All the Dead Girls (Graveyard Falls Book 3)

by Rita Herron

  She ran toward the truck, yanked open the door, and climbed inside.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ian rubbed his jaw, the sound of his beard stubble bristling a reminder that he needed sleep and a shower.

  Both would have to wait.

  “I might as well give full disclosure myself.” His gaze latched with Beth’s. “Beth—JJ—and I went to school together. Coach Gleason, the man who was convicted of JJ Jones’s abduction, was my father. Actually, my stepfather.”

  Director Vance’s eyes widened. “That’s the reason you came to Graveyard Falls? To find him?”

  Ian nodded. “I’ve been searching for him on my own.”

  “You wanted to prove his innocence,” Beth said.

  Ian nodded. “Coach Gleason insisted he never touched Kelly Cousins, and that he didn’t abduct Sunny or JJ. I believed him. I think someone planted that evidence in the truck.”

  “Have you found any proof?” Beth asked.

  Ian shook his head.

  “Would you tell us if you did?” Vance asked.

  Ian wiped sweat from the back of his neck. “Yes. But I haven’t heard from him. I don’t even know if he’s still alive.”

  “Perhaps you should excuse yourself from this case,” Director Vance suggested.

  Ian squared his shoulders. “You may have jurisdiction here, sir, but I know the people in town. They’ll be more likely to trust me than an outsider.”

  “What if your stepfather is the killer?” Peyton asked.

  A vein pulsed in Vance’s neck. “Yes, Sheriff. How will you handle that?”

  Ian swung his gaze toward the bone room. “Then I’ll bring him in myself. But you have to be questioning his guilt. My father was connected to Kelly Cousins, to Sunny and JJ, but he had no connection to these other girls.” Ian took a breath. “Think about it. How would he have had access to girls in different states?”

  “He’s right. That would have been difficult,” Beth agreed. “I’ve worked with profiling. Serial killers often have a history of child abuse or a mental disorder which doesn’t fit Coach Gleason. As we learn more about these victims, I can narrow that profile down.”

  Vance turned to Beth. “Then you’re in charge. Sheriff Kimball, you’ll answer to Agent Fields.”

  Anger at the idea of working under Beth heated Ian’s blood. He opened his mouth to protest, but Vance cut him off. “I’m giving you both fair warning. If I see signs that you aren’t handling the case objectively or if you aren’t sharing information, I’ll pull you both from the case.”

  Anxiety knotted Beth’s shoulders as she, Ian, Peyton, and Director Vance crossed the hall to the meeting room.

  She was surprised Ian had confessed to his past. But he obviously realized Peyton and the others on the team were savvy and that holding back might work against him later.

  When they entered, the director walked to the front of the room, and the rest of the team took their seats. Director Vance tapped the podium, and voices quieted.

  “Thank you for your patience,” Director Vance said. “Before we broke, we were about to hear from Special Agent Fields regarding what she knows about Sunny Smith and the girl who was abducted with her, Jane Jones.” He waved to Beth. “Special Agent Fields?”

  Beth rose on shaky legs, mentally chastising herself for letting Ian affect her. She had survived fifteen years ago. She was trained in self-defense, interrogation tactics, tracking and hunting down criminals, reading behavior cues, and compartmentalizing her emotions. She’d also undergone therapy to understand her amnesia, and she’d taken classes on child and adolescent behavior.

  Early in her career, she’d worked as a forensic interviewer for abused children, an eye-opening experience about predators and their manipulative ploys to lure young girls and boys into a trap. From there, she’d studied profiling.

  “Thank you, Director Vance. I’m glad to be part of this team.” She adopted her most professional mask, pushing her feelings to the side. “I chose to work with NCMEC for personal reasons. Although the hunt for Sunny Smith went cold years ago, I’ve been searching for Sunny ever since.”

  Special Agent Hamrick raised a hand. “Have you interviewed Jane Jones?”

  Nerves gathered along Beth’s spine. “I know a lot about her because I am Jane Jones.”

  Shocked looks and murmurs floated through the room.

  She lifted a hand to signal for them to listen. “Let me start from the beginning. Sunny and I were living in the same foster home when conditions became unbearable. Our foster father, Herman Otter, had molested another foster child named May, who ran away. Fifteen was the age Herman Otter liked. He thought twelve-, thirteen-, and fourteen-year-olds were children, but at fifteen girls were women, so he could justify taking them to bed.” An awkward silence fell across the room. Gathering her courage, she continued. “The night before my fifteenth birthday, we ran away to escape him. That night it was storming . . .” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t dare look at Ian.

  Seconds passed while the team waited, the air thick with the somber reality of the story they were about to hear.

  Memories launched her back in time.

  Her legs ached from walking, and Sunny was crying, her ankle swelling. They were both freezing and drenched to the bone. Thunder rumbled as more rain pelted them. Ian had never showed up at the Dairy Mart. How much longer could they walk? Sunny was sobbing . . . Then the sound of a truck’s brakes squealed as it rolled to a stop.

  Vance cleared his throat, drawing her back to the present.

  She tucked a strand of hair back into the tight bun at the nape of her neck. “Anyway, we were cold and wet and a truck came along, so we accepted a ride.” A shudder ripped through her. “That’s the last thing I remember before I woke up in the hospital.”

  “You couldn’t identify the man driving?” Agent Coulter asked.

  “No.” Beth struggled for the courage to continue. “For some reason I sensed it was okay to get inside that truck, that there was someone familiar in there.” She wiped her clammy palms on her slacks. “But I don’t know why.”

  Ian was watching her, anxiety riddling his face.

  “The police report stated that you repeatedly called the coach’s name. They thought you were trying to tell them that he was driving,” Director Vance said.

  “Maybe you asked for him because he was the counselor,” Ian suggested.

  “I suppose that’s possible,” Beth said.

  “Did you recall anything about where you were kept? Where the man might have been headed?” Peyton asked.

  Beth closed her eyes for a moment, but a black void filled her mind. “No. All I remembered was that Sunny had been with me.”

  Lieutenant Ward from the CSI unit raised his hand. “How about forensics?”

  Beth gripped the podium edge. “I’ll have copies of the police report and investigation forwarded to each of you. But there wasn’t much to go on. They identified mud on my sneakers but found no helpful traces of DNA under my nails or on my body.”

  “Why would the unsub kill Sunny and release you?” Agent Coulter asked.

  Beth’s heart pounded. “I have no idea. The police speculated that perhaps I wasn’t his type. Now that we know there are others, maybe we can figure out what his type is.”

  Special Agent Coulter waved a finger. “Do you believe that the coach was responsible for your abduction?”

  Beth bit her lip, struggling with her response. “I honestly don’t know. Considering the evidence and lack of it, it’s possible that he’s innocent. The connection with the suicide was incriminating, but some of it was born from gossip that the students started, that and the notes Kelly’s mother found where Kelly confessed her undying love for the coach. But the police never proved that he molested Kelly Cousins.”

  “He pled innocent to the abduction charges?” Agent Hamrick asked.

  “Yes. The coach denied having any kind of intimate relationship with Kelly, and he denied kidnapping me.
But the gossip had a life of its own. With one teen’s suicide and Sunny missing, the parents were up in arms, demanding answers.”

  “And for someone to pay,” Agent Hamrick muttered.

  “Did the police investigate Sunny’s family?” Agent Coulter asked.

  “Unfortunately, both her parents died in a car accident when she was four, and she had no other family.”

  “What about yours?” Agent Coulter asked.

  Beth should have been prepared for the question, but it always pained her. “My mother was killed shortly after she gave birth to me. She was only fifteen at the time. I have no idea who my father was.”

  “What about the foster father you were running away from?” Agent Coulter asked. “I assume police questioned Otter regarding the abuse and your disappearance.”

  “Yes, but it was my word against his.” Beth fidgeted. “His wife vouched for him in both instances.”

  “What happened to Otter?” Agent Hamrick asked.

  He got what he deserved. “He died ten years ago of liver failure.”

  Agent Coulter crossed his arms. “How about the girl, May?”

  “I don’t know,” Beth said. “I never saw her again. When I started working with NCMEC, I looked for her name on the list, but no one ever reported her missing.”

  Dr. Wheeland squared his shoulders. “Do you think she’s one of our victims?”

  Beth’s pulse clamored. “I guess it’s possible.” Although she prayed May had escaped and found a better life.

  She sank into a seat, her legs weak, while Ian explained his connection to her and Sunny and to Coach Gleason. The agents pummeled Ian with questions just as they had her, but their voices faded as she struggled for composure.

  She rarely discussed her past, had only confided in a handful of people. But today she’d spilled her guts to a roomful of crime workers, and she’d faced Ian.

  With this team of experts working together, she might finally learn the truth.

  “Finding the kill spot could provide us valuable insight into the unsub’s MO,” Ian said.

  Guilt nagged at Beth. If she could remember where he’d driven them, where she’d been for those three missing days, she could lead them to that spot.

  Then they might get the forensics necessary to find the bastard and stop him from killing again.

  Vance dismissed the meeting, and the members of the team dispersed, some stopping to chat.

  Beth couldn’t get out of the room quickly enough.

  Ian caught her at the door. “Beth, Lieutenant Ward said they have a collection of personal items that were recovered with the bodies. He wants to see if you recognize anything.”

  Her stomach twisted. “Of course.”

  Beth followed him to a small room with tables where a variety of bagged items lay spread out. One section held a bevy of candles. Another held book bags and backpacks, sneakers, jackets, hair ribbons, purses, CDs, and three stuffed animals.

  “We thought these items might be useful in identifying the victims,” Lieutenant Ward said as he joined them.

  Her gaze settled on a tiny yellow bunny rabbit. It was tattered and soggy, one eye missing, a necklace bearing a best-friend charm around its neck.

  Tears blurred Beth’s eyes, and she cradled the stuffed animal to her chest. It was the only thing Sunny had left from her family. Her father had given it to her on her fourth birthday, just a few months before he and his wife died.

  She’d been so afraid of the dark that she couldn’t sleep without the rabbit.

  “Beth?” Ian’s hand touched her arm.

  Beth choked back tears. “It’s Sunny’s,” she whispered.

  A second later, she rushed from the room. She made it to the bathroom just in time to run into a stall and drop to her knees before her silent tears turned into a sob.

  The anguish in Beth’s voice when she’d held that toy rabbit ate at Ian as he stepped back into the hallway.

  “Do you really think she’s going to be able to handle this?” Dr. Wheeland asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Ian said, hating to cast doubt on her. “But we need her help.” His personal motive bound them together. “Finding her friend and making sure the killer is in prison could give her closure.”

  Dr. Wheeland pursed his lips. “Or it could tear her completely apart.”

  Ian would do whatever he could to make it easier. He owed her that much.

  “Why do you think the unsub buried these items with the girls?” Ian asked.

  The ME shook his head. “Because he didn’t want to leave evidence behind?”

  “That’s a possibility.” He indicated the rabbit. “Did you find any DNA?”

  “Just the girls’.”

  “He probably wore gloves,” Ian said. “That means he’s planning this. The crimes are premeditated, and he’s protecting himself.”

  Dr. Wheeland nodded. “Planning, yes. But do you think he stalks the girls in advance and chooses them for a reason, or does he randomly select them when the opportunity presents itself?”

  Ian scratched his head. “Good question. When we learn more about the victims, that’ll give us the answer.”

  That answer could help lead them to the killer.

  He told the ME to call when he had more information, then headed down the hall to check on Beth. She was exiting the ladies’ room, so he jogged toward her. “Beth, wait.”

  Her heels clicked as she hurried forward.

  “Beth?” He caught her before she reached the exit. The moment he touched her arm, she jerked around, eyes blazing.

  Eyes that looked red-rimmed, as if she’d been crying.

  “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

  A steely expression replaced the pain. “Yes. I just need some air.”

  God, she was trying to be tough. But she’d been a victim of the maniac who’d killed more than a dozen adolescents. “I understand seeing Sunny’s stuffed animal was difficult. Did it trigger any memories of what happened that night?”

  Irritation sharpened her delicate features. “No. And if we’re going to work together, you can’t constantly be watching me, dissecting my every movement, asking me that question.” Her voice grew hard. “If I remember anything, I’ll tell you. I don’t intend to hold back any gory details either. I’ll do whatever I have to do to find this bastard.”

  With one last tormented gaze, she stormed out the front door.

  Regret filled him for not being more sensitive.

  Voices echoed down the hall as other team members dispersed. He pushed open the door to catch up with Beth and apologize.

  But that unscrupulous reporter Corbin Michaels was rushing toward her.

  The parasite had covered the previous serial murders in Graveyard Falls and would do anything for a story.

  Beth froze as a camera flashed. Ian rushed to her side just as Michaels fired a question.

  “You’re working with the task force on the boneyard murders, aren’t you, miss? What’s your name?”

  Beth fidgeted. “Special Agent Beth Fields.”

  “We’re busy, Michaels.” Ian took Beth’s arm to rescue her.

  “Sheriff, there were a dozen bodies found, correct?” Michaels pressed.

  Ian silently cursed. Like it or not, he had to deal with the media. “Yes, we’ve organized a task force. An investigation is underway.”

  Michaels lifted a brow. “Have you identified the victims?”

  “We have identified three of them, but not all. At the moment, we’re working to contact the victims’ families. Now, Mr. Michaels, step aside. We have work to do.”

  Together he and Beth hurried down the steps. Beth’s legs wobbled slightly, but he kept a firm grip until they reached her car.

  Before he could speak, she spun around. “Good God, Ian. What if that man plasters my picture on the news?”

  Ian raised a brow in question, then realized her concern. Peyton had recognized her from the facial progression sketch, and he’d known her
from the past.

  What if the killer recognized her? Would he come after her?

  He left the new girl to think about her sins.

  Her name was Prissy. So fitting.

  Except she wasn’t the showy type like her name suggested. She was . . . plain. Homely. Desperate for attention.

  Maybe she could be saved.

  Her screams echoed off the cavern walls as he eased into the shadows. The lingering scent of the last one’s decaying body wafted toward him, clouding the air with an acrid odor. He didn’t remember her name.

  But the police had found her.

  He had to be careful. They were all over the mountains hunting for him.

  Excitement stirred as he gazed at the beautiful wall of blood.

  Each one was labeled with the giver’s name. Each one was noted by date of extraction, blood type, and as he had the time to test them, with genetic markers, including any imperfections in the blood.

  One day he would find a way to remove the bad blood and replace it.

  Until then he would preserve it and continue his Calling. His destiny had been preordained.

  As God’s humble servant, he had to follow it.

  The tarp he’d used to catch the last girl’s blood held spatters from the draining. They resembled the outline of a dragonfly.

  He hung it on the wall as his inspiration, then mixed a small amount of her blood with his paint.

  His hand trembled with anticipation as he dipped the brush into the blood paint and began to create a garden of dragonflies on his canvas.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Beth couldn’t escape the reporter fast enough.

  Ian ushered her down the steps, staying close to her side as they put distance between themselves and Corbin Michaels.

  “Where are you parked?” Ian asked.

  “The black Volvo, third row.”

  He steered her toward it. “I’m sorry about Michaels,” Ian said. “He covered the previous serial killer case involving the Butcher. He’s persistent.”

  Beth sucked in a breath. “I created a new identity so the man who abducted me wouldn’t be able to track me down.”

  “It’s been years, Beth. If Michaels prints a photo, your kidnapper probably won’t recognize you.”