Close Enough to Kill

by Beverly Barton

  She and Jim’s son had formed an almost instant friendship, partly thanks to Boomer, but partly because they simply liked each other. She saw so much of Jim in Kevin, more than just a strong physical resemblance. She didn’t think Jim realized how much alike he and his son were.

  “Finished?” Bernie asked Jim.

  “Yeah, I’m finished.”

  She cleared away the table and dumped everything in the garbage, then glanced over her shoulder. “Since Kevin’s going to take Boomer and watch TV in the den when they come back in, we can work in here if you’d like.”

  Jim scooted his chair out from the table and stood. “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll pour us both another cup of coffee before we get started.”

  “You sit,” she told him. “I’ll get the coffee.”

  Jim stretched his arms over his head and twisted from side to side, then picked up his vinyl carryall from where he’d laid it on the counter when he’d entered the kitchen earlier. After sitting down, he unzipped the case, pulled out a notepad and several file folders and spread them on top of the table.

  Bernie placed their refilled coffee cups on the table and took her seat catercorner from Jim. “Did you get in touch with Derek Lawrence last night?”

  Jim shook his head. “I talked to his wife. Lawrence got called in on an urgent case in Louisiana, but he told her to let me know he’d have the profile for us no later than Monday. It seems he wants the info we’ve compiled on the victims from the other states so he can compare the two and see if he thinks we’re dealing with the same guy.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s possible, maybe even probable, but I’m withholding making a final judgment until you and I go over everything. I want your opinion.”

  Bernie nodded. “Were you able to get in touch with the lead detective from the murder case in South Carolina yesterday after we last talked?”

  “Yep, I finally tracked down former Captain Hal Shepard last night. After he retired a couple of years ago, he moved to Louisville. And to make it even more difficult to find him, he’d gone off on a fishing trip with his son and grandson.”

  “So, what did he have to say?”

  “Pretty much what I expected.” Jim grimaced. “The victim, Shannon Elmore, was like all the other victims—young, pretty, dark haired, and popular. And when I explained about the other murders and described the killer’s MO, he agreed that there were similarities, but several inconsistencies.”

  “Such as?”

  “Shannon Elmore was abducted, raped and brutalized before her killer slit her throat,” Jim said. “But she was missing only three days before her body was discovered, naked and posed. And there’s no record of her receiving any gifts, except a few S and M sketches done in ink.”

  “Do you think she was the first victim and that’s why there were no gifts, no real seduction before he grabbed her?”

  “That’s exactly what I thought until Shepard mentioned another case he’d worked on approximately a year before the Elmore case.”

  Bernie lifted her eyebrows. “Another similar case?”

  “Sort of, but not exactly.”

  “Meaning?”

  “A year before Shannon Elmore was murdered in Greenville, South Carolina, another young woman in that city was killed in the same way—her throat was slit. Heather Stevens had been raped and brutalized and her body left on a lonely stretch of road. But Heather had been missing for less than twelve hours. And she hadn’t been completely naked.” Jim paused for effect. “She was wearing a string of pearls.”

  Bernie blew out a whistling breath. “How many of the victims received a gift of pearls?”

  “We know for sure that Stephanie and Thomasina did and both Georgia victims did, but none of the lead detectives in the other cases mentioned anything about pearls as one of the gifts.”

  “Did both Shannon Elmore and Heather Stevens fit the description of all the other victims?”

  Jim nodded. “Young, pretty, brunette, and popular. All eight women. Eight if we count Heather, and nine if we lump Thomasina Hardy in with the others.”

  “You believe, despite the lack of consistent similarities, that Heather Stevens was killed by the same man, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do. And my gut tells me that Heather was probably the first, not Shannon.”

  “Then are we to assume this killer simply chooses a certain type of woman at random? Our three Alabama victims, counting Thomasina, lived within easy driving distance of one another, but they didn’t know each other and the only connection they had to one another was that two of them had attended Adams County Junior College and one was a teacher there.” Bernie looked directly at Jim. “What about the other victims? Were they connected in any way?”

  “I don’t know about anybody else, other than Heather and Shannon. Hal Shepard told me that the two women had gone to private school together, that they’d been close friends.”

  “Is that fact significant? Could it mean that they knew the killer, that he chose his first two victims for a specific reason, other than the obvious?”

  The backdoor flew open. Kevin came running inside and chased Boomer through the kitchen. As he skidded to a halt by the refrigerator, he asked, “May I have a cola?”

  “Help yourself,” Bernie replied.

  Kevin glanced at the notepad and papers scattered about on the table. “You two have already started working, huh?” Boomer jumped up on Kevin, pawing his leg. “We’ll get out of here pronto and you won’t hear a peep out of us until lunchtime.”

  “Thank you for taking care of Boomer for me this morning,” Bernie said.

  “You’re welcome.” Kevin grinned broadly, then retrieved a canned cola from the refrigerator, picked up Boomer and jaunted out of the kitchen.

  Jim turned his attention back to business. “Let’s assume that the same man killed all eight women, beginning with Heather nearly seven years ago.”

  “Okay, we’ll work with that premise. We have a man who, for reasons unknown, targets young, pretty, popular brunettes. As far as we know there are only eight victims, not counting Thomasina, and I refuse to give up hope on her. But he apparently isn’t killing within a certain time frame. He has murdered two women in our area within the past six months and in a little over a week after Stephanie’s body was discovered, he abducted Thomasina.”

  Jim rummaged through the papers on the table, picking up one, scanning it, and then repeating the process again and again. “Son of a bitch.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Probably nothing,” Jim said. “Heather Stevens was killed seven years ago, and then the next three murders occurred the following year, all within a six-month time span.” He lifted a couple of sheets of paper and fanned them back and forth. “The two Georgia murders didn’t occur until three years later.” He glanced at one report, and then another. “The first Georgia murder took place in September in Gainsville and the second occurred in December in Rome. That was two and a half years ago.”

  “There really is no time frame. He’s killed sporadically. One murder, then three, then two, then one, and now two, three if you count Thomasina.”

  “There is one thing we’re overlooking,” Jim said. “We assumed that Jacque Reeves and Stephanie Hardy knew their killer and trusted him enough to get into his car. But if our guy is the same man who committed the other murders, that means he is not an Alabama native or if he is, he’s moved around or traveled quite a bit. He has either recently moved to this area or moved back to this area.”

  “You don’t actually think we can come up with a list of suspects from those facts, do you? This guy could live anywhere in northeast Alabama.”

  “He could, but what if he lives in Adams County?”

  “What if he doesn’t?”

  “Come on, Bernie, we’re putting together a hypothesis. We’re playing a game of what if. What if this guy lives in Adams County? What if he’s either new to the area or has moved back here
in the past year? You know just about everybody in the county, don’t you?”

  “Oh shit. You want me to name names?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “I can’t just accuse somebody—”

  “You’re not accusing anybody,” he told her. “But we have to start somewhere in compiling a list of possible suspects, and I’d say this is as good a place as any.”

  Bernie nodded, hating the idea of pointing fingers unjustly at anyone. Absentmindedly, she tapped her fingernails on the table as she thought. “Well, the first person who comes to mind is Reverend Donaldson. He’s our most recent newcomer.”

  “A minister who’s a serial killer. Hmm…unlikely, but not impossible.”

  Bernie chuckled. “Matthew is a pussycat.”

  “And you know this how?” Jim asked. “From personal experience? I thought your mom had picked out Matthew for Robyn. You haven’t been homing in on your sister’s territory, have you?”

  Bernie laughed nervously, the sound odd to her own ears. “Don’t be silly.” If I were going after one of Robyn’s men, it wouldn’t be Matthew Donaldson. It would be you, Jim Norton. It would damn well be you. “Robyn isn’t interested in Matthew. She told me that she was bored to tears on their one and only date. And as far as how I know, Matthew really is a pussycat. That’s Mom’s opinion and Dad’s, and the few times I’ve been around him I sensed that he’s a kind, gentle man.”

  “Serial killers wear masks,” Jim told her. “They have been known to masquerade as charming, gentle men when, in reality, they’re monsters.”

  “You don’t honestly think that Reverend Donaldson could be—”

  “Where was his last church? Where did he come from?”

  “I don’t know. I could ask—No, wait a minute. I think I remember Mom saying something about how Matthew’s first preaching assignment straight out of the seminary was in Carrollton, Georgia. Mom’s got some cousins who live there and they attended the church where Matthew was the assistant minister.”

  “Georgia, huh?”

  “Oh my goodness. He’s not the only person I know who has lived in Georgia. Raymond Long and his ex-wife lived in Atlanta for several years, and Paul Landon lived in Savannah for a while, and Scotty Joe Walters came to us from the Canton police department, and if I’m not mistaken, I believe Robyn said something about Brandon Kelley visiting his parents just outside Chattanooga in Rossville, Georgia.”

  “Okay, you’ve made your point.” Jim held up his hands in an I-surrender gesture. “There are probably dozens of men in Adams County who have connections to the state of Georgia, but that doesn’t make any one of them our serial killer.”

  “Our DA Jerry Dale’s sister lives in Georgia and his family visits over there several times a year. And Ron Hensley inherited a time-share in a condo on St. Simons on the Georgia coast from his uncle and—”

  Jim reached over and placed his open palm over Bernie’s mouth. “Hush up, woman. Don’t you know it’s not polite to make fun of your chief deputy?”

  The moment Jim’s hand touched her lips, Bernie’s breath caught in her throat. She clamped her teeth together tightly to trap her tongue so that it wouldn’t act on impulse and lick Jim’s hand. Her heartbeat drummed an excited rat-a-tat-tat.

  They stared at each other for one endless moment.

  Mumbling beneath his hand in an effort to diffuse the tense moment, Bernie pulled away from him. He eased his arm down to his side and diverted his gaze.

  “What did you say?” he asked.

  “I said doing something like that is a good way to get your hand bitten,” Bernie told him jokingly.

  Jim grinned.

  His cell phone rang.

  He removed it from the belt clip and flipped it open. “Captain Norton here.”

  Bernie watched and listened as Jim nodded a couple of times, and then said, “Yeah, yeah. We’ll head on over there right away.”

  “What is it?”

  “That was Sheriff Mays,” Jim said. “A couple of hikers found a woman’s body out in the woods over in Jackson County, just across the county line. He’s on his way out there now. He thought we’d want to know.”

  “Is it Thomasina Hardy?”

  “He doesn’t know for sure, but he said it could be.”

  “Damn! It’s been only nine days.”

  “It might not be her.”

  “And if it is?”

  “Then our killer is speeding things up, changing his MO a little and has probably already chosen his next victim.”

  Chapter 16

  Filled to overflowing with well-wishers, the Adams Landing Country Club sparkled with candlelight and champagne. The tinkling of glasses blended with conversations and laughter, with light jazz music creating a subtle undertone for all the other sounds. Men in suits, some like R.B. Granger in tuxedos, escorted wives, sweethearts, and dates. Ladies of all ages were decked out in silk and satin and sequins. And none was more beautiful than Brenda Granger in her white satin, floor-length gown that caressed her slender curves. Not even her younger daughter, Robyn, who wore a skintight, hot pink little number that scooped to her waist in the back and sported a slit that ended mid-thigh, outshined her. And all the children in attendance looked as if they had stepped out of the pages of a kiddie fashion magazine.

  As Bernie and Jim entered the fray, half an hour late, she caught a glimpse of her parents in a far corner of the grand ballroom, Robyn and her date chitchatting with them. Her sister lifted a hand and waved, a predatory smile on her face. Bernie wondered how long it would take Robyn to zero in on Jim. It didn’t matter that Paul Landon was her official date for this evening. It wouldn’t be the first time her sister had arrived at a party with one man and left with another.

  “I feel downright underdressed.” Jim glanced around the main ballroom at all the elegantly attired guests. “I’ve had this old blue suit for years.” He twisted the knot in his blue-and-white-striped tie. “And this is the only tie I own.”

  “You look fine,” Bernie assured him. You’re the best looking man here.

  “I’m sorry you’re late for your parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary. Will your mom be upset?”

  “If she is, she won’t let me know. She was a sheriff’s wife for nearly thirty years. She understands that sometimes work comes first and that it often interferes with family events.”

  Bernie glanced around, searching again for her parents, who seemed to have disappeared; but she figured the two were on the dance floor, which was set up in the smaller of the two ballrooms. She could remember when she’d been a little girl, she and Robyn sitting at the top of the stairs and watching their parents in each other’s arms downstairs in the living room, the two of them dancing to old tunes from the sixties. As she grew older, she realized how much in love her parents were and knew that one day she wanted that kind of love. She wanted a man to look at her the way her dad looked at her mom.

  “Mom and Dad must be on the dance floor. I don’t see them anywhere.”

  “They hired a live band to play tonight?”

  “They sure did. It’s a jazz band from Huntsville.”

  “This is some shindig,” Jim said. “I hate that your folks had to keep an eye on Kevin on their big day.”

  “I’m sure he wasn’t any trouble. After all, Kevin’s nearly thirteen, not three. It’s not as if he can’t look after himself.”

  “Hmm…” Jim nodded. “I wonder what he found to wear tonight. I think he brought one pair of dress slacks and a sport coat with him when he came from Mary Lee’s.”

  “If I know my mom, she probably rented him a tux.”

  “What!”

  Before she could reply to Jim’s outraged expression, Deputies Scotty Joe Walters and Holly Burcham, looking like models out of a physical fitness catalogue with their buffed, tanned bodies, approached Bernie and Jim.

  Ken and Barbie, Bernie thought.

  “Evening, Sheriff.” Scotty Joe smiled, showing a set of perfect white t
eeth that practically glistened against his leather brown face.

  Not for the first time, Bernie thought what a handsome guy he was. Tall and muscular, with bright blue eyes and golden blond hair. And to add to his good looks, the young deputy had a warm, outgoing personality. Everyone who knew him liked him.

  “Hello there, Captain Norton.” Holly flirted quite openly with Jim, smiling up at him as she stroked his arm.

  Scotty Joe didn’t seem to mind in the least that his date was ogling another man, but why should he? It wasn’t as if he and Holly were an item. They both played the field, apparently neither of them interested in a serious relationship with each other or with anyone else.

  “We heard y’all went over to Jackson County today,” Scotty Joe said. “I sure was relieved that the body those hikers found in the woods wasn’t Thomasina. She’s such a sweet lady. Nice and friendly. I still can’t believe that anybody would want to hurt her. Not even Dr. Kelley, even if he did break her heart.”

  “You know Dr. Kelley didn’t send those gifts to Thomasina,” Jim said. “She just thought he was leading her on when, in reality, it was whoever stalked her and later abducted her.”

  “Did y’all find out who the woman was that the hikers found?” Holly asked.

  “We have no idea,” Bernie said. “They’ve sent her badly decomposed body to Huntsville. The Jackson County coroner said she’d probably been dead at least a year.”

  “Could she be another victim of our serial killer?” Scotty Joe asked in a hushed tone, knowing the sheriff’s department didn’t want the term serial killer used publicly in reference to the recent murders.