by Debra Webb
Perry was a psychopathic serial killer of the highest order.
He was also a major contributor to the breakdown of Tony’s marriage. Unsolved cases were the ones that kept an agent from sleeping at night. As horrific as many of the cases he investigated were, if the killer was found and brought to justice he could at least sleep at night.
Perry had stolen that ability from him for more than six years now.
A soft rap on the door drew Tony in that direction. He checked the security viewfinder. Male. The man wore a hotel uniform and held an envelope.
“You have something for me?” Tony asked without opening the door. He’d learned the hard way that serial killers could be incredibly clever. He’d had one get all the way in his room once pretending to be maintenance.
“A message left for you at the desk, sir.”
“Just slip it under the door.”
Tony removed a five-dollar bill from his wallet and slid it under the door for the guy.
“Thank you, sir.”
Tony watched as far as the viewfinder would allow as the guy walked away. Then he gingerly picked up the envelope. The flap wasn’t glued so removing the folded paper inside was easy enough. With the tips of his fingers he opened the single page.
I can tell you how to find Perry. Meet me at Union Station.
Anticipation lit inside him. In all probability it was a trap or maybe a nutcase wanting attention. Either way, Tony couldn’t ignore the potential lead. The old Union Station was only a block or so from the hotel. He grabbed his coat and shouldered into it. He could be there in under five minutes, but he wasn’t a fool.
He reached for his cell phone and rushed into the corridor. By the time he was on the elevator, he was calling Jacobs. Jacobs was the newest agent assigned to Tony’s team. He’d rather have brought a more experienced member but they were stretched too thin as it was. There hadn’t been anyone else he’d felt comfortable pulling from their current assignments. So he’d brought the new kid.
Special Agent Smith Jacobs didn’t answer until the third ring. The out-of-breath quality in his voice warned it wasn’t because he’d been asleep. “Meet me in the lobby now,” Tony ordered.
“Ah... I’m not in my room, sir.”
Son of a bitch! “Where the hell are you?” As Jacobs asked his friend how to get from where they were back to the Renaissance, Tony burst out of the elevator into the lobby. He headed for the front desk. He dragged the note from his pocket and held it up for the clerk to see. “Do you remember who left this note for me? Was it a man or a woman?”
The clerk looked confused. “I’m sorry, sir. I only came on duty an hour ago. No one’s come to the desk until you did just now.” She pointed to the envelope. “It was lying here when I came on duty so I sent it to your room.”
Jacobs was saying something in his ear. He was at the Embassy Suites, which was a matter of only a few blocks. “I’ll pick you up at the front entrance,” Tony said. “Be ready or this will be your last assignment on my team.” He ended the call and turned his attention back to the clerk. “Call whoever was on duty before you and get her or him here ASAP.” He showed her his credentials. “Call the manager. I’ll need to see the security video for the lobby and the parking lot.” When the clerk simply stood there staring at him, he pounded his fist against the counter. “Now!”
She jerked. “Yes, sir.” She grabbed the phone, her hands shaking.
Tony hurried out to the parking lot. The valet turned to him, but he shook his head. Tony never used a valet when he was on assignment. He wanted to know where his vehicle was at all times. He hustled across the parking lot. The damned place had been packed when he arrived just after ten. Parking slots had been few and far between.
He spotted his SUV, hit the remote unlock and hustled over to the driver’s-side door. His cell rang. He dragged it from his pocket. Jacobs. Damn it. What now?
“What?”
When the agent announced that he didn’t have his weapon with him, Tony barely restrained the urge to throw the phone across the parking lot. “Be at the goddamned front entrance in one minute.” He ended the call and shoved the phone into his pocket; then he reached for the door handle.
Pain pierced his neck. He reached for his weapon and tried to turn around, stumbling in the process.
He felt himself falling, but he couldn’t catch himself.
His back hit the asphalt. His SUV and the car next to it seemed so far away.
His eyes were closing and he couldn’t seem to stop them.
The last image he glimpsed was Gaylon Perry’s smiling face staring down at him.
“Hello, Agent, it’s been a while.”
Fuck.
Nineteen
The piece of shit made the final turn in the fourth eyebolt. He looped the steel handcuff through the hole and snapped it shut. He sat back on his heels. “Now.”
Gwen shuddered. She’d pretended to be asleep when he’d come inside dragging a body. Fear had thundered in her chest. Once the man was laid out on the floor she’d been able to see his chest rise and fall. He was alive. Thank God.
Maybe he would be able to help her escape before it was too late. Perry had been gone for hours today. Early this morning he’d shown her a photo on his phone. The man carrying Bobbie Gentry was the same one who’d visited her in the hospital back in February. Perry seemed disturbed by her answer. He’d paced the small room for what felt like hours. She’d spent every minute worried that he would touch her again. Her entire body shuddered at the idea. She felt like a hollow shell. Even the many cuts and bruises he’d made on her body no longer hurt, not really. She’d gone numb.
Thankfully, when his pacing stopped, he’d left again. She’d tried so hard to get free but the handcuffs he’d used to secure her were impossible to escape.
Each time he had raped her she closed her eyes and tried to disappear from this awful place. The most sickening part had been the feel of his semen seeping between her thighs. If she survived this nightmare, there was no telling what diseases he may have passed on to her. She thought of the endless days Bobbie had suffered his torture. Gwen recognized now just what a true miracle it was that she had survived. All those months Bobbie had struggled to regain her strength and balance. Gwen remembered the first time Bobbie had tried to run a lap around the gym. She’d fallen three times before she made it. Gwen had run with her. By the end of the fourth week, Bobbie could outrun her. In all her life Gwen had never seen such determination.
Please find us, Bobbie.
While Perry stripped the man, Gwen dared to stretch her neck to look toward the other room. He’d brought the little boy back earlier tonight. She hadn’t seen any sign of blood, but he had been whimpering. Hopefully he was okay. She squeezed her eyes shut. Please, God, let the little boy be okay. Perry had already taken one away, and she feared the worst. She had tried to recall the things he’d done in the past, but she could only remember that he raped and murdered women. Bobbie had told her the story about how her little boy died. The Storyteller hadn’t killed him—not directly. Why would he start killing children now? Did serial killers change their MOs?
As if she’d asked the question out loud, he whipped his attention toward her. She closed her eyes. Too late! He’d seen her!
The rustle of fabric brushed her ears, and she braced for his disgusting touch.
“Well, well, look who’s peeking.” His fingers dragged down her rib cage. “It’s almost time, Nurse Adams. You and I should prepare so that we’re ready to begin when our new friend awakens.”
Her heart pounded harder. “Please. No more.”
He smiled. How could a man with such a normal face and seemingly caring smile be such a monster?
“I’m not going to hurt you anymore, Gwen. I’m going to hurt Bobbie by killing you right in fro
nt of her.”
The sobs rose so fast Gwen couldn’t hold them back.
He moved away for a moment, but quickly returned with a hypodermic needle. “Time to go to sleep.”
She tried to draw away but he jabbed the needle into her neck. The burn rushed through her veins and her body immediately went still. Her vision dimmed until the faint lantern light was gone.
As her mind drifted away she felt him loosening her restraints.
She knew what would happen next...he would tattoo her story on her back.
She remembered what that meant: the end.
Twenty
Criminal Investigation Division,
Monday, August 29, 9:15 a.m.
“We’ve interviewed the clerk who spoke with Agent LeDoux last night before he left the hotel.” Special Agent Kent Mason pointed to the whiteboard, where a timeline had been created. “The time was just after midnight.”
Bobbie tried her best to focus on what the new agent who’d showed up before daylight this morning had to say. Mason was new to her, but apparently he had worked the Storyteller case with LeDoux at some point over the years. Newt had called Bobbie around one this morning and told her LeDoux was missing.
What the hell was Perry doing? How was he handling all these hostages?
She and Shade had gone to the scene at the Renaissance Hotel. Shade continued to surprise her. He read a crime scene like a trained investigator. Too bad the scene had yielded the same as the Storyteller’s scenes always yielded: nothing. The new agent on the scene as well as the ones she’d worked with before were all baffled.
As if she’d said the words aloud, an agent—another one she hadn’t met before—stood. “My name is Angela Price. I’m a profiler, and I’d like to address the abrupt changes we’ve seen in Gaylon Perry’s behavior.”
Peterson shifted in the chair next to Bobbie’s. He was not happy about her being here. They’d gotten off on the wrong foot first thing when he demanded she explain Nick Shade. She’d shrugged and said he was a serial killer expert recommended by one of Newt’s old friends at the FBI. Peterson had looked at her with the same expression he did each time she told him the session with the shrink went great. He recognized she was lying, but it made life easier to pretend he didn’t notice.
The memory of the gentle way Shade had bathed her last night and then tucked her into bed made her feel restless even now. Why had he done that? Why the hell had she let him? She was glad he’d headed in a different direction from her this morning. He’d told her he had a source he wanted to check in with and that he might be gone most of the day.
Be careful, Bobbie. Don’t get yourself dead.
Bobbie pushed the memories aside and surveyed the room. Owens was seated on the other side of the chief, next to the sheriff. The rest of her team, including Newt, was in the field helping with the search. Bobbie wanted to be out there. Owens could brief her on what the damned profiler had to say. Why was she wasting time sitting here?
Despite her impatience and frustration, Bobbie listened while the profiler reviewed the Storyteller’s MO—as if anyone in the room was unfamiliar with who and what this son of a bitch was and how he did things. Frankly, she could be up there doing a better job. Giving the agent grace, Perry had changed things up considerably.
Apparently she sighed too loudly since everyone in the room turned her way. The chief nudged her foot with his own. Owens, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly so subtle. “Did you have something you wanted to share with the task force, Detective Gentry?”
Hell. For a split second Bobbie considered letting everyone in the room know she thought they were wasting valuable time. But then something Shade said to her bobbed to the surface of her frustration. “Each time he takes a victim it’s about his mother.”
“Did Perry share this insight with you?” The profiler flipped through the folder in front of her. “I don’t recall reading that in any of your statements.”
“He didn’t mention his mother.” Gaylon Perry’s face flashed in front of Bobbie’s eyes. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the way he reacted to her death. Everything he’s done has been about her.” She fell silent, but when the room waited for her to continue, she said, “If you look at photos of her when she was young, you’ll see his typical victim.” She had everyone’s attention now. “I believe he’s punishing his mother for not protecting him from his abusive father.”
The profiler nodded. “Interesting theory, Detective. I’ll certainly look into it.” She directed her attention back to the room at large. “Moving on, it’s clear that Perry has regained control and is now on a mission.” Her gaze slid to Bobbie again. “His intent is to reclaim the one victim who escaped. To do that, he’s collected what he feels are marketable assets. At some point very soon he’ll either use them to help accomplish his goal or he’ll want to trade.”
The next several minutes were spent with Agent Mason and Chief Peterson going over how the manhunt had been expanded and how a media blitz had been launched to further warn the community about Perry and to potentially garner useful tips. All blond-haired, gray-or blue-eyed children between the ages of two and five were at risk, as were females who met the criteria of Perry’s previous victims. The goal was to make it impossible for him to show his face anywhere without being recognized. Photos of Perry with and without hair were being circulated.
The security camera footage from the hotel had shown him, sporting a baseball cap and glasses, dropping the letter on the desk in the lobby. The black Altima had been picked up as well, but not the license plate. All additional camera footage in the city was being reviewed for any glimpse of the vehicle. The work was time consuming, but it could pay off. For now, all black Altimas spotted were to be stopped and checked.
Bobbie closed her eyes. She could only imagine the condition Gwen was in at this stage. Bobbie wished she could have saved her from this. And LeDoux, damn. There was no way to guess what Perry might do to him, beyond killing him. As concerned as Bobbie was about Gwen and LeDoux, it was the child who worried her the most. He was the most fragile of the victims. Why hadn’t Perry left him at her house? What purpose could the child possibly serve now? Had he intended to leave him and something went wrong?
Notebooks closed and fabric rustled, alerting Bobbie that the briefing was over. She stood and surveyed the group. Sheriff Young was the first out the door. A representative from the State Police as well as the Alabama Bureau of Investigation had been among those present. No one could be left out of the loop with a serial killer running loose in their jurisdiction.
Before Bobbie could escape, the chief and Lieutenant Owens cornered her. “I want you sticking close to Detective Newton,” Peterson said.
“I’m headed to his location now.” For good measure, she added, “My surveillance detail will be right behind me.”
“You haven’t mentioned your thoughts about Perry’s pre-killing history before,” Owens noted. “I’d like a full report on any other interesting discoveries you’ve made from whatever sources you’ve stumbled upon.”
Owens danced all around it, but what she really wanted to know was who Nick Shade was and if Bobbie had gleaned any part of her theory from him. Before Bobbie could deliver a reasonable explanation, the profiler joined their huddle. “I was about to request the same,” Price announced with a smile meant to show her team spirit. “I don’t think I’ve seen photos of his mother any younger than fifty.”
“I’ll be sure to give you a copy of my report,” Bobbie said. Since she didn’t have one, she supposed she’d have to write one up.
“I’ll walk you out, Detective,” the chief said before Price could fire away with whatever other questions she had.
As if she understood the chief wanted privacy, Owens stayed in the conference room and initiated a conversation with Price.
The ch
ief waited until they were in the parking lot before he launched his interrogation. “You’re up to something, Bobbie.” He stopped near her car. “I’m not satisfied with your answer about this man—Nick Shade.”
“I told you he’s an expert.” She shrugged. “Didn’t you ask Newt? He’ll tell you the same thing. The FBI knows he’s here and following the case.”
“I spoke to Newt, yes.” The chief searched her face for a moment. “I may not have jurisdiction over your off-duty life,” he said, repeating words she had thrown at him many times, “but I have a right to be aware of anything or anyone who might affect your ability to do the job.”
“Newt knows him,” she hedged. “He’s helping me deal with this.” Bobbie realized for the first time since Shade bulldozed his way into her life that it was true. She hitched a thumb toward the driver’s-side door of her Challenger. “Speaking of my partner, I should get out there.”
When she would have slipped away, the chief touched her arm. “I’m worried, Bobbie. Really worried.”
“I know and I appreciate your concern.” He and Newt loved her, and she loved them. She swallowed at the lump rising in her throat. It didn’t mean she felt the loss of James and Jamie any less to admit she loved the two other people closest to her.
Or that you felt something when Shade touched you? The realization startled her. She pushed it away.
The chief held her gaze a moment longer. “I expect to hear from you once you’ve reached Newt’s location.”
“Yes, sir.”
Newt and the others were working the area downtown hoping to find a witness to LeDoux’s abduction. Bobbie climbed into her Challenger and rolled. The MPD cruiser followed. She checked her cell to see if she’d gotten a call or a text from Shade. Whoever he had to see, she hoped he learned something useful. Just now, she would take any help she could get.
She shook her head, surprised by the admission. Maybe it was time to admit she couldn’t do this alone.
