Profiled

by Renee Andrews

  He looked at the others around the table, then shrugged. “Most everyone here knows about it. I was one of the main ones practicing back then, but I learned better. Some folks didn’t. Hannah’s family still practices.”

  “Practices what?” Lexie asked.

  “It was an old cult.” Lou shifted in his seat. “The Fellowship, that’s what Brother Moses called it.”

  “We didn’t call it a cult, though I guess that’s what it was.” Zed continued looking at Hannah and Logan’s information sheets as he spoke. “I was a deacon, after all. So was Sheriff Tucker, right up until the day he died.” He looked at John. “We thought we were doing the right thing, didn’t we?”

  John nodded. He’d wanted to forget how foolish they all were back then, but his parents had been sucked in by the lies, and so had he.

  “Who is Brother Moses?” Angel jotted notes on the outside of her information packet.

  “His real name was Horace Waters.” John hated all of this coming out now.

  “Horace Waters?” Angel added the name.

  Zed nodded. “Yeah, he was a preacher at a church downtown, but then he started telling his congregation that God had visited him personally and told him what people were doing wrong and how they had to stop the sin.”

  “It wasn’t God that had visited him,” John corrected. “It was the Supreme One.”

  “I thought the Supreme One was God.” Lou’s face displayed his confusion.

  “You weren’t paying attention in Sheriff Tucker’s classes.” Zed chuckled, but no one joined in.

  “The sheriff was involved in this—Fellowship?” Angel scribbled as she tried to keep up.

  Lou leaned forward. “Yeah, John’s father was a deacon.”

  “Your father?” Angel turned her attention to John.

  John nodded, but didn’t speak.

  Angel stopped writing, then frowned as she reread the words now filling the outside of her manila file. “Zed, you said it would make sense that the women he picked were pregnant. Why would it make sense?”

  “The Fellowship saw children as a symbol of power. The more children you had, the more powerful you were within the Fellowship. Women who couldn’t conceive were outcasts. Men who couldn’t impregnate their wives were too. Those were signs that they’d been disinherited from the Supreme One, so they were also excommunicated from the group.”

  “How many members did the Fellowship have?”

  He shrugged. “Hundreds, I suppose. We didn’t keep a roster. You knew those who were members and those who weren’t. But you’re talking about it in the past tense. Like I said, Hannah’s family still practices. I think plenty of folks do; they just don’t meet in person anymore. Everything is done on the Internet, from what I hear.”

  “Do you know the web address?” Angel flipped the page and kept writing. “Or do any of you know it?”

  Lou, John, Ryan and Zed shook their heads in denial.

  “I’m sure it won’t be easy to find, but the techies at the field office should be able to track it down, if I can’t find it with a bit of Google and Yahoo.” She cleared her throat. “And all of you were members?” She pointed to Ryan, Lou, John and Zed.

  This time, they nodded.

  Lexie’s chair scraped against the floor as she scooted closer to the table. “In this Fellowship, what did they think of a single, pregnant woman?”

  Zed frowned, but Lou didn’t hesitate. “She’d sinned, and she didn’t deserve to live.”

  Ryan joined in. “Any single woman. Never married, or divorced, or even separated. If she wasn’t with her husband, or if she hadn’t become pregnant by her husband, they wanted no part of her. We were to disassociate from her and wish evil on her.”

  “What happened to Brother Moses, or Horace Waters?” Pierce asked.

  John answered, “He up and left town in the early eighties. I thought the group busted up at the same time. I didn’t even know they still practiced.”

  Lou cleared his throat. “They do, but it’s only a few, those over-the-top ones like Hannah’s folks.”

  “Sounds like our guy could be included in that over-the-top number. Any idea where they meet? Or when?” Angel asked.

  “They don’t meet,” Zed said. “After Brother Moses left, they decided to preserve the sanctity of the Fellowship, they’d have to conduct everything in private. From what I understand, even the ones still practicing aren’t sure which other members still feel the same way. Kind of a don’t-let-your-right-hand-know-what-the-left-one-is-doing mentality. I think there are still some of that number Lou referred to as ‘over-the-top,’ but I believe there are others who are members for other reasons. They don’t follow all of Brother Moses’ teachings, but they like being a part of the charity arm of the group.”

  “Charity arm?” Lexie questioned.

  “Brother Moses may have had some warped ideas,” Zed explained, “but he also had some good ones. He started the majority of Macon’s charity groups, a homeless shelter and a soup kitchen while he ran the Fellowship.”

  “Even though many of the folks who managed his charities left the Fellowship, they remained connected, in a sense. They still wanted to help others, just on their own instead of under the Fellowship’s guidance,” Lou added.

  “Would Hannah’s parents work at one of those charities?” Lexie took notes frantically as the abundance of new information increased.

  Zed shook his head. “Nah, they live out from the city, like I said before. They’re the type that believes in living off the land. You know, a garden, farm, the whole nine yards. They don’t come into town.”

  “Do you think Hannah’s parents would tell us if they ever heard from her after she left?” Angel asked.

  “Nope. They disowned her,” Ryan said. “Excommunicated, that’s what the Fellowship called it. They didn’t want to acknowledge they’d borne a sinner.”

  “Well, someone reported her missing.” Pierce waved the form. “Mable Sharp.”

  John knew Mable well. “Mable is her grandmother. She never agreed with the Fellowship, so she doesn’t have much to do with the family. I see Mable around town every now and then.”

  “You know her?” Angel asked.

  “Yeah, I know her.”

  “She hasn’t ever mentioned her granddaughter to you? Said whether they ever heard from her? Found her? Anything?” Pierce sounded as though he doubted the woman wouldn’t have mentioned Hannah.

  John shook his head. “Like I said, she didn’t have anything to do with the Fellowship, so for most of those years she barely even saw her grandchildren. And if Hannah’s folks are still practicing, they wouldn’t have anything to do with her.”

  “Well, somehow she knew her granddaughter was missing. She reported it.” Pierce tapped the form.

  “Do you want us to see if Mable knows anything, captain?” Zed started to stand. “I know where her place is and could head over there now.”

  “Do that. Then let us know what you find out as soon as possible.”

  Zed gathered his things and headed out.

  Pierce stared at the missing persons sheets for Hannah Sharp and Logan Finley. “I’m betting, from everything we’ve stated, that we now have the name of our first victim. Hannah Elizabeth Sharp.”

  “Which means we can narrow our profile even more.” Angel continued writing notes as she spoke.

  “Our killer knew Hannah Sharp,” Lexie said.

  Angel looked at Lexie. “Not only did he know her, but he knew her well. Either he had a relationship with her, or he tried to. Nothing stings a male teen more than being on the short side of a love triangle.”

  “So, do we know who, other than Logan Finley, had relationships with Hannah Sharp?” Pierce asked.

  Ryan and Lou remained silent, but John knew they couldn’t hide the truth. “We all did.”

  Chapter Twelve

  After meeting with the task force for the majority of the day, Lexie conducted an hour-long interview with Sylvia Rawlins
to portray an accurate picture of Vickie Jones, then headed for her office to prepare her segment for tonight’s broadcast. She kept waiting on a call from Angel to let her know the results of the pregnancy test, but so far, she’d heard nothing. Knowing Angel, she was working late with the task force and putting off the test that could pinpoint her as the perfect victim.

  To keep her attention off Angel, Lexie concentrated on Sylvia’s depiction of her friend. She described Vickie as a beautiful girl with typical hopes and dreams. She wanted a nice home, a husband who loved her and a house full of children. By all indications, Vickie would’ve been a great mother.

  “She loved kids. Whenever a family came in the restaurant and had a baby with them, Vickie directed them to her section. She wanted to be near those babies.” Sylvia sniffed and cried through the interview, missing her friend and distressed by the unnecessary loss of life.

  Lexie was distressed too, both by what the killer had accomplished and by everything she learned at the task force meeting. She had known by the look on John Tucker’s face that he’d had a relationship with Hannah Sharp. She’d also recognized the same look on Ryan Sims and Lou Marker’s faces. That had been disconcerting, and hadn’t boded well for their innocence even though she knew in her heart John wasn’t guilty.

  “I knew her, you know.” Paul Kingsley leaned against the opening of Lexie’s cubicle and held the printed text of her broadcast in his hand.

  “Vickie?” She squinted to see the copy. It’d been a long day, and her eyes burned from staring at her computer monitor. Paul must have been waiting for the text, since he responded within five minutes of her hitting the send key.

  “No, I haven’t printed that one out yet. I was talking about Hannah Sharp. I knew her back then. She was like all of his victims, a pretty girl, full of life and excitement. She was one of my closest friends.” He shrugged. “I thought she eloped with that Finley guy. Never dreamed she could’ve been the killer’s first victim, but she does fit the criteria for blonde hair and single. If she was pregnant, though, I never heard anything about it.”

  “They’re still checking things out. We should have a clearer picture tomorrow.” She pressed her fingers to her forehead. Her head throbbed. “Zed is meeting with her grandmother tonight. The police think the killer may have known Hannah Sharp and that he may have been a part of the group called the Fellowship. I realize it’s jumping the gun a bit, as far as fiction versus fact, but it won’t hurt for our viewers to see how we’re thinking.”

  “You realize this broadcast is going to cause a lot of people to talk about the Fellowship.”

  “And?”

  “And I like that. They’ll want to keep watching to learn more, which equals more viewers, which equals higher ratings.” He winked. “Folks ’round here have been too scared to mention the Fellowship. Far as I know, it’s never been covered in any media. But when you put this as our lead story, you can guarantee every one of the affiliates will pick it up. Religious fanatics tend to have that effect on inquiring minds, you know. Great job, McCain.”

  “Thanks.” She finished keying in her notes on Cami Talton. She’d started gathering her data tonight to get a head start for the next victim’s segment. Then she processed Paul’s words, and what he hadn’t said. She stopped typing and turned toward him. “What do you know about the Fellowship?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Were you part of the group?”

  “We all were. It was the cool thing to do back then. You know, head out to the woods, start a big fire, chant and pray and sing. I had five brothers and two sisters. My family was royalty in their book of ‘children equal power.’” He laughed out loud.

  “Didn’t you ever think the killer could’ve had something to do with the Fellowship?” She knew Paul was on top of things when it came to the news. “I mean, all of the Easter kills, and the seven years apart, and seven women. Even the forty days between murders. Seems like if so many people were involved in that cult, then somebody would’ve picked up on his clues.”

  “Don’t call it a cult.” His voice lost all pretense of humor. “We may have had our ideas muddled, but we were trying to accomplish something right. A lot of good came from the Fellowship too. It wasn’t all negative. Don’t forget that.”

  “Okay.” Lexie felt uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation and suddenly became quite aware that only she and Paul remained in this portion of the building. Or were there others here? She strained to hear the sound of keyboards clicking, but heard nothing.

  He cleared his throat, regained his composure, and produced another smile. The grin didn’t make it to his eyes.

  “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking about how close people are to their religion.” She loved God and had no doubt that He’d seen her through the tough times of life. She knew for certain He had been with her the day she helped save Angel. But Lexie found the type of twisted “religion” of the Fellowship foreign. As well as how sensitive the cult’s former members might be about the group’s practices.

  He didn’t accept her apology, but he also didn’t look as aggravated. “Back to your question. No, I never thought the killer had anything to do with the Fellowship, because the members of the group celebrate life, thus the reason for children, particularly newborns, to be a symbol of power. Why would they kill? Life brings power.”

  “But maybe one of the members began to believe you gained more power by taking life.”

  Paul mulled that over. “Maybe. Or maybe he thought that by taking a child from an unworthy parent, he controlled the power that wasn’t meant to be bestowed.”

  Lexie opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. Instinct would have her tell him that the killer would think the same thing, but given how he’d seemed so bothered by her earlier comment, she decided to keep that one to herself. “I’ll try to include some of that theory in tomorrow’s profile update for the killer.”

  “Sounds good. So, you done for the day?”

  “Yeah, but I can see myself out.”

  “Nonsense. I’m leaving anyway, and there’s a killer out there, remember?”

  She nodded. Oh yeah, she remembered. She grabbed her things, said a prayer she wouldn’t say anything else to offend her boss before she made it to her car, then followed him out.

  “You realize I don’t expect you to work until ten every night. That’s why you tape your segments in advance. You’re putting in way too many eighty-hour weeks, McCain.” He opened the door for her as they exited the building.

  She glanced at the time on her phone. “I didn’t realize it was so late.”

  “Your interview with Sylvia Rawlins must’ve taken some time.”

  “Longer than I realized.” She walked through the crisp night air until she neared her car. “Thanks for seeing me out.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I assume John will be waiting in my driveway when I arrive.” She had become quite accustomed to their tag-team ritual of watching over her.

  “I’m supposed to call him once you’re on your way.” He laughed. “You’re good.”

  “I’m a reporter, but the two of you don’t hide your plans very well, either.”

  “That’s what our mothers always said when we were in high school. Go figure.”

  Grinning, she climbed in her car and started home, looking forward to seeing John in a few minutes and also grateful Paul had started behaving like her friend again before she left. Whatever she’d said or done to bother him, she must’ve rectified her mistake. Thank goodness. She had no intention of making an enemy out of her boss.

  Lexie drove through town with her window down so she could inhale the scent of Magnolia blossoms filling the city. Her Magnolia trees were in full bloom, and the big white clusters dotting the branches stood out beneath the moonlight. She knew the large azalea bushes surrounding her porch were also in bloom; however, her work schedule had kept her from home during daylight hours, so she hadn’t been able to appreciate
the abundant red and white blossoms the realtor had promised her when she bought the house. Maybe she’d see them soon. After they caught the killer.

  Right now, the mountain of a man sitting on her front porch swing formed the best view provided by her home. His black hair blended with the night, but those two sexy patches of silver at his temples glistened in the moonlight.

  “I forgot to leave the porch light on.” She stepped toward him.

  “Yeah, you did. Wouldn’t be too safe walking in, if you didn’t have a cop waiting at your door.”

  “But I knew I would.”

  He lifted a thick, black brow. “Getting confident in this relationship already?”

  Lexie grinned. “Maybe.”

  “Works for me.” He smiled back, then indicated the spot beside him. “Wanna enjoy the night a while?”

  “Sure.” She placed her purse and briefcase on the porch and sat beside him on the swing.

  John wrapped a strong arm around her, pulled her against his side. Then she closed her eyes and sighed as he gently pushed the swing back and forth.

  They enjoyed the quiet for a while, then he cleared his throat and asked, “So when were you going to tell me about your cousin?”

  Lexie wasn’t that surprised by the question. She’d known any detective worth his salt would have investigated her background after learning the tiny tidbits she’d provided. Then again, any reporter worth her salt would have checked out a few things about him too, and she had. “Tonight. Or tomorrow. When were you going to tell me about the Fellowship?”

  He laughed. “Tonight. Or tomorrow.”

  “Sure you were. You want to go first, or you want me to?”

  “You go ahead. And just so you know, I also learned who she is. Should’ve seen the resemblance.”

  Lexie figured that, so she didn’t flinch. “We don’t look that much alike, other than the eyes. We both have Truman green eyes.”

  “A shame she never got to meet her mother.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m assuming the name change was to keep the killer from knowing everything that happened after he left the scene?”