Wildflower Graves: A totally gripping mystery thriller (Detective Ellie Reeves Book 2)

by Rita Herron

  Ellie thought the therapist was going to dismiss her, but instead Wiggins asked for her email address. A moment later, Ellie’s phone vibrated. An email with an audio file attached.

  She looked back up at the doctor. Their gazes locked, then Ellie hurried from the office, anxious to hear what was on the tape.

  Seventy-Two

  Ellie and Derrick convened in the car outside the hospital, and Ellie started the recording of one of Vinny Holcomb’s therapy session. The therapist started with an introduction.

  “Vinny, would you like to talk about the reason you’re here today?”

  “Talk? I only talk to my friend. I have a friend now, Hiram. You know Hiram. He’s brave and smart and so am I now.” The man’s voice sounded almost childish, obsessive. “They used to call me Skinny Minnie Whiny Vinny. But I’m not skinny or minnie or whiny.” A clicking sound echoed, and Ellie realized he was snapping his fingers. “See, I’ve got muscles now. And friends. Hiram likes me and so does my other friend.”

  “What friend are you referring to?” Dr. Wiggins asked.

  “My other friend, you know, he says Mama shouldn’t have thrown me away in here. Mamas are supposed to be loving and kind, but she was bad, real bad, and she has to be punished.”

  “Your mother put you here because you attacked her,” Wiggins pointed out.

  “She was bad, just like the other ones. Like Hiram’s mama and sister. Look what they did to him!” His voice rose with rage. “They can’t get away with what they did to us. They have to pay.”

  “Vinny,” Wiggins said in a calm but authoritative voice. “Please sit down. I need you to stay calm so we can talk.”

  “You sound like my mama!” Vinny bellowed, then she heard Wiggins shout for him to stop, and suddenly footsteps as someone rushed in.

  “We’ve got him!” a man shouted.

  “Sedating him now,” the other one said.

  Vinny screeched like an animal, the sound of struggling ensued, followed by more noise as he was clearly dragged from the room.

  “They have to pay!” Vinny yelled. “All of them have to pay!”

  As the door closed and the recording ended, Ellie released a breath she didn’t even realize she’d been holding. “He’s definitely violent and hates women.”

  Derrick looked worried. “He fits the profile.”

  And he had drawn an X on her in red, the same red the victims’ lips were painted. Which meant he was targeting Ellie.

  “He mentioned another friend,” Derrick said. “When I looked at those security tapes, there was a man who came into his room the night he escaped. He stayed in the shadows, as if he knew where the cameras were and was avoiding him. The head of security couldn’t be sure who he was.”

  “You think this man helped him escape?” Ellie asked.

  Derrick nodded. “Which means we could be looking for a team who planned these murders together.”

  Seventy-Three

  Ellijay, Georgia

  The police station in Ellijay was only fifteen minutes away.

  A deputy showed them to Sheriff Miller’s desk, and Ellie introduced herself and Derrick, explaining they’d just come from the secure hospital.

  The man was middle-aged, tall and bald, and judging from the tattoo on his forearm, ex-military. His gold wedding band looked too small, digging into his fleshy fingers, and a picture of a woman with brown curly hair sat on his desk along with a photo of a French bulldog.

  Derrick had phoned ahead, and the man had agreed to pull Holcomb’s file so they could discuss it. Derrick had also called Vinny’s mother, but she hadn’t answered so he’d left a message asking her to contact them.

  Opening the file, Miller clicked his teeth. “That was some crazy dude,” he said. “When I showed up at his mother’s house, he had her cornered with a butcher knife to her throat.”

  “Go on,” Ellie said.

  “Twice before we’d been called out there. Once when he’d beaten the hell out of a girlfriend. Put her in the hospital with a broken arm and broken nose. She also needed dozens of stitches on her arms where he’d cut her.”

  She and Derrick watched as he laid the photos of the girlfriend on the table. The woman appeared to be undernourished and her hair looked like straw, as if Vinny had kept her locked up and hadn’t fed her.

  “Next time, it was his mama, but she decided not to press charges. Said he was sick and off his meds, and she was going to try to get him into treatment.”

  “So he has a pattern of violence,” Derrick said.

  Miller nodded. “We looked back and found two other domestic calls, but the police backed off because the women chose not to follow through. Abusers seem to have some kind of hold on women. Or maybe the women think they can save them.”

  That never worked out, Ellie thought.

  “What happened the last time?” Derrick asked.

  “He went too far with his mother,” the officer said. “Beat her to a bloody pulp. She managed to get to the phone and called 911. Upon arrival, from the yard we heard him ranting about how she was white trash and he knew she’d cheated on his daddy, how God wanted women to obey their husbands and sons. He’d locked her in so we had to break down the door. He had her by the hair with that butcher knife to her throat. Had already nicked her twice and was screaming that he was going to kill her.”

  The officer displayed another set of photos, this one of an older woman, her hair matted with blood, her face and body bruised, a red line rimming her throat where he’d cut her. “It was a wonder she survived.”

  “Any idea what set him off?” Derrick asked.

  Miller shook his head. “Said he was at her house trying to get his ex’s address, but she refused to give it to him. Said she knew he’d kill her if she did.”

  “Do you know where this woman is now?” Ellie asked.

  “Afraid not. The mother said she went to a women’s shelter and begged us to leave her be.”

  “Have you sent anyone to check on the mother since Vinny escaped?” Ellie asked, folding her arms across her chest.

  “I called her and left a message warning her, but she didn’t answer.”

  “And you didn’t think to go out and check on her?” Ellie asked in disbelief.

  He looked contrite for a moment, then shuffled some papers and shook his head.

  Sorry son of a bitch. No wonder some people criticized small-town law enforcement.

  Seventy-Four

  Pigeon Lake

  Ellie swung the Jeep down the graveled drive of the clapboard house belonging to Vinny Holcomb’s mother and came to a stop. Pigeon Lake, a small lake only a short drive from Stony Gap, was named for the pigeons that gathered in flocks, circling the muddy water.

  A dark green sedan streaked with filth was parked beneath a carport.

  “Mother’s name is Martha. She worked at a dry cleaners a few miles away,” Derrick said, skimming the information Sheriff Miller had given them.

  “Poor woman,” Ellie muttered. “Couldn’t be easy being attacked and nearly killed by your own son.” She had to live with the fact that her son was a murderer, just like Ellie needed to live with her own parents’ betrayal––and her own mother was paying for that right now, fighting for her life.

  “His rage against women fits the profile,” Derrick agreed. “But he strikes me as too impulsive, not a planner.”

  Ellie opened the car door and climbed out, the afternoon breeze swirling leaves around her feet and bringing the scent of rotting garbage. A spider web clung to the awning over the front door and the windows looked foggy. Pigeons had nested on the windowsills.

  Derrick scanned the yard and property while she knocked. Once, twice, three times, but no one answered.

  “Ms. Holcomb, it’s the police. We need to talk,” Ellie said.

  Another knock, then she leaned against the door and listened. Nothing but the sound of water dripping from inside.

  Twisting the knob, Ellie pushed the door and it creaked o
pen. She covered her nose and mouth at the terrible stench that assaulted her. She and Derrick held their weapons at the ready as they crept inside.

  “Police. Is anyone home?”

  Ellie’s shout was met with silence, the sound of dripping water echoing from down the hall. Derrick motioned that he’d check the kitchen and she inched towards where she assumed the bedrooms were. The first one held assorted junk, magazines and a twin-sized bed. It looked as if it hadn’t been dusted in months, a thick layer of grime covering every surface.

  Creeping slowly, Ellie pivoted and paused at the second bedroom. The ancient bed was made, the corners of a faded floral bedspread neatly tucked in. There was no one in the room.

  But the stench grew stronger. A buzzing sound mingled with the dripping water.

  Bile rose to her throat as she paused in the bathroom doorway. The scent of death and body waste permeated the air.

  Flies buzzed around the woman’s body, which was sprawled on the bathroom floor in a pool of dark blood.

  Seventy-Five

  Ellie’s shout sent Derrick racing down the hallway.

  The buzz of insects resounded from the back room and the stench of death hit him as he rushed to the bathroom. Already the body was decomposing, maggots crawling in the woman’s hair and clothing. Dried blood spread over the floor, cabinet and the side of the tub where it looked as if she’d tried to pull herself up to stand, before collapsing back down.

  “Fuck, this is messy. He must have killed her right after he escaped.”

  “My guess, too.” Ellie nodded toward the dozens of stab wounds in the woman’s chest and stomach. “This is definitely personal, a crime of passion. You can see the rage in the number of times he stabbed her and the viciousness of the attack.”

  “Assuming Vinny did this, it’s not the MO of the Weekday Killer,” Derrick agreed. “No posing. No daffodils. Nothing staged or symbolic in this chaos.” Which meant the unsub was still out there. “His mother sent him away, so he had motive to want her dead.”

  “Could it be possible that he purged his rage on his mother, then planned the others?”

  “Possible, but not likely,” Derrick said. “A perp doesn’t go from this type of spontaneous violence to methodical planning. Just look at the way he left her, lying in her own blood and waste. The other victims were left on petals, dressed for their funerals, adorned with makeup. And he took the time to sew their lips shut, leaving the rhyme in their mouths.”

  “You’re right. He’d also need time to get the makeup, research the trail, buy or gather the dresses.”

  “But if he was working with someone else, the other man could be the planner.”

  As Ellie stepped into the hallway, Derrick began capturing the crime scene on his phone. The room was a mess. Toiletries strewn across the counter, a can of hair spray on the floor, manicure scissors in the sink, as if, in desperation, she’d tried to find something to defend herself with. The towel bar had been ripped from the wall, with a bloody towel on the floor, the sink dripping and slowly leaking.

  He stepped closer, peering inside the sink and noting blood droplets in the basin.

  The killer had tried to wash the blood from his hands. Another glance at the hardware and he noted a bloody print on the faucet.

  If Vinny’s DNA was here, they’d soon confirm that he’d killed his mother.

  And if he was working with a partner, the man who’d helped him escape, it couldn’t be Hiram, since he was locked away. So who the hell was it?

  Seventy-Six

  Crooked Creek

  While crime investigators processed Martha Holcomb’s house, Ellie and Derrick stopped to grab sandwiches at the Corner Café.

  Lola greeted Ellie with a worried look. “Hey, Ellie, any word on Shondra?”

  Ellie’s heart stuttered. Every second that passed lessened their chances of finding her alive. “Not yet, but we’re still looking.”

  Hushed whispers rippled through the room, and Ellie felt all eyes on them. She caught a glimpse of the mayor’s wife, the local librarian Gertrude Cunningham and Lily Hanover, the president of the garden club, seated in a booth. Meddlin’ Maude fluttered in and joined them, her mouth wagging as she glanced at Ellie.

  Irritated, Ellie stared at them, but the women quickly looked away, disapproval radiating in the vicious stares they threw in her direction.

  Ellie rubbed a finger over her shield. Dammit, she didn’t care what those old biddies said. Except her mother had once thought they were her friends and they’d completely turned on her.

  Just like you did, a guilty voice in her chided. And now, who knew if her mother would survive, she thought, pain-stricken.

  “Let’s get the food to go,” Ellie said. She’d probably never be able to eat inside a restaurant in town again.

  Derrick agreed and they quickly ordered, Lola shoving a disposable cup of coffee toward Ellie. “Here, you look like you could use this. I’ll throw in some pastries, too.”

  Thanking her, Ellie grabbed their food and started toward the door, when Emily Nettles, the wife of the youth minister in town, stopped them. “Ellie, I want you to know the Porch Sitters have started a prayer chain for Shondra and for your mama.” She squeezed Ellie’s arm. “We’re also praying for you and Agent Fox.”

  Emotion welled in Ellie, and she murmured thanks. Maybe soon enough she’d turn into a praying girl herself.

  Hell, she closed her eyes for a brief second and decided to try it now. A quick prayer for her mother chimed in her head, and she glanced at the heavens, wondering if anyone up there was listening.

  Seventy-Seven

  Somewhere on the AT

  Every cell in Shondra’s body hurt. Her skin was raw where he’d whipped her, the sting constant from the relentless beatings. Her eye was swollen shut, and she could barely move her jaw.

  He’d taken her clothes now, leaving her lying on the floor of the cold metal cage, naked and alone for hours with nothing to do but dread his next visit.

  He’d sworn he would break her.

  She’d vowed he wouldn’t.

  But she was growing weaker and weaker. She understood now. Once she begged, he would finally kill her.

  Then the pain would end.

  And so would her chance for a future. She had to escape, stop him from claiming any more lives.

  Tears choked her. But how? He never let her off the chain and he had a camera watching her now. She imagined him sitting upstairs drinking whiskey with a smirk, watching as she lay curled on the floor in her own blood.

  Her mouth was so dry it felt like cotton balls inside, and her throat hurt from holding back a scream. The water bowl he’d left for her sat in the corner.

  A dog’s water bowl.

  Humiliation climbed her neck as she dragged herself over to it. Metal clanged against metal, the thick band around her neck cutting into her already raw skin. She loathed the sheer idea of drinking from the dog bowl, but she had no choice––she had to survive.

  She raised her head and stared into the camera, knowing he was watching, getting off on her pain. It was a twisted game to him. Her hatred for him made her stronger, and she gave him a determined half smile.

  She wasn’t ready to give up yet.

  Seventy-Eight

  Crooked Creek

  Anxious to escape prying eyes, Ellie and Derrick sat in the car and ate their sandwiches in silence. Ten minutes later, they met Angelica Gomez at the Crooked Creek Police Department to make a statement to the public about Holcomb.

  Evening shadows clung to the building in the fading sun, and a slight breeze rocked a traffic light back and forth as leaves swirled across the park.

  Angelica and her cameraman looked hungry for news. They rushed towards Ellie, the reporter’s face etched with determination and the realization that she was onto another big story.

  Ellie motioned for her to step aside for a moment away from the camera. “You were right,” she told the reporter. “Hiram had a follower.
That’s the reason we’re here.”

  Interest sparked in Angelica’s eyes. “Are you ready to report on it?”

  She had to. The people in Bluff County needed to be warned. “Yes, I’ll give a statement.” Angelica signaled to the cameraman to start filming. “This is Angelica Gomez coming to you live for WRIX Channel 5 news with FBI Special Agent Derrick Fox and Detective Ellie Reeves, who are investigating the case of the Weekday Killer. Already this man has murdered three women and is still at large.” She pushed the mic toward Ellie. “Can you give us an update?”

  “The FBI, along with local Bluff County law enforcement, are doing everything possible to find this killer and make it safe for women in the county again. Currently we are exploring several leads and persons of interest, one of which includes escaped psychiatric patient Vinny Holcomb,” Ellie paused.

  “Mr. Holcomb has a history of violence against women and is extremely dangerous. If you have any knowledge of him or his whereabouts, please contact the police.” She glanced at the clock in the middle of the square––every single second counted in a case like this. “Once again, he is considered extremely dangerous. Do not attempt to apprehend him yourself. Alert authorities immediately.”

  Ellie’s mind turned to the photo of her, branded with a X. He might be coming after her right now.

  “One last thing, Mr. Holcomb, if you see this, please contact us. No one else has to be hurt. If you want me, then call me and we’ll talk.”

  As she wrapped up, Ellie noticed a muscle ticking in Derrick’s jaw. She didn’t give a damn if the killer came after her if she could save Shondra’s life.

  Leaving Derrick to finish dealing with Angelica, Ellie ducked into the station.