by Burton, Mary
He switched the call to speaker so Melina could hear, hoping a shift to Mecum might distract her a moment from Sam and Elena. “Three bodies?”
Melina looked at him, her gaze sharpening.
“Two are fairly recent. The third is much older, maybe even dating back to the 1990s. All appear to be female with significant cranial damage. No identifications yet.”
“Keep searching for other properties. This guy likely has money, so he can afford to have other venues like this one.”
“It’ll take time, but I’m on it,” Andy said.
Ramsey ended the call, again wishing he had a better arsenal of comforting words. “You heard most of that?”
“A murder that goes back over two decades. Wasn’t that about the time he bought his property and also had his first confirmed kill?”
“He had the land for almost nine years before the first kill in 1999. But men like him often live in a very elaborate fantasy world before they graduate to murder,” he said.
“We’re getting closer and I want to give the Mecum case my full attention, but I can’t until I find Elena.” The silence that followed was chock full of emotions. She stared out the car window for close to a minute as she seemed to gather herself.
“Bonnie will not get far.”
Melina shook her head, knowing that Bonnie was clever and had survived this long because she knew how to hide. “She did last time.”
Bonnie parked in front of Sonny’s house. There was no car in the driveway. He would be here soon, and they could collect Elena and get on the road.
She walked around to the back side of the house to the sliding glass door. She pulled out a stainless steel knife that she had procured from a restaurant and shoved it between the lock and the jamb. A couple of wiggles and the lock popped.
“Sonny, I thought I taught you better than this.”
Inside the house, she walked directly into the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, and pulled out her cell phone and dialed his number. The call went to voicemail. “Sonny, it’s me. Come on home and let’s get going.”
She opened a kitchen cabinet, smiling when she saw the cans of SpaghettiOs. He’d loved those as a kid. She took a long pull on her beer and moved into the living room toward a collection of guitars displayed on the wall. Several were autographed. She lightly strummed the strings on an old Gibson.
Bonnie had to admit the kid had done all right for himself in spite of her. He had made the home he had always wanted. She never could stand being in one place for long. That was not likely to change, but Sonny and she would make it work for Elena’s sake.
Behind her, floorboards creaked in the back hallway.
After finishing her beer, she set the bottle on a wooden table and walked toward the living room. “Sonny, baby?”
Someone came up behind her, and she expected to hear Sonny’s voice. Instead, a cord wrapped around her throat and cut off her air. She reached for the cord, trying to wedge her fingers underneath. “Sonny?”
The cord cut into her skin, igniting her strong survival instinct. She dragged her heel down his shin, and when he grunted, she realized she was not dealing with Sonny. She squirmed against him, hoping to break his concentration, but his grip tightened as if he enjoyed her struggle.
Her head began to swim. She gasped, and with the last of the air in her lungs, whispered, “Don’t.”
Her attacker, knowing she was near death, whirled her around to face a mirror. As the cord slackened, she could breathe and focus beyond her grossly distorted features to the man killing her. He had graying hair, dark eyes, and a smile.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t catch your name.”
She willed him to see the desperation in her eyes. Whatever was driving this guy, she was sure she could change his mind. “Baby.”
The man snatched her purse and pawed through receipts, coins, a bundle of credit cards that no longer worked, a bottle of tranquilizers, and the motel room key that unlocked the room in which Elena now slept. He grabbed the key. “Is he here?”
Her knees were weak, and it was difficult to stand. “What?”
“Is Sam here? Is he with Melina?”
“Melina? How do you know her?”
“I know all about her. Where is she?”
When she did not answer, he tightened the cord around her neck again. “Where does she live? Where can I find her?”
She grabbed at the cord but could not wedge her fingers underneath.
His temper and frustration were rising, and he twisted the rope tighter. Her eyes felt as if they were going to bulge out of her head. “Are they together?”
The cord’s slick nylon edge cut deeper into her skin, drawing blood that trickled down her neck. She mouthed a response but couldn’t draw in enough air.
He loosened his hold just enough for her to breathe. “Are they together?”
She had been around long enough to recognize the face of evil. He was never going to let her go. Best she could hope for now was to die fast. She spit in his face. “Bonnie says go fuck yourself.”
As Mecum looked at Bonnie’s bloodied face and her blown pupils, he knew he had screwed up. It had been years since he had really lost control. But the pressure of time was eating at him, and when she had spit in his face, his need to punish her had been visceral.
His window of opportunity to find Melina was closing. He released his grip on her neck and watched her body slide to the floor into a crumpled pile of bones and flesh. He had ruined this chance to find Melina, but he did not have time to dwell on his failure.
He wiped the bloody spittle from his face with his sleeve and then hefted Bonnie’s lifeless body over his shoulder. He carried it into the back bedroom, dumped it on the bed, and then covered it with a blanket.
Mecum returned to the living room and picked up the motel key still tucked in the motel’s sleeve. Room 132. Convenient. It was not Melina’s address, but it was a step closer.
As he crossed the living room, he pocketed the key and the phone. Before leaving the house, he paused at a mirror and inspected his face. His cheeks were flushed but there were no scratch marks. Using his fingers, he smoothed out his thick hair until it was neat and presentable.
He slid into his van, now sporting magnetic signs that read THOMPSON’S AIR-CONDITIONING. His heart raced when he started the engine. He wound through traffic toward the motel in East Nashville. It was not much to look at but fit the woman’s personality.
He parked across the lot from the room and watched it closely for several minutes. There was no sign of anyone. He searched the woman’s phone for texts. The only person she had texted in the last day had been Sonny. Who the hell was Sonny? The last text read, Baby, I’m coming to your place. The girl is waiting safe in a motel.
Your place. He had found Bonnie at Sam’s house. Was Sonny Sam? The girl. Who was Bonnie talking about? Was she referring to Melina? His blood stirring, he took a chance and got out of the car and crossed the lot. He quickly swiped the key and stepped into the darkened, cool room. He saw the small figure lying on the bed and knew it was a child and not a woman. Not his Melina.
He sat on the edge of the bed and carefully smoothed back the child’s dark hair. She was sleeping hard, no doubt drugged. In some ways, she reminded him of his granddaughter. Sweet. Innocent.
Sonny or Sam wanted the girl. And Mecum could use the girl to get Sonny to tell him how to find Melina. He might even be able to get Sonny to lure Melina to him.
He typed into the phone: Get the girl. Key hidden in planter to right of door. I will find you in a couple of hours. Cops on my tail. He added the motel address and then hit send.
Ramsey and Melina drove to the small East Nashville neighborhood located less than a mile from where Bonnie had crashed her car into the cul-de-sac. He parked out front and the two stood on the curb for a moment, studying the house.
She was still trying to wrap her brain around the idea that Sam was her half brother. Jesus. How long had he kno
wn? She thought about all the times she had seen him at the Mission. He was always kind to her and respectful to the residents and went out of his way to make the Mission a success. A part of her wanted to rush up to the house, believing he would not hurt her.
But she was a cop first and cops developed a skill for sizing up homes. Was the lawn cut or the house in order? Were there bushes or trees obscuring the house? Trash in the yard? Shades open or closed? Privacy fences. Locks. Smells. Everything came into play when a cop approached a residence for the first time. All had the potential to be a death trap.
Both Melina and Ramsey checked their weapons as they reached the front steps. Ramsey moved past her. “I’ll take point.”
“He’s my crazy half brother,” she said. “He might listen to me.”
“Don’t count on it.” When she opened her mouth to argue, he said, “You take the lead with the next nutty sibling. This one is mine.”
Without glancing back, he rapped on the front door. They stood to the side, listening.
“I know this guy,” she whispered.
“Apparently not well enough.”
The front windows were covered in shades and the curtains were drawn. There were no cars in the driveway. Ramsey tried the knob. It was locked.
“Let’s check the back,” she said.
Around the back of the house, he discovered the patio door partially opened. Curtains fluttered out the opening, blowing from the air-conditioning.
“He left the air-conditioning on,” he said. “Kind of a thing you do when you expect to be back.”
“Or you left in a hurry,” she said.
“Call in backup,” he said.
She called local police and reported a possible link to a serial killer. Cars were dispatched immediately.
Standing to the side, he waited until she was out of the window’s line of sight before he further slid open the door. A rush of cool air escaped into the humid heat.
Ramsey pushed back the curtains. The interior of the small house was dark, with no signs of life. He stepped inside, pausing to look left, right, and then up. He motioned her forward and she followed, employing the same search pattern.
Ramsey switched on a light, revealing a neat, organized living and dining room furnished in modern furniture. There was a long credenza in the living room filled with an extensive collection of LPs, and a group of guitars on the wall.
She had seen them all when he had played at the center. She and Sam had fallen into an easy relationship that had never been anything but friendly.
Ramsey kept moving down a center hallway. On the left was what looked like a spare room and an office. The bed was made and the desk clean and organized.
“He got the neatnik gene,” she said.
Ramsey regarded her, sensing there was more behind the quip than humor. Silent, he moved to the second door, which led into a small bathroom tiled in blue and white. Again, it was very neat. Mirror and fixtures polished, floor smelling of bleach.
The last door was closed. Each held their weapons up as he turned the knob and pushed it open.
Melina tensed when she saw the figure lying on the bed. The person was covered with a thick quilt from head to toe.
She checked the closet and then under the bed to make sure both were secure before Ramsey reached for the top of the quilt and pulled it back.
She drew in a breath as she stared at the lifeless, bloodied face of Bonnie Guthrie.
Ramsey pressed his fingertips to her throat. “There’s no pulse. But her skin is still warm. No rigor. She’s not been dead long. Less than a couple of hours.”
He pulled the cover back farther. Deep-purple bruises ringed her neck. “She was strangled.”
“Bonnie was playing some kind of game. Both ends against the middle.”
“And burned the wrong person.”
“She was trying to manipulate me when we spoke at the prison. Always scheming to figure out who to play next.”
Melina dug deep, wondering if she could scrounge any morsel of sadness for this woman who claimed to have saved her from social services.
She felt nothing for Bonnie. Had she been telling the truth? Oddly, Melina believed Bonnie’s story. But she was not foolish enough to accept that Bonnie’s motives had been good and pure. For a short time, the woman’s interests had aligned with Melina’s, and it had suited her to save Melina until she had dumped her on the side of the road. At least Sonny had cared enough to call the cops. She would always be grateful to that boy.
Patty-cake, patty-cake, baker’s man.
Memories of her laugher mingled with the boy’s. And she knew at some point in her life, she had loved him.
“Is there any sign of Elena in the house?” she asked.
They searched room by room, closet by closet, but they did not locate any evidence of the girl.
In the kitchen, Ramsey searched in the cabinets. He stilled and reached for a penlight. “Come and have a look at this.”
“What is it?”
He held up a cleaned mayonnaise jar with a single finger floating in formaldehyde. “It appears to be recent.”
“Who is it?”
He shoved out a breath. “I don’t know.”
She returned to Bonnie’s body and pulled back the remaining covers, exposing her hands. All ten fingers were intact. “He didn’t cut off her finger.”
“Maybe he didn’t have time.”
“He’s in a rush to find Elena.”
“Why?”
“She reminds him of me. He wants to recreate what we had as kids.”
“It’s very possible,” Ramsey said.
Melina had taken some comfort knowing that while Bonnie had Elena, the girl would be relatively safe. But with Bonnie dead in Sonny’s home, she feared the child was now in the hands of a monster.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Friday, August 28, 1:00 p.m.
Mecum sat on the edge of the motel bed. He glanced back at the sleeping child. He tucked the blanket up around her shoulders.
He heard footsteps approach the motel door, and then a pause to search for the key. He moved across the darkened room and stood behind the door for a moment. Sam stepped inside, confirming he was also Sonny.
Sam looked toward the bed and the sleeping child. His body was relaxed, as if he assumed it was Bonnie standing behind him. He whispered, “Thank God. We’re finally together.”
Mecum did not hesitate. He thrust the knife directly into Sonny’s lower back, knowing he had a direct hit on the kidney. Several more vicious thrusts followed in quick succession. On the last, he twisted the blade for good measure.
Sonny dropped to his knees and looked back. The poor son of a bitch almost looked relieved.
“No, it isn’t your woman friend,” he said.
Blood bloomed across the back of Sonny’s shirt and he fell forward. He caught himself with his right arm. He was already struggling to breathe. “Who?”
Mecum pushed him forward with his boot. Sonny’s face now lay flat against the motel carpet. “Nothing personal, pal. This has to do with Melina. That girl owes me a date.”
“Don’t hurt Elena,” Sonny begged.
“I won’t. Yet.”
“She’s just a kid.” Sam looked up toward the bed, staring toward the child.
“She’s now bait,” Mecum whispered as he sliced Sonny’s throat. The blood splattered onto the carpet, pooling around his head. The last of the air gurgled in Sonny’s throat and then stopped completely.
Mecum crossed the room to the bed and wiped the bloody knife on the spread before closing it and shoving it in his pocket.
He grabbed Sonny by the arms and pulled his body toward the bed and rolled him on his back. He opened the nightstand and removed a sheet of motel stationery and a pen. He quickly wrote a note to Melina. She was a smart cookie, and he had no doubt she would be here soon. Slapping the note to Sonny’s chest, he rose.
As much as he wanted to linger and enjoy the intoxicating copp
er scent of blood, there was no time to waste. Time was the primary commodity now.
He picked up the little girl, careful to keep her bundled in the blanket. Moving from the motel room to the van was tricky, but transitions were a necessary evil.
He quickly crossed the lot and placed her carefully in the back of the van. The child had not moved or stirred. She appeared heavily drugged. It was all the better and easier if she was asleep.
He got behind the wheel and slowly pulled out of the lot. The cops were closing in, thanks to Melina. Chances of him getting out of this alive were slim, but he was not overly concerned. The cancer was going to get him soon. At least he could go to his grave happy knowing Melina was dead.
Ramsey secured the area around Sonny’s house while Melina called in the local detectives and the medical examiner’s office. Within minutes, local uniforms and the forensic team were on site. Several neighbors had congregated at the edge of the yellow crime scene tape, and one news van was parked across the street.
Once the world got wind that they were likely dealing with a serial killer, all bets would be off. The investigation would turn into a zoo as the media stirred up public worries for the sake of ratings.
Melina interviewed several neighbors and was not surprised to hear that Sonny, a.k.a. Sam, was a good neighbor. He mowed and edged his lawn, planted flowers every spring, and had won yard of the month last summer several times. He never had crazy parties or created any kind of disturbance. In fact, if anyone needed a hand moving a piece of furniture or hauling fall leaves, Sam was their man.
Melina knocked on the door of the house directly across from Sam’s. The woman who answered the door was very pregnant, and she carried a young toddler on her hip. The mother had dark shoulder-length hair that skimmed her rounded face. Melina guessed the toddler was a boy.
Melina held up her badge, introduced herself, and explained why she was here.
“Sure, I know Sam. He’s great. When my husband was sick last summer, he cut our grass. Nice guy.”
“There was a woman found in his house.” She did not mention that Bonnie had been strangled. “Has he had many visitors lately?”
