by Rita Herron
“No, just the coach.” Mrs. Cousins flattened a hand over her chest. “That’s why you’re here. To make me say he wasn’t a bad man, but he was. Now get out.”
Ian stepped back as the woman slammed the door in his face.
Beth called to him as he strode to his SUV, but he ignored her, yanked open the door, and got in.
Beth slipped onto the seat. “Ian, she’s been through a lot. It’s obvious she’s—”
“Grieving.” He threw up a hand to halt her. “Believe me, I know she’s suffered.” He gave her a sideways glance. “So did you.”
“We all did,” Beth murmured. “Exactly the reason we find the truth.”
That was one thing they agreed on.
She opened the folder containing Headler’s notes while Ian called the local judge in Graveyard Falls. He explained about the investigation. “I need a warrant for files belonging to Coach Gleason during the time he worked at the high school in Sweetwater.” Dammit, he probably should have reviewed them sooner.
“I’ll get right on it,” the judge said.
Ian thanked him, but his phone was buzzing with another call. “Sheriff Kimball.”
“What in God’s name is going on?” a man bellowed.
“Who is this?” Ian asked.
“David Cousins. I haven’t talked to my wife in three years, and she just called me, hysterical.”
Ian gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled fingers. “I’m sorry—”
The man cut Ian off. “She said you think Kelly was murdered. It’s about time someone figured that out. I told everyone that Kelly wouldn’t have killed herself.”
The photograph of the man and Kelly in the canoe flashed behind Ian’s eyes. He’d obviously loved his daughter. “Why do you say that?”
“Because my daughter knew it was wrong,” Cousins said sharply. “Committing suicide is a sin in the eyes of the church.”
Ian inhaled a deep breath. “Kelly left a note.”
“Someone left a note to cover up murder,” Cousins said. “The note was written on a typewriter. We didn’t have one at our house back then.”
Ian scrubbed a hand through his hair. “She could have written it at school.”
“The coach wrote it,” Cousins said. “How could you not know he was a killer?”
Pain ripped through Ian. “Mr. Cousins, if my father did this, I’ll find him and lock him up. But if he’s innocent, someone else got away scot-free, someone who’s murdered several more teenagers since.” Ian forced himself to remain professional. “Was there anyone else—another boyfriend, an older man, a neighbor or male relative—who took an interest in her?”
Silence fell as the man’s breath rasped out. “No, no one. We raised her right, to attend church, to respect the Lord, to be a good girl.” His voice emanated authority. “We had rules, and we made her live by them.”
Ian’s pulse jumped. Just how did Cousins enforce the rules? “Did you have reason to be concerned that she wasn’t following your rules?”
A hesitant pause. Ian could almost hear the turmoil churning in his mind.
“Nothing specific. But she was at that age where she thought she was a grown-up. She started talking back, sneaking out, missing curfew. Twice I caught a boy in her bedroom. We asked Coach Gleason for help, but that bastard took advantage of her. He played on her vulnerability and made her think he cared about her.”
His father had cared about all the kids at school. And the teenage girls had liked him. He was the soccer coach. He talked to them like they were people. He listened to their problems.
“I heard he might have escaped that prison flood,” Cousins said. “You’d better hope you find him, because if I do, he won’t live to see the inside of a cell.”
“I thought you were a religious man, Mr. Cousins.”
“I am,” Cousins snapped. “The Bible says an eye for an eye.”
Then the man hung up on him.
The cold dampness of the cavern soothed the raging heat inflaming him. Here, he could escape. Hide out. Be at peace.
Except the sound of Prissy’s crying haunted him.
He clenched the candle in one hand and opened the wooden door. It screeched, announcing his arrival, and she started to scream.
“Please, I’ll do anything you want,” she cried. “Anything. Let me go and you can have me.”
Her sobs increased his agitation, yet his father’s voice replayed in his head, calming him. “She’s a sinner, son. You can show her the way to salvation.”
He nodded, then slowly walked over to her. She kicked and thrashed against the bindings. “Please,” she begged. “I’ll do anything.”
“Shh,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of you.”
He scooped her into his arms, ignoring the way she fought him as he carried her to the pool of water. The white gown he’d dressed her in made her look angelic in the dim light.
She pleaded for him to let her go, but it was just the demons talking.
He slowly walked into the pool, the warm water swirling around his feet, enveloping him as a ray of light streamed from the center of the tiny opening in the roof of the cavern.
Music from the angels above filled his ears, drowning out the girl’s scream as he dipped her below the water. He chanted a Bible verse, praising Jesus for dying for her sins.
She gulped and spit water as he lifted her, and then he carried her back to the blanket he’d spread on the ground.
“No, please,” she whimpered.
“Shh, you will soon be free.”
Only he hesitated. Maybe he’d read the Bible to her tonight. Give her time to repent.
He retrieved the good book and turned to Genesis.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ian’s low curse drew Beth’s attention from Sheriff Headler’s notes. “What’s wrong?”
Ian sighed. “That was Mr. Cousins. His wife phoned him about our visit. He claimed he always thought my father murdered Kelly, that he never believed she killed herself.”
Beth contemplated his statement. “There are contradictory comments regarding the suicide in the Cousinses’ statements. Mrs. Cousins admitted that her daughter had been depressed, that her grades slipped that year. She encouraged Kelly to see the coach for counseling, but Mr. Cousins was vocal against counseling. He insisted his daughter was a good girl, that all she needed was to go to church and pray.”
Ian raised a brow. “Something could have been happening at home. Kelly was balking at his strict rules, sneaking out, missing curfew, and bringing boys into her room.”
Beth tapped her nails on the file. “There’s no suggestion of family problems or that the father was abusive. But if Kelly confided in him, there might be something in Coach Gleason’s files about the family.”
“Hopefully I’ll have the warrant to look at those files soon.”
“I’m going with you to the school to interview the teachers,” Beth said.
Ian turned onto the highway. “Were you and Kelly friends?”
Beth shook her head. “Are you kidding? I didn’t have many friends, Ian.”
He gave her a sideways look. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. She’d been a loner so long she’d accepted it. “It’s not your fault. But I can understand if Kelly felt smothered by her father’s overbearing attitude. Herman Otter was a snake-handling Christian. He vowed to love God by day, but by night he put aside his vows to his wife to force young girls into his bed.” She would have considered him a suspect in these murders, but he was dead.
Beth’s head swirled with memories. “Although Herman and Frances didn’t keep a clean house and our clothes were ratty, he was fanatical about forcing us to our knees to say prayers at night and attend church. But that wasn’t the worst.”
Ian swung the vehicle off the road into a diner, cut the engine, and looked at her. “What happened, JJ?”
“Beth.” JJ was the scared young girl who’d run away to save herself and gotten her best friend, t
he girl who’d been a little sister to her, killed.
“Dammit, Beth, tell me.”
Beth lifted her chin, the concern in Ian’s voice touching her inside. She’d told the task force about Otter, but talking to Ian in private felt too intimate. She felt . . . vulnerable.
Her therapist would encourage her to be honest. She insisted that talking about what had happened would free Beth of the pain and the power it held over her.
But Beth refused to break down in front of Ian. She was a professional.
“Like I said, he thought he was lord of the house. When May was there, she protected me just like I did Sunny after May left.”
“How did he take it when May ran away?”
“He flew into a rage,” Beth admitted. “Sunny and I locked ourselves in the bedroom so he couldn’t get to us that night. Then he beat Frances. He said it was her fault that May got away.”
Silence fell between them for a heartbeat. “Were there others before May?”
“I think so, but May didn’t talk about them.”
“It’s hard to imagine his wife standing by and allowing that to happen,” Ian said.
Bitterness welled inside Beth. “She seemed relieved. When he had a girl, he left her alone.”
“What happened to her?” Ian asked.
Beth shrugged. “After they were questioned about the abuse, she took some pills and killed herself.”
“Sick fucks.” Ian’s dark eyes gleamed with disgust. “When did May run away?”
“A couple of weeks before I did.”
“Then he turned his attention toward you?”
“Yes. I heard his wife telling him about my birthday, that he had to wait until then.”
“You were about to turn fifteen?” Ian asked.
Beth nodded. “My birthday was the next day. That’s why I left that night. Otter was planning the celebration.”
Ian’s stomach roiled. He’d suspected JJ was being abused, but he’d never imagined Otter’s depravity. The gritty details compounded his guilt. She had needed him that night, and he’d failed her.
“You didn’t tell my dad? He might have helped.”
Beth looked away, stared at the neon light on the diner. “I was too ashamed.”
His throat thickened. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
For a long moment, neither one of them spoke. Ian traced a finger over her hand. She flashed him a weak smile.
That tender moment made emotions well in his throat. It took courage for her to open up.
He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her. He wanted to tell her how much he admired her. But he didn’t dare break the tentative trust they’d just built.
He gestured toward the diner. “Let’s grab some dinner. We’ll talk more inside.”
Beth tucked the files in her shoulder bag, and they climbed from the car. The scent of fried chicken and peach pie drifted toward him as they entered.
Chatter and laughter warmed the room. They slid into a booth, ordered coffee and the day’s special. Beth laid the files on the Formica tabletop.
“You asked if this girl May could be among our victims,” Ian said. “You could be right.”
Beth picked at her food. “I should have told the social worker when she first ran away. But I heard her crying and I knew the reason, so I covered for her.”
If the man weren’t already dead, Ian would’ve wrapped his hands around Herman Otter’s neck and made him suffer.
“If you can sketch out what May looked like or find a picture of her, it would help.”
“I will. And I’ll have Peyton compare images of the victims to her.” Beth pulled a photograph from Headler’s files. “Here’s a photo of the Cousins family.”
“Does Mr. Cousins seem familiar, Beth? Could he have been the man who picked you and Sunny up?”
Beth shook her head. “I don’t know. I . . . don’t think so.”
“What does Cousins do for a living?” Ian asked.
“He’s a traveling salesman,” Beth said. “He sells children’s toys.”
Ian’s brows shot up. “He could have lured a kid into his truck with the toys.”
“I was almost fifteen,” Beth said. “I wouldn’t have been lured by a toy.”
“Maybe not. But if he had toys with him, you might have sensed he was trustworthy because you thought he had children.”
Beth rubbed her temple. “That’s possible, I suppose.”
“As a traveling salesman, he could have been in Lexington and Chattanooga at the time the other two victims disappeared,” Ian continued. “If his wife thought he was working, she wouldn’t have been suspicious if he didn’t come home those nights.”
“I’ll have Peyton find out where he was the nights the other two victims went missing.”
“I know you’re in charge, but I’ll take care of it if you want,” Ian offered. The day seemed as if it was wearing on Beth—she looked exhausted.
“Thanks. And Ian, we’re a team. You were right about locals trusting you. We need you working this case.”
Her words soothed the beating to his ego that Vance had given him. “Thanks, I appreciate you saying that.”
Beth excused herself to go to the ladies’ room, and Ian phoned Peyton. “I need you to run checks on a man named David Cousins.”
“Cousins? Wasn’t he the father of the girl who killed herself in Sweetwater, the one tied to your father?”
“Yes.” He explained about the timing and that Cousins had never been viewed as a person of interest. “I should have files from my father’s office tomorrow. That will give us more insight into Kelly Cousins’s state of mind.”
“If her father had something to do with her death, we’ll find it,” Peyton assured him. “By the way, Hamrick and Coulter both checked in. The girl from Kentucky, Retha, was a mixed-up kid. Parents were divorced, mother was an alcoholic. Retha suffered from anorexia and had very few friends. Apparently she collapsed at school one day in gym class, and the teacher called Child and Family Services.”
“What happened there?” Ian asked.
“They assigned a caseworker and a doctor evaluated her. He discovered the eating disorder, and the mother confirmed.”
“Was Retha seeing a counselor?” Ian asked.
“She was supposed to, but she refused. The mother seemed caring when she was sober but let things slip when she was drinking, which was a lot. One morning she was coming off a bender when she found Retha passed out. She rushed her to the hospital. Retha was severely dehydrated.” Peyton paused. “A social worker convinced the mother she had to get sober to help her daughter, so she checked herself into rehab. Retha went to a temporary foster home.”
“She ran away from there?”
“Afraid so,” Peyton said.
Ian sighed. Another troubled girl. Unfortunately, they made easy targets for predators. “Where was the father when she disappeared?”
“Dad worked on an oil rig out of the country for six months at a time.”
That eliminated him as a suspect.
“What about the timing?”
“We don’t know the exact date she disappeared. Sometime during the first week of November that year.”
Dammit, an exact date would help.
“Now for Hilary Trenton. Her mother died in a car accident the year before she went missing, although there were allegations of abuse in the family. The mother reported it twice but backed down from pressing charges. Daughter kept to herself at school, became withdrawn, and started smoking weed.”
Ian rubbed his chin. The girls were from two different states, but they both were from troubled homes. “Was there any connection between the two girls? Any way they might have crossed paths?”
“Not that I’ve found.”
He didn’t want to consider his father, but he had to in order to clear him. “How about sporting events? Either one of them play soccer?”
Keys clicked in the background. “No.”
“H
ow about connecting online?”
“Zilch.”
“Was Hilary’s father abusive?”
“Allegedly. But he had an alibi for when Hilary disappeared.”
Damn, another dead end.
“Ian? I located the truck driver, Vinny Barlow. He still works for that food delivery trucking company. I checked his schedule. He’s in Chattanooga.”
That might be a lucky break.
Ian waved the waitress over for the check and punched in the number Peyton gave him for Vinny. Through his trucking job, Barlow had the means to have met Retha, Hilary, Sunny, and JJ.
Sometimes, the person who reported a crime turned out to be the perpetrator.
When Beth returned to the table, Ian was ready to go. “Vinny Barlow, the truck driver who found you, is in Chattanooga. Let’s go talk to him.”
Nerves tingled along Beth’s spine, although she was uncertain why. Barlow had never been a suspect in her kidnapping. He had discovered her at that rest area off I-75 at the East Ridge exit near Chattanooga.
Although he could have abducted her, then for some reason decided to let her go, left her at the rest area, and pretended to have found her.
“Are you up for that?” Ian asked.
Beth jammed her hands in the pockets of her jacket. “Yes. By the way, I remembered something about Sunny, the night he killed her.”
“What?” he asked, hope tingeing his voice.
“I begged him to kill me instead of Sunny, but he didn’t.”
Ian shook his head. “You were brave to do that, Beth.”
“No, I wasn’t. I promised Sunny I’d take care of her and I didn’t.”
He squeezed her hand. “We will find him and make him pay for what he did.”
Beth bit her lip, battling guilt again. Would she ever forgive herself?
It was too dark for her to read the file in the car, so she stuffed it in her bag and glanced out the window at the dismal scenery as Ian veered onto I-75 and headed toward Chattanooga. A light rain began to drizzle, reminding her of the night she and Sunny had run away.
Fog blurred the windshield. Ian slowed, battling the trucks and vehicles clogging the road. Wood chips from a passing truck pinged against the roof of the SUV.
