Close Enough to Kill

by Beverly Barton

  “Yeah?”

  “All four bullets were identical. And all four were fired from Ron Delaine’s weapon.”

  “That’s not possible. What about the bullet that went through Scotty Joe’s arm?”

  “It seems there was blood on one of the bullets from Delaine’s gun.”

  Jim’s stomach knotted. “Shit! Look, let’s keep a lid on this info, okay?”

  “Okay, for now. Is there something else going on, something I don’t know?” Charlie asked.

  “Maybe,” Jim replied. “I’m not sure, but you’ll be the third to know.”

  “The third?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be first, Bernie will be second and you’ll be third.”

  “Whatever’s going on, don’t do anything without me,” Charlie told him.

  “I haven’t forgotten the Sheriff’s Department and the ABI are in this thing together.” Jim glanced at Bernie, whose eyes were filled with questions. “Look, I’ve got to make a phone call. I’ll get back in touch with you soon.”

  Still holding the telephone, Jim hit the OFF button. Bernie grabbed his arm.

  “Tell me?”

  “The crime scene investigators found four bullets at Robyn’s gym. All four came from Ron Delaine’s gun.” Jim quickly dialed Griffin’s private number. “One bullet had blood on it.”

  Bernie stared at him in disbelief. “If that’s the case, then…No. No, it’s not possible.”

  Griff answered on the second ring.

  “Check the yearbook for a photo of a kid named Melvin J. Smith.”

  “Hold on.”

  Bernie shook Jim’s arm. “You can’t possibly think that—”

  “Jim?” Griffin said.

  “Yeah?”

  “I found him. He’s a nerdy looking kid. He was on the debate team and belonged to the Van Gogh Club. I imagine that was some kind of a club for artists.”

  “Scan his picture and send it to me ASAP.”

  “You got it.”

  Jim sat at the computer. Waiting. Bernie stood behind him again, then leaned over, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed her cheek against his.

  In no time at all, the second e-mail from Griffin came through, this one with an attachment. Jim sensed that Bernie was holding her breath. Hell, even he was.

  He opened the attachment and the scanned school photograph of Melvin J. Smith. He studied the boy’s features, mentally removed the glasses, and added twelve years and seventy pounds of hard muscle.

  “What do you think?” he asked Bernie.

  “I’m not sure. I see a resemblance, but…”

  “I think it’s him.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I think it is, too. So what do we do now?”

  “Not we, honey. Me. You’re on temporary leave, remember?”

  Jim picked up the phone and dialed Griff’s number again.

  “I’m already on it,” Griff said. “We’re doing a search to find out if Melvin J. Smith legally changed his name.”

  “How soon should you know?”

  “If we’re lucky, a couple of hours.”

  “Then pray that we’re lucky.”

  Chapter 32

  Once Jim learned that Melvin J. Smith had legally changed his name before he went into the army ten years ago, he knew he possessed the identity of their Secret Admirer killer. But knowing her abductor’s identity didn’t mean they could save Robyn. They could arrest him, put him behind bars, and throw away the key, but if their suspect didn’t admit that he’d taken Robyn and tell them where he’d hidden her, Bernie’s sister would probably die before they could find her. As difficult as it had been for them to bide their time, to wait even a few hours for their suspect to make his next move, they’d known that, for Robyn’s sake, they had no other choice.

  But as luck would have it, they hadn’t had to wait long. Only until nightfall that same day. Their killer had made an unexpected move, forcing them to act quickly. As far as Bernie knew, Jim was with John Downs right now, search warrant in hand, going through the suspect’s home. She had no idea that while John searched the apartment, Jim and Charlie had set in motion a plan to rescue Robyn.

  He and Charlie had agreed that the only way to make this work was if one man followed the suspect at a discreet distance. And the two of them had also agreed that Bernie and R.B. would be kept out of the loop for the time being. They couldn’t risk R.B. going off half-cocked, acting like an outraged father and screwing things up. And Jim didn’t want Bernie worrying herself sick about him for any longer than necessary or feeling as if she should be in on her sister’s rescue.

  Jim had gone in alone. The ABI had provided him with a car, a late-model inexpensive sedan. Nondescript. Not likely to be noticed. The perfect vehicle to use for tailing someone.

  As Jim made a slow, easy turn, he kept his gaze focused on the taillights of the SUV a good ten-car distance ahead of him. He had to be careful, even risk losing the guy, in order to keep the son of a bitch from spotting him. If Robyn’s abductor even suspected he was being tailed, it could cost Robyn her life. It had been three days since she’d disappeared, three days without food, possibly without water. Three days all alone and scared out of her mind.

  Jim hadn’t done much praying in his life, but he prayed now. Prayed that God was looking after Bernie’s little sister.

  When the SUV made another turn, Jim cursed under his breath. He knew where the guy was headed. Goddamn it! Why hadn’t he figured it out sooner? It had been right there in front of him, right under his nose.

  He called Charlie. “He’s got her stashed away somewhere at the community college.”

  “What? How do you know?”

  “He just turned off on Baker Lane.”

  “That doesn’t necessarily mean—”

  “Yes, it does. My gut instincts are screaming at me.”

  “Be careful, Jim. We’re about three miles behind you.”

  We meant the Sheriff’s Department’s Special Operations Group, consisting of one sergeant and six deputies, all trained in SWAT tactics, each officer a crack shot.

  “For God’s sake, don’t move in until I tell you to,” Jim said. “We can’t spook this guy.”

  “Then keep in touch on a regular basis. Every five minutes.”

  “Every ten.”

  “Damn.”

  “He’s pulling into the parking lot at the college right now,” Jim said. “I’m going to take the back way in and park behind the school, then try to catch up with him on foot.”

  “Hey, before you sign off…”

  “I’ll check in again in ten minutes.” Jim ended the conversation.

  He parked the car, got out, and raced around the building, doing his best to avoid the security lights, trying to stay in the shadows. Breathing hard, adrenaline pumping, Jim took cover behind a huge Dumpster at the side of the secluded lot where their guy had parked his vehicle. After scanning the scene, Jim realized the SUV was empty. And there was no sign of the driver. He’d been in a hurry to go to his latest victim, eager to abuse her.

  God, don’t do this! Don’t let it happen. I’ve got to find Robyn and I sure could use some help right about now.

  Knowing their guy could have gone anywhere, into any of the buildings, Jim accepted temporary defeat. If he went searching for him right now, the odds were not in his favor. Jim hurried back to his car, got in and contacted Charlie Patterson again.

  “What’s wrong?” Charlie asked.

  “I lost him,” Jim said. “He’s here at the college somewhere, in one of these buildings, but it could take days to search the place, and I don’t think Robyn has days. Because of his injury, this guy hasn’t been able to get to her since he abducted her. There’s no telling what he’ll do to her as soon as he gets his hands on her again.”

  “We need to be able to narrow it down, to figure out exactly where he stashed her. There can’t be that many places at the college where he could keep her that she’d go completely undetected for days, even for a
couple of weeks.”

  Jim knew Charlie was thinking about the other women who had been held for thirteen to sixteen days. Where on this campus could a woman be held captive without anyone even suspecting she was there?

  “We need to talk to somebody who knows every nook and cranny of this college,” Jim said. “Somebody who knows if there are any secret places.”

  “R.B. might know,” Charlie said. “And if he doesn’t, he’ll know who to contact to find out.”

  “Call Bernie. Tell her what’s going on, then have her explain the situation to her father. Tell her to have R.B. call me directly.”

  “Yeah, will do.”

  Jim leaned over the steering wheel, lifted his hand and rubbed his forehead. All he could do for now was sit and wait.

  And do a little more praying.

  When they approached the front door, Deputy John Downs hesitated. Bernie paused, turned and looked at him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. It’s just I’m beginning to think your coming along on this search might not be a good idea. What if we find what we’re looking for?”

  “I hope we do.”

  “When Jim finds out that—”

  “Jim will understand that I needed to do this, that I had to do something to help with this investigation, to help nail the guy who kidnapped my sister.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Bernie motioned to the three backup deputies accompanying them to take their positions. Then using the key the landlord had provided, she unlocked the front door. With her weapon drawn, as a precaution only since she knew Jim and Charlie were pursuing the suspect at this very moment, she entered the apartment. Thank God that John had felt compelled to update her on the situation, even if Jim had decided it best to keep her out of the loop.

  She wanted to be with Jim, wanted to take every step he took, be at his side to protect him. She wanted to be the one to rescue Robyn and bring in her potential killer. Or bring him down.

  Logic dictated that because she was the victim’s sister, she couldn’t be objective in her thinking or her actions. So, she was doing what she could do—trying to find the evidence they needed to prove their suspect was the Secret Admirer killer.

  When they were certain the apartment was clear, no sign of the resident or anyone else for that matter, they began their search. It didn’t take long for Bernie to discover the condemning items inside a desk in his living room. After returning her weapon to the holster, she donned a pair of gloves and sorted through the items, lifting them from the drawers and spreading them out on top of the desk.

  “What have you found?” When John saw the items on the desk, he let out a long, low whistle. “Good God!”

  Bernie stared at the array of snapshots, all of young, pretty brunettes. Jacque Reeves. Stephanie Preston. Thomasina Hardy. Abby Miller. Bernie’s hand trembled as she lifted a single snapshot of Robyn.

  John looked over her shoulder. “This is our guy all right. He’s got pictures and sketches of all the victims. And”—John pointed first to one small container and then to another—“there’s a box filled with pink nail polish and lipstick, and that one has little perfume bottles in it and…Son of a bitch! He bought these things in bulk.”

  “I don’t want anything touched,” Bernie said. “Leave everything for the ABI’s CSU people. Seal off this apartment and post a guard at the door.”

  John nodded. “I need to contact Jim and Charlie, let them know they’re definitely pursuing the right guy.”

  “No, you handle things here. I’ll get in touch with Jim and Charlie.”

  “Bernie?” John frowned. “Are you sure? Jim really wanted you to stay—”

  “I can’t stay out of it. Not now. Jim will understand.”

  Jim’s phone vibrated. He’d turned off the ringer and set it to vibrate instead.

  “Yeah?”

  “Jim, it’s R.B. Look, I’ve talked to the college president and he’s given us permission to search the entire college. But I don’t think it’ll come to that. I told President Corbitt that I remember the campus includes an old building that years ago was an auditorium/lunchroom. That building is used now only by the drama department for plays and the choral department for their annual musical. And for the D.A.R.E. program lectures.”

  “Damn!”

  “Here’s the thing—in the early fifties, a part of the basement was converted into a bomb shelter consisting of several rooms, all of them virtually soundproof, and one room not accessible except through a hatchlike door. That part of the basement hasn’t been used in twenty years, not even for storage.”

  “Then that’s where he’s holding Robyn.”

  “I agree.”

  “I’ll find her, R.B. And I’ll get him.”

  “Listen, boy, there’s not going to be any way to sneak up on him.”

  “I know.”

  “President Corbitt gave me instructions on how to get to the bomb shelter,” R.B. said. “It’s fairly simple, if you know where you’re going.”

  Jim got out of the car and headed toward the old building, following R.B.’s directions, step by step.

  Lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, Robyn thought she heard something, but chalked it up to her imagination. Her wild imagination. Her insane fears.

  I’m going crazy. I’m losing my mind.

  She had no idea how long she’d been trapped in this single concrete room. She thought it had been only a few days, but it could have been longer. She hadn’t eaten, and for a while she’d been hungry, but not any longer. Thankfully, she had water, had been able to use the sink for drinking water and to keep herself washed off a little. No towel and washcloth. And the only soap was out of reach, in the makeshift shower stall on the other side of the sink and commode.

  Where is he? Why hasn’t he come for me?

  She heard the noise again. Overhead. She rose slowly into a sitting position. Someone was opening the door.

  Her heart raced maddeningly. Had he come back? Or was it possible someone else had found her? Should she cry out or remain silent?

  “Hello,” she called. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s me, darling. Have you missed me terribly?”

  Oh, God, no…No!

  Jim’s phone vibrated just as he reached the basement in the old building. Following the directions R.B. had given him, he had broken into the auditorium through a back door. He had breathed a heavy sigh of relief after he punched in the security code President Corbitt had given R.B. and the green light had come on at the control panel.

  Pausing in a dark corner, Jim flipped open his phone. “Yeah?” he whispered.

  “Jim.”

  “Bernie?”

  “Look, I’m going to make this quick, okay? I went with John to search our guy’s apartment. We found everything—photos of all his northeast Alabama victims, a box filled with pink nail polish and lipstick, all the other gifts and—”

  “Honey, I’ve got to go. Thanks for confirming what I already knew in my gut.”

  “Wait. What’s happening?”

  “Call R.B. He’ll fill you in.”

  Jim closed his cell phone, clipped it to his belt, then turned on his flashlight and slowly, carefully made his way down the pitch-black hallway.

  Weak, fatigued and scared out of her mind, Robyn did not fight her captor when he unchained her and led her across the room and into the shower. He had stripped off his clothes before he freed her, and now they stood together, both of them naked, beneath the cool, pelting water.

  She noticed the ugly, bruised wound on his arm. What had happened to him? Think, Robyn, think back to when he killed Agent Delaine. The private bodyguard had used his gun. She distinctly remembered hearing the shots. Had one of his shots hit this madman?

  He lathered his hands with soap. Starting at her neck, he washed her body. Every muscle tight, every nerve rioting, she stood there and allowed him to touch her intimately, to scrub her breasts, rake his nails over her nipples, to put his h
and between her thighs and—No, please, don’t. He stuck two fingers up inside her. She tensed. He eased his other hand down over her buttocks, slipped his fingers in the crease of her cheeks and inserted a finger into her anus.

  “Relax, my darling. You know you love it when I touch you. Here—” He jabbed his fingers in and out of her repeatedly.

  She whimpered.

  “Oh, poor baby, you want my dick inside you, don’t you? You’re tired of me playing with you.” He paused his thrusts, lowered his head and bit her neck. She shivered. “Ask me nicely.”

  No, I won’t do it.

  “Robyn, I told you to ask me.”

  Silence.

  “Bad girl. I’ll have to punish you. You have to learn that when you defy me, there are consequences.”

  Before she realized what was happening, he yanked her around, shoved her up against the concrete shower stall wall, then lifted her up just enough to ram his penis into her anus. She screamed with pain.

  Standing over the open hatch, feeling grateful that their guy hadn’t closed and locked the only access into the room below, Jim heard a woman’s screams. Goddamn it, he was hurting Robyn, torturing her.

  Take a couple of deep breaths. You need to be thinking straight and your nerves need to be steady when you go down there. Robyn’s life depends on you. If you fuck this up, Bernie will never forgive you. And you’ll never forgive yourself.

  Jim turned off his flashlight, drew his Glock, and headed down the rickety wooden stairs, completely aware of the fact that his only protection was the Kevlar vest beneath his shirt.

  Robyn’s tormented screams echoed inside Jim’s head as he stepped down onto the solid concrete floor. Scanning the area hurriedly, he froze to the spot when he saw, there across the room, an open bathroom area. The guy had his back to Jim. He was pumping into the woman he had pressed against the wall.

  Jim lifted his pistol and aimed it at the back of the guy’s head. But before he could get off a clean shot, Scotty Joe Walters whirled around, putting Robyn directly in front of himself, his hands at either side of her neck.