Red lipstick and rouge completed her makeup, which was smeared, resembling blood.
The location of her body beside the Red River, where baptisms took place, fit with Tuesday’s child, and the MO was similar enough to tell her they were dealing with one killer.
The rhyme taunted her again. Monday’s child is fair of face, Tuesday’s child is full of grace, Wednesday’s child is full of woe, Thursday’s child has far to go, Friday’s child is loving and giving, Saturday’s child works hard for a living, and the child that is born on the Sabbath day, is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.
Ellie shivered as the implication set in. If the killer stayed true to the nursery rhyme, five more women would die unless she stopped him.
Twenty-Three
Twenty minutes later, Ellie guided Laney and the Evidence Response Team to the body, while Cord stood staring out into the woods, the same brooding, intense expression on his face. Something was clearly bothering him.
Hell, the grisly sight of the dead woman buried beneath the wildflowers was disturbing.
“We’re dealing with the same offender, aren’t we?” Laney asked as she knelt beside the victim.
Ellie nodded, explaining about the text.
Worry lines creased Laney’s forehead. “It’s interesting that he’s chosen to contact you personally.”
Ellie pursed her lips. Why her? Why not Bryce, the new sheriff? He’d been all over the media.
“COD looks the same, exsanguination from blood loss,” said Laney, examining the victim. “Although he didn’t clean her injuries. Blood is smeared down her neck into that red dress.” She unfastened the pearl buttons and eased the fabric away. “Similar plain white bra, although…” She adjusted her glasses and peered closer.
Ellie leaned over for a closer look. “Although what?”
“Look at this.” Laney pointed out x’s that had been carved into the woman’s breasts. “She had implants.”
“Good Lord, he punctured them,” Ellie muttered.
“He sure did.” Laney sighed. “But the implants will help us identify her more quickly.”
“Was that done before he killed her?”
“No, there would be more blood loss if that was the case.”
More questions pummeled Ellie as Laney finished and the crime techs began to gather the flower petals to bag for analysis. Courtney’s past had revealed the lawsuits, which meant she had enemies.
What about this victim?
At first glance, their hair color and body types were different.
So what was it about these two women that made the killer choose them?
Twenty-Four
Haints Bar
The first one he’d taken was a tough one. She hadn’t broken yet. Hadn’t begged or pleaded or prayed.
But she would. They all did at some point. It was just a matter of time.
His hand palmed his phone where the message to Detective Reeves waited. He’d send it later. For now, he reveled in the fact that Reeves might be looking at Tuesday’s victim.
Now he had a short window of time to take Wednesday’s child. He had to stay on schedule.
Eagerly he slipped inside Haints, a local bar and the best place for hardworking men to gather and shoot the shit. The place where booze made loose tongues wag.
Places had great meaning, just as the places he chose to dispose of his victims.
A few females dared to grace the establishment, but most learned their place real quick and decided to take their business to the local wine bar or Bulls, the honkytonk down the street. Women from all over Bluff County met there to vent, male bash and flirt with the rowdy cowboys. Testosterone and estrogen flowed as freely as the liquor and spirits, egged on by the soft croon of male country stars who sang of beer, whiskey, trucks, dogs, love and, of course, cheating women.
Voices dragged him back to the moment, and he turned to scan the crowd. There were a few women here.
Tonight, one of them would be leaving with him.
All he had to do was paste on a smile, buy her a drink, and use his smoky-eyed look to draw her under his spell.
He already knew her name. Knew her weaknesses.
Parking himself on a bar stool, he nudged his Stetson hat lower to shade his face, then scanned the gyrating bodies and the bar for the woman he’d come to find.
He was a patient man. He’d wait until the time was right. Then he’d take her home and she would be his for the night––and forevermore.
Twenty-Five
Crooked Creek
Her body throbbing with fatigue and debating her plan of action, Ellie let herself inside her bungalow.
There was no doubt in her mind she was dealing with a serial killer. Although Heath was still looking into the first victim’s enemies, she thought they could safely put that theory on the back burner. If killing Courtney had been personal, there was no reason to kill another woman.
Yet self-doubt nagged at her. Was she equipped to handle another big case?
Pouring herself a vodka, she carried it to her back deck and curled onto the glider. Tonight the sharp mountains towered toward the dark sky, tall and ominous.
Knowing the images of the wildflower graves would haunt her sleep, she grabbed her phone and debated calling her therapist. She’d said to call anytime, day or night.
But first she needed to process the crime scenes herself.
Inhaling the crisp citrusy scent of her favorite Ketel One, Ellie took a long slow sip before booting up her laptop and making notes about the latest crime scene for the file she’d created for the Wooten murder. She listed each detail of the woman’s appearance, outfit, injuries and the location where the body had been left.
Laney’s earlier comment echoed in her head. Why had the killer sent her the message instead of the sheriff? She had been thrust into the limelight, but so had Bryce.
With the bodies being left on the AT, she had to consider the fact that the perp might live in Bluff County. Or perhaps he’d seen the story about the Ghost case and was drawn to the area because of it, researching locations of significance that fit his pathology.
And why the nursery rhyme? It had to mean something. In itself, it wasn’t creepy. But the sinister aspect came from the fact that the rhyme didn’t fit the victim, that it seemed to contrast. So what had this woman done to fall from grace?
Leaning back, Ellie rubbed her temples. The one thing she knew for certain was that he was going to kill again. And if he stuck with his pattern, another woman would die tomorrow. At that thought, Derrick Fox’s face floated through her mind. He was more experienced with serial predators and profiling. But did she want to invite him back into her life, even just for work?
Her phone buzzed, dragging her away from thoughts of Derrick. She checked the number calling. It was unknown.
Her stomach tightened. Was it the killer?
She clenched her drink in one hand, then pressed accept, her pulse hammering.
“Ellie… help me.”
The glass slipped through Ellie’s fingers and crashed to the floor, spilling vodka across the wood. The citrus odor flooded her senses, growing stronger as it splashed on her legs.
“Shondra?”
“Help,” her friend cried.