by Debra Webb
He cleared his head of the ugly memories. That had been the beginning. Lucille figured out what they had done and she’d gotten her revenge.
A shadow fell over him and Wayne turned, expecting to see Hoyt.
What the hell? Wayne opened his mouth to demand an explanation. He saw the wood coming a split second before it slammed into the side of his head. He stumbled back, staggered around in an attempt to regain his balance. He could not. The world kept spinning. He tried to blink. Couldn’t. He dropped to his knees. In front of him a small tombstone read “Spot. You will be missed.”
Another burst of pain exploded in his head and the world went black.
Thirty-Two
Tuesday, November 1, 10:00 a.m.
“Two blows to the head,” Dr. Weston said as he pointed to Wayne Cotton’s battered and swollen head. “One to the area of the temporal bone, which certainly could have ruptured the meningeal artery. But the one that stopped him cold was the injury here.” He pointed to the back of the victim’s head. “In the area of the occipital bone.” Weston looked up at Bobbie. “The driver—the wood as it’s known in golfing terms—is the murder weapon. Despite being called a wood, the head of this particular driver is titanium. I play occasionally, when I have the time.”
The golf club handle stood upright, the head of the club inside the victim’s mouth. Bobbie swallowed. Damn.
“Once he was down,” Weston went on, “the killer turned him onto his back and shoved the head of the club as deeply into the victim’s mouth as possible. If he was still breathing at that point, he would have quickly asphyxiated. Of course, when the autopsy is complete we’ll know if there were any underlying injuries that may have contributed to death.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Troy gave the man a nod and then ushered Bobbie out of hearing range. “We’ve got Bonner all chopped up and Cortland and Cotton asphyxiated, one on his pain pills, the other with his golf club. Would Weller do this?” He gestured to the sickening scene behind him. “Just when I think I’ve figured out a motive for these murders, something else happens that turns the whole situation in a different direction.”
They had talked about the theory that Bonner took the other children as a cover for taking the Potter boy to replace the son she lost. The only way that scenario worked was if Bill and Nancy Sanders had been in on it with her. Or maybe it was the other way around. Bonner may have known what Bill and Nancy were up to with the children and she seized the opportunity to replace her son.
But why would any of that matter to Weller?
Had Edward Cortland and Wayne Cotton figured out what the Sanderses did all those years ago and decided to have their revenge? If that was the case, then who killed the two of them? Bonner might have killed Cortland but she sure as hell didn’t kill Cotton considering she was already dead.
“He could have, yes,” Bobbie said, answering Troy’s question. “Or he could have had someone else do it. But nothing we’ve found in this case tells us why. There just isn’t a logical motive for him to risk capture to do all this.”
“Goddamn it!” Troy scanned the cemetery.
Forensic techs were combing the area. The Cadillac Cotton had driven to the scene was being processed and prepared for transport to the lab. Uniforms were canvassing the neighborhood. So far no one had seen or heard a damned thing. A man walking his dog at dawn had spotted Wayne Cotton’s body and called 911.
“This is out of control.” Troy shook his head. “Five people are dead and the only one we can reasonably say Weller is responsible for is Lucille Bonner. The others are a goddamned mystery.”
“Six if we count Mrs. Cortland,” Bobbie reminded him. “I think it’s safe to say her decision to take her life was related to this.”
“Fuck.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I’m sorry.”
Bobbie smiled sadly. Troy Durham was a truly nice man. “If there is ever a time to say fuck, this is it.”
“How the hell are we supposed to find our killer when it feels like we have two different murderers with two different agendas?” He shook his head. “Neither one leaves a speck of evidence.”
Too many crime dramas had taught perps how not to give themselves away. If this was the work of one of Weller’s colleagues, he would be well versed in covering his tracks. The truth was, in Bobbie’s opinion, these murders felt far too personal to be random kills made by someone with no vested interest.
Troy set his hands on his hips. “Let’s start treating these murders as two separate cases. Bonner is clearly Weller’s kill. The feds can deal with finding him. But the others, they’re about the children. We might make some headway on that one if the Wilsons or my damned father would start talking. He’s hiding something. It’s damned time someone told the truth.”
“They’re afraid.”
Troy looked around. “They damned well ought to be.”
Delivering the news to Shelia Cotton had been difficult for Troy. He’d known these people his whole life. Thankfully, her oldest son lived in Charleston and was able to come over right away. In her grief, she hadn’t been able to answer many questions. She had no idea where her husband’s cell phone was. They hadn’t found it at the scene and it wasn’t at his home. She had gone to bed early and had no idea he’d left the house until she woke up and found his side of the bed cold and empty.
“We should give the others something to think about,” Bobbie suggested, holding up her phone. She’d taken photos of both Edward Cortland’s body and Wayne Cotton’s.
Troy nodded. “If that doesn’t shake loose the truth, nothing will.”
West Duffy Street
11:45 a.m.
The first time they had come to the Wilson home, Troy had told her the house had functioned as a church for the first hundred years after it was erected. Hoyt Wilson’s father had bought and renovated the abandoned church as a wedding present for his only son. Evidently living on sacred ground hadn’t prevented the Wilsons from becoming caught up in the travesty that occurred thirty-two years ago.
Hoyt Wilson opened the door after Troy had rung the bell three times. “What do you want now? Can you think of nothing to do but bother us when we’re grieving the loss of yet another dear friend?”
“Sir, we feel you and your wife are in imminent danger,” Troy explained. “It would be in your best interest to take some time to answer a few of our questions.”
“I’ve had enough of your questions. I’m calling my attorney,” Wilson threatened.
Bobbie noticed that Wilson kept the door close to his body. It wasn’t much of a leap to conclude he was hiding something.
“Perhaps we could speak to your wife,” Bobbie suggested.
As if she’d been standing behind her husband, Deidre Wilson elbowed her way between him and the door. “What’s going on here?”
Beyond her trendy four-inch high heels, Bobbie spotted a suitcase. “Are the two of you planning a trip?”
Troy spotted the suitcase then. “Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, you’re both currently persons of interest in a multiple homicide investigation. I’ll need you to stick close to home until further notice.”
Rather than argue, the Wilsons simply closed the door in their faces.
While Bobbie sent Nick a few more details on Cotton’s murder, Troy instructed the cop assigned to the Wilsons’ surveillance not to let them out of his sight.
He took a call on his cell as he strode toward her. The changing expression on his face had her bracing for more bad news.
When he reached the SUV, Troy said, “That was my father. He’s ready to talk.”
Willow Road
1:00 p.m.
Bobbie stopped Troy with a hand on his arm before he climbed out of the SUV. “There’s one thing I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
He hesitated, impatience emanating from him lik
e heat rising from the asphalt at the height of summer.
“Since Bonner was obviously murdered by Weller, Agent Kessler will likely show up again.” Bobbie shook her head. “Don’t trust her. I think maybe she has her own agenda.” The idea that the deception went all the way to Quantico had her seriously worried for Nick’s safety.
Troy stared at her for one endless moment. “Is that what your friend Nick Shade told you?”
Bobbie instinctively drew away from him. “You still have someone watching me?”
“Only because I’m worried about you.”
Frustration and anger stirred—mainly because she hadn’t spotted the tail—but she held it back. “He didn’t tell me.” She had to protect Nick as well as LeDoux. “Kessler did.”
“How’s that?”
As much as Troy wanted to hear what his father had to say, he waited to hear Bobbie out.
“She insists Nick is a killer and he’s not.”
“The two of you are...close?”
Bobbie wished the answer was yes. She wished she could find comfort in a simple, uncomplicated relationship with a man like Troy Durham—a good, kind man like James had been. But she wanted Nick. “I know him. He isn’t responsible for any of this.”
Troy nodded. “Okay. I don’t know Kessler and I don’t know Nick, but I trust you, Bobbie.”
“Thank you.”
As they approached the front door of the home where he had grown up, she wondered if the answers he was about to learn would give him any comfort. All the words in the world hadn’t comforted her eight months ago. She’d found the justice her son, her husband and all the other victims deserved but even in that there had been no real comfort. They were still gone.
Luke Durham opened the door before his son knocked. If his face was any indication of what was coming, Bobbie hoped Troy had braced himself.
Luke led the way to the living room where Heather waited.
“He won’t tell me what’s going on.” Tears spilled down her cheeks.
Troy looked to his father. “I guess we’re about to find out.”
Bobbie would have preferred he comfort his mother by sitting beside her. Since he didn’t, she did. Heather grabbed Bobbie’s hand and held it in a death grip. “Please tell me what’s happening.”
Before Bobbie could say a word, Luke spoke. “When Christina Foster’s body was found, everyone went a little crazy.” He exhaled a big breath. “We all knew her. Knew her family. Went to church with them. We were close.” He nodded sadly. “Whatever the cost, we were determined to find the truth. When the Potter woman came forward and claimed to have seen Treat Bonner with Christina we...we became judge and jury.” He fell silent for a moment.
“I think you’re leaving out the part about executioner,” Troy growled the words.
Next to Bobbie, Heather made a keening sound. Troy couldn’t know this—he was fishing. Bobbie would have done the same thing.
Luke shook his head. “I had nothing to do with that. When Wayne brought up making the boy talk by whatever means necessary, I shut it down immediately.”
“But your words didn’t stop them.” Troy charged up to his father. “They killed that poor boy, didn’t they?” When his father didn’t answer, he demanded, “Didn’t they?”
“I don’t know.” Luke held up his hands stop-sign fashion. “But my gut said they did. We spent days searching for him. I did everything in my power to get one of them to tell me the truth. They wouldn’t talk. Not a word. Then the FBI let us know that Christina’s killer was a serial killer they’d been tracking for months. He confessed to killing her. He knew details he couldn’t possibly have known unless he killed her. And eventually DNA confirmed as much. The bastard died in prison.”
“But it was too late for Treat Bonner, wasn’t it?” Troy growled.
His father nodded. “I confronted Wayne and the others again, and they still wouldn’t break.”
“Tell me why they were never officially investigated.” Troy shook with the fury in his voice. “Tell me how they got away with what they’d done.” His father dropped his head and his mother fell against Bobbie, dissolving into sobs. “Tell me, goddamn it!”
“I pushed and pushed to get the truth, but no one would break. Then one night, Cortland had a few too many and he kept saying it wasn’t supposed to happen. They only meant to teach him a lesson. When I tried to get some answers from him, he shut down. We were at the fall festival. I told him to sober up and we would figure it out the next morning.”
Bobbie’s heart stopped in her chest. That was the night the children went missing.
Both men lapsed into silence. Troy stared at his father, the reality of what happened next devastating him all over again.
“I knew Lucille took them.” The older man started to cry. “I knew it. We tore her house apart. I personally interrogated her to the point that my captain had to pull me off her. But there was no evidence. None. There was nothing I could do. I had no idea Bill Sanders had helped her. Our little girl and the others were...just gone. We turned this goddamned town upside down.”
Bobbie held Heather close.
The two men stood in the middle of the room saying nothing for half a minute.
“All these years you allowed me to believe what happened to her was my fault.”
“What could I do?” the older man demanded. “There was no proof. No witnesses. Nothing. For the record, I never blamed you. Your mother never blamed you. You blamed yourself no matter how often we told you it wasn’t your fault.” He moved closer to his son. “Don’t you remember all those times I sat on the side of your bed and told you what happened wasn’t your fault?”
“Shut up.” Troy backed away. “Just shut up and let me think.”
“Mr. Durham,” Bobbie said quietly, “where might they have disposed of the Bonner boy’s body?” If the authorities could find the boy’s remains, she and Troy might be able to connect his murder to his killer. Troy was wasting time and resources looking for Bonner if he was dead.
“Or could he have survived?” Troy demanded. “We found chains and a cot in her basement. Could she have been hiding him all this time?”
His father shook his head. “God forgive me but I don’t know.”
“God might forgive you,” Troy warned, “but I never will.”
“Anything you can tell us might help,” Bobbie said, hoping to keep the exchange on constructive ground.
“Wayne was always the ringleader,” Luke said. “Everybody else sort of followed his lead. There was this old well on the home place where he grew up. Once, when we were kids, he threw a cat in there. It made the rest of us sick but he just laughed. He wanted a dog but his mother wouldn’t let him have one because of her cat. Wayne bragged that he always threw stuff that got in his way into that old well.”
“Do not leave this house,” Troy warned. “A surveillance detail will be right outside watching.”
He walked out.
“We’ll get this figured out,” Bobbie promised.
“Just don’t let him get himself killed,” Luke pleaded.
“I’ll do my best,” Bobbie promised.
The trouble was she’d never been very good at keeping that particular promise.
Thirty-Three
Bonaventure Cemetery
4:00 p.m.
Nick strolled through the headstones in the historic cemetery. LeDoux had asked for a meeting. Since he still didn’t trust him completely, this was as good a place to meet as any—where only the dead would overhear their conversation.
After parking his car on a street nearby, Nick had found a back way into the cemetery. He would go out that same way to ensure no one followed him when he left this place.
From the moment she arrived, he’d been far too distracted by Bobbie
. Maybe if he’d had his eyes on the Bonner woman, he would have caught Weller. The bed and the chains in the cellar proved she had been keeping someone locked up. Had that someone escaped or had she freed him so he could help her contain this situation? Nick had deduced that Bonner had been involved in taking the children as revenge for her son’s death. The only logical answer for the chains in the cellar was that she had kept the Potter boy, which would explain why his remains were not found. If her son had still been alive, there would have been no reason to keep him hidden since he had been cleared of Christina Foster’s murder.
At this point with the Sanderses, Cortlands and Wayne Cotton dead, it was fairly easy to surmise they were all tangled in this web of deceit and revenge. The most logical scenario was that the Cortlands, Cottons and likely the Wilsons had exacted vengeance on behalf of the Fosters all those years ago. Only they’d made a mistake. Then Bonner with the help of the Sanderses had retaliated. End of story...except now someone seemed determined to see that justice was served on all involved.
There was only one player who appeared to be on the outside looking in.
Amelia Potter.
Nick doubted she could handle this alone. She was apparently the reason—or part of the reason—he and Bobbie had been summoned here. Weller had something to reveal. Perhaps he and Potter were making it happen.
Nick thought of the way she had looked at him...had spoken to him. Something about her had drawn him and yet repelled him at the same time.
Had she been Weller’s lover?
Fury ignited in his veins as the full impact of the epiphany hit him. She was the one to watch. The others were nothing but pawns. Amelia Potter was the connection to Weller. She was the reason he was here.
The sound of a car engine cut through the silence and drew Nick’s attention to the road that circled through the cemetery. He stayed in the trees until he confirmed it was LeDoux, and then he waited a minute or two more to confirm no one else showed up before he moved.
