“Be careful not to step on anything,” Eden warned, looking around at the soggy ground. “Nessa won’t like us coming out here tripping over potential evidence.”
Eden didn’t want to think about Detective Jankowski’s reaction to their invasion of a possible crime scene. He seemed to be high-strung at the best of times. She tip-toed across the lawn, carefully studying the ground ahead before each step.
“Look,” Reggie called out, pointing beneath the open window. “It really is a footprint.”
Eden could see the imprint of a shoe in the dirt directly under the window. Her eyes moved away from the window and she could see another print, and then another. It took her a few minutes to understand what she was seeing.
“Reggie, there’s more than one set of prints here.”
Following the trail of footprints with her eyes, she felt Reggie beside her, heard the intake of air as Reggie began to see the pattern that now seemed so clear.
“There was more than one person here last night,” Reggie said, her voice hushed. “Ruth wasn’t alone when she left.”
Eden nodded, then began moving parallel to the prints along the lawn. They led out toward the grassy bank of the river, eventually disappearing into the deeper foliage at the edge of the water.
A flash of white caught Eden’s eye. She bent to retrieve a crumpled piece of paper that had been discarded in the long grass. The paper was wet, and the words written on it were faded, some letters smeared with streaks of blood, but Eden didn’t need to see all the letters to know what was written on it. She’d seen the paper before.
“Your fingerprints will be on that now.”
Reggie’s voice sounded far away as Eden looked at her own name written across the bloody paper.
“This is just like the note that Ruth had when she arrived,” Eden said, dread settling like lead in her stomach. “Ruth showed me the note when she arrived at Mercy Harbor. She came to me, seeking my help, and now she’s dead.”
Reggie stared down at the paper, eyes widening as she made out the words. She put a thin arm around Eden’s trembling shoulders, but Eden shrugged her off, raising a hand to stop the protest that was sure to follow.
“There’s nothing you can say to change this, Reggie,” Eden said, looking with haunted eyes toward the water. “I failed Ruth, and now her blood is on my hands.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jacob pushed open the door to Eli’s room and slipped inside. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he was sure that Eli had lied to him earlier when he’d asked for an update on the search for Ruth and Candace. The flush on Eli’s face, and the shifty look in the younger man’s eyes, had made it clear he was hiding something, and Jacob needed to know what that was.
The small cot that Eli slept on had been hastily made, the sheets still vaguely rumpled and the pillows thrown carelessly against the headboard. Dirty footprints marked the tiled floor, and a filthy pair of jeans had been wadded into a ball and shoved into the trash can by the door.
Leaning over to pick up the discarded pants, Jacob recoiled from the stench. He pinched his nose closed with two fingers as he held up the jeans. Red streaks stiffened the material and patches of caked-on dirt ringed the bottom of each leg.
What the hell…it smells like a slaughterhouse in here.
A terrible suspicion sprang to mind as he shoved the jeans back into the trash can and left the room. Eli was an oddball and a petty criminal. He’d known that all along, but Jacob hadn’t thought him capable of anything worse than burglary.
That’s what Eli had served time for, after all. Wasn’t it?
Jacob suddenly wondered if Eli had lied about that as well. He’d never bothered checking Eli’s record before inviting him to come live at the commune. But then, why would someone make up a story about being a burglar?
Unless he’s something even worse. Like a psychotic killer.
Jacob shook his head and chuckled.
The most that little weirdo would be capable of is armed robbery. Maybe a carjacking, at a stretch.
But the stench of Eli’s room stayed with him as he went into his office and closed the door. The strange young man had become an essential part of Jacob’s operation. Without Eli’s loyal service, Jacob’s plan would never work. He needed someone willing to do the dirty work. Someone who didn’t ask questions and wasn’t smart enough to realize what was going on.
Jacob’s plan to escape had come to him slowly over the past year. Each excruciating day spent in the midst of the stifling commune and the ignorant congregation had worn away his resolve to make his father proud. And after Naomi had lost the baby, becoming increasingly bitter and suspicious, he’d known it was just a matter of time before he’d have to make a run for it.
Buck Henry and his boys had arrived on the scene just in time. The opportunity to traffic drugs and weapons for the local dealer would double the money the commune’s produce business brought in. That meant Jacob would be able to start a new life somewhere far away twice as fast.
The only drawback of his plan was Ma Verity. Once he ran off, the commune’s money and resources would disappear with him, and his mother would be left to fend for herself. The one thing he couldn’t allow himself to do was to abandon his mother without providing for her care. He could live with anything on his conscience but that. A solution would have to found quickly.
Pushing aside thoughts of his mother and her deteriorating mental health, he opened the safe under his desk and picked up a stack of hundred-dollar bills. The safe was almost full. Just a few more months of raking in the cash, and he would be a free man.
Unless something, or someone, fucks it up first.
Doubt surfaced at the memory of the men that had come sniffing around yesterday. They’d be quick to call in the cops if they suspected two girls had gone missing. The picture they’d shown him brought another pang of worry.
If they get to Eli, will he admit to knowing the girl they’re looking for?
Jacob couldn’t let that happen. If the men were able to convince the cops to raid the compound looking for the girl, they’d surely find the barrels of drugs and guns in the storeroom. Shoving the stack of bills back into the safe, Jacob decided he needed to take extra precautions to ensure the police didn’t show up and ruin his plan.
Once the cops show up, a life sentence is the only new life I’ll be starting.
✽ ✽ ✽
“From now on I want the gate guarded at night,” Jacob said, scowling at Tobias Putnam and Zachariah Culvert. “You can set up a rotation of the men.”
“Surely there’s no need for that.” Tobias shook his head, making his plump cheeks quiver. “The gate is securely locked each night.”
Zac kept his eyes on his feet, his bright red hair falling over his forehead to hide the resentment in his eyes.
“I’ll decide what is needed, Brother Tobias,” Jacob snapped.
Looking at Zac’s downcast eyes, Jacob realized the young man was sulking again. He’d been moping ever since his sister had gone missing, and his sour expression was starting to get on Jacob’s nerves.
“Have you got something to say, Brother Zac? Something about your Sister Ruth, maybe?”
Zac raised his head and glared at Jacob.
“Why haven’t you gone lookin’ for ‘em?” Zac demanded, his frizzy hair matching the bright hue of his cheeks.
“Because this isn’t a prison,” Jacob said, his voice taking on a self-righteous tone. “Folks are free to leave if and when they want to. Your sister’s an adult, and she chose to go. There’s nothing any of us can do about that.”
Zac cleared his throat, obviously wanting to say more. Jacob figured the boy had heard the rumors about him and Candace. He’d have to figure out a way to prevent gossiping in the future. It was bad for morale.
“Now, it’s best if we let bygones be bygones.”
Jacob wasn’t sure what the saying meant, exactly, but his father had used it often, and it usually co
nvinced people to move on to another topic.
“So, back to what I was saying. I don’t want anyone to enter or leave the commune without me knowing about it first.”
Zac snorted and stared up at Jacob.
“I thought you said everyone was free to go when they wanted. Now you want to give your okay ‘fore any of us leave?”
Jacob resisted the urge to lash out. Zac was just upset about his sister leaving without saying good-bye. It was a natural reaction. Besides, Jacob needed all hands on deck. He couldn’t afford a mutiny now. Not when he was so close to sailing off into the sunset.
“Listen, Brother Zac. I understand your concern about Sister Ruth. How about I go into town tomorrow and ask around, maybe even file a police report and see if we can find her?”
The words had a visible effect: Zac’s face softened as he nodded in relief, letting his shoulders relax. Jacob dropped a hand on the boy’s thin shoulder and patted him in what he hoped was a fatherly way. Jacob reckoned the boy’s false hope would buy him enough time to decide what to do about the missing girls.
“Excuse me, Brother Jacob. May I have a word?”
Jacob turned to see Priscilla Putnam at the door. He was becoming impatient with his mother-in-law’s constant interference but knew it would do no good to protest.
“Certainly, Sister Priscilla. What’s wrong now?”
Jacob’s mocking words caused Priscilla to narrow her clear, gray eyes. Tobias quickly stepped next to his wife and put an arm around her narrow shoulders, eager to stop another confrontation.
“We were just thinking, son, that maybe I could be of more help to you,” Tobias said, a shy smile appearing on his broad face. “It just seems to Sister Priscilla and I that you are…. well, struggling. Leading the congregation is a heavy task for any man, much less one so young, and-”
“And you just think you’ll take on my job? Maybe push me out in defiance of my father’s wishes?”
Tobias looked startled, and then embarrassed.
“Of course not, son, I-”
“I’m not your son, Brother Tobias. I’m your leader. And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t forget that fact again. Now you and Brother Zac need to set up the guard schedule. I want a guard on that gate starting tonight.”
Stamping out onto the porch, Jacob noticed Marie disappearing down the path toward the garden. He looked around, making sure no one was watching, then hurried after her.
All work and no play will make Jacob a very dull boy.
He smiled as he spied Marie drop to her knees next to a patch of ripening strawberries. Her long, dark hair hung in heavy strands down her back, falling just short of her narrow waist.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Jacob said, using the teasing, seductive tone that work wonders on most women. “Just waiting to be plucked like one of those berries.”
Marie blinked up at him without smiling.
“Actually, I’m not waiting for anything, Brother Jacob. Other than to be left in peace.”
Unfazed by her cool dismissal, he grinned and squatted next to her, reaching out and taking a stray lock of hair in his hand.
Before Marie could respond, a loud shot rang out from somewhere behind them. Jacob felt a bullet whiz past his cheek. A puff of dirt exploded just past them, sending Jacob onto his belly in the dirt.
Marie whirled around, staring at the hedge that separated the garden from the courtyard. Jacob pulled her down on top of him just as another shot sounded. The bullet sliced the air over Marie’s head, burying itself in an orange tree fifty yards away.
Using Marie as a shield, Jacob positioned her between him and the hedge, peering past her only when he heard feet scuffling and the gate banging open, then closed.
Jacob sat up and pushed Marie off him, all thoughts of seduction gone, his mind spinning frantically.
The shooter could have easily killed us. So why not finish the job? Was it just a warning? But from who? And for what?
He looked down at Marie, noting the shock in her deep blue eyes.
“Don’t mention this to anyone. You hear?”
Marie nodded numbly, her hands trembling as she pushed back her hair and dusted the dirt off her dress.
“It was probably an accident,” he said, wishing he could believe his own lie. “They must not have realized anyone was out here.”
Quickly making his way to the storeroom, Jacob pulled a gun out of the heavy barrel Buck Henry’s boys had loaded into the back of the CSL Produce truck two days earlier. The compact Walther felt light in his hand and easily fit in the wide pocket of his jacket.
Looks like I’ve been warned. Next time, I’ll be ready.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The metal gurneys had been positioned side-by-side in the modest autopsy suite at Willow Bay’s medical examiner’s office. Iris Nguyen pulled back both stiff white sheets and then paused, allowing herself to feel the full brunt of the anger that swelled inside her at the senseless death of the two young, heathy women.
Iris had performed post-mortems on over a dozen violent homicides in the last few years, but the tragedy of each of death still shocked and outraged her.
You never get numb to the horror. At least not deep down.
Pulling on her face mask, Iris forced her personal feelings aside and adopted the crisp, unemotional attitude she’d need to get through the task ahead. She was a professional, and the best way to honor the girls in front of her would be to help find their killer.
The door opened behind Iris and she turned to see Maddie Simpson’s plump face peeking into the room.
“I’ve got the detectives out here asking for you,” the receptionist said, her nose flaring in disgust at the smell of decay that permeated the room. “You ready for them?”
Iris nodded, her mind already absorbed in the process to come. When Maddie continued staring into the room, Iris looked over with raised eyebrows.
“Is there something else, Maddie?”
“Are you going to be okay doing this without Wesley? I mean, isn’t it against protocol or something for you to do this on your own?”
Irritation prickled at Iris, but she forced her voice to stay neutral. Maddie’s thirty years as a government employee had left its mark on the officious woman. Too late to change that now.
“Yes, I’ll be quite all right, and no, it isn’t against protocol for me to perform the postmortem without an assistant. Besides, Detectives Ainsley and Jankowski will be observing, so I won’t really be on my own after all.”
A doubtful frown appeared on Maddie’s face, but she withdrew from the room, and a few seconds later the door opened again.
Although Nessa and Jankowski were already suited up in full protective gear, Iris had no trouble discerning Nessa’s shorter frame from Jankowski’s tall, brawny figure. Iris ignored the flutter of interest that arose in her stomach at the sight of the big detective.
“Hey, Iris.” Nessa’s voice wavered. “Thanks for waiting for us.”
“No problem. Come on over,” Iris said, foregoing formalities and moving to the table beside Candace Newbury’s small white body.
Nodding toward the recorder, Nessa looked up at Jankowski.
“Can you work the recorder for me…since Wesley’s not here?”
She saw Jankowski’s eyes narrow at the forensic technician’s name and was suddenly curious.
They can’t possibly consider Wesley a suspect, can they?
Iris hadn’t been able to reach her assistant since she’d seen him at the Candace Newbury crime scene two days earlier. She wondered if the questioning had upset the sensitive young man. Or maybe he was still in shock over finding his friend’s body.
“You okay, Iris?”
Jankowski was holding the recorder, his eyes trained on hers, waiting for instructions.
“Yes, sorry. Go ahead and begin recording, please.”
After stating her name, the date, time, and the names of the attending witnesses, Iris began her external examinati
on of Candace’s body.
“Body is that of a fully-developed, well-nourished white female measuring sixty-three inches and weighing one hundred ten pounds. Appearance consistent with the victim’s age of twenty years. Lividity is fixed in the distal portions of the limbs. The eyes are closed. No evidence of petechial hemorrhages.”
Iris examined the wounds on the pale forehead, the clumsily carved letters a garish red in the bright overhead light.
“A series of cut marks can be seen on the forehead, each mark approximately one-inch in length. The marks appear to be letters of the English alphabet. I count seven letters: J-E-Z-E-B-E-L.”
Having been raised a Roman Catholic by deeply religious parents, Iris was well acquainted with the biblical story of Jezebel and her wicked deeds, but she kept her thoughts on the possible implications to herself for the time being. It would up to Nessa and Jankowski to determine why the killer had decide to mutilate the victim, if indeed there had been a reason.
Moving down to the chest, Iris steadied her voice.
“An irregular pattern of stab wounds are visible on the chest.”
She paused to count the wounds and measure them. Finally, she lifted her head and spoke toward Jankowski, still holding the recorder.
“There are forty-seven observable stab wounds, each measuring an average of-”
Jankowski clicked off the recorder, his eyes blazing behind his protective glasses.
“Forget the dry medical jargon for just a minute, Iris,” he demanded, his voice hoarse. “I can see what they did to her. That’s obvious. What I want to know is who did this, and…how.”
Iris recoiled from his obvious fury, her own raw emotions rising up to meet his.
“Actually, it’s your job, detective, to find out who, why and how. I can only tell you what they did to the victim’s body based on the physical evidence. I can’t tell you why…and I certainly don’t know how anyone can do this to another human being.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, and Iris turned away, ashamed of her outburst.
Catch the Girl Page 15
