by Rita Herron
Cord twisted his hands together, silently cursing himself for ever befriending Ellie. He couldn’t help but think about the call he’d gotten when he was at the Reflection Pond with Ellie and they’d found the first victim. The call from Roy.
“You’re not a hero, McClain,” his foster brother Roy had said. “Someday everyone will know it.”
Cord ran his hand through his hair. If Roy Finton was killing women to get back at him, their deaths were on him.
Ellie was the only good thing that had ever been in his life. He’d never told her that, and he didn’t intend to put that weight on her, but if something happened to her because of him or his past, he’d never forgive himself.
He sank onto the cell cot, knowing that Waters enjoyed seeing him locked away. Ellie seemed oblivious, but he suspected Bryce wanted her for himself. No matter he acted like a bastard. He was a control freak, a man who used his power over women. The fact that Ellie hadn’t fallen at his feet with admiration rankled Bryce’s pride.
Memories of Roy and his foster father’s perversions slammed into him. Roy was a year older than him and already entrenched in his father’s sick ways when Cord had come to live with them. Before then, Cord had been tossed from one place to another, dragging his hand-me-down clothes and too-small shoes in a trash bag just like the one his mother had abandoned him in when he was a baby. She’d thrown him out like garbage, starting a pattern that had lasted his whole life until he’d been released from juvie. He’d lived on his own ever since, chasing his own demons.
The first night he’d been at the Fintons he’d heard Roy and his father laughing as they defiled a young woman’s body. He’d hidden in the corner behind a curtain and watched, biting his tongue until it bled, as Felix crawled on top of the woman and ran his tongue over her. His foster father had stripped his pants, grunting as he’d humped her. Then he’d invited Roy to join them. “Go ahead, son. Have fun. This one can’t fight back.”
Nausea rose in Cord’s throat, and he choked back the need to vomit as the images played in his mind.
He’d tried to tell Roy’s mother, but she was too deep in the bottle to know or care what was going on.
He’d run to the social worker to tell her the next day. But she’d told him to behave, that he was lucky the Fintons had taken him in, since no one else wanted him.
What the Fintons really wanted was free labor to help prepare the dead and keep their disgusting secrets. There was no love for Cord in that home––only trauma.
He studied the scars on his hands. He’d let the rage and beatings get to him. Done unforgiveable things.
Maybe he deserved to rot in here after all.
One Hundred Fifteen
Crooked Creek
Ellie waited until the guard arrived to watch Kennedy Sledge, then drove to the jail to talk to Cord. No matter what Derrick said, she had to find Shondra. There was no way she’d leave her on the trail, out in the elements. Her heart skipped a beat at what state she would find her friend in, but she steeled herself for the worst with a sinking stomach.
When she arrived at the station, Bryce was nowhere to be found. According to his receptionist he’d gone to question Valerie Patterson’s neighbors. At least he was working and not at Haints scarfing down shots of whiskey.
“I need to talk to Ranger McClain,” she said. “He might have information about where another victim was left.”
The receptionist pinched her face. “I hope you find this creep. My daughter is the same age as the women he’s taking, and I’m a nervous wreck.”
“I understand,” Ellie replied. “I’m doing everything possible. Just tell your daughter to stay home or be with a friend at all times until we catch him.”
She pushed through the double doors, making her way to the cells. Her breath stalled in her chest at the sight of Cord staring at the ceiling from that single cot. The cell was dimly lit, and the concrete walls and floors reeked of sweat and urine.
He’d been mistreated as a kid, and now he was locked up for a crime he hadn’t committed. She had to do something about that. Make things right.
She’d failed so many times before, her gut twisting at the thought of Shondra, but she wouldn’t let down another friend.
Approaching slowly, Ellie met his gaze as he turned his head to face her. Seeing it was her, he sat up, but his rigid posture was defensive.
How could she blame him?
“Hey,” she said softly.
“Hey.”
She released a breath, aching to comfort him.
“I need your help.”
He stood and walked over to the door, then gripped the cell bars. “I told you everything already. Did you find Finton?”
“We went to his house and found evidence. You were right. He’s seriously into necrophilia. But at the moment, he’s in the wind. Agent Fox may have a lead and has gone to check it out.”
A sliver of relief flitted through his grey eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come.
“Cord,” she said, her voice breaking as she pulled her phone. “I think he killed Shondra.”
Anger flashed across his chiseled face. “You found her?”
“No, but he sent me this.” She showed him the photograph and saw him grimace.
“I’m sorry, El. Really.”
She nodded. The fact that Cord was in lockup when she’d received the picture should prove his innocence––unless Derrick continued to push Cord and Finton working as accomplices. “I can’t leave her outside all alone in the elements.”
They both knew that animals would ravage her body if they didn’t recover her soon.
“I think I recognize those cypress trees,” she said, pointing to the foliage on the hill where Shondra lay. “Do you know where they are?”
His brows creased. “You have your trail map with you?”
“Always,” Ellie replied, reaching inside her jacket pocket.
Within seconds, Cord pinpointed an area for her to search. “The area is called Prayer Point. It’s at Cypress Hill. That’s the area where all the cypresses grow.”
Prayer Point was also considered a reverent place, where people went to pray for others.
Friday’s child is loving and giving. The location fit, but the perp’s twisted sense of irony was way off. Shondra was loving and giving. “I have to go find her,” Ellie said.
Cord caught her hand. “It’s dangerous, Ellie. He may be waiting to ambush you.”
Ellie hesitated. If it was up to her, she’d release Cord, but Bryce would have a fit.
She didn’t give a damn though. She’d deal with the sheriff later. Besides, she could argue the fact that she’d received the text while Cord was in a cell. Even if Bryce argued that Finton had sent it, that the two were working together, she didn’t believe it. Right now, Cord could lead her to the location faster than she could find it on her own. That was what mattered.
Decision made, she rushed to the front and snagged the keys to the cell.
“What are you doing?” the receptionist called after them.
“I need Ranger McClain’s help. Tell the sheriff he’s in my custody.”
One Hundred Sixteen
Cypress Hill
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Cord asked, a half hour later, as she parked at the Approach Trail to hike up to the hill.
“No, but we don’t have time to waste and who gives a flying fuck what Bryce thinks?”
Her comment earned a smile from Cord.
Despite her bravado, she was pretty sure Bryce would push for her suspension, and Derrick would believe she was covering for Cord. They’d order her not to set off into the woods with bad weather on the way. But she didn’t have time to worry about their opinions. The ranger was her best bet at finding Shondra. That was what counted, she reassured herself as the trees shook violently in the wind, the threat of a tornado becoming more and more real.
“Why would he leave her in the midst of cypress trees?” Elli
e asked.
“The dark green leaves of the cypress represent resurrection and immortality. The elongated form gives the appearance of—”
“Fingers pointing towards heaven,” Ellie finished. “My father brought me here when one of the kids at high school died suddenly. I was so angry because she’d been hit by a drunk driver, but Dad said we had to pray for everyone.”
What little sun had trickled through the cloud disappeared into the distance. Shadows flickered through the narrow paths between the endless rows of pines, oaks, and cypresses in the woods.
With the storm coming, the temperature felt colder here, the air danker, the sounds of the wild more prominent. Eyes peeled for trouble, they made their way into the woods in silence, picking up the pace as the swirling storm clouds gathered above the sharp ridges. The sound of falling rock echoed ahead, and water trickled down the side of the mountain wall.
They stopped briefly to check the map and note identifying markers along the way, Ellie using a compass to guide her.
Four miles in, Cord led her onto a shortcut heading west. They crossed an overflowing part of the creek that had demolished the foliage on the bank. The cloying scent of rotting vegetation filled the air, and the ground was slippery underfoot.
“Don’t look down,” Cord muttered as they reached a flimsy swinging bridge made of rope and board. Carefully, Ellie eased onto it, testing the fraying rope and carefully stepping over missing boards. She held her breath as she crept across it, and she didn’t have to look down to know that if she fell, she’d plunge headfirst into a rocky ravine.
The bridge swayed back and forth, making her dizzy, and she clutched the ropes to steady her footing. When they both made it over, they paused to catch their breaths then take a quick sip of water. Together they hacked away the dense foliage and kept climbing until they reached the summit near the falls. Ellie’s pulse raced again as they clambered over stumps, through briar patches, and along a narrow ridge.
As her foot hit a tree root, she nearly stumbled. Cord grabbed her arm and steadied her as they breathlessly crossed the next section. Up another punishing hill, around a steep curve, and… finally she saw the cypresses.
Her calf muscles strained as she raced up the hill, her heart pounding. Suddenly, the daffodils came into view.
Swallowing hard, Ellie bolted into a sprint and headed toward them.
One Hundred Seventeen
Bear Mountain
Derrick spotted the pick-up truck in the parking lot of a cheap motel on Bear Mountain.
The motel backed up to the forest, and the jagged mountain ridges rose behind it, trees swaying and dipping in the wind. Trash was being tossed across the tumbledown parking lot.
After Angelica’s newscast, Finton had to know that the police were looking for him.
Slowing, Derrick pulled into a space in front of the lobby. He inched his way along the front of the row of rooms. Judging from the dark interiors and lack of cars, many were empty. Lights were on in three units, but the vans, SUVs and noises inside indicated families, one with a barking dog.
Finton’s truck was parked in front of the last room. Derrick pulled his weapon as he reached the door, pausing to listen. Inside he heard footsteps pacing, then something crash.
The curtain was closed, blocking his view of the interior, and he raised his hand to knock, shouting, “FBI, Finton. Open up!”
The footsteps inside ceased, then something banged against the door. Stepping back, Derrick called out again. “Open up, Finton. FBI.”
He twisted the doorknob, but it was locked. There was more noise inside and Derrick raised his foot, kicking at the door. Once, twice, then he slammed his body against it and the door burst open. Inside, he nearly tripped over an overturned chair on the floor. Angry, he shoved it aside and spotted Finton’s back as he dashed through the room.
He looked bigger in person than the photo from the website, his broad body covered in a dark jacket and black pants, and his hair peeked out from beneath a black ski cap.
“Stop, Finton, or I’ll shoot.” Sprinting toward him, he jumped over the desk, which Finton had thrown into his path. Finton was already climbing out the back window.
Derrick caught the man’s leg. Finton kicked out but was dragged back inside and thrown on the floor. Wild-eyed, Finton threw a punch at Derrick, but the FBI agent dodged the blow and pressed his boot into the man’s chest, holding him down as he aimed the gun at the suspect’s head.
“Move again and this bullet will hit home.”
Grabbing his handcuffs, Derrick rolled the man over and snapped them on.
“I didn’t do anything,” Finton said.
“You defiled the corpses you were supposed to treat reverently. Then you became so obsessed with the dead, you decided to find out what it was like to watch them die, and you killed several women,” Derrick snarled. “I wouldn’t call that nothing.”
Eyes widening in horror, Finton spit out a protest. “I want a lawyer.”
Derrick yanked him up and formally arrested him. He’d take him to the station and then he’d make him talk. Maybe by the time they got there, the monster would realize he had no other choice.
As Derrick was pushing a handcuffed Finton in the back seat of his car, his phone rang.
“Special Agent Fox.”
“Is Ellie with you?”
The sheriff’s voice sounded angry, accusatory.
“No, I tracked down Finton’s truck at a motel on Bear Mountain. I’m about to bring him in. Why?”
“Because she fucking let McClain out of jail and took him with her to look for Shondra.”
“What?” Derrick’s temper flared, and he glanced back at Finton, who sneered at him. “Finton and Cord might be working together.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, Fox. I’m going to suggest Hale fire her ass when she gets back.”
So the sheriff was more enraged that she’d defied him than he was worried about her safety. Why did that not surprise him?
“Do you know where they are, Waters?”
“No, Ellie has a habit of going off on her own.”
He wanted to shake Ellie. Couldn’t she see that Cord was dangerous? If he was working with Finton, he could be leading Ellie to her death.
One Hundred Eighteen
Prayer Point
Ellie braced herself to see her friend murdered on the bed of daffodils.
But as she jogged over the crest of the hill, she halted, her heart jumping out of her chest. There was a young woman lying on the flowers, bramble wrapped around her slashed throat, her hands folded in prayer, her shocked death gaze angled toward the cypresses as if she was looking up at heaven. She wore a silk pink blouse, a black pencil skirt, and garish makeup––the MO was the same.
“It’s not Shondra,” Cord said in a raspy voice.
“No.” Relief slammed into her, followed by a wave of grief for the woman––and dread at notifying the victim’s mother. “It’s Maude Hazelnut’s granddaughter, Honey Victoria.” Does Maude even know she’s missing?
Needing a closer look, Ellie walked toward the once perky blonde with pale blue eyes who was the light of Maude’s life.
If the killer stuck to his pattern, it meant he didn’t perceive Honey as being loving and giving. Vera had once referred to Honey as a “gold digger” telling Randall that the young woman had let her children run riot at the country club because she was too busy talking to the pool boy.
Ellie had merely rolled her eyes at her mother’s gossiping. She knew little about Honey, other than that she was married to an older, wealthy businessman. More than enough to set tongues wagging behind the back of arch-gossiper Meddlin’ Maude, Honey’s comfortable lifestyle could make her Saturday’s child in the killer’s eyes—who according to the rhyme “works hard for a living”.
“Call it in,” Ellie told Cord as she checked out the area. It was quiet, with no hint of anyone nearby. Just the sound of the wind gaining momentum as it roared th
rough the tunnel of trees.
Circling to the other side of the body, she stooped down to examine her more closely, noticing thick bruises around her neck. It definitely looked like the bruises were made from a dog collar, deeper and more pronounced than the previous victims. Derrick’s theory about the dog abuser or trainer could be right, and the hair he’d found at the chicken houses had been blonde. Did it belong to Honey?
One Hundred Nineteen
Bear Mountain
Derrick usually played by the rulebook, as emotions could compromise a case.
But his patience was wearing thin. Ellie’s life––Shondra’s and God knew how many more women’s––depended on him catching the serial killer.
And out here in the middle of nowhere, he had a reprieve from prying eyes. For once, he wanted to take advantage of that.
He pulled Finton back out the car and shoved him up against it. He raised his weapon again, aiming it between the man’s beady eyes. “Where’s Deputy Eastwood?”
“Who?” Finton feigned an innocent look.
Derrick grabbed him by the collar. “Deputy Shondra Eastwood. She’s been missing for days. The Weekday Killer has her, and I believe that’s you. I know about your past. About you and your daddy and your sick perversions, how you play with the dead.”
Finton went still, radiating a depravity that made Derrick’s skin crawl.
“We searched your house and your funeral home and found photos of your activities,” Derrick said. “You’re going to jail for that. But I want to know what you’ve done with Shondra.”
“I didn’t do anything to that cop.”
Derrick gripped the man’s collar so tightly it cut into his neck and he coughed for air. “The jury might go easy if you stop this nightmare and cooperate.”
“I didn’t kill nobody,” Finton said, baring his teeth in a sneer. “And I don’t know where that bitch is.”
