by Rita Herron
Tinsley shuddered, and Wyatt wished he hadn’t revealed that last part. But he’d promised her the truth, and keeping silent would only hinder the investigation.
His phone buzzed. He checked the number. The ME. “Excuse me. I need to take this.”
Tinsley snagged an afghan from the couch and wrapped it around her as if she was cold. He pressed “Connect” as he stepped outside onto the porch and answered.
Dr. Patton said, “Stop by the morgue. The forensic anthropologist is here. She has information about those bones at Seaside Cemetery.”
“I’ll be there in a few.” He hung up, then went to tell Tinsley.
Tinsley felt shaky and uneasy as Wyatt left. Needing someone to talk to, she called Liz Roberts and asked her to stop by.
Wyatt hadn’t confirmed that the skulls taken from the graves were connected to the man who’d abducted her, but her abductor had talked to the skulls in the room where he’d kept her as if he’d known them. As if they belonged to women he’d once held hostage.
Not as if he’d dug them up somewhere.
Determined to pull herself together, she looked at the beach outside. A gray mist covered the puffy white clouds and crystal-blue sky.
A long-legged brunette in jogging shorts and a T-shirt ran along the shore, headed toward the Village, a beautiful golden retriever running in sync with her.
Envy stirred inside Tinsley.
She missed working with animals. Having a dog here would keep her company. Maybe someday when this was over . . .
Remembering the upcoming adoption day planned at the park, she curled up on the window seat with her laptop, then accessed the rescue center’s website. Three months ago, she’d started working with PAWS again. She’d had to, or she would have lost her mind.
The ad for the upcoming event glowed on the screen. The date was approaching. A year to the day from the last one.
Another 5K run, a bouncy house and games for kids, food trucks, a dog show and demonstration with a trainer, a vet table with Dr. Joyce Ferris. That woman had been a godsend. She donated her time and expertise to PAWS and PAT, giving the animals free shots, exams, spays, and neutering.
Tension eased from her shoulders as she spotted pictures of the pet parade from the year before. The event had been fun for families and the participants, who’d formed playgroups for their dogs among themselves. Not only had lifelong companionships been forged between owners and their pets, but also adoptive parents had made friends.
This year she’d suggested they bring in patients from a nursing home to play with some of the animals to demonstrate the importance of PAT.
She wanted to be there, petting the dogs, greeting people, and helping them find the perfect companion.
A knock sounded at the door, and she startled.
Don’t panic. It’s probably Liz.
She stood, her gaze catching another jogger on the beach. This one was a man in a dark hoodie. A chill chased through her. She’d seen him almost every day lately. He always slowed slightly as he passed, but he never got close enough for her to see his face.
The knock came again, and she rushed to the door and checked the peephole. Relief surged through her. Liz.
She let the vivacious blonde in with a tentative smile.
Just as she had before, Liz came bearing lattes and pastries. Tinsley pulled out a chocolate croissant and took a bite. Heaven.
She thanked Liz, and they settled on the couch and loveseat in front of the window. “I’m glad you called,” Liz said. “I was planning to come by one day this week anyway.”
“Did you see the news story about that cemetery being disturbed?”
Liz nodded, her expression turning to concern. “They haven’t identified the bones yet or who dug them up, have they?”
“Not yet.” Tinsley shifted restlessly.
Liz let the silence continue for a moment, the counselor’s way of giving Tinsley time to sort through her thoughts.
“I thought I saw him outside the window last night,” Tinsley said. “I . . . thought he was breaking in.”
Liz arched a brow. “Was he here?”
“I don’t know,” Tinsley said. “The sea turtle patrol volunteers were releasing the babies, and I wanted to go outside so badly I could almost taste the salty air. Then I tried to open the door and walk out, but . . . suddenly I couldn’t breathe. I felt dizzy, and . . . then I heard the window breaking and saw him coming in. I called Wyatt, then passed out.”
“Oh, sweetie, I’m proud of you for taking a step today. It just sounds like you had a panic attack.”
Tinsley bit her lip. “Maybe. When I regained consciousness, Wyatt was here. He thought I’d taken too much antianxiety medication, but I hadn’t taken any.”
Silence, thick with tension, stretched for a heartbeat. Finally, Liz broke it. “Did Wyatt find proof the Skull was here?”
“No.” Tinsley dropped her head into her hands with a groan of frustration. “Maybe I’m going crazy.”
“You’re not going crazy,” Liz said. “Although given the stress of being confined, along with the anniversary of your abduction approaching, it’s natural that you’re thinking of him, maybe even having nightmares. Your subconscious has protected you by repressing your memories, but they can return anytime.”
Tinsley sipped her coffee, then set the cup on the end table. “I did remember a few things tonight and told Wyatt about them.”
Liz’s sigh punctuated the air. “That must have been difficult.”
“It was.” She raised her chin, struggling for courage. “But if it’ll help find that monster, it’s worth it. I’m ready to take my life back.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Liz said. “You’re making progress.”
Tinsley hesitated, then decided she had to tell someone the rest. The words he’d spoken to her that had shamed her to the core. “When he raped me, he told those damn skulls to watch, to see what they made him do.”
Liz blinked but didn’t react. “God, Tinsley.”
Tinsley fisted her hands in her lap. “And when he finished, he said I’d asked for it just like they did.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
She’d asked for it.
Liz fought rage as she joined her best friends at the Beachside Bistro & Bar on the island. Most of the evening crowd seemed happy, playful.
But the mood at the table where her friends congregated was somber.
She couldn’t get that conversation with Tinsley out of her head. Almost every single victim she’d worked with had been told the same thing by their abuser—that they’d asked for it.
“We heard about those skulls being stolen from the cemetery,” Laura Austin, guardian ad litem, said.
Beverly Grant, a court reporter with the state court in Savannah, ordered a round of lemon drops and spinach dip for the table. “Tinsley must be freaking out.”
“I can’t believe the police never caught that bastard.” Rachel Willis, parole officer, had an edge to her voice. “I wish I knew where he was.”
So did she. Tinsley had suffered way too much to live the rest of her life in fear. Granted, she’d survived physically, but her mental state was still fragile.
Technically, Liz wasn’t supposed to discuss a patient’s private thoughts with anyone, including the police. Except Tinsley had posted her feelings on her website. The emotional posts had attracted numerous followers and drawn Liz and her friends closer together.
It had also put them in the limelight as persons of interest during the vigilante killings.
“Someone should do something,” Rachel said.
Kendall James, a lawyer who’d managed to keep the four of them from prosecution a few months ago, shot a stern look around the table. She’d also represented Cat Landon. “Listen, girls, let the police handle this.”
An awkward silence followed. Rachel’s wary gaze skated around the bar as if searching for a predator. Maybe the Skull . . . or the River Street Rapist.
Both
still needed to be dealt with.
Laura snapped a chip in half and dug it into the dip. Bev licked sugar from the rim of her martini glass, then sipped the lemon drop.
They were all avoiding eye contact with Kendall. All thinking the same thing.
That Cat would do something if she could.
Liz couldn’t tell them that she’d been seeing Cat at the psychiatric hospital. That she understood Cat’s side of the story. That even though she worked for the court system, it didn’t make her immune to its faults.
That sometimes she wanted to take justice into her own hands.
That Cat had secrets. Secrets Liz was sworn not to tell.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Dr. Patton introduced Wyatt to the forensic anthropologist, Eve Lofton.
She gestured to the tables where they’d spread out the three sets of bones. “I’ve examined all three skeletons and found commonalities.”
Wyatt folded his arms. “And?”
“All the bodies are female. I’d guess their ages as late teens.”
Wyatt frowned. If the Skull had first abducted teens, why take Tinsley? She was in her late twenties.
“It’s hard to say how long the bones have been there,” Dr. Lofton continued. “There are a lot of mitigating factors to take into account.”
Wyatt’s mind raced with the implications. “Is it possible these remains belong to the three young women we suspect the Skull killed?”
“I can’t give you a definitive answer to that question right now, but I think the bodies were in the ground for a few years.”
They didn’t think the Skull had been operating that long but couldn’t be certain.
“How about cause of death?”
“Not yet. But there’s one more thing.”
“What?”
“The bones of two of the bodies belong to sisters.”
Wyatt considered that information. “Okay. I’ll have our analyst search for reports of missing sisters. If we get IDs, it might lead to the girls’ killer.”
Too agitated to sleep, Tinsley settled in front of her laptop and posted to her website.
He hung the paper skull decorations around the room, then knelt in the corner to sing to the dead. The scent of marigolds and those crimson flowers filled the room, suffocating me.
I lay perfectly still in the corner, praying he’d leave me alone tonight. My body was bruised and sore, my will to live waning.
The three skulls dangling in the dim light looked like shadowy ghosts staring at me with their vacant eyes.
They had been here, too. Before he took their lives.
They probably screamed and cried and begged him to let them go. But in the end, he’d murdered them.
When was he going to kill me?
I hoped it would be soon. Fast and painless.
I didn’t think I could bear another day of his filthy hands on me. Of him grunting as he rammed inside me like an animal.
Of his demented chants and apologies afterward.
They were meaningless anyway. Because he would do it again.
I was so cold that I shifted, desperate to get warm. But that movement brought his crazed gaze back to me.
“The Day of the Dead is a time of reflection, to honor our loved ones.” Anger darkened his eyes, but his face was hidden by that damn mask.
If I get the chance, I’ll fight him, tear it off. I want to see the face of the monster beneath.
“You have no respect for the dead, or you would be quiet.”
Fear clawed at me as he dragged me by the hair over to the flowers and shoved my face into the pungent mass. The odor made my stomach cramp. Or maybe it was that I hadn’t eaten in days.
Sometimes he drugged my food, so I tried to go without. Maybe I’d starve to death. At least then the pain would be over.
Although he must have caught on to my plan. Last night he’d shoved some bread down my throat. I gagged and spit it out, and then he shook me hard and slapped me.
I was so weak that I collapsed against the floor. That angered him more. He stomped over to the skulls and started screaming.
“Stop laughing at me. It’s your fault that she’s here. Your fault that you’re dead!”
He rubbed his hand over the mask, then stormed back to me. His rough hand jerked my head up. “You are the one, Tinsley. You’re different than them. You can save me.”
What was he talking about? I could save him from what?
Tinsley started to close the laptop, but a response to her post appeared.
I’m sorry for your suffering. I’m glad you survived, though. You are an inspiration to others.
Have faith. The tides are changing.
Soon justice will be served, and you’ll be free.
“Can you tell me anything else about the bones?” Wyatt asked the forensic anthropologist.
Dr. Lofton gestured toward a femur, then a tibia. “All the girls suffered from multiple bone fractures.”
“They were abused before they died,” Wyatt said.
She nodded. “Could have been by the killer or by someone else. A family member.”
“I’ll have our analyst add that to the criteria in our search.”
“I’ll send DNA samples to the lab along with digital prints of the bones.” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. “I’ve also called a forensic artist who works with facial reconstruction. I can’t promise anything, but if we can get a general idea of the girls’ ages and sizes, we might be able to create sketches of each girl to plug into the system as well.”
“Identifying the victims is a priority,” Wyatt agreed. Once they did that, they could track down family and friends of the deceased and start questioning them.
Fatigue pulled at his muscles. “Keep me posted.”
His phone buzzed as he left the morgue. Hatcher.
He answered and quickly filled him in.
“Korine and I were talking,” Hatcher said. “You know she’s been studying behavioral analysis the last few months. She suggested we compile a profile of the Skull and send it to all law enforcement agencies and to the media.”
“Sounds good. Tonight?”
“Afraid not. She’s been having a few contractions, so the doctor wants her to take it easy.”
“I can’t imagine Korine taking it easy.” She was just as driven as they were. She’d probably be working up until she delivered if the doctor let her.
Envy stirred inside Wyatt. He was happy for his friend and his new wife. But the thought of the two of them having a baby made him itch to have a wife and family of his own.
Something he’d sworn not to do, not after the way his mother had suffered when his father was killed on the job.
His father had been right—emotions got in the way. And right now, he had to focus.
Tinsley’s phone buzzed. She didn’t get many calls, so she checked the number.
Her sister again.
She pressed her fingers to her lips, reining in her emotions. She missed Carrie Ann like crazy.
But the distance between them was too far to breach now. Carrie Ann was better off without her in her life.
The phone trilled four times, then rolled over to voice mail.
Her throat felt dry, so she grabbed a bottle of green tea, poured it over ice, and took a long sip as she connected to voice mail.
“Hey, sis, it’s me. I want to come to the island to see you.” Carrie Ann’s voice sounded muffled, as if she was outside and it was lost in the wind. “Please call me.”
Tears burned the back of Tinsley’s throat. Was she imagining it, or was there a note of desperation in her sister’s voice?
She wanted to see Carrie Ann. Wanted to be close to her again.
But she was different now. He had changed her. Destroyed her sense of safety and confidence. Stolen her soul.
Carrie Ann didn’t want to hear about the abduction and the weeks she’d spent in the hands of the Skull. And Tinsley didn’t want to tell her abo
ut it. The shame and humiliation were too painful.
Besides, her sister might not be able to handle it. She’d been so fragile after their parents died. Teenage hormones had kicked in on top of her grief, and Carrie Ann had become irrational and erratic. More than once, she’d been sent home from school for fighting.
One day she was raging with anger, the next day sobbing, the next day withdrawn. Her mood changes kept the pendulum swinging at an unpredictable rate.
Tinsley had been her rock.
She wasn’t a rock anymore. She was as brittle as the shells battered by the hurricane.
She would call Carrie Ann—when she was strong again and could be the big sister Carrie Ann needed. And when the Skull was no longer a threat.
She sent her a text.
Not a good time. Call you later.
The wind picked up outside, hurling debris across the porch. She kept her outdoor lights off in deference to the turtles. Bright lights from houses or other buildings could discourage mothers from nesting. Hatchlings were drawn to moonlight, but artificial light could confuse them and draw them toward land, where they could be eaten or run over.
The beam of a flashlight made her stiffen. A lone figure in a hoodie was shining it on the sand as he walked. The same man she’d seen before?
Nerves on edge, she clutched her tea and drank it while she watched. It was a man. Tall. Lean. Black sweatshirt. Jeans. His shoulders were hunched in the wind.
But she couldn’t see his face.
She snagged her binoculars and peered through the lenses for a closer look. His features were hidden by the hood.
Then he paused and turned to look up at her cottage as if he sensed she was watching him.
Her heart jumped.
He wore a mask. Totally black, it covered his face except for white circles outlining his eyes. Just like the one the Skull wore.
Oh God . . . it’s him . . .
The room began to spin in a dizzying blur. She staggered sideways. Grabbed the wall to hold herself up. He started walking toward her.
She reached for her phone but knocked it off the coffee table onto the floor.
A cry of frustration caught in her throat.
