by S. T. Abby
“He doesn’t know you or how good you are,” Hadley says as she starts grabbing her laptop.
“Do you know where she is?”
She looks me in the eye. “I have a hunch. I’ll share it with you if you pick the right side. Let me know what you decide.”
I follow her out, determined not to let her out of my sight, when a guy walks up. He’s familiar for some reason, and I watch his hands that are nested in his pockets. With his shoulders hunched forward and trepidation in his eyes, he looks too meek to be a threat.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for SSA Bennett. My sister said you guys were camped out here.” He darts a glance around.
“I’m SSA Bennett,” I say warily, my hand leisurely hanging out on my gun holster, as my fingers slowly click open the strap that tucks my weapon in.
He pulls his hands out of his pockets, letting them dangle by his sides.
“I’m Devin Thomas.”
His name tells me why his face is familiar.
“You really shouldn’t be in this town right now,” I tell him, my jaw ticking.
Every fiber in me is fighting to restrain the urge to pummel his face into oblivion; a dark, protective side emerging on accident and surprising me. Knowing Lana was Victoria is changing everything about this case, making it personal. I didn’t know to what extreme until this moment.
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he says grimly. “I have information you need.”
My eyes narrow. “You’re too late. We have tons of statements about what the thirteen of you did that night.”
He grimaces before running a hand through his hair. “That night has haunted me every waking and sleeping moment for the past decade. I may not have committed the same sins, but I was just as guilty. And if the Scarlet Slayer decides I need to die, I won’t blame her in the least.”
“Her?” I muse, my lips twitching when he pales.
Lana has already paid him a visit, it seems.
“I mean, him. Her. Whatever. Anyway, I came to tell you about Jane Davenport. I know you already know about that night.”
My eyebrows knit together. “Kyle’s mother,” I state flatly.
“Can we go inside?” he asks, looking around warily at the woods that surround us.
I gesture for him to go inside Hadley’s cabin, and I glance around, seeing Leonard. I nod for him to join me, and he jogs up.
“Who’s that guy?”
“Devin Thomas.”
He sucks in a breath, and we both enter the cabin as Devin takes a seat, rubbing his hands together nervously. “Why haven’t you arrested anyone? If you knew what we did, I mean.”
“Words mean nothing without any physical evidence. But if you’ll sign a confession, I’ll gladly take you in.”
I smile darkly, and he swallows, nodding.
“I’ve turned my life around, but if I feel as though that’s what God wants me to do, so be it. For now, let me tell you about Jane.”
“What about her?” Leonard asks, sitting down.
Devin eyes him, but finally faces me again. “The first several women found in the original killings had no DNA evidence on their bodies. Johnson came during the middle of those, and after he pretty much decided Evans was the killer, DNA evidence suddenly started turning up at all the new scenes.”
“You’re saying he falsified the evidence?” I ask flatly, not surprised. I’ve already had my suspicions. “How’d he get Robert’s semen inside the bodies?”
“Jane Davenport,” he answers immediately. “The sheriff had his claws deep in her. He hated that woman, and as punishment for hiding his son for so many years, he kept her here. Threatened to kill her if she ever left. And she knew for a fact it wasn’t a bluff.”
“That doesn’t explain anything,” Leonard points out.
Devin nods. “Jane was the town outcast. The only person who was ever nice to her was Robert Evans. He was nice to everyone. He loved his wife so much that he could never move on after her death. But even a man who loves a ghost still has needs, if you know what I mean.”
Leonard leans up, and I lean back.
“You’re saying they had a sexual relationship—Robert and Jane,” I surmise.
“The whole town knew about it, including Victoria and Marcus. Victoria wanted him to be happy again. Marcus was adamant that his father should stop hiding the relationship. Kyle? Kyle was furious. He already hated Robert because he was one of the few around here who would stand up to him. Victoria soon after humiliated Kyle. He thought he was the guy no girl could turn down, and she broke up with him very publically because of his treatment toward Robert.”
He sighs harshly, shaking his head.
“I was so desperate to fit in back then. I thought it was just petty stuff, no one would get hurt. Kyle was always a bully, so it was either be his friend or be his enemy. No one wanted to be his enemy. His father would ruin them and their family if they stood against Kyle. Just look at Lindy Wheeler and Robert Evans. Those are just two examples.”
He gives us a rueful smile.
“So what part did Jane play?” Leonard prompts.
“Kyle bragged that night,” he goes on, not jumping to the point. “I came back after convincing Lindy to run before Kyle got finished with Marcus and Victoria. I heard Kyle telling Victoria that his ‘cunt mother’ had been the one to bring Robert down in the end. Jane gave Johnson the used condoms with Robert’s semen in them, after Sheriff Cannon threatened her life. Victoria was a bloody pulp by then, but she managed to speak. She told Kyle she’d prove it, and her father’s name would be cleared. And we’d all burn in hell when she was finished.”
He laughs humorlessly.
“I’ve been living in hell ever since that night, so she held true to her word. At least for my part. Kyle just laughed and told her that his own mother had been silenced by the grave, and found it hilarious that the girl bleeding out on the streets thought she could scare him.”
He looks between us.
“Guess he’s not laughing now.”
Leonard looks to me, and I look at him. Devin has all but said he knows it’s Victoria who came back to kill them all.
But why does he suspect a dead girl when no one else in town believes it’s possible?
“You guys should look into Kyle,” he goes on. “First make sure he’s really dead, and—”
“He’s definitely dead,” Leonard says on a shudder.
“Deep down, I always knew he was the original killer. The Nighttime Slayer, they called him,” he goes on.
Again, Leonard and I exchange a look before I return my gaze to Dev.
“You think it was him?”
He nods. “Apparently someone else did too, if what I heard about his death was true.”
“He was killed a little more brutally, but because he was the one who orchestrated the night Marcus and Victoria died. Why do you think he was the killer?”
He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asks loudly, gesturing around us. “The world was a puppet on strings for Kyle. His father covered up the worst of his indiscretions, never seeing the pure evil in him. Kyle could charm anyone into seeing the best, but when he unleashed his dark side, it was consuming, suffocating, and downright scarring.”
A tear leaks from his eye, and he bats it away.
“I stood by and watched a helpless girl and boy be raped and brutally beaten to death. All because of the fear Kyle easily instilled. No one in this entire town had the balls to go after him with someone like Cannon backing his every move.”
“But saying he was the killer is saying he raped and killed his own sister. From what I’ve heard, the sheriff’s affections toward his daughter ran deep enough to make him frame an innocent man just to have someone to blame,” I point out.
“If you don’t think Kyle is capable of raping and murdering his own sister, then you don’t know anything. Rebecca Cannon was the daughter of Mary Beth Cannon. Mary died of ovaria
n cancer when Rebecca was just five. She was only a year older than Kyle, who the sheriff didn’t know existed yet.”
“Which means the sheriff wasn’t faithful,” Leonard points out.
“Which made Rebecca hate Kyle when he came into the picture,” Dev goes on. “The sheriff favored her, for obvious reasons, and it was the one person in town Kyle wasn’t allowed to lay a finger on. If he’d ever so much as threatened Rebecca, the sheriff would have ended him without pause. Yet Rebecca was put on display in a way so tragic and scarring that it drove the sheriff over the edge. Sounds like one sadistic mind came up with all that, and Kyle’s IQ will let you know he was capable of orchestrating each piece of the puzzle, knowing they’d eventually frame Robert.”
“Why Robert?” I ask, seeing where he’s going with this. “And why time the first killing with the anniversary for when Robert and Jasmine had their first date? And why did most of the girls resemble Jasmine?”
“Well, for one, that Johnson guy railroaded the investigation, certain it was Robert, partially because of that day and the victimology. That was just one step into setting Robert up. Secondly, Victoria was always on Kyle and Morgan’s radar—constant battle between those two. Victoria looked a lot like Jasmine, so maybe your victimology should center around the daughter more than the mother. Lastly, Rebecca was a typical mean girl, and mean girls tend to pick on the lesser privileged. Rebecca went after Victoria on a regular basis, running her mouth, mocking her family and her janitor father.”
He smirks, pausing as though he’s remembering something.
“One day she went too far, saying something about Victoria’s dead mother. Victoria grabbed Rebecca by the hair of her head and slammed her face into the locker. Rebecca ended up with a busted nose. The sheriff tried to come after Victoria, but Robert had some kind of dirt on him that made him back off. Sheriff Cannon doesn’t like being backed into a corner. Then Rebecca, the girl who so often bullied Victoria, is the one disgraced the most? The sheriff got onboard and they went after Evans with everything they had after that.”
He grows quiet, and I run over the facts in my head.
“What was the dirt Evans had on the sheriff?” Leonard asks.
“Some financial stuff he’d used to get out of taxes or something. Sheriff shut that down before the trial, so it wasn’t heavy enough leverage for that.”
It’d be so easy to fall into his line of thought, go with the fact Kyle was the killer. It’d make that case ready to close.
“Kyle wasn’t the killer,” I finally tell him.
His eyes grow angry. “Then you underestimate him.”
I shake my head. “No doubt he was on a fast track to becoming a serial killer, but it wasn’t him back then. The killer was armed with the same knowledge and definitely had a hatred strong enough to let them frame Robert, even aided in persuading their profile and suspicions. He holds or held an IQ high enough to mastermind each and every calculated step. But Kyle never went to the trial.”
He frowns. “What does that have to do with it?”
Leonard takes on the explanation. “We have footage of the trial, including everyone in the trial room instead of just the immediate trial factions. Kyle was never there because he genuinely didn’t give a fuck,” Leonard says bluntly. “The killer would have wanted to watch each and every event unfold as he’d planned, and revel in the downfall of Evans in person.”
Devin sits back, deflated, as though he’s considering it. “So it wasn’t Kyle?”
I shake my head.
“Then who was it?” he demands.
“We’re still trying to figure that out,” I say, motioning toward the stack of DVDs. “We have every face that was there on a daily basis, and we’re ruling them out one-by-one based on all the facts and profiling we can possibly do. It’s odd how more of these discs are arriving by the minute by anonymous tipsters.”
He shakes his head, disgusted. “I still think it was him, and until you can prove otherwise, I think the current killer believes the same thing.”
“Doubtful,” Leonard says immediately. “The one killing now? They’ve spent ten years examining all the evidence and know far more details than we do now.”
His eyes meet ours. “I hope you never catch this one. I hope this one ends every shred of evil this town has left in it. I believe in avenging angels, Agents. And I think this killer has been granted a dark gift to rid this world of the corruption this town offers. I thought there was a soul left to save, but now I don’t think there is. I think the angels’ wrath is here.”
He stands abruptly.
“Where are you going?” Leonard asks.
He turns to face us. “If you’re not arresting me, I’m going to go pick up my baby sister and take her far, far away from this place.”
I cock my head. “Why?”
He heads to the door and doesn’t turn around until it opens. “Because this place is going to burn. I can promise you that.”
Chapter 4
Weakness of attitude becomes weakness of character.
—Albert Einstein
LANA
“I thought you were just going after Murdock,” Jake hisses into the phone as I finish tying the last knot on Murdock’s ropes, binding him to the chair.
He wriggles in the chair, his threats muffled by the gag in his mouth.
“Due to our latest visitor, I’m ensuring that no one escapes the list. Just playing it safe,” I chirp, grinning when I back up and see Murdock glaring daggers at my face.
It was almost too easy to beat the hell out of him and tie him up. The hard part was loading him into my trunk and dragging him up the stairs of the courtroom without being seen.
Fortunately, with all the chaos following Kyle’s death, no one was guarding the back entrance. I just needed Murdock’s key to get us in.
I pick up the gavel, examining it. Judge Henry Thomas is engraved on the handle.
“This is too risky.”
“Not at all,” I promise Jake.
“Shit,” he hisses.
“What?”
“Some redhead is getting out of a car in our driveway.”
My body tenses. “Hadley found us,” I groan.
“Shit. Shit. Shit. What the hell do I do with her?”
“Don’t hurt her,” I warn him.
“So invite her in for tea?” he deadpans.
“If she’s there alone, that means she’s there to help us. Just see what she wants. And I mean it; don’t hurt her.”
“Great. I’ll just make nice with the FBI while you’re killing a deputy and a judge,” he says dryly.
“Exactly,” I say before hanging up on him.
I put my phone away and study Murdock as he sweats, still glaring at me like he can condemn me to hell with just that scathing look.
“Your daughter and wife will be home tonight, safe and sound, in case you’re worried. I’m sure they won’t miss you if you don’t return.” I crouch in front of him, keeping my eyes on his as that anger slowly gets replaced by reluctant fear. “I’m almost positive they’ll cry a little, but secretly, when no one is looking at them, they’ll treasure that small bit of peace they have now that you can no longer hurt them.”
I stand abruptly, and he screams, the sound muffled by the gag.
Casually, I turn on the old vinyl record Judge Thomas has on the player, waiting for him to return to his chambers after a long day of hiding or burning any remaining evidence from my father’s case. Too bad he’s a decade too late in covering up his trail.
You know what they say about hubris…
For ten years, they got lazy, thinking this case was over and done with, not much cleanup necessary, considering they killed everyone involved and a FBI agent was on their side.
Mozart’s Requiem streams through the chambers, a dramatic composition full of passion and excitement.
I sway with the music, listening to it with my eyes closed. My father was always a Bach man, but Mozart had so much
more emotion in all his compositions, in my opinion.
The sound of the door opening has me turning around and a smile dancing on my lips as Judge Thomas shuts the door behind him. I press the button on my remote, and my newly installed lock slides into place. The only way to open it is to get the remote from me.
Good luck with that.
The judge backs away, staring at the door in confusion. It seems to take forever for him to realize music is playing, and he whirls around, staring at the record player as I lurk in the shadows.
Murdock screams over the gag, growing loud enough to draw the judge’s attention to him. Judge Thomas almost trips over himself when he spots the restrained deputy.
“Greg!” Judge Thomas gasps as I step out of the shadows.
He struggles to untie the deputy, and Murdock wriggles harder, screaming and trying to get the judge’s attention. Murdock blinks and eyes the judge, then darts panicked glances in my direction, doing all he can with eye communication to warn the fool.
It’s a valiant effort, but pointless. My favorite part in the horror movies is when the idiot won’t turn around while the restrained buddy is doing all they can to alert them of danger.
“Damn it, Greg, hold still. These knots are—”
“Awesome,” I say, finishing that sentence for him.
Henry Thomas trips, falling to the ground on his knees, staring up at me with wide, horrified eyes.
How fitting.
“While you’re down there, you can say your last words,” I tell him, holding up the knife. “And maybe confess your sins while you’re at it.”
He trembles, his lips move, but no words come out. Finally, he gets out three words. “Who are you?”
Pretty sure that’s the least important thing he could have asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” I ask as the music plays on and Murdock struggles against his bindings. “I’m the girl whose life you destroyed. I just have a different face, considering the lynch mob you and Sheriff Cannon sent after us crushed the old one.”
He swallows hard, his color paling.
