by Janie Crouch
“No, I don’t care about money. But doesn’t it bother you that Ashley was a hooker on the side? All these girls you’ve been with aren’t exactly upstanding members of society.”
Jarrod grimaced. “I don’t care about that sort of stuff, man. The girls were fun. I like fun girls.”
“You sure about that, Jarrod? Sure you didn’t realize that these girls needed cleaning up? That they were tramps? That this town would be better off without them?”
“What?” Jarrod’s face wrinkled.
“You know, maybe they needed to be purified in some way. Help them get on the right track? Find God or peace or whatever?”
Jarrod let out a breath, shaking his head. “Dude. You are starting to sound just like my mom. I’m not into that sort of purity stuff. I like girls who like to have a good time. I’m not looking for someone to settle down with. I keep trying to explain that to her.”
Brandon sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Your mom talks about purity a lot?”
“All. The. Time.” Jarrod rolled his eyes. “I think I’m going to have to move out of her house. The lectures I get after staying out late... Unbelievable. And if she knew I was going to strip clubs? Sleeping with girls from strip clubs? She’d blow a gasket. Not enough prayers that could be said for my soul.”
Brandon stood up. They had the wrong man. In fact, there wasn’t a man at all. Jarrod’s mother was the serial killer.
He walked over and buzzed the door to let him out. Surely Andrea was here by now. Brandon realized that having her to talk things through with had become important to him over the past few days. After David, he never thought he’d have that again. Never thought he’d want to.
Andrea wasn’t in the observation room, but Kendrick was.
“You get that?” Brandon asked him.
“We’re already putting an APB out on her. She’s not at their house. We’ve still got people there.”
“Have you seen Andrea?”
“No. She hasn’t been here at all.”
Something clenched in Brandon’s stomach. He reached for his phone and dialed her number, knowing texts weren’t great for her. It rang then went to voice mail. He left a message, then called Keira next.
“Glad to hear you aren’t a complete ass after all,” Keira said by way of greeting.
Any other time he would’ve joked with Keira, even apologized and thanked her. But not now. “Andrea with you, Keira?”
“No, left about forty-five minutes ago. Said you had the killer in custody. Showed me a picture of him. I recognized him as someone Jillian hung out with.”
“He’s not the right person. Stay in your house until you hear from me. Get a call out to all the girls at Jaguar’s if you can. The killer is still out there.”
Keira was silent for just a moment. “Okay. Find our girl, Brandon. And have her call me when you do.”
“I will.”
Brandon put a call in to Big Mike at Club Paradise to make sure Andrea hadn’t gone there to tell him the good news. Mike hadn’t seen her.
Brandon tried her phone again. Nothing.
Kendrick reentered the observation room. His face was grim.
“Your rental a white Toyota?” He read off a license-plate number.
Brandon nodded.
“It was found abandoned off Highway 85. The phone you’re trying to call was inside.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Andrea fought to claw her way out of the darkness. Her brain didn’t want to focus; her eyes didn’t want to open. Reality felt distant, fuzzy. Her hands were tied behind her back and she was lying on her side; that much she knew.
She forced herself to be still, to think, to try to figure out what was going on.
She’d been drugged by that lady she’d stopped to help on the side of the road. She forced back nausea as she thought of the woman’s face, how it had seemed vaguely familiar.
“I know you’re waking up,” Andrea heard the woman say from a few yards away. “I didn’t give you enough tranquilizer for you to be out for too long.”
Andrea remembered being pushed into a trunk, but they weren’t in a car any longer. She opened her eyes in the smallest of slits, trying to keep the nausea at bay. They weren’t outside. Somewhere inside, but mostly empty. Maybe a small abandoned warehouse? She opened her eyes a little more and saw where the older woman was sitting.
On a pew. An abandoned church building. It looked as if most of it had been burned in a fire.
Given the nature of the crimes, it made perfect sense that this was where the killer would bring the victims.
“I know your aunt, you know,” the woman said from where she sat. “Met her at an AA meeting. Not that I’m an alcoholic, but my son is. I thought learning about AA might help me help him. He needs help. Needs to be shown the right path. He’s so weak.”
It came to Andrea then. They’d had the right house, but the wrong killer.
“You’re Jarrod’s mother.”
“Yes.”
Andrea tried to shake off the mental cobwebs clouding her mind. To think. To find some way to relate to this woman. “He and I went to high school together.”
“Before you dropped out. Margaret told me.”
“Jarrod is my friend. I know he wouldn’t want you to hurt me.”
“Jarrod doesn’t know what he wants. And all you women keep trying to corrupt him. Lead him astray. It’s been my job as a mother to clean up after him. To remove temptation from his sight.”
“So you killed the women Jarrod was interested in.”
“I removed the harlots who led him astray. All of them tempted him beyond what he could bear. All of them either removed their clothes or had sex for money.” Mrs. McConnachie stood up. “All I did was what any other mother would do.”
“But you killed them.”
She took a step closer. “No. I stopped them from committing any further sins. From tempting any other men like Jarrod and corrupting them.”
There was no reasoning with this woman about what she had done. Andrea could feel the sincerity radiating from her. In Mrs. McConnachie’s mind, her actions were both logical and just. Andrea needed to use another tactic.
“I didn’t corrupt Jarrod. He and I have never been romantically involved.”
That stopped Mrs. McConnachie for just a moment. She frowned and looked down at her hands. Andrea realized she was holding a rope. No doubt the same one she’d used to strangle the other women.
Andrea began to slide backward on the floor, away from her.
That was a mistake.
Her eyes narrowed and she stepped toward Andrea.
“No. You work at one of those disgusting clubs. I saw you.”
“Mrs. McConnachie, I was working undercover.” Trying to catch you, but Andrea knew not to say that. “I was trying to stop the same thing you were trying to stop, women from corrupting men.”
Mrs. McConnachie stopped again, but then shook her head. “No. Margaret said you two had talked, but you wouldn’t forgive her, that you were still angry at her even though she had taken you in to raise when you were younger. You’re just as bad as those women who tried to corrupt Jarrod.”
Andrea realized the older woman wasn’t interested in reason or logic. She planned to kill Andrea. The action was already justified in her mind.
Where was Brandon? Had he realized yet Jarrod wasn’t the killer? Andrea had no doubt he would; she just didn’t think it would be in time to save her. She had no idea where she was. How could Brandon possibly know?
Andrea scooted away on the floor as Jarrod’s mother walked toward her. She tried to think of any of the self-defense techniques Brandon had taught her, but with her arms restrained and body feeling so sluggish because of the drugs, it was diffic
ult to move, much less fight.
Tears filled Andrea’s eyes. She was going to die here. Killed, ironically, by the very embodiment of a demon from her past, just as Andrea was starting to truly put the past behind her.
She’d never know what could’ve been between her and Brandon.
Mrs. McConnachie pulled her up into a kneeling position and quickly wrapped her strand of rope around Andrea’s neck, coming to stand behind her. Andrea struggled not to fall over, knowing that would just quicken the strangulation.
“Don’t worry. This won’t hurt very long. Soon you’ll be at peace.”
Andrea felt the bite of the rope against her throat, instantly cutting off her air. She couldn’t help but struggle although it didn’t do any good. Her arms bit against the restraints, she could feel blood, but couldn’t get loose.
She tried to suck in a breath but the sound just came out as a hoarse sigh.
“There, there,” Mrs. McConnachie crooned. “Don’t fight it. Find your peace. That’s all you need to do now.”
Andrea fought one last time, trying to throw her weight to the side, to not panic as Brandon had taught her to do. But it was no use.
Blessed blackness was overtaking Andrea when the pressure suddenly lessened. She collapsed to her side as Mrs. McConnachie fell to the ground next to her. Andrea sucked life-giving oxygen as she tried to figure out what had happened. Had Brandon found them?
Jarrod’s mother’s eyes stared blankly ahead as a pool of blood began to surround her on the ground. The woman was dead. Andrea couldn’t get her body to the angle she needed to prop herself up. All she could do was barely hold on to consciousness as she struggled to get air through her bruised throat.
“Have you ever heard anything so tedious in your entire life as that woman carrying on?” A foot kicked Mrs. McConnachie’s body to the side, then squatted down next to Andrea so she could see his face.
She immediately recognized the evil-laden eyes of Damian Freihof.
This time she didn’t even try to fight the blackness as it pulled her under.
* * *
THE WARRIOR INSIDE Brandon roared to life. Andrea—his woman—was in danger, the most desperate kind of danger. Brandon had to do something about that.
He was turning to go back and demand answers from Jarrod—he didn’t plan to be anywhere near so gentle this time—when Kendrick put his hand on Brandon’s arm to stop him. He took a slight step back when Brandon turned his ferocious gaze on him.
“What?” Brandon snapped out. Kendrick, whatever good he meant, was standing in his way from getting to Andrea.
No one, not even law enforcement, was going to stop him from finding her. By whatever means necessary.
“Whoa, Han.” The man held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Before you go in there, I just wanted you to know that a vehicle in distress was called in by a civilian near where Andrea’s car was found about thirty minutes ago.”
Brandon listened. This could be useful intel. “Okay.”
“Lady didn’t want to stop because she had two babies in the car, but didn’t want to leave what looked to be like an older woman stranded. She doesn’t remember the exact model of the vehicle, but it was a black four-door sedan. ‘Like something from the ’80s,’ the woman said.”
“I’m going to question Jarrod,” Brandon told him. “This may not be pretty. I’d appreciate it if there were no interruptions.”
Kendrick shrugged. “Actually, I’m going back out to the McConnachies’ ranch, make sure there’s no unknown buildings where the mom might have Andrea. I’m going to send our other men out to look around town. I’ll call Phoenix police department and see if we can get some help, too.”
“Good. Keep me posted.”
Kendrick handed Brandon the keys to a squad car, then shrugged, turning away. “And damn if the system that records our interrogation-room interviews isn’t on the fritz again.”
Brandon nodded curtly. He would thank Kendrick later. After he had Andrea back safely.
He unlocked the interview-room door from the outside so he would be able to get back out, then slipped inside. Jarrod was still sitting there, looking bored, biting unkempt fingernails.
“Does your mother drive a black sedan? Late ’80s-ish model?”
Jarrod rolled his eyes. “Oh my gosh, yes. She’s had that thing since before I was born. I’m embarrassed whenever I have to borrow it.”
Brandon refrained from mentioning that Jarrod was in his midtwenties and should have his own damn car.
“Where does your mother like to hang out, Jarrod?”
“Why?” Jarrod snickered. “You looking for a date? I’m sure she wouldn’t be much fun, you know.”
Brandon rammed his fist down on the table. Jarrod flew back in his chair, eyes wide.
“What the hell, man?”
“I’ll tell you what the hell.” Brandon reached down and got the autopsy photographs of each of the dead women. He put them on top of the photographs of when they were alive. “Do you know why you’re here, Jarrod? Because every single one of the women you had a fling with over the last few weeks is dead.”
Jarrod looked as if he was going to vomit. Color leaked from his face. “I didn’t do this, man. I swear to God, I didn’t kill them. I have an alibi, remember?”
Under other circumstances Brandon would have handled a situation like this more delicately, broken the news to him more gently. Jarrod’s mom might be a killer, but the woman was still his mother.
Brandon didn’t have that kind of time.
“I know you didn’t kill them. Your mother did.”
Brandon’s eyes bugged right out of his head. “What?”
“She must have been following you. She saw the women you hooked up with and killed them the next day or soon after.”
“But...but why?”
“You said she talks about purification all the time? These women’s bodies were left with purification rituals. Like your mother was cleansing them to send them to the next world or whatever.”
The final bit of color left Jarrod’s complexion. “She talks about that sort of junk all the time.” He blanched as he tore his eyes up from the pictures to look at Brandon where he leaned on both arms against the table. “About needing to clean up the ‘riffraff’ in this town, to get rid of all those who would lead men down a corrupted path. I think my dad might have cheated on her or something before he died. But I never knew she meant to kill anyone. I just thought she meant starting a petition to close down the local strip clubs or something, you know?”
“Jarrod, I know this is hard. But I need your help right now. Another woman’s life is at stake. Andrea’s.”
Jarrod was staring down at the pictures again.
“Where would your mom do this, Jarrod? Kill these women. We’ve already checked your house and barn. Is there anywhere else on your property?”
Jarrod shook his head numbly. “We don’t really own anything besides the house and barn. Most of the land got sold off when Dad died.”
“Okay, then somewhere else? Where does your mom like to go? Where does she hang out?”
Jarrod said nothing, just stared at the pictures. Brandon knew he was losing the other man, shock settling in. That was unacceptable until he got the info he needed.
He reached down and grabbed Jarrod by the collar of the cheap jacket he wore and yanked him out of his chair. Under any other circumstances this sort of manhandling of a witness would be completely unacceptable. This wasn’t some action movie where cops could do whatever they wanted with no repercussions.
Brandon didn’t give a damn about repercussions.
“Think, Jarrod. Where would your mother go to do these things?” He shook the other man.
“I don’t know. She goes to church a lot and s
ome other meetings. I don’t really know what.” His voice was squeaky.
“No. It couldn’t be a place other people are around. Where else? Where would she go if she wanted to be alone?”
Jarrod began to cry. Brandon pulled the younger man’s face closer to his.
“Focus, Jarrod. Your mother would need to be somewhere where no one is around. Isolated, to at least some degree. Where. Would. She. Go?” He punctuated each word with a shake.
“I don’t know, man, maybe the old church off Highway 85? She always slows down when we drive past. It’s where my dad’s memorial service was held.”
“No, a church is too crowded, even if no service is going on.”
Jarrod shook his head. “No, this one burned a few years ago. Congregation decided to build a new church in a more convenient location rather than pay to have that one rebuilt. The outer walls are still standing but the inside is pretty torn up.”
That was it. It had to be.
“Where, exactly?”
Jarrod quickly explained, and Brandon was flying out the door and to the squad car in seconds, praying he wasn’t too late.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Brandon parked the squad car and got out of it silently, not wanting to take the chance that Mrs. McConnachie might hear him and panic, hurting Andrea.
But he sprinted because the woman had already had Andrea in her clutches for way too long. Brandon pushed the warrior, who wanted to burst in and fight, aside. Logic had to reign right now. Caution. The mental state of Mrs. McConnachie was unknown. He’d radioed for help, but wasn’t going to wait for backup to arrive.
Brandon eased his way through a side door that couldn’t be completely closed because of burn damage. He couldn’t see most of the larger section of the charred church, only the front portion near what must have once been the altar area. Brandon was shocked at what met his eyes.
Mrs. McConnachie’s dead body lying on the ground.
