by Rita Herron
Norton smiled, his natural competitiveness kicking in. “Then let’s turn things around. We’ll let him become the hunted.”
* * *
AAH, THE THRILL of the hunt…
Joseph Longhorse believed in the rituals of his forefathers. He had completed the necessary hunt, made the sacrifices required, then entered the sweat house he had built years ago. Even though he’d scrubbed his hands, he could still smell the blood on his skin.
When he was a boy, he had been given the special privilege of being admitted to the asi on occasion to tend the fire. There he had listened to the stories and learned of the secret rites of his people. Following tradition, he built the fire, then placed a flat rock in front of it—and near it, a pile of pine knots. When the fire burned down to a bed of coals, he lit two of the pine knots and laid them on the others in a crosswise pattern. They blazed a light that shone bright in the darkness. He fed it until daybreak.
Weak but rejuvenated, he left the camp at dawn and walked through the mountains, inhaling the fresh air and scents of nature that aroused his primal being. As he made his way back down to his mother’s home, he gathered herbs and berries to add to the growing mounds she used in her special teas and medicines.
In spite of the prejudices still harbored by some toward his people, knowing his mother had her own rituals and passed her stories down to the children in town cemented his closeness to his roots. A man could never forget from where he came.
His path had been chosen for him before his birth. Joseph did not intend to stray from it. No matter what it cost him.
He thought of Violet Baker’s return to town and wondered, though…how would the people in town react to her now? Had their prejudices against her died, or were they still as alive as the ones that festered toward him?
Her father’s confession would make it even more difficult for her in Crow’s Landing. Some people forgave easily. Others never did.
She would need a friend.
Maybe his path had taken a detour…a fork in the road that he had not foreseen.
Yes, Violet needed a friend. They had connected long ago as children. She did not see him as the shunned one as some did. She saw him as an equal. He would go to her now. Offer his friendship, his shoulder.
He inhaled deeply. The hunt had revived him, temporarily satisfied his need for blood and vengeance. It had restored his calm.
Until the hunt called him again…
* * *
HOW COULD VIOLET have known about the native phrase? Grady wondered. Was there a piece of bone left beside each victim?
Grady’s cell phone rang and he answered it, grateful for the reprieve. He was getting way too caught up in Violet Baker. “Sheriff Monroe.”
“Sheriff, it’s Logan. First off, the writing sample matches Baker’s confession. Second, the M.E. phoned…the autopsy report on Baker is ready.”
Grady grimaced, hating to have to tell Violet. “Is he going to fax it to the office?” Grady asked.
“Yes, but he wants to see you in person.”
Had he found something suspicious? “Okay, I’ll swing by his office now.” He hung up and turned back to Violet, deciding to wait until after he’d spoken with the M.E. before divulging that the confession was real.
“I have to go. The coroner completed your father’s autopsy. He’ll probably release him, so you can start planning his funeral if you want.”
Her face paled. “All right, but I want to see the autopsy report.”
“Violet—”
“I have a right to know exactly how he died,” she said, her voice stronger. “Please don’t deny me this, Grady.”
In spite of his own reservations, her soft plea got to him. He gestured toward her robe.
“Then go get dressed. I want to talk to him as soon as possible.”
She nodded and rushed to her bedroom. He tried not to imagine her peeling off that robe, but an image of her creamy pale skin glowing in the early morning light came to him unbidden, anyway. Her hair was such an unusual russet color. What color would her nipples be? Coral? Darker?
Dammit. He banished the image, poured himself more coffee and paced across the room. Sweat trickled down his cheeks, the heat ignited by Violet adding to the temperature. Outside it was already close to ninety.
He hoped the coroner had discovered something that would corroborate Baker’s suicide note and confirm he was Darlene’s killer. Yet Grady couldn’t help wondering how Violet would react if he did confirm her father was a murderer. Would she be able to cope with the knowledge that her dad had killed Darlene, especially when Violet seemed to be struggling with guilt over these other women’s deaths?
And what about those women? He wasn’t a shrink, but he refused to rule out the possibility that Violet had created these visions out of guilt over their deaths and Darlene’s murder….
* * *
VIOLET STARED OUT the window as they drove to the coroner’s office, the silence between her and Grady a staunch reminder that they were both hoping for different outcomes to the autopsy report. An image of her father’s face had been frozen in her mind since he had thrust her into the old station wagon and sent her away.
Seeing him again, now in death, would be a harsh reality that she wasn’t ready to face. When he’d been alive, she’d held on to hope that one day they might be a family again, that one day he’d love her and forgive her for bringing this so-called evil into their lives.
But now…
Grady parked in front of the office, killed the engine, then slanted his gaze toward her. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I have to,” she said, attempting a brave voice.
Looking resigned, he nodded and climbed out. She didn’t wait for him to come around, but opened the door and pushed herself up from the car, willing her legs to be steady. A few minutes later, they were seated in an outer office.
“Miss Baker?” Dr. Robert Claven, the medical examiner, seemed startled to see her.
“Yes.” She shook his hand, aware that the tension had just cranked up another notch, adding to the cloying heat in the already stifling quarters.
He offered her a tight smile, then turned to Grady. “You want to come back to the morgue?”
Grady nodded.
Violet started to follow.
“Miss Baker, maybe you should stay here,” the doctor said. “At least for now.”
“But—”
“Let me talk to him first,” Grady said. “Then if you want to see your father, we’ll arrange it.”
“I want to know what’s in the report,” Violet said.
Grady and Claven exchanged concerned looks, then Grady nodded. “I’ll share it with you after we go over it,” Grady said.
“You’ll tell me the truth?”
“Yes.” His voice dropped. “You haven’t seen your dad in years, though, Violet. You don’t need to see him like this, not on the morgue table.”
The image that passed before her eyes was gruesome. “All right.” She sank into one of the hard chairs in the outer office. She just prayed Grady told her the truth, not the abridged version. And if she sensed he hadn’t, she’d force herself to read the report.
She’d just have to brace herself for whatever it held.
* * *
“OKAY, DOC, what’s going on?” Grady approached Baker’s body with trepidation. The acrid smells of death assaulted him, amplified by the chemicals Claven had used in the autopsy and the stench of removed body parts. Harsh lights accentuated the older man’s ghostly face and the bluish tint to his skin.
It was better Violet hadn’t seen this. It nearly turned Grady’s stomach every time he went through it.
“Tox screenings proved Baker was inebriated.”
“That’s no surprise.” After all, Grady had seen him drinking earlier that evening, when he’d been arguing with his own father.
“And you were right. The contusion on the back of his head didn’t come from the fall off the cl
iff.”
“How can you tell?”
“The angle of the wound and the position of the body on the ledge.” He shifted the corpse, pointed to the knot on Baker’s head. “This was caused by some kind of blunt trauma to the head, an object maybe.”
“Like a rock?”
Claven shrugged. “Or maybe an ashtray or a household object. The blow to the head was what killed him, not the fall.” Claven crossed his arms. “In fact, he didn’t die up on Briar Ridge. He was moved there afterward.”
Grady’s stomach knotted. “What are you saying?”
Claven frowned and tugged the sheet lower to reveal bruises on Baker’s chest. Maybe defensive wounds. “The bottom line—in my opinion, Baker didn’t commit suicide, Sheriff. He was murdered.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE MINUTE VIOLET SAW GRADY emerge from the morgue, she sensed something was wrong. He avoided her gaze, speaking in hushed tones to the coroner. She rose, determined to get some answers, no matter what they were.
“Grady?”
He gestured for her to wait, then shook the doctor’s hand. “Thanks, Dr. Claven.”
“I’ll have your father moved to the funeral home, Miss Baker. Then you can see him.”
She nodded and waited for Grady to join her. Claven fled back to his office, and Grady approached her.
“What happened?” she asked.
He hesitated, then cleared his throat. “First, the confession note was in your father’s handwriting.”
Violet staggered back. “But Claven’s report says that your father didn’t commit suicide.”
“What? I don’t understand.”
“He died of blunt trauma to the head.”
She gasped. “You mean someone forced him to write the note, then murdered him?”
Grady nodded, his expression dark. “It appears that way. Claven thinks he was moved to Briar Ridge after his death.”
“Then someone pushed him over the ridge to make it look like he committed suicide.” Violet pressed a shaky hand to her mouth. “But why would someone kill my father?”
“I don’t know,” Grady said. “But I intend to find out.”
He started toward the door, but Violet grabbed his arm, heat flooding through her at the touch. “You know what this means? If the suicide note was a phony, then the confession might have been, too.”
Grady’s anguished expression indicated he’d already considered the possibility. He didn’t like it, but he had thought of it. “And if he didn’t kill her,” Violet said, “that means the real murderer is still out there.”
She remembered the eerie sound of the bone whistle following the women’s murders, the same sound she’d heard years ago when Darlene had lost her life.
Could the killer possibly be the same man? And even if he was, did he have anything to do with her father’s death?
* * *
GRADY NEEDED AIR. He didn’t like Violet’s assumption, but he couldn’t dismiss it. Darlene’s killer could still be out there.
Damn. A week ago, Crow’s Landing had seemed like a safe, sleepy little town. The only hint of violence had been the lingering memories of his sister’s brutal murder twenty years ago. But now he had another crime to solve. He didn’t like the number of suspects that instantly came to mind in Jed Baker’s murder.
His father topped the list.
Darlene’s killer was also a possibility, although Grady couldn’t fathom why he’d kill Baker. Unless Baker had known something he wasn’t telling. Yet why wait twenty years to off him?
Maybe Baker knew who the serial killer was. Maybe it was someone in town….
His father and Baker’s fight returned to nag Grady. They’d both been worried about secrets being revealed. Had someone shut Baker up so he wouldn’t spill them?
If so, who? What the hell had his father been involved in?
Maybe Walt and Jed had somehow figured out who’d killed Darlene, but why wouldn’t they have told the police?
There were too many unanswered questions.
And only one way to find out—confront his dad again.
Grady stalked outside. Violet followed, not speaking until they’d settled into the car. He started the engine and headed back toward her house. He’d go by the station next, and afterward, talk to his old man.
“Tell me everything you remember about Darlene’s disappearance,” he said.
Violet pressed a finger to her temple, fatigue lining her features. He’d forgotten about her car accident.
“Are you all right?” he added.
“Yes.” She dropped her hand to her lap and wrapped a fold of her skirt in her fingers. “It was my birthday,” she said in a small voice. “I was so excited because I’d gotten this new stuffed bear.”
She paused. His insides twisted again as he imagined that little girl. Violet had had so few possessions she would have been ecstatic over a present.
“All I could think of was that I wanted Darlene to see it. I…I wanted her to come over.” Her voice trailed off with a quiver. “I didn’t think about her safety, though. I was so selfish.”
He grimaced at the catch in her voice, and slid his hand over hers. “You were just a child, Violet. You don’t have to explain that or blame yourself. If it was anyone’s fault, it was mine.”
“No, Grady.”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I was supposed to come home and watch her that day. But I stopped to goof off with the boys.”
She squeezed his fingers. “You were just a kid, too, Grady. You didn’t know.”
But I was responsible. He shook inside, unable to discuss it. “What else happened?”
Violet sighed, emotions rattling out. “When she didn’t get to the house, I called again, but there was no answer. I kept calling and calling….”
“He must have kidnapped her in the field between your place and ours. He might have even followed her when she left our house.” Grady’s mind ticked back to his original suspects. Dwayne Dobbins had worked for his father, tending his lawn. Even if Dobbins’s mother had known, she’d cover up for him. And Ross Wheeler had been a young man then. If the allegations against him were true, Ross could have abducted her.
Violet shuddered. “She was so scared. I could feel it.”
He swallowed, then steered the car down Pine Needle Drive. “Do you think it was someone Darlene knew?”
Violet closed her eyes as if trying to see the images again. “I…I don’t know.”
“When did you connect with Darlene?”
“We always seemed to sense things about each other. When she was sad or mad, I knew it. And when I was upset with Dad, she’d just automatically call. I can’t explain it. But it was nothing like that night,” she said softly.
“You didn’t realize when she was first abducted?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know why, but I wish I had.” She released a shaky breath. “Maybe we could have reached her in time.”
Did he really want to pursue this line of questioning? Having two unsolved murders was taxing enough, but dealing with Violet and her so-called visions… “What else do you remember?”
“I heard her crying. She kept whispering for me to help her, that some man had her.” Violet clenched his hand in a death grip. “She was so cold, Grady. It was dark and I could hear water dripping…it was raining. But I didn’t know where to look.”
Yes, it had been raining that night. He’d watched the droplets splatter the car windshield as he and his father had driven the streets in town, searching for Darlene. The rain had reminded him of big fat teardrops, the ones stuck in his throat. He’d been so scared himself, had felt sick to his stomach because he should have been home to watch his little sister. But he’d tried not to show his emotions. His father hated it when he did. Had even backhanded him once for crying.
His mouth was dry. “Did you hear the voice of the man who kidnapped her?”
“No. I just heard Darlene crying. She wanted her mommy.” Viole
t paused, brushed at a tear that rolled down her cheek. “But she knew her mother was gone. And she was trying not to cry. He slapped her when she did.”
A muscle ticked in Grady’s jaw. “Did you see his face at all?”
“No.”
“And he didn’t say anything?”
She shook her head. “No…but I heard a sound. At first I thought it was a harmonica.”
“He was playing an instrument?”
“No, I think he was blowing through a whistle.”
His gaze shot to hers. “What?”
Her eyes widened, looked frightened. “I’m almost sure it was the same sound that I heard after that woman died. It was so eerie,” she whispered, “it sounded like breath against bone. Maybe some kind of whistle made from bone.”
Grady tensed. Dear God, it couldn’t be. Was it possible the serial killer who had just struck in Savannah and Nashville was the same man who’d killed his sister?
But the latest victims were women, not children. Why would the killer have changed his M.O.? No, it had to be a copycat, someone who knew about Darlene’s murder and wanted to throw off the cops.
But what if it was the same man? Why had he waited so long between murders? Where had he been for the past twenty years?
* * *
WHEN GRADY PULLED INTO Violet’s driveway, the ugly graffiti mocked her, reminding her of the way the kids had taunted her as a child. Her car was there, too. It had a dented front fender, but at least she would have transportation without having to rely on Grady. She had been doing too much of that already today.
Grady angled his head toward her as he parked. “Will you be all right?”
She nodded. “What are you going to do now?”
“Go to the station and check out some lab reports I’d requested.”
“You think my father might be innocent?”
He gave a noncommittal shrug.
“You knew him better than I did, Grady. You saw him around town. Did he have any enemies?”
He hesitated, averted his gaze and stared at his hands, which he’d wrapped around the steering wheel. “He kept to himself,” he said quietly. “But he’d been drinking a lot the last few years.”
