by Debra Webb
Money covered all manner of evil.
Except with God. All the money in the world couldn’t protect any of them, not even Lucille Bonner, from what they had done.
He imagined they would have plenty of time in hell to ponder their sins.
Oscar Ortiz, the security guard on duty, met them at the front entrance of the store. The officer got out of his cruiser and headed that way, too.
Hoyt summoned his patience. “There’s an issue in the office. As soon as we’ve checked on the problem we’ll be right back out.”
Officer Reynolds, according to his name tag, gestured to the door. “I should come in with you.”
Hoyt lost his patience then. He held up a hand. “I can’t stop you from following us around or sitting outside our home or business, but if you want to come inside, get a warrant. Now let us do what we came here to do.”
“I’ll make sure they’re safe while they’re inside,” Oscar assured the officer.
Hoyt took Deidre by the arm and hurried inside. Oscar locked the door behind them. Officer Reynolds’s expression showed he didn’t like it, but keeping the door locked after closing was standard operating procedure. Before they walked away Hoyt saw the officer pull out his cell phone. Hoyt didn’t care who he called. This was his store and by God as long as he was still breathing, he had an obligation to oversee it properly. All the other stores had managers but not this one. This was the original family store. Hoyt’s father had managed it until the day he turned it over to Hoyt. He expected the same from his son.
The office was a modern glass-enclosed space at the back of the store. The first thing Hoyt had done when he took over the management was to remodel the old office. He’d done the same in all the stores. He wanted his employees and his customers to know that they mattered to him. Complete transparency.
If only he’d been able to be as transparent in his personal life.
“I’ll be right out here, Mr. Wilson,” Oscar said, “if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Oscar.” Hoyt searched his key ring. Where was his key? He checked his coat pockets. What the devil?
“Here.” Deidre thrust a key at him. “Use mine.”
Frustrated, Hoyt took the key and unlocked the door. Blood roaring in his ears, he passed Deidre’s key back to her and ushered her inside before closing the door. Out of habit his faithful wife locked the door behind them. Security personnel didn’t have access to this office. That wasn’t the case in the other stores, but Hoyt didn’t want anyone else touching his files or going through his desk. Employees and customers alike were welcome to look but no touching. It wasn’t that he really had anything to hide. Frankly, the one mistake he’d made all those years ago was the only time in his life he’d ever crossed the line—legal or otherwise. He hoped that would make some difference when judgment day came.
It won’t bring your little boy back. Or any of the others.
The pain in his chest that never truly went away deepened.
“Good heavens,” Deidre murmured. “What happened here?”
Hoyt shook off the haunting memories. He surveyed the mess. Drawers had been pulled open. Files had been scattered across the floor. There was nothing here for anyone to find. No hidden confession about the Bonner boy. No secrets at all. He took a deep breath, tried to slow his heart. He’d been upset when he left the store last night. Maybe he’d failed to lock the door and someone had hidden in here after closing. Hoyt turned and looked at the place on the wall next to the door where he kept his spare keys.
The bottom fell out of his stomach. The spare key to the office was missing. The door could not be opened from the outside or the inside without a key. So he had left it unlocked and whoever had hidden in here had used the spare key to lock out the security guard and then to relock the door when he was ready to leave.
But for what purpose? There was no money left in here at night. Then again, like most businessmen, he had his share of disgruntled ex-employees.
“I think someone’s trying to tell you something, Hoyt.”
“I don’t know what this is about,” he argued. “Let’s get this mess cleaned up.” These were his files. He didn’t want just anyone going through them. He knelt down and started to pick up the mess.
When Deidre didn’t answer him or join him, he turned to see the reason.
His wife waved to him from outside the door. He stood and moved toward her, tried to open the door but it was locked. He frowned. What was she doing?
Deidre pointed to something behind him. Hoyt turned around and saw Shelia Cotton standing outside the glass on the other side of the office. What on earth was Shelia doing here? She was dressed all in black.
Uncertainty prickled on his skin. “Dear God.” Hoyt reached for his cell phone.
It was missing. He’d lost it yesterday and hadn’t been able to find it anywhere at the house or here at the store.
“Where the hell is Oscar?” Hoyt rushed to the desk and picked up the phone. No dial tone.
What on earth was going on here? He turned back to his wife. “Deidre!”
She only stared at him. He looked around beyond the glass walls that were now his prison. Where was Shelia? Then he spotted her legs. She stood on a ladder, her upper body out of sight.
This was insane! He surveyed the store beyond the office. It was dark save for the minimal lights left on for security purposes. Where in God’s name was Oscar? A sound overhead stopped him. His gaze shifted upward, roved over the suspended ceiling until he saw the source of the noise. A single acoustic tile had been moved aside.
“What the hell?”
The scent of gasoline hit his nostrils before the sound of it splashing on the floor pierced his senses. It splattered on his clothes, poured across the tiled floor.
Hoyt dove for the desk. From the corner of his eyes he saw the wad of fire fall from the ceiling and then there was a whoosh.
He frantically surveyed the glass walls. Deidre and Shelia had disappeared... Where was Oscar?
Screaming echoed in his ears...his screams.
Thirty-Seven
Abercorn Street
10:30 a.m.
When a call from Troy awakened her at three-thirty this morning, Nick had been gone. The bed had felt as cold as ice. Bobbie’s heart had hurt as she’d gotten up and hurriedly dressed. No matter how he lied to himself, Bobbie had felt the intensity in his lovemaking. He was as attached to her as she was to him. The knowledge was both a blessing and a curse.
Focus, Bobbie. This case was quickly spiraling toward some sort of climactic ending. Officer Lance Reynolds had called Troy to let him know the Wilsons had gone to the downtown store. Half an hour later the injured security guard had crawled to the front entrance and waved frantically for help.
Bobbie walked around the broken glass that had once been the walls of the store’s office. The fire had been fairly easy to contain once the fire department arrived. Every door and window in the store had been opened to try and clear the smoke. There were no witnesses. The owners of the bakery across the street had seen the police cruiser arrive at the same time they’d gotten to the shop to begin baking. Then they’d heard the fire trucks. No one had seen anyone else come or go from the store. So far no other witnesses had come forward.
Hoyt Wilson had died of smoke inhalation before anyone was even aware the fire had started. Deidre Wilson had been found unconscious at the door to the smoke-filled office. She stated that Hoyt had forced her out of the office, locking the door. Then someone had struck her from behind, knocking her out. The paramedics had transported her to the hospital. A uniform had ridden with her.
The smoke detectors as well as the phone in the office had been disconnected. Oscar Ortiz, the security guard, likely had a concussion from the blow to the head he had received. Before being transported
to the ER he had given a statement, as well. Considering both the wife and the guard had survived when Hoyt Wilson hadn’t, Troy had pushed him hard. He hadn’t seen his attacker. No one had broken into the store after it closed. He believed the perp had been hiding in the office when the store closed. Security did not have access to the office.
As if all that wasn’t questionable enough, someone had turned off the cameras in the store. No video surveillance had been running since early the day before. Only two people had access to the security equipment room—Hoyt Wilson and his wife, Deidre.
Only three players had not been touched by whoever had decided to reveal these long buried secrets.
The Durhams and Amelia Potter.
The only one Zacharias had attempted to warn or to contact was Amelia Potter. If Zacharias intended to warn her about Weller, why send the photo of Nick? The photo was the aspect that made Bobbie believe there was more to Amelia’s relationship with Weller than they knew. Yet every instinct resisted the idea that Amelia Potter could be part of these murders.
But Bobbie had been wrong before. It sickened her to think of Steven Devine.
Troy came up beside her. “The three men who took the Bonner boy, if my father can be believed,” he added with a heavy dose of sarcasm, “are dead. The Sanderses are dead. I just checked in with the officer keeping watch at my folks’ house and at Potter’s shop. You think our killer will target one of them next?”
Bobbie noticed that he had started referring to the killer as “the killer” rather than Weller. As certain as she was that Weller was involved, Troy was right to widen the net. The case had grown so murky at this point it was difficult to tell if they had one killer or two much less the identities of either one.
“I don’t know about Potter.” She met Troy’s weary gaze. “Your father wasn’t involved in what happened to the Bonner boy, but he did look the other way to some degree. If Weller is our killer, he won’t leave your father out unless he doesn’t know about his involvement, which is unlikely.” Weller always had the dirty details. Every step he took would be carefully calculated.
“Weller is not a young man,” Troy pointed out as he surveyed the overturned ladder. “If he’s involved, he isn’t alone.”
“This case would have to be extremely personal for him to take these kinds of risks.” That was a certainty if nothing else was.
Maybe Amelia Potter was that important to Weller. Maybe they had formed some sort of bond when she was in that private clinic. The woman Bobbie knew could never be described as violent in a million years. The only one of those who had been murdered who’d been described as having violent tendencies was Wayne Cotton. Yet the others were clearly involved.
There were no answers, only questions.
Supervisory Special Agent Kessler had returned to Savannah late yesterday apparently. Bonner’s murder had brought her back as Bobbie suspected it would. She was here now, along with Agent Ellis; the two had shown up just in time to see the charred body of Hoyt Wilson stuffed into an extra-large body bag and then carried away on a gurney. The GBI agent who’d arrived two hours ago was in deep conversation with the Fire Marshal.
As if Kessler had felt Bobbie’s scrutiny, she marched over and directed her attention to Troy. “This isn’t Weller’s work.”
“I’m certain you didn’t crash my crime scene to tell me what I already know,” Troy tossed back.
“The task force is on high alert, Lieutenant,” Kessler added. “He’s been here—that much is clear. Your people should remain vigilant.” She pivoted and strode away. Ellis followed her like an obedient servant.
“You think they’ll ever find him?”
Bobbie shrugged. “I hope so.”
“By the way, I went back to see my folks last night.”
“I’m glad.” That was the best news she’d heard all morning.
“We have a long way to go, but at least we’re headed in the right direction.”
Bobbie’s cell vibrated in her back pocket. She pulled it free and checked the screen. She didn’t recognize the number. “Excuse me.” She moved away from the fray so she could hear the caller and have some privacy. “Gentry.”
“Bobbie, it’s Amelia.”
Her voice was raw with emotion and no small amount of exhaustion.
“Are you all right?” Troy had said he’d checked in with her security detail.
“I need to see you.”
A new thread of tension trickled through Bobbie. “Is something wrong?”
“I had a dream last night. I could see Noah in the woods crying for me.”
Bobbie’s heart ached for the woman. “I know this is very difficult. Lieutenant Durham has assured me that he won’t stop searching for Noah.” The child’s remains should have been with the others...unless he was still alive.
“I don’t think he’s dead, Bobbie. I think he’s somehow part of this.”
Bobbie thought of the chains in Bonner’s basement. The possibility that the woman had taken Noah to replace her son had come up more than once.
“If he’s alive,” Bobbie assured the older woman, “we will find him.”
“I feel him pulling at me,” Amelia urged. “It started when I woke up. He needs me. I need to go to the place I saw in my dreams.”
“Wait.” Bobbie couldn’t have her taking off. “Stay right where you are. As soon as I can get away, I’ll come to you and we’ll go wherever you want.” That would give Bobbie the chance to question Amelia about Weller again.
There was a long hesitation before Amelia finally spoke. “All right. I’ll wait for you.”
“Whatever you do,” Bobbie pressed, “don’t go anywhere without me.”
Amelia promised to stay put. Bobbie put her phone away and went in search of Troy.
Maybe in a few hours she could get away.
She hoped if Noah Potter was alive that he wasn’t a part of this. If he was the one Bonner had kept chained like an animal in her basement, then he could very well be involved with these murders. Bobbie wasn’t sure Amelia Potter could bear to discover that her sweet child had been turned into a monster.
Thirty-Eight
Habersham Street
3:50 p.m.
Troy scanned the murder board he, Bobbie and his team had created in the main conference room. They had six dead in five days, seven if Ms. Cortland was counted. No matter that there was no indication she had been a victim of homicide, her death was the first in this tragic chain of events.
He picked up the photo of Allison Cortland and placed it on the board next to her husband’s. “How the hell did you people keep this secret all these years?”
He’d asked his father if the wives knew what their husbands had done. His father had always been under the impression they didn’t know. Maybe that was why Allison had gone swimming alone in the frigid water. Maybe her husband finally told her the truth. A sort of deathbed confession. After being diagnosed with terminal cancer, Cortland had advised his attorney to get his affairs in order.
Obviously someone else had learned this ugly secret.
Five children had gone missing. Four were confirmed dead and now, thirty-two years later, four of their parents were dead, too—three of them murdered.
Actually six children had gone missing. Treat Bonner might have been a teenager but his disability made him a child, as well.
If Bobbie’s conclusion was correct, and Troy believed it was, Lucille Bonner was the only one Weller had personally killed. That set her apart from the others. The question was why.
Troy had teams going through the victims’ houses and workplaces. An agent from the GBI was lending a hand. Friends and family were being interviewed again. Agent Ellis was pushing the DNA analysis on the hair and skin samples they’d found in Bonner’s cellar. At this point Troy w
as leaning toward the scenario that the prisoner Lucille had kept was the Potter boy, but he wasn’t about to rule out anything. The one thing he had learned he could count on in all this was to be ready for another surprise around the next corner.
Shelia Cotton and Deidre Wilson had been as forthcoming as could be expected under the circumstances. Like Bobbie, Troy felt something was off with the two women, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what. He had them under surveillance, as much for their personal safety as for keeping an eye on their activities.
His cell sounded and he snatched it from his pocket. Weston flashed on the screen. Troy hoped this was the good kind of surprise. “You have something new for me?”
“I do but I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
Troy swore under his breath.
“The remains you pulled up from the well on the Cotton place are not Treat Bonner.”
Troy groaned and collapsed onto the corner of the conference table. “What’d you find?”
“First off, based on the cranial suture lines, I feel confident these remains belong to a male victim closer to thirty than twenty. During his life he suffered a number of fractured ribs and several boxer’s fractures of the second and third metacarpal bones of both hands, all of which had healed prior to his death. Based on his medical records, Treat Bonner had no such fractures. Finally, in looking at the teeth, this victim’s wisdom teeth were fully erupted. Bonner’s dental records showed only two of his had as of his exam three months before his disappearance. I’m afraid what you have, Lieutenant, is another victim to add to your growing list.”
Just what he needed. Troy thanked the doctor and tossed his phone onto his desk. He scanned the case board again. “What the hell?”
