by Debra Webb
Maybe Lucille Bonner had been keeping her son in that old cellar. But why would she keep him in hiding once he was cleared of murder? Didn’t add up.
Something his father said about Cotton elbowed its way into Troy’s thoughts. He grabbed his phone and called his father.
“Is everything okay?” Luke Durham asked rather than saying hello.
“Okay might be an overstatement, but so far no more bodies. You said Wayne Cotton once threw a cat down that well.”
“That’s right. I hate to speak ill of the dead but he was a bully. A smart-ass and a bully.”
“Is it possible he had murdered someone before...when he was younger maybe?”
“I take it the remains you found in the well weren’t the Bonner boy’s.”
“Doc Weston says it was likely a man closer to thirty. Maybe a scrapper. Got into fights a lot and had the boxer’s fractures to prove it.”
“Holy hell,” his father muttered.
Troy straightened. “What?”
“Not long after their son was born it was rumored Shelia had an affair with this drifter. They called him Irish. He claimed to be from Ireland, had the accent and everything. He was always getting into fights, mostly with some man whose wife he’d...well, you know. I even hauled him in once and warned him to watch his p’s and q’s or move on.”
“You remember his name?”
“Murphy. Jack Murphy, I think.”
“Thanks. Call if you think of anything else.”
Troy ended the call and frowned. If it wasn’t Treat that Lucille kept in the cellar, where the hell had Cotton and the others dumped his body? If Treat was alive, where was he now? Had Weller taken Treat when he murdered Lucille? Why hadn’t Weller killed her husband? Way too many questions and not nearly enough answers. Troy ran his hands through his hair. He needed coffee. This shitty day had started way too early.
A knock on the conference room door drew his attention there. Sergeant Phillip Goodwin, records section. Troy hoped he would be able to shed some light on who might have added Bobbie’s name to the case file.
“Hey, Lieutenant.” Phillip poked his head in the open doorway. “I did as you asked and talked to my people to see if anyone who wasn’t listed on the sign-out sheet had been in the records section in the past week.”
Was it possible he was finally going to get a lead? “What’d you find out?”
“According to Tate Fulton, the case file on the children was only pulled once before you asked for it on Friday. It was around eight Thursday night. Ordinarily Fulton would have been long gone by that hour but he’d been out sick all week and was way behind so he stayed late. The file was pulled that night but he doesn’t know what time it was returned. Evidently before you called him to come in Friday morning.”
His patience gone, Troy barked, “Who?”
“Delores Waldrop.”
Shock, anger and a host of other emotions descended on Troy. “Thanks, Phillip, I appreciate your looking into that for me.”
The sergeant gave him a nod and went on his way.
Before Troy could grasp the idea of what the sergeant had told him, another knock sounded. He looked up, assuming Phillip had forgotten something.
Delores beamed a smile at him. “The pizza is here. Since the task force will be filtering in and out at different times, we set the food and drink up in the lounge. Would you like me to bring you a plate?”
Troy held his anger and disappointment in check. “Can we talk for a minute first?”
“Sure.” Delores stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.
There was no way to sugarcoat this. He hoped like hell Phillip was wrong. “You went to the records section on Thursday night and pulled the case file on the children.”
The defeat and shame that emerged on her face warned him the records sergeant had been right. “Why?” Troy asked, not waiting for her to find a way to deny the charge.
“I did it to help you.”
Outrage pushed him to his feet. “You falsified a document in a murder case to help me?”
She flinched at his raised voice. “Yes.”
“Who asked or paid you—or whatever the hell—to do this?”
“I can’t say.”
Shock rocked through Troy. “You can’t say?”
He had known this lady his whole life. She was one of the few people who understood how he felt. She had worked for Metro since she was nineteen years old. She and his parents were close friends.
Delores shook her head. “I can’t say.”
“Did Randolph Weller pay you to do this?”
The horror that claimed her expression then was answer enough. She quickly recovered and looked him straight in the eye. “If that’s what you think, I’ll give you my resignation right now.”
His first thought was to accept her resignation and to send her home. Or better yet, to fire her. But then she might end up another face on that goddamned case board if, as Bobbie suspected, Weller was cleaning up the loose ends related to some secret he wanted to keep.
“Just tell me who told you to do this, Delores, and we’ll figure out where to go from there.”
She shook her head. “Fire me, arrest me, whatever you want to do, but I’m not answering that question.”
He wanted to shake her but he suspected that wouldn’t change a damned thing. She was protecting someone and it damned sure wasn’t Weller. The answer slammed him in the gut. “My father...he told you to do it.”
Once again her face gave him the answer without her having to say a word.
Troy reached for his cell. Hadn’t Luke Durham done enough to damage this case? This time he wasn’t getting away with his bullshit.
“Don’t.” Delores held out a hand. “You two are finally talking again. Don’t ruin that.”
Troy barked a laugh. “Am I just supposed to pretend he didn’t do this?”
“Kessler, that FBI agent, she told him to do it. She said it was imperative if he wanted you protected.”
Bobbie’s warning that he shouldn’t trust Kessler echoed in his ears. “You’re certain about that?”
She nodded. “Your father was worried sick. He did what she told him because she claimed it was the only way to get you through what was coming.”
“If Kessler wanted Bobbie here...” A cold fear tightened in Troy’s throat. “Then whatever she has planned includes Bobbie.”
That same icy fear cluttered Delores’s face. “Oh my God. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Have you heard from her?” Troy was already reaching for his cell. “She was going to talk to Amelia Potter.” How long had she been gone? An hour maybe?
Delores shook her head. “I haven’t heard from her. I thought she was still at the scene.”
Troy held his breath as he waited for the call to connect. Bobbie’s phone went directly to voice mail. To Delores he said, “See if you can get Amelia Potter on the phone.”
Delores nodded and rushed from his office.
He called Lacon Hillman next. Hillman was the officer assigned to Potter’s surveillance today. As soon as the officer answered, Troy asked, “Do you have eyes on Potter?”
According to Hillman she hadn’t left her shop all day.
“I want you to go inside and confirm Potter’s there. Call me back when you’ve spoken to her.” Troy ended the call. He stood and headed for the door. Maybe Delores had gotten Potter on the phone. He didn’t like this.
“Troy!”
He stepped into the corridor to find Delores rushing toward him. His pulse thumped harder. “Were you able to reach her?”
“Potter didn’t answer.” Delores paused for a breath. “You have a visitor.” She moistened her lips, her eyes wide with uncertainty. “He insisted on waitin
g in your office. Under the circumstances, I agreed.”
Was she purposely being ambiguous? “Who is it?”
“That man the FBI is looking for. Not the serial killer, the other one. Nick Shade.”
“Do not tell anyone he’s here,” Troy warned, before hurrying past her. As he reached the door to his office, he slowed and composed himself, then stepped inside and closed the door. “Mr. Shade, what can I do for you?”
Shade met his gaze. “I’m looking for Detective Gentry.”
Troy considered his options. The FBI was looking for this man. Kessler wanted this guy bad and he was standing in Troy’s office, from all appearances, unarmed.
“If she isn’t with you,” Shade said before Troy decided what he wanted to do, “she could be with him. In case you don’t fully comprehend the situation, as soon as Weller accomplishes what he came here to do, he will kill her.”
“So he’s still here?” Troy asked without answering the other man’s question. Kessler had said she suspected he was gone but Bobbie believed otherwise.
“Yes.” Shade glanced at the cell phone Troy still held in his hand. “Think carefully before you make your next move, Lieutenant. Her life depends on what we do.”
“She’s with Amelia Potter.” Troy rubbed his thumb over the screen of his cell phone. The instinct to call for backup screamed at him. “Is there something you need?” He shrugged. Saw no point in beating around the bush. “The FBI is looking for you. Any cop on the premises could be calling you in right now.”
“She’s not answering her phone.” Shade seemed to completely ignore Troy’s warning. “Something’s wrong. We can continue to debate my current standing with the FBI or we can find her.”
Troy’s cell vibrated, he flinched. Hillman. He hit Accept. “Yeah.” The news was not what he’d wanted to hear. “How the hell did that happen?” As Hillman babbled about how he couldn’t believe Potter had given him the slip since no one had gone in or out of the shop in the past hour, Troy tried to remember exactly what time Bobbie left. “Keep looking, I’ll be right there.” He ended the call. “Amelia Potter isn’t at her shop or in her apartment. Bobbie isn’t there either.”
Shade headed for the door.
“Where the hell are you going?” Troy demanded.
“To find her. You coming with me?”
Thirty-Nine
Greenwich Road
4:40 p.m.
“He was here.” Amelia Potter moved toward the river. “It was dark and he was afraid.” She turned to Bobbie. “He was crying.”
Bobbie surveyed the murky water. If Noah Potter ran from the Sanders home and ended up here that night... Jesus. His little bones were likely at the bottom of that river. “It’s possible he may have escaped.” It was a hell of a long shot but Bobbie hated to deflate the woman’s hopes entirely.
Amelia moved closer to her, the sharp wind flapping her sweater around her jean-clad legs. “I know I sound crazy.” She turned and stared out over the water. “It’s been thirty-two years. If he was alive, why wouldn’t he have come home? Why wouldn’t he have tried to find me?”
“We know Mrs. Bonner kept someone in that cellar,” Bobbie allowed. “It’s possible she could have kept Noah since her son was gone.” She refused to share the other possibilities that went along with that theory.
Amelia looked toward the cemetery. “My heart won’t let me believe he was here all this time.” Her lips trembled. “I’ve dreamed so often of where he could be. Far away on another continent or maybe as close as Tennessee. I imagined what he might be.” She smiled. “A schoolteacher or a doctor. Maybe a scientist. He’s handsome of course. And smart.” Emotion filled her eyes. “Then I wake up.” She sighed. “I’ve come to this very spot so many times over the years. I didn’t even know why. I just felt the need. I had no idea the other children were so close.” Her gaze settled on Bobbie’s. “How can I have been right here so many times and not have known?”
“I wish I had an answer for you.” Bobbie rubbed her hand over her back pocket as if by sheer force of will she could recharge her phone. The damned thing had died on the drive over here. Her charger was back in the room.
Amelia had called her from a shop two streets over from her own. She’d said she needed to get away from the officer watching her. Bobbie recognized the MO. She’d pulled that same move plenty of times.
“Amelia—” Bobbie moved toward her “—it’ll be dark soon. Lieutenant Durham will be worried about us. It’s not safe for us to be out here alone.” Bobbie had her weapon but she was no fool. Being overconfident could get you killed fast in a situation like this one.
The older woman grabbed Bobbie by the shoulders. “Please, just tell me the truth. Please.”
Bobbie instincts started to hum. “I’m not sure what you mean. Why would I tell you anything else?”
Amelia pulled her close and hugged her hard. “He told me you could tell me everything.”
When Bobbie would have pulled free of her hold, the other woman reached down and grabbed her weapon. Bobbie tried too late to snatch it back. Amelia threw the Glock into the water.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Dr. Weller called me,” she said, her voice frantic. “He told me that you know what happened to my son. He said you could take me to him.”
Shit. “Amelia—” Bobbie reached for the other woman “—I need you to listen very carefully. I found out about your time in that clinic. Was Weller one of the doctors who evaluated you?”
For a moment Amelia simply stared at her, then she nodded. “It was a terrible time in my life. I made mistakes. Camille helped me get the treatment I needed. Dr. Weller helped me, too. He came to see me three times. He was always so kind. Then, after the Foster girl was murdered, he visited me again. He was so proud of how well I’d done for myself and my child. I couldn’t believe what I read in the paper about him. I never saw what he really was. How could I not know?” Her chest shook with her sobs. “How could I not see any of the evil so close to me...to my baby?”
“He fooled his own son,” Bobbie urged. “Please believe me when I say he’s a monster. He will kill us both. You have to tell me exactly what he told you to do.”
Amelia shrugged. “He just told me you could tell me the truth.”
Bobbie tried a different tactic. “I’ll tell you everything I know. I swear. First you have to tell me exactly what he said. Every word.”
Amelia blinked once, twice. Her grief had overridden her good sense. “He said I should bring you to the place in my dreams. I’ve dreamed of this place so many times. I knew that meant something. He said I should disarm you if I could so you wouldn’t try to arrest me. Please.” She searched Bobbie’s face. “Please tell me what happened to my son.”
“Weller lied to you. I don’t know what happened to your little boy. He’s using you.”
Potter drew away. “He said he was leaving but that he wanted to give me this one thing. The truth about my son through you.”
Bobbie turned all the way around, searching the gloom beyond the trees and headstones. He had to be watching. There were so many places for him to hide.
“We have to get out of here.” Bobbie grabbed her by the arm.
Amelia pulled away. “No. He said you would tell me the truth.”
“He lied, damn it. This is a setup.” Bobbie grasped her arm once more and started toward the car. “We have to get out of here.”
Amelia dug in her heels. “No.”
Bobbie understood it was her grief making her irrational. Finding the remains of the other children had opened that painful place again. She wasn’t thinking straight. “Randolph Weller is a master manipulator,” Bobbie warned. “He has murdered dozens of people. Please, Amelia, think. Why would I lie to you?”
“Why, indeed?”
Weller.
Fuck.
Bobbie pulled Amelia behind her. “You really are risking everything, Weller.”
He turned his hands up, then pulled his jacket lapels open and showed that he was unarmed. “I have complete faith in you, Bobbie. You would never allow yourself to be tailed by our fine boys in blue. You are far too good for that. So I know we’re alone.”
“Do not hurt this woman,” Bobbie warned, her anger building with each breath she took. “You’ve done enough damage here.”
“Quite the contrary,” he argued, “I didn’t have to do anything. You see, Edward Cortland’s confession to his wife set all this nasty business in motion.”
“His wife is dead.”
“A minor detail,” Weller offered. “Before taking that final swim, she shared the ugly truth she had learned from her husband and from Lucille Bonner with her closest friends. Apparently, after watching dear Allison lowered into the cold, cold ground, the ladies decided to do something about what their husbands had done.”
“You expect me to believe Deidre Wilson and Shelia Cotton are responsible for all these murders?” The idea that he could be telling the truth was not lost on Bobbie. Numerous small details suddenly fell into place.
“They did, indeed. They took care of the Sanderses first. Then they gave their husbands what they deserved, one by one. Their plan was rather ingenious.”
As Weller talked, Bobbie slowly ushered Amelia backward. The one thing he liked almost as much as killing was listening to the sound of his own voice.
“Why did you kill Lucille Bonner? Hadn’t she suffered enough when her son was torn away from her?”
Weller sighed. “The entire ordeal has been quite tedious, but Pandora’s box was opened and there was no turning back. When Lucille called Lawrence, he, of course, loyally passed along the message.” Weller shook his head. “His death was so unfortunate. I depended upon him for quite a number of things. Sadly, he had grown a conscience in his old age.”
The picture was beginning to clear for Bobbie. “You knew Bonner took those children.”
