“Will, get down!” she cried, going down on one knee behind the brick wall. But her warning was too late. The retort of a gun cracked and echoed through the quiet night, and though Will tried to lunge behind the wall, he was hit and dropped hard.
Julia stayed behind the barrier, rested her arm atop the wall, aimed, and opened fire on the spot where she’d seen the shooter. The echoes of her gunshots rolled through the stillness, but there was no return fire. He was probably on the run. Hunched over, she ran along the wall, keeping very low. By the time she reached Will, he was trying to roll over, groaning and clutching his right side.
“How bad is it?” She jerked a towel off a nearby lounge chair, wadded it up, and pressed it hard against his wound.
Will’s chest was heaving, his words slurred. “I’m okay . . . he grazed me a little.”
Now that she could see Will moving his limbs and speaking coherently, Julia felt better, confident he hadn’t suffered a lethal chest or head wound. “It’s no little graze, Brannock. Hang in there. The ambulance will be here any minute. Lie low. I’m going after him.”
Groaning, Will managed to grab her wrist. “No, Julia, wait. Let the backup get here.”
“And let him get away? Uh-uh. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
“Julia . . . stop . . . he’ll see you coming . . .”
Moving out very low, Julia ignored Will, anger pushing her along the wall toward the undergrowth below where she’d seen the shooter. She wasn’t about to do anything stupid, but she wasn’t going to let a killer get away, either, not after he put a slug in her partner. She kept down, listening for movement: bushes rustling, rocks falling down the hillside as the perp’s shoes dislodged them, any sound to pinpoint his location. She heard nothing but her own labored breathing and the siren of a faraway ambulance. When she was about twenty yards up the hill behind the house, she heard a car start up somewhere in the distance. She searched the fields below for headlights, trying to spot a vehicle, but could see nothing. He was gone.
Sheathing her weapon, she ran back to Will. They had been so close to capturing the killer. So close, but now he was on the loose, to kill again. Their backup patrol cars arrived within ten minutes, but the ambulance beat them by three or four minutes. While the EMTs worked on Will, Julia stood back, jaw set, fighting rising emotions as she realized the medics were having trouble stopping the bleeding. The sight of Will lying there, so still now, his lifeblood pooling underneath his body, made her feel weak all over. She loved him. She really loved him, despite the short time she’d known him, despite any obstacles, despite everything. She hadn’t realized just how much, but now, watching him fight for his life, she felt heartsick inside, sick that he was injured, that she was helpless, and most of all, that she hadn’t had his back quick enough to warn him about the shooter.
As they worked on Will, Tam arrived, with the TBI forensic people close behind her. Julia helped the EMTs load Will on the gurney and watched them rush him off to the waiting ambulance. He was wounded, probably worse than he thought he was. They needed to get him to the ER quick enough to save him.
Fighting off her worry and guilt, she tried to fill in Tam on what had gone down, how they had found the body, the downstairs torture chamber, everything that had happened. Her voice finally broke, and her hands shook with delayed reaction—concern for Will, and fury that the perp had gotten away.
“He’s going to make it, Julia.” Tam’s voice was low and comforting. She’d no doubt had lots of practice comforting victims in her tenure at CPD, and she was using it now. “Will’s as tough as they come. Chances are he’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, I know. I know he will. He’ll be fine. But the Slasher was here, Tam. Right here in this house. If we’d gotten here an hour earlier, Parmentier would probably still be alive.”
“That also means the killer most likely left more of himself behind. You surprised him—he had to run before he could clean up the crime scene. Don’t blame yourself for him getting away. We’re getting closer every day.”
Julia knew all of that was true, but she still blamed herself. She tried to get Will’s gunshot wound out of her mind and work the scene as if nothing had happened. She started more than once to call the hospital, but found herself afraid to, fearing what they would say. Oh God, what if he died, just now when they were finding each other? No, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He was talking. He was conscious at first. He was going to be fine.
After Peter Tipton arrived and examined, then released Folger Parmentier’s body, they cut down the victim and laid him out flat on a forensic tarp. The word FOUR was written on the ground below him, in Parmentier’s blood, next to a set of scales with part of his tongue on one side and the dimes on the other. But the Tongue Slasher had taken more than just the tongue this time. He had enjoyed cutting this victim up. As she and Will had surmised, the actual murder took place in the basement’s Inquisition dungeon. The room was creepy and dark and full of cruel instruments and obscene objects. Folger had no doubt been into every perversion imaginable. The victim lived by the sword and whip and knife, and he had died the same way. For most of the night, Julia worked alongside Tam. About an hour before dawn, she left the crime scene investigation in Tam’s capable hands, along with the other task force members, who were gradually showing up, one at a time.
“Go on, Julia. Go see if he’s okay,” Tam had kept insisting. “We’ve got plenty of people here. We can handle it. Come back later, if you want. Looks like we’re going to be here well into the morning.”
Julia finally agreed to leave, climbed into Will’s truck, and drove down to the hospital on Hamill Road in Hixson. The ER was busy. One woman was screaming and fighting the nurses as she came out of a heroin-induced coma. An unconscious man was the victim of a motorcycle accident. An old woman had fallen in her front yard and broken a hip. Julia walked quickly through the crowded waiting room and sought out the nearest doctor.
The first physician she found was leaning against the nurses’ station. She looked to be in her midforties, maybe. Her shiny chestnut hair was severely pulled back in a ponytail, her deep-set dark eyes looking out from behind large tortoiseshell glasses. She had on blue scrubs and a starched white coat. She was scribbling on a clipboard. There was a spot of blood on her coat, just above the pocket. Will’s blood? The ID card hanging around her neck identified her as Retta Davis.
“Excuse me, Doctor. I’m looking for a law enforcement officer named Will Brannock. He was brought in here earlier tonight with a gunshot wound in the torso. Is he still here?”
“Yes, he’s already up on the surgical floor.”
Julia swallowed hard, nerves jumping. “Is he going to be all right?”
Retta turned then and looked Julia straight in the eyes. “We thought we were going to have to tie him down at first. Would your name be Julia, by any chance?”
“Yes. I’m his partner.”
“He kept mumbling your name when he came out of sedation. We had to take out the bullet.”
“Oh God, how bad is it?”
“It took out a good chunk of his side, but mostly muscle. Fortunately, it didn’t hit any vital organs. He’ll be all right. I stitched him up myself.”
Relief hit Julia with a force she couldn’t even explain. Her knees nearly buckled, and she had to brace one hand on the wall. The doctor nodded with understanding. “He’s been grousing about getting back to work. You won’t have to hold him down long—they’ll be giving him an injection of morphine anytime now.”
Relieved and able to summon up a smile now, Julia took a moment to pull herself together as she made her way to his room. Her emotions were still running pretty ragged. Okay, Julia, Will is going to be fine, she thought. Just suck it up and go see him. She showed her badge at the nurses’ station, and then found Will’s room and opened the door. He was lying on his side, bare-chested, his lean torso wrapped in bandages. The IV taped to his left arm led to a rolling stand. A sheet covered the rest of him.
“I hear you’re not exactly a model patient around here,” she said, moving up next to the bed.
Will’s eyes flew open and he grabbed the hand she held out to him. “Thank God, you’re all right. You had me scared.”
“I had you scared? You’re the one who took the bullet.”
“You took off after that guy alone. My God, Julia. Backup was on the way. You should’ve waited.”
“I guess I did it for the same reason you would have if he’d just shot down your partner. Which would be me.”
Frowning, Will said, “Damn straight.”
“I couldn’t catch him. I heard his car start up but couldn’t see where it was. You were pretty out of it when I got back.”
Twisting and trying to sit up, Will grimaced and held his bandaged side.
“So how do you feel?” Julia lowered her voice. “You ready to go home and show me that big bedroom of yours like you promised?”
“Ready and willing, maybe. But not able.”
“Well, that’s disappointing. I expect you to make this up to me.” She smiled down at him, so relieved she couldn’t see straight.
Will tried to smile but didn’t appear to be in a particularly holly-jolly mood. “Did you work the scene?”
“Yeah, most of the night. Tam took over so I could come see you. She was an eager beaver about getting back to work, so I let her.”
“I’m ready to get out of here. You got my truck?” When she nodded, he said, “Good. Let’s go home. Hand me my clothes. They’re in the top drawer over there.”
“Sorry, Charlie, but the nurse says you’ve got to stay overnight. Maybe longer. So just relax and enjoy the time off.”
“No way. Help me up. We’ve got to get back out to Parmentier’s.”
“We’re handling it, Will. Calm down or you’ll pop your stitches.”
“I’m fine, damn it. I’ve gotta get out of here.”
“Wait a couple of days till you’re back on your feet and walking around. There’s a whole task force working this case. Let us do our jobs. Besides, they’re going to shoot you up with a painkiller any minute now.”
“They already did.”
“Then you aren’t going to remember a thing a couple of minutes from now. Relax, rest, get a good night’s sleep.”
Will did not look pleased or appeased. “The victim was Folger Parmentier, right?”
“Yes, sans tongue and a few other things. The rest of the MO’s the same as the other victims. Except he was flogged with one of his own ugly-looking whips. I’m going back to your place and read the rest of Varranzo’s file on the Parmentier trial. So I’m going to have to get your card for the gate. Maybe I can figure out who’s next on the killer’s list.”
“Call me before you do anything. Keep me informed. Promise me.”
“Don’t I always?”
Will took her hand, entwined their fingers, and squeezed tightly. “Will you stay awhile? Keep me company?”
“Sure. The doctor said that I might have to tie you down. Actually, I rather like that idea. Has an erotic ring to it.”
“Now you’re just being cruel.”
“I can wait for the fun and games. We’ve got lots of time once you get out of here.”
Will smiled at that and closed his eyes, but he didn’t let go of her hand. She stood beside him and held it while he drifted off to sleep. Oh God, she was simply crazy about him. When did her feelings get this deep? After a while, when he was sleeping soundly, she covered him up with the sheet and blanket and retrieved the card to his gate and his house key from his possessions. She went back to the bed and gazed down at his handsome face, now quite relaxed and still. She kissed his cheek and smoothed back his hair, and then she left him in the care of the nursing staff at North Park, thinking he was no doubt having some very interesting pipe dreams. She just hoped she was in them.
Chapter 23
Around noon the next day, Julia finally made it back home to her boathouse. After leaving Will sleeping peacefully on the surgical floor of the hospital, she spent the rest of the night up at the crime scene. They had brought in floodlights and worked until after dawn. Tam had been great, taking over while Julia was with Will at the hospital, and she showed herself to be a good investigator, even though she’d only been at it for a year or so. They had collected some evidence, more at this scene than at the others, mainly because she and Will had surprised the killer.
Once daylight lightened the sky, she had found the spot where the Slasher had opened fire on Will. He had either not had the time to pick up the spent shell, or he couldn’t find it in the dark. In any case, the TBI forensic team had it in their capable hands. They’d also found tire tracks in the small grove of pines where the killer had hidden his car. Maybe, just maybe, they’d get lucky this time.
Exhausted, she let Jasper out of the backseat. She’d gone to North Park again on the way home, just to make sure Will was still doing okay. He was sleeping, or maybe just drugged up on his own special drug cocktail, but Dr. Davis assured her that Will was going to be fine and up on his feet again in no time. All kinds of unfamiliar emotions had boiled up inside her as she stood looking down at him. She needed to sort them out, but one thing she did know. She was in love with Will Brannock. Whether that was good or bad remained to be seen.
Inside the boathouse, she fed Jasper, then took a long, hot shower, washed her hair, and felt much better. But she was dead on her feet. She sank down on the couch and turned on the television, hoping the press hadn’t gotten hold of the details of Parmentier’s ghastly murder. She tried to stay awake and watch the news but was gone to the world in two minutes flat.
When she woke up, it was late afternoon. She sat up and picked up her cell phone. Will had called. She hadn’t even heard the phone ring. She needed some coffee, something to get her going, and then she’d give him a call back. She heaped in a couple of extra spoonfuls of Starbucks coffee and then added another teaspoon for good measure. She needed to be alert. She wanted to nail this guy. He had killed four people already. He had shot Will. She was going to get him for that alone.
Turning around, she leaned her back against the kitchen counter and looked out the window at the river. She could see a bass boat out on the water, moving upstream. It looked like Charlie Sinclair, but she couldn’t tell for sure. It could be. It was Sunday; he always fished on Sunday. Sighing, still a bit groggy, she poured herself a cup of coffee and carried it into the living room. She sat down and sipped it, the warmth feeling good going down her throat. She dialed Will’s cell number, but got his voice mail. He was probably talking to his mom, or to Phil. Or to a redheaded flight attendant flying high above the Atlantic Ocean. No, he wasn’t like that. She knew that now. His feelings for her seemed sincere, and she believed him. He had been through a lot, lost his little brother. He had isolated himself for good reasons, and she knew that now, too.
Her gaze fell on the old photo album sitting on the coffee table, full of photographs of Lonnie’s family. His mother had lovingly pasted in each photo held between those plastic pages. Julia wondered how long it had taken her to make such a beautiful book. Maybe someday she and Will would marry and have a family. She smiled at the thought of handsome little Wills running around the house. Whoa, Julia, you’re getting way ahead of yourself, she thought.
Leaning forward, Julia turned the pages one at a time. She needed to make one for herself and J.D. Maybe that would make a great wedding present for Audrey and him: all the pictures from his childhood, his law enforcement career, and the more recent ones of Zoe and Audrey. When would she ever have enough time to do it? That was the pertinent question.
Mrs. Axelrod had started with pictures of her own wedding and moved on through the years: her children, their children, birthday parties, Christmases, Fourth of July celebrations. It was all there. Then Julia saw it. She stiffened and brought the picture up closer to her eyes. Two children were sitting on the boathouse dock, holding up double-dip chocolate ice-cr
eam cones. Problem was, though, she’d seen those kids before. Last night. The same exact picture, cropped at the children’s shoulders. In Gloria Varranzo’s file on the Folger Parmentier vehicular homicide case.
The phone rang, and she grabbed it. It was Will.
“Will, you’re not going to believe this,” she began, trying not to panic. “You know those kids we saw in Varranzo’s file yesterday?”
“Where have you been? I’ve been calling you all day.”
“I’ve been asleep. Tam and I worked the crime scene all night.”
“What about those kids?”
“Their pictures are here in Lonnie’s family’s photo album. You know, the big one that’s sitting on my coffee table. You’ve seen it there, right?”
“Are you sure it’s them?”
“I’m pretty sure they’re the kids who died in that wreck.”
“If they’re involved somehow, Lonnie is, too.”
“Oh my God,” she murmured, half to herself. “If Lonnie’s connected to these children, he could be connected to the murders.”
“Are you saying he might be on the killer’s list?”
“I don’t know. Maybe not, but if they were his grandchildren, that means Victoria Cummings was his daughter. He could be on the Slasher’s list. It’s worth warning him about. Besides, maybe he can tell me something about the trial. He had to have been there. There might be someone he remembers who was spouting off or verbally abusive about Parmentier getting off. Maybe he knew the other victims’ family members. The Gentrys. He might be able to give us a good feel for what went on at that trial.”
“Yes, we need to talk to him. Wait for me. I’m coming over there right now.”
“No, you’re not. Don’t be ridiculous. I can handle this. Stay put. Get well.”
“I said I’ll be right over. Wait for me.”
“No way. I’ll call you as soon as I talk to him. See you later.”
Julia clicked off. She hoped he stayed right where he was and let that nasty wound in his side start healing. She dressed quickly in jeans and the pink T-shirt with a pink sequin bow that she purchased during breast cancer month, laced up her white Nikes, buckled on her Glock 17, and then clipped her badge on her belt. She intended to visit Will in the hospital, then revisit the Parmentier crime scene one more time. Ordering Jasper into the truck, she drove the short distance to Cathy’s house. Cathy’s car was gone, but Lonnie’s Explorer sat in the carport. Jasper trailed her to the front door, where she knocked and waited. There was no answer. Lonnie was probably out back in his studio.
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