The Coldest Fear

by Debra Webb

  Without any real leads as to where the danger was coming from, it was difficult to know how to warn the public. Ellis, the local FBI field agent was happy to assist in the investigation no matter that Kessler appeared disinterested. That bitch had an agenda—making Nick the same sort of monster his father was.

  Bobbie could not allow that to happen. Nick had reluctantly agreed to work with her. For that she was grateful. Their chances of beating Weller were far better if they worked together.

  Troy surveyed the diner before meeting Bobbie’s gaze once more. “I’m worried about my parents.”

  And why wouldn’t he be? Parents of one of the missing children were dead. The murder of the Sanderses and the revelation of the children’s remains weren’t likely a mere coincidence. Troy had a right to be concerned about the safety of his parents.

  “They still refuse a security detail?” The Cottons and the Wilsons remained adamant that security was not necessary. If his personal security systems could have saved him, Cortland wouldn’t be at the morgue this morning being dissected. For such intelligent, well-educated people, their decisions were about as logical as trying to sell matches in hell—unless they had secrets of their own.

  “I’m not really surprised by that part,” Troy admitted. “There’s something else.” He looked away for a moment before coming clean. “One or both are hiding something.”

  The waitress arrived and Bobbie paused until she had deposited the stoneware mugs on the table and poured the steaming coffee. When she was gone, Bobbie said, “I understand this is very personal, but I’ll need a little more detail.”

  Troy stared out the plate-glass window, watching the traffic for a time. “My old man was a lieutenant at the time, like me. Violent crimes.” He shook his head. “The department should never have allowed him to be a part of the investigation.”

  Even in a city the size of the Savannah, the police department was a family. Sometimes the rules were ignored when it came to one of their own. “I didn’t see any reports completed or signed off on by your father.” Bobbie had been aware Troy’s father was a retired cop, but she hadn’t known he’d been involved with the case of the missing children. “I assumed he stepped aside and allowed Rhodes to take charge.”

  Troy made a sound that could in no way be mistaken for a laugh. “He and his captain grew up together. The chief at the time wanted all his best cops on the case. They weren’t about to ask him to stand aside.”

  “You believe his involvement compromised the investigation somehow?”

  “I honestly don’t know. There was something going on back then.” He peered into his coffee mug. “It was more than the pain and fear and grief—at least with my father. He was on the edge all the time. He was never home. My mother cried every waking hour.”

  Bobbie propped her forearms on the table, matching his stance, and leaned closer. “You could be describing my life the first eight months of this year. Your parents had a right to feel all those emotions and more.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Losing a child hurts like nothing else in this world. Nothing makes the pain go away.”

  Troy scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Maybe I’m using this as some way to excuse what I did. Hell, I don’t know anymore.”

  Bobbie knew. This man had punished himself for three decades. She reached out, placed her hand on his. He lifted his gaze to hers. “You were a child yourself. It was a terrifying time for you. Besides the guilt you felt, you were experiencing uncertainty. Your parents were in a shaky place that made your whole world feel off balance and out of control. It was way too much for a six-year-old to handle.”

  He turned his hand palm up and closed his fingers around hers. “Thank you.”

  “Balancing the pain and guilt isn’t an easy task. Keeping it inside only makes it worse.” God, she sounded like her shrink. She shook her head. “Granted, giving that advice is a hell of a lot easier than incorporating it into your life. I haven’t been fighting this battle nearly as long as you, but it takes a toll.”

  “Tell me about Weller,” he urged. “Not the part I can read in the FBI reports or on Google. Tell me about him.”

  It was far easier to track a killer when you knew what made him or her tick. “He’s brilliant.” She thought of the one time they had met—the way he looked at her. “He’s envious of his son—of the idea that he doesn’t crave the kill. The truly startling part about him is that I think he actually loves Nick. I think it unsettles him as much as it surprises anyone who notices.”

  “Why is he here?” Troy’s fingers instinctively tightened on Bobbie’s. As if he’d belatedly realized, he drew his hand away. “Is there a chance he was involved with the Sanders murders?”

  Fair question. They had touched on it before. “The FBI’s reports will tell you that he claimed something about his victims inspired him. Made him want to deconstruct them and that’s probably accurate for the most part. But the nurse who helped him escape, she was chopped up the same way and I doubt his motive had anything to do with artistic inspiration. He had an objective and she was a way to accomplish it. I think the Sanderses are like the nurse. They were somehow necessary to what he hopes to accomplish in Savannah. As for whether or not he killed them, I don’t believe he did. As much as he wants to accomplish his endgame here, his self-preservation instincts are far too strong to play so fast and loose.”

  Bobbie hesitated before sharing the scenario she’d been toying with.

  “What’re you thinking?” He searched her eyes, his showing the kind of desperation she knew far too well.

  “It’s possible he formed some conclusion about who took the children since he evaluated Treat Bonner. He’s known certain things about the case all these years and now he plans to expose those long-buried secrets. Whatever his objective it’s related to Nick. There’s something about this case he wants him to see. Some wrong or hidden aspect that no one has found. Maybe he wants to show that he can be the hero if he chooses.” Bobbie shook her head. “I’m doubtful about that last part.”

  Troy weighed her words for a moment. “If Weller is doling out some twisted form of his own justice, my parents’ names could be on his short list. How can I protect them if they won’t tell me the truth?”

  “Put a surveillance detail on them without their permission.” The chief had done it to her more than once.

  “He’d spot it in a New York minute.”

  “Would it help to divide and conquer?” Bobbie hated the idea of suggesting he attempt to get his parents alone, one at a time, and question them. His mother was likely the weaker link. She might talk if the father wasn’t around.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “I could interview your mother.” She shrugged. “It can’t hurt to go at this from a different direction.”

  “I would really appreciate it.”

  Their food arrived. The scent alone had Bobbie’s appetite revving up. As they ate, she contemplated the possibility of Durham’s father being involved even if his actions proved nothing more than his looking the other way. As ugly as it was, it was a distinct possibility based on how sloppy Detective Rhodes’s work appeared to have been. At this point Bobbie had decided it was less about disorganization and more about protecting someone.

  When she had scarfed down the last scrap of eggs and pancakes she could handle, she pushed her plate aside and thought about the most logical options. “Do you ever recall your parents socializing with any of the other parents, including the Fosters?”

  “I remember the occasional church picnic or social with all but Ms. Potter and Mrs. Bonner. They didn’t attend the church where we went. All the fathers served in one leadership position or another at the church.”

  The waitress paused at their table and refilled their cups.

  When she’d moved on, Bobbie said, “Your father and the guys nev
er went fishing or hunting? Bowling?”

  Troy cracked a real smile. “They weren’t friends like that, at least my family didn’t fit into that social circle. My father’s real friends were cops.”

  “The families were the wealthy and the powerful. Is it possible any or all of them were suffering from financial woes?” She hesitated and then forged on. “Were insurance payouts collected on the children?”

  For a moment he looked taken aback then he shook his head. “There’s nothing in the case files about insurance payouts. I imagine if there were any they were hardly substantial.”

  She wasn’t so sure how he would take her suggestion but it was the only logical option. “We need to be talking to your father’s cop friends. Those who worked with him at the time will know if steps were overlooked or purposely left out of the reports.” Getting them to say as much was a whole other issue.

  Troy picked up his cup and then seemed to decide he didn’t have the stomach for another sip. “That could start a war.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Half the cops in Metro are second or third generation. They’ll see through what we’re doing right out of the gate and shut it down.”

  “Let me try speaking to your mother,” Bobbie offered. “We’ll see where things go from there.”

  Troy agreed to set it up. As they exited the quaint building, Bobbie hesitated at the passenger door. “Have you interviewed everyone who was on the force at the time the children were abducted?”

  “Twice. The story is always the same. Rhodes did everything he could do. His partner, Freddie Chapin, did everything he could do.”

  Before Bobbie could ask, he added, “Chapin was shot and killed in the line of duty seven years after the abductions.”

  Well, damn. “Maybe there really is nothing to know other than the sheer desperation of parents scrambling to find their children. It’s an unimaginable place to be.”

  He exhaled a heavy breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I guess this case is bringing back a lot of bad memories for you, too.”

  Bobbie hitched the strap of her bag a little higher on her shoulder and confessed, “It’s not my favorite kind of case, but murder is never easy.”

  “Thanks for coming all this way and—” he shrugged “—for staying. You could easily have turned right back around and walked away.”

  Not as long as Weller was out there. And Nick. “It’s what we do.”

  “A good cop doesn’t stop until the job is done,” he offered.

  Except it was never really done. There was always another depraved killer out there like Randolph Weller or Steven Devine...or Gaylon Perry.

  And another victim.

  Willow Road

  1:00 p.m.

  Heather Durham opened the door after the second knock. Surprise lit her eyes. “Bobbie.” She glanced over Bobbie’s shoulder and didn’t see Troy and her surprise turned to fear. “Has something happened?”

  “No. Nothing new,” Bobbie assured her. “I just had a few minutes and I wanted to ask you a couple of questions if you have a moment.”

  Bobbie had watched the house for the past hour. Finally about three minutes ago Troy’s father had pulled out of the driveway and headed toward town. There was no way to guess how long he would be gone, so getting straight to the point was imperative.

  “Well, certainly.” Heather opened the door and stepped aside. “Would you like something to drink? Tea or coffee?”

  “Coffee would be great.” Bobbie shivered. “I haven’t been able to get warm all morning.” She wished she’d brought thicker socks and a heavier coat.

  “Let’s go to the kitchen. I have some homemade pumpkin pie if you’re interested.” She laughed softly. “It’s Troy’s favorite.”

  “Sounds great.” Bobbie couldn’t remember the last time she’d had pumpkin pie.

  “Please sit down.” Heather gestured to the round table in the center of the large kitchen.

  Bobbie pulled out a chair and took a seat. She waited until the coffee and pie were served and Heather had joined her at the table. “I know the events surrounding your daughter’s disappearance are painful, but it’s important that we know as many accurate details as possible. A case like this is particularly difficult with so much time under the bridge. Folks with good memories who are willing to talk are priceless.”

  Heather picked at her pie with her fork. “What would you like to know?

  “Having a child missing is unimaginable heartbreak and incredible stress,” Bobbie began. “That level of intense emotion generally leads to high tension.”

  “It was the most painful time in my life.” Heather set her fork aside. “I wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on my worst enemy.”

  “Being involved with the investigation must have been immensely difficult for Mr. Durham.”

  She nodded. “More than you can imagine.” Her breath caught and she put a hand to her chest. “I’m sorry. Of course you know exactly how that feels.”

  Bobbie gave a sad nod. “That’s the reason I wanted to speak with you personally. I do understand how you feel.”

  A moment of knowing silence passed between them.

  “Ask whatever you need to ask,” Heather offered.

  “Was there anything you felt Mr. Durham and the others investigating the case should have done differently?”

  Heather shook her head. “I’m certain everyone on the case did all within their power to find the children. Luke would never have let our child or anyone else’s down.”

  “But there was tension between the two of you.”

  She looked away a moment, then said, “The tension Troy noticed during that awful time had nothing to do with the case.”

  Bobbie waited—there was more?

  “Luke was having an affair with Delores Waldrop.”

  Definitely not the answer Bobbie had expected to hear. “I’m sorry. I know that must have made life even more difficult.”

  She cradled her cup of coffee. “Honestly, if he’d been able to find Brianne and bring her home, I wouldn’t have cared how many affairs he had. In fairness to them, Delores had just lost her husband after an extended illness. She was in a bad place. With the long hours she and Luke were spending together, it was a miracle it didn’t happen sooner. She came to me later and apologized.”

  “You accepted her apology?” Bobbie wasn’t so sure she could have been so forgiving.

  “Not the first time.” A sad smile touched her lips. “But she just kept coming back. She offered to resign from her job. Luke did the same. Maybe I’m a fool, but I really do believe they were sincerely miserable that they had allowed it to happen. In the end, I had to let it go. I love my husband. Delores is a good friend to both of us.”

  “Luke is a lucky man.” Bobbie shifted directions. “What about the other parents? Did you notice any unexpected behavior or tensions among them? Or with the Sanderses?”

  Heather considered her question. “Since Troy asked, I’ve gone over and over those first few days and weeks after Brianne and the others vanished. There was something going on between Luke and the other fathers. It was as if the others, Hoyt, Wayne and Edward were on one side and Luke was on the other. I chalked it up to his being involved with the investigation. I’m sure there were moments when he made them feel as if they were suspects. In truth, their relationships never recovered.”

  “What about Bill Sanders?”

  “Bill.” She inhaled a breath as if simply saying his name was painful. “He kept trying to play peacemaker. He threw himself into the part of advocate. He focused on rallying the community to help with the search and then the healing.”

  She looked away but not before Bobbie saw the battle she fought to hold the tears back.

  “I can’t believe he did this.” The tears
won the battle.

  Half an hour later Bobbie still felt stunned as she drove away. Heather had asked her not to tell Troy about the affair. Bobbie agreed. The affair was irrelevant.

  Some secrets should stay secret.

  Twenty-Five

  West Duffy Street

  3:15 p.m.

  Heather Durham’s comment about the fathers having had some sort of issue after the children went missing had stuck with Bobbie. Since both Wayne Cotton and Hoyt Wilson had repeated nearly word for word the same responses to Troy’s questions when they were interviewed about Cortland’s murder, Bobbie decided they should be interviewed again. Only this time without advance notification.

  Troy had agreed without hesitation.

  He pressed the doorbell of the Wilson home a second time.

  Another minute passed before the locks turned and the door opened. Deidre Wilson stood in the doorway. “Troy.” Unable to conceal her surprise, she looked from him to Bobbie. “Has something else happened?”

  Deidre Wilson was a petite woman. Her short, curly locks were the same red her little boy had sported in the case file photo. The natural-looking color reminded Bobbie of the old commercial her mother used to repeat after having her dark hair highlighted. Only her hairdresser knows for sure. Dressed as if she’d spent the day at Neiman Marcus shopping for the latest fashions, Deidre’s jade skirt and matching silk blouse complemented her pale complexion and fiery hair.

  “No, ma’am, nothing else has happened. Detective Gentry and I have a few more questions for you and Mr. Wilson. Is he home?”

  “Actually,” she said, “he’s not. He’s over at Wayne’s—Wayne Cotton’s. I think they’re playing a round of golf. Can I have him call you?”

  “That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Wilson,” Bobbie spoke up. “I’m sure you can clarify the few issues we have with your previous statement. May we come in?”

  “Issues?” Deidre frowned. “What issues?”

  “We’ll only take a moment of your time, ma’am,” Troy pressed.