstains upstairs. So where’s the body?” Julia walked to another heavy metal door and turned that key. It opened to the outside and onto a sidewalk that led up the side of the house to the backyard. Julia flipped the light switch beside the door, and the outside path was illuminated by spot lighting all the way around to the back of the house.

  “Looks like he brought a body out this way.”

  Careful to stay off the bloodstained sidewalk, Will and Julia followed the concrete path around to a waist-high retaining wall, where they could see the backyard pool, glowing like a blue topaz in the darkness. A man’s body hung from a light pole near the deep end of the pool. They both pulled their weapons again and kept down low.

  “That’s got to be Folger Parmentier,” Julia said, watching the wavering reflections from the pool’s underwater lights create blurry patterns across the man’s naked body, still dripping blood.

  “He’s still bleeding,” she whispered to Will. “If he’s still alive, the killer could be nearby.”

  Will nodded. “It’s a fresh scene, all right. Go ahead, call for backup and get an ambulance out here. I’m going up to see if Parmentier’s still breathing.”

  “Right.”

  Quickly, Julia phoned it in and requested the CSI team. She directed the ambulance as best she could, but she kept moving toward the pool, her eyes on Will making his way slowly and cautiously toward the body, his gun held with both hands out in front of him. She searched the surrounding darkness as she approached the low wall around the pool. Will had reached up and was taking the victim’s pulse, after which he glanced back at her and shook his head. A movement out of the corner of her eye caught Julia’s attention, halfway up the forested hill right behind Will.