by Debra Webb
She was silent for a moment, and then she said, “I even considered that it was him. I checked every lock in the house and they were all secure.” She released a big breath. “It couldn’t be him.”
“The task force is doing everything possible to find him.” The words weren’t enough, but Billy needed to say something. If he could find the son of a bitch...
“He called me this morning.”
The words stopped Billy cold. He swallowed. “Who called you?” He knew. He did. But he wanted to hope for another two or three seconds that he was wrong.
“Julian. He called to tell me how disappointed he was in me and how I’d regressed to my roots.” She laughed but the sound held no humor. “He wanted me to know that he’s watching.”
Fury punched Billy in the gut. He held it back, had to act like a cop. “Did he say anything else?”
“He knows about the bones. He said something about me finding Alisha. So he’s close. Close enough to know what’s going on around me. Or he has someone feeding him information.”
Holy shit. “Do you believe he’s here? Would he take that kind of risk just to be close to you?”
Billy had a feeling her father had been more right than Rowan realized. Addington was obsessed with her. He’d gone over the edge and murdered her father. He’d killed a cop, too. Not to mention about four other people just to get Rowan’s attention. None of which counted the more than a hundred other victims he’d murdered over the years. Then he’d drugged Rowan and made his escape, but leaving her alive. If he’d wanted her dead, he would have killed her. But he either couldn’t bring himself to do it or he still had plans for her.
Billy’s money was on the latter.
He could be anywhere, doing anything. The bastard had endless resources...and yet he was staying close, it seemed, in an attempt to be nearer to Rowan.
When she didn’t answer, Billy asked again, “Do you think he’s close? Maybe even here in Winchester?”
She turned to Billy. “I know he’s here—or he has someone here. He left me a gift.”
They stared at each other for a moment before Billy responded. “What kind of gift?”
“A small leather bag. Beaded, with a drawstring tie. The kind teenage girls were crazy about when we were kids.”
“Where did he leave this bag?”
“It was hanging in the tulip tree in the backyard.”
The son of a bitch dared to set foot in Winchester? In her damned yard? “When did you find this?”
Instead of answering his question, she said, “There was a photo inside. A picture of Alisha. She was wearing the necklace. The one found with her remains.”
That part wasn’t really a surprise. Detective Barton had confirmed that the necklace belonged to Alisha Addington. “You know what I have to do.”
She nodded. “I know.”
The funeral home had just become a crime scene. Something else to add to the joint task force’s assessment of Rowan’s connection to Julian.
Nine
An hour later, Rowan stood outside the chapel while the family visited with Mr. Whitt privately for the last time before the funeral service. She had turned over the small beaded purse and the photo to Billy. He and his two-man evidence team were in the backyard. She’d given him permission to request her cell phone records in an effort to learn from where Julian had called. He had already called Dressler and brought him up to speed.
All those efforts would be a waste of time. Julian was far too smart to allow something as simple as a cell phone or a photo to trace back to his location. No. He had been murdering people for, as best the FBI could determine, around forty years. He was not going to be caught using a traceable cell phone or leaving any other sort of clues.
But she understood that Billy had to try. As the chief of police he was obligated to protect her and he took his job very seriously. On top of that, they were friends.
Rowan sighed. Now Agent Dressler would be driving down from Nashville to interview her again. She couldn’t wait. She’d been made to feel like a criminal already. What else could they do to her?
She decided she really didn’t want to know the answer to that question.
Charlotte had helped Rowan prepare Mr. Whitt for the service and arrange the flowers in the chapel. The memorial pamphlets were stacked on a table on either side of the chapel entrance. The family had been well pleased with the tri-fold full-color page that focused on the celebration of their loved one’s life. This was more of Charlotte’s handiwork.
If only she would agree to learn the embalming steps, Rowan would love to have her as an assistant director full-time. A twinge of guilt followed the thought. She really should give Woody more of a chance to prove himself before looking for a replacement. However, his absence this week only magnified her need for a qualified and self-motivated assistant, particularly given that Billy had asked her to help with his homicide investigations.
Rowan noted the first arrivals entering the lobby. She walked in that direction to welcome them. Another part of her work was to make the family and friends feel comfortable during the process of bidding farewell to the deceased. Then there was the little detail of ensuring no one who arrived for visitation or for the funeral had provoking trouble on his or her mind.
As if the thought had summoned him, Cash Barton stood among those gathered. Irritation crackled inside Rowan. This was neither the time nor the place for his intrusion.
“Good afternoon,” Rowan announced. “We still have a few minutes before the chapel will be open for you to take your seats. Please feel free to visit the lounge for coffee or water while you wait.”
She kept her smile pinned in place as some followed her suggestion and headed for the lounge. Others settled into the available seating in the lobby.
Her gaze swung to Barton. “May I help you, sir?”
“I’m just here to pay my respects like everyone else,” he said, his cocky West Coast attitude making an appearance.
“Why don’t we talk in my office?” Rowan didn’t wait for his answer. She made a sharp left and strode down the hall, beyond the lounge, to her office—the one where she met with families to make arrangements.
No need for her to look back, Barton followed. She could almost feel his gaze burning a hole in her back.
She had a few minutes since Charlotte was with the family. What she didn’t have was the patience for this sort of behavior. Barton was a police detective with decades of experience. He was well aware how inappropriate his behavior in this instance was. He had no right to intrude during such a somber time for the family of the dead man lying in the chapel. Apparently the detective had chosen to ignore Billy’s warning.
Billy would not be happy when he found out and since he was in the backyard at this very moment, he would know soon enough.
Rowan crossed her office and rounded the desk. Before sitting down, she gestured to the chairs on the other side of the mahogany desk that had belonged to her father and his father before him and his grandfather and great-grandfather before that. “Sit, Detective Barton, and let’s get this out of the way. I have a funeral about to begin.”
“After you.” He remained standing until she’d taken her seat, then he settled into a wingback.
There were several things Rowan wanted to say to the man. Instead, she waited for him to begin. He was the one who wanted to ask questions. Why help him along? Anything she might say would be coming from an emotional place. Never a good thing at a time like this.
“I heard a rumor that Addington paid you a visit.”
“Rumors are immensely unreliable, Detective. I suggest you verify your sources before assuming everything you hear is accurate.”
His lips formed a grim line as he shifted in his chair. The man was clearly tense, impatient and frustrated. Welcome to the club.
“Are you stating
, for the record, that you’ve had no interaction with Julian Addington since returning to Winchester?”
He really was pulling out all the stops. “Am I on the record?” she demanded. “Is this an official interview, Detective Barton? I don’t recall being informed of my rights. I haven’t been given the opportunity to call my attorney.”
Now he was angry. The set of his jaw, the rigidity of his posture. Oh yes, very angry. “You think that cowboy chief of police will be able to keep me from finding out what I need to know?” He moved his head firmly from side to side. “I’ve been a detective almost as long as the two of you have been alive. I know what I’m doing and I won’t be ignored by two yokels determined to play power games.”
Surprise flashed in his eyes before he schooled his expression. Too late he recognized he’d said entirely too much. A good detective never allowed a person of interest or a suspect to take control of his emotions or to lead the interview.
Rowan smiled. “Detective, I’m sure your inability to remain emotionally detached from this case was not something you intended to show anyone—especially me. Let me guess, you and Mrs. Addington are friends. Good friends.”
Resignation claimed his face. “I apologize, Dr. DuPont. I crossed the line. Over the years this case has become personal for me. I’ve been looking for this little girl for a very long time. To have my search end like this is not exactly what I’d hoped for.”
Rowan relaxed into her chair. They were on even ground now. She, too, was emotionally involved in this situation. She wanted Julian Addington to be caught. She wanted him to pay for what he had done. She was tired of the fear and the uncertainty. The bastard or someone working for him had been in her backyard...right outside her door.
“I understand. No one wants to learn the person they’ve been searching for is dead. But frankly, I don’t see how I can help you with your quest for answers. If Alisha came to Winchester, I never met her. I did not know she existed. I had no idea Julian had ever been married.”
Confusion or something of that order lined his face. “I find it difficult to believe that you were friends for so many years and you had no idea about his family or his...proclivities.”
“Are you suggesting that I somehow shielded his secret or ignored his murderous behavior?” Rowan understood that there would be those who believed she must have known. Certainly the FBI had suggested as much.
She should have expected the scrutiny.
She had no excuse. He had blinded her. Made her believe in him at a very vulnerable time in her life.
“I’m not suggesting anything, Doctor. I’m stating a fact. Your work with the police department in Nashville—your stellar record of helping to find countless murderers. How do you explain being so close to the man and not recognizing what he was? The two of you published papers on serial killers and murder. What am I supposed to believe?”
Rowan tamped down her emotions. “Yes. We were close, and yes, we discussed murder and serial killers at length, and yes, I was trained to recognize a killer. But I didn’t see beyond the mask he showed me.” She squared her shoulders and demanded, “What about his wife? How long was she married to him? Slept with him? Had a child with him? Did she know? What about you, Detective Barton? You’ve been involved with his ex-wife all these years. Have been searching for his daughter... How did you not recognize such a prolific serial killer?”
Silence stood between them like a block of ice for five seconds.
“I guess we were both fooled by a monster disguised as a genius.”
Rowan laughed. “It pains me to say as much, but the genius part is no disguise. Julian is brilliant. He won’t be caught easily. Not by you or me or anyone else. He will kill at his leisure. He fears nothing. And he won’t stop until someone stops him.”
These things she understood with complete certainty.
The detective’s complexion paled. “Then how in God’s name are we going to stop him?”
For a long moment she considered stating that she had no idea, but her every instinct urged her to trust this man—this weary detective who wanted the same things she did...justice, closure...peace.
“He has some fascination with me. I believe this is why he went to such lengths to hide his true self from me. He showed me the man he wanted to be. The father figure who could make up for his failings with his own daughter by being a shining example in that role with me. And he almost succeeded.” The conclusions rushed through Rowan with such force that she almost lost her breath. “But he failed to remember one basic human factor—there is no changing a person’s deepest, most ingrained core beliefs. I loved my father, even when we weren’t on good terms. He was my father, a good father, and I was never going to abandon him or stop loving him. I was never going to allow Julian to take his place.”
“You are his one mistake,” Barton offered.
A single misstep rooted in emotion. Somehow she and her family were a part of an elemental desire or regret Julian felt compelled to conquer or to rectify. Otherwise he would not continue toying with her when he was one of the most wanted fugitives on the planet. None of that, of course, meant that he was actually in Winchester. In her opinion he would be a fool to take such a risk.
But the shockingly prolific and unprofileable psychopathic serial killer was, after all, human. He was not completely immune to emotion.
“At the very least I am some part of a mistake he deeply regrets.” Her part was not completely clear to her as of yet.
“I would like you to help me find him.”
This was Barton’s first naked confession to her. His search for the Addingtons’ long-lost daughter was not merely a black mark on the detective’s professional record. This was personal. He needed to find the truth.
“I would like to find him as well, Detective. He murdered my father.”
“I’m only asking that you be honest with me. Share whatever you know so I can be at the front of this investigation rather than bringing up the rear.”
Before she could answer, Billy rapped on the door and walked into her office. If the look on his face was any indication, he was livid.
“Detective Barton, we need to have a word.” Billy’s voice was low and hot with fury.
Rowan stood. “Gentlemen, I’m afraid I’ll have to leave the two of you to work this out. I have a funeral to oversee.”
“I’d like you to hear this, Ro,” Billy countered. “It won’t take long.”
She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I have five minutes.”
“Plenty of time,” Billy said, his teeth practically grinding on the words.
“Detective Barton, your lieutenant tells me you were taken off this case about ten years ago. You have no jurisdiction here and you damned well aren’t representing your department.” Billy pushed the sides of his jacket away and braced his hands on his hips. “Now, I can’t prevent you from visiting our town, assuming you don’t break any laws. But you are to stay away from Dr. DuPont and this investigation. Are we clear on that?”
The older man nodded. “Crystal.”
“Then I suggest you be on your way, sir.”
For the first time since she’d met the detective from LA, Rowan felt a little sorry for him. Still, she was not going to undermine Billy’s authority.
Barton glanced at her. “Think about what I said.” He removed a business card from his pocket and laid it on her desk. “Call me if you decide you want to talk.”
Billy looked ready to grab him by the shirtfront and drag him out of the funeral home. Not exactly good for business.
“Good day, Detective. I appreciate your concern.”
The two men stared at each other for a few more seconds and then Barton left.
When his footfalls had faded in the distance, Billy turned to her.
She braced for a dose of his frustration.
“Ro,
I don’t want you talking to that guy. He’s hanging on to his job by the skin of his teeth. He’s due to retire at the end of the year and the impression I got from his superior officer was that they were trying to overlook his fixation with the Addington case until he walks away with his pension.”
Rowan recognized a cold hard fact about Barton then. Julian hadn’t murdered a loved one of his as he had Rowan and the families of so many other victims, but he had certainly stolen the man’s life just the same.
“I have no intention of talking to him unless doing so serves our mutual purpose.”
“Good.” He frowned. “I think.”
“You sent the purse and the photo to the lab?” Of course he had, but asking the question shifted the subject and hopefully would serve to diffuse his frustration.
He nodded. Dropped his hands to his sides and exhaled a big breath. “The gate at the side of the house doesn’t have a lock. Anyone can come into your backyard. I’ll pick up a lock and take care of that today. If you’ve got someone doing lawn service, you can give them a key.”
She shrugged. “Whatever you think is best.”
“I’m assigning a protection detail for a few days, just to be on the safe side.”
“Do you really think that’s necessary? We can’t be sure it was actually him, and I don’t want you to waste resources.” He had people to whom he answered in the local political hierarchy as well as the community. Sparing resources on her protection when she was perfectly capable of protecting herself was not smart.
“If it wasn’t him,” Billy argued, “it was someone acting on his behalf. Don’t fight me on this one, Ro. You know what he’s capable of.”
Billy was right. She knew all too well.
Ten
