by Debra Webb
Bobbie was too stunned for several seconds to speak.
Kessler turned to Bobbie, her smug expression evidence she fully comprehended just how much her conclusion had rattled Bobbie. “When you speak to your friend again, you should tell him that I’m on to him.”
The agent executed an about-face and marched away, her entourage following.
“What the hell was that all about?”
Bobbie stared after the bitch determined to drag Nick onto the wrong side of this. “I wish I knew.”
If the FBI could somehow come up with enough evidence to suggest Nick had prompted his father’s escape and was now playing a macabre game with him, their own mistakes would be overlooked.
Or maybe Kessler or someone higher up the food chain had some personal stake in proving guilt lay elsewhere.
Either way, Kessler’s point about Weller having secrets here was far too accurate. Weller would not risk hanging around otherwise.
Maybe Weller was setting up some sort of payback for his son.
Twenty
Habersham Street
6:00 p.m.
Luke Durham waited next to Delores Waldrop’s car. For as long as he had known her, Delores had parked in the same spot. She was working late tonight. The woman did that most every damned night. She had for as long as he could remember.
He’d always been able to depend on her. When he’d been in charge of the homicide unit she had been his right hand in the office. When Brianne went missing, she’d held him up. They’d both been ashamed of themselves when comfort had turned to something more. No one had ever known, but they had known. For a long while he and Delores had beat themselves up about stepping across that line, but they’d worked past it. Their friendship and professional respect for each other had weathered that ugly storm.
When that FBI agent had contacted him on Thursday evening and told him what he had to do to protect his son, Delores had been there for him once again. She’d pulled Mike Rhodes’s notes on the case and given them to Luke. He’d added Bobbie Gentry’s name and number just like he was told. Delores had refiled the notes without asking a single question.
Luke had wanted to go to Troy and tell him about the agent’s visit, but he’d been too damned afraid to take the risk. He’d already lost his son, but he refused to take a chance with Troy’s life. He’d done what he had to do and he had no regrets.
Except now people were dying.
Bill and Nancy Sanders were dead. Edward Cortland was dead... God only knew what would happen next. He’d begun to wonder if Allison’s death had really been a suicide.
This horrific nightmare and all the secrets surrounding it had evolved into something even more sinister. There was no telling what would happen next.
Delores had promised to keep him up to speed on the investigation, but she’d gotten cold feet after what happened today. Luke had to make her see that she couldn’t let him down now. She had to trust him.
The side door opened and Delores walked out. She was barely three yards from her car when she saw him.
“You shouldn’t be coming out alone like this after dark,” he warned. Luke had always given her a hard time about not taking more precautions leaving work alone this late.
“I can take care of myself.” She clicked her car fob, and the lights flashed in response. She opened the driver’s-side door and tossed her bag inside. “If you’ve come to ask for any more favors I’m afraid I’m fresh out.”
Luke moved closer to her. “I swear I didn’t get you into anything illegal or immoral.”
One thinly arched brow lifted higher than the other. “That would be a first.”
“Dee, you know that’s not true.” He wanted to hug her and remind her that he still cared, but that would be veering to close to that line they’d crossed all those years ago. “You have my word. What I did then and now were necessary.”
“Are you going to tell me why?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You added her name to those notes, didn’t you?”
Luke nodded. “I didn’t know why until Bill and Nancy’s bodies were found.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “And the children.” His heart squeezed. “Someone knows what really happened and vengeance is descending. Whatever’s coming, I will not regret protecting Troy.”
“What about protecting yourself?” Dee lifted her chin and stared at him. “We both know you made a mistake when the Bonner boy went missing.”
He had, damn it. He had. “I deserve whatever happens to me. But I have to protect Troy and Heather.” What he’d put them through already was unspeakable. What he’d allowed to happen to his little girl... God Almighty. His baby girl had paid for his sin.
Delores closed her hands into fists and pressed them to her forehead as if the decision she had to make was a battle raging in her skull. Finally she looked up at him. “I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”
Luke couldn’t help himself—he hugged her. He hugged her with all his might and prayed that he could somehow make this right.
But then, he’d been a fool before.
Twenty-One
Hull Street
8:30 p.m.
Bobbie tossed her bag onto the bed in her room and stretched her back. She was beat. Not one person along the block where Cortland lived had seen anyone coming or going from the property. The home security system had been turned off. His private nurse, who had prepared his breakfast that morning, swore she had reset the alarm when she left around ten.
The security company confirmed the nurse’s statement. They also confirmed that the Cortlands had never installed video surveillance as part of their system. Bobbie would never understand why some wealthy people assumed they were untouchable. Just living in the prosperous neighborhood he lived in put Cortland at a higher risk for a home invasion. The lack of security as well as the decision not to hire a full-time nurse after his wife’s death had left him vulnerable. On the other hand, his wife had only just died. She imagined the man had still been reeling from the shock of her death as well as learning of his own impending death from terminal cancer.
Like the Sanderses, Cortland’s murder had nothing to do with a home invasion. Beyond the obvious search for his pain medication, nothing in his home had been touched.
There was no question in Bobbie’s mind that the three were targeted and eliminated for reasons related to the long-missing children. And somehow, those children were connected to Weller.
But what if they were wrong? What if this entire case was nothing more than a distraction to allow Weller more lead time in his disappearing act? He was a brilliant man. He would know exactly how to manipulate everyone involved to ensure all eyes were on the drama he had somehow set in motion.
No. Bobbie refused to believe all of this was nothing but smoke and mirrors. Lawrence Zacharias had wanted Amelia Potter to have a photo of Nick. Bobbie highly doubted the attorney had done this as part of a master plan to help Weller disappear. It was a warning of some sort or a clue. If Zacharias had been taking care of Weller he wouldn’t be lying in a morgue in pieces. Weller would only have murdered his old friend if he was no longer of use to him.
Zacharias had screwed up and Weller had taken him out. It was the only logical explanation.
The faster they put the pieces of this puzzle together, the more quickly the dying would stop.
With Dr. Mather’s help, she and Troy had recreated Cortland’s murder. He’d come down the stairs in search of his medication. The full bottle the nurse had left on his bedside table had somehow been emptied—presumably by the killer. His killer had been waiting for him downstairs. About two hundred pain capsules had been shoved down his throat and then his mouth had been duct taped shut. He’d still been wearing his pajama bottoms when he was dragged to the fountain and placed facedown in the water.
Mather felt confident the autopsy would confirm Cortland had been alive at the time his face was plunged into the cold water.
Bill and Nancy Sanders, Allison and Edward Cortland, all had died from the same cause—asphyxiation. Was the killer attempting to ensure his victims died the same way the children presumably did, from a lack of oxygen? But the Cortlands were parents of one of the children.
Did that mean the parents were somehow involved in what happened to those children thirty-two years ago? Was that the real intersection that tied the players together?
If that was the case, the one part of this puzzle that didn’t fit was Amelia Potter.
Ignoring the hour, Bobbie grabbed her bag and left. Downstairs, she exited the inn and crossed the street to where her Challenger waited. Her cell phone flashed a warning that it was dying. She started the engine, plugged the phone into the charger and pulled out onto the quiet street. She’d called Nick and left him a message about Cortland, but he hadn’t returned her call. He hadn’t returned her call about Kessler either.
If he didn’t call her back tonight, she was going to hunt him down. She lowered the window and allowed the cold air to blast her face. She wanted coffee and daylight. She wanted this damned night to be over. Recently nights seemed far longer...far lonelier.
Bobbie shook her head. All this time she hadn’t felt a damned thing except the agony of loss—until Nick came into her life. Now she wished she didn’t feel this new kind of emptiness that came from his pushing her away.
Keep your head in the case.
River Street was quiet. No traffic. Yet finding a spot to park in front of The Gentle Palm was not happening. She parked up the block and on the opposite side of the street. She locked her car and walked quickly back toward the shop. It was dark inside but upstairs there was still a light on. Hopefully there was a doorbell or something at the entrance that would alert Potter up on the second floor. When she reached the door she found what she was looking for and pressed the buzzer.
She took a breath and considered the possibility that Cortland’s murder could be related to a disgruntled employee at one of the many banks the family owned. Not likely. Cortland’s murder had been extremely personal in nature. His killer wanted him to suffer before he choked to death. If the murders were about the children and revenge, then all the players were at risk.
Troy had offered to provide a surveillance detail for each family and all had turned down the offer, including his parents. Bobbie hadn’t been surprised the Durhams had passed. Troy’s father was a retired cop. No cop liked to be told he needed help protecting himself. In fact, she had insisted Troy call off the detail watching her and use that resource elsewhere. To her surprise he had conceded.
The one decline of a security detail that really surprised Bobbie was Amelia Potter’s. She lived alone. She should have accepted protection. Maybe if Bobbie explained the threat in greater detail the woman would see reason.
A light came on in the shop and Amelia appeared beyond the glass door. She was dressed for bed in a white cotton gown and a well-loved blue knit shawl wrapping her shoulders. Bobbie wondered if she had some sort of camera to see who was at her door or if she was so foolishly trusting. Maybe even after the passage of thirty-two years, she still had little care for her own safety. Bobbie doubted she would ever feel that sort of fear again. She had fallen down on the most important job of her life—protecting her son. What else mattered? Maybe time didn’t heal that particular pain and regret.
Amelia unlocked the door and pulled it open wide. “Is there any news on who murdered Mr. Cortland?”
Bobbie stepped inside. “Not yet. We’re still investigating his death.”
The older woman’s face lined with pain. “I said a prayer for whatever family he has left.”
Bobbie searched her face, looking for any sign of fear. She found none. “I wanted to drop by to make sure you understood how much danger you could be in. We have reason to believe his murder is related to the Sanderses’ murders and most likely to the children.”
Amelia closed the door and locked it. “Would you like some tea?”
Bobbie almost said no. “Do you have coffee?” She would kill for a cup right now.
“I have one of those single-cup coffeemakers.” She indicated that Bobbie should follow her. “Not all my customers are tea drinkers.”
“Lucky for me.”
Amelia led the way beyond the counter and through the cased opening. The space behind the storefront provided storage for her shop as Bobbie had expected. There was a small kitchenette as well as a door marked Restroom. On the far side of the room was an exit. Besides the shelves of boxed goods, there was another small table and two chairs. A narrow staircase led to the second floor.
“Cream or sugar?” Amelia tucked a pod into the machine and closed the lid.
“No, thanks.” Within seconds the scent of fresh brewed coffee wafted in the air. Bobbie’s mouth watered.
“Please, sit.” The older woman indicated the table and chairs.
The more comfortable Amelia Potter was, the more likely she was to be receptive to Bobbie’s questions, so she pulled out one of the chairs and took a seat. Steaming mug of coffee in hand, Amelia joined her. She set the mug in front of Bobbie. “Here you go.”
As soon as the taste landed on her tongue Bobbie hummed her appreciation. “That hits the spot.”
“Did Randolph Weller kill him?”
Bobbie searched her face. “He’s a person of interest in the investigation.”
“You know him well?”
“I know enough. Randolph Weller is a monster. He’s murdered dozens of people, including the nurse who helped him escape custody. He mutilated their bodies in the most depraved ways.” She held the other woman’s gaze, urging her to listen up. “He’s extremely dangerous.”
“Why is he here? Why this case?” She shook her head, worry clouding her features. “Why now, after all these years?”
“I wish I knew the answers. The only connection we’ve found is that he evaluated Treat Bonner after the Foster girl was murdered. Whatever his reason, it’s significant enough that he’s willing to risk capture. As twisted as he is, the man is brilliant. He has an objective, we simply don’t see it yet. Bad for our team.”
Amelia rested her elbow on the table and rubbed at her temple. “I saw his picture in the newspaper. I’m certain I’ve never met him.”
“Thirty-two years is a long time,” Bobbie suggested. Like before, Potter didn’t look at Bobbie when she spoke of Weller.
“I don’t know him.”
Bobbie decided to go in a different direction. “You said before that you never experienced any sort of warning that Noah was in danger. Looking back, do you still feel the same way? Maybe you were busy and you ignored your instincts.”
Amelia closed her eyes for a moment and then said. “I’ve always been so sure of my feelings...of my knowing.” She shook her head. “Except that once. When it counted the most.” Her gaze rested on Bobbie’s. “The answer is no. I didn’t feel it coming.”
You couldn’t have saved him.
Bobbie took a breath and said what needed to be said. “You know that I lost my son, too.”
Amelia nodded. “I do. I also knew you were coming to Savannah. I didn’t know your name or why, but I saw you in my dreams.” She pulled the shawl closer around her. “After your visit to my shop, I went to the library and used one of their computers to learn what I could about you. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“I only mention my personal experience,” Bobbie went on, her voice more unsteady than she would like, “because I understand how you might ignore your own safety. I urge you to take this threat very seriously.”
Amelia assessed her a moment. “The way you do?”
Bobbie decided not to take offense at
her question. “I’m a trained cop. I know how to deal with him. You can’t possibly comprehend what you’re up against.”
Amelia smoothed a hand over her shawl. “I made this while I was pregnant. I wrapped my son in it when he was an infant.” She lifted her gaze to Bobbie’s. “I’ve kept it close every night since he was born.” She smiled. “And I pray, every night, that he’ll come back to me.”
Bobbie held her tongue. Why shatter her peace of mind by telling her that was in all probability not going to happen?
“I know it’s foolish, but it makes me feel better to imagine that he’s out there somewhere with a good life.” Her smile returned. “With a woman who loves him and maybe a child.”
Her words made Bobbie want to squirm at the need to get up and walk around the room. She shook off the discomfort and changed the subject. “Do you own a weapon?”
“No.” Amelia laughed softly. “I’ve never really had to worry about my safety. Most people think I’m a witch or something far worse. They aren’t likely to tempt fate by trying to harm me.”
“You really should rethink allowing a temporary security detail. Weller won’t be put off by who or what you are.”
She drew in a sharp breath and suddenly stiffened, her shoulders going back and her fingers tightening in her beloved shawl.
“Are you all right?” Bobbie lowered her coffee mug to the table and curled her fingers into a fist, resisting the impulse to reach out to the woman. Some people didn’t like to be touched under any circumstances.
As if she’d said as much out loud, Amelia abruptly reached across the table and took Bobbie’s hand. “You’re worried about everyone else,” she said, her voice urgent, “when it’s you he really wants.”
A few strained minutes later Bobbie left the shop and stepped into the cold night air. She drew in a big breath and let go the tension that had climbed deep into her muscles. From the moment she was briefed on the case all she wanted was to find the connection between Weller and the children. For reasons not completely clear to her yet, she suspected Amelia Potter was the key. Somehow she was far more deeply entrenched in this than merely being the parent of a victim.
