“I’ll send those prints in ASAP,” Laney said as Ellie got out.
Thanking her, Ellie climbed into her Jeep, and retrieved her phone from the glove compartment. She had to call her captain immediately. He’d ordered her to take some time off but she’d just stumbled on a gruesome murder and she couldn’t ignore it. The poor woman needed justice.
Eleven
Pigeon Lake
Skinny Minnie Whiny Vinny. Skinny Minnie Whiny Vinny. You’re so stupid, you don’t know when to get out of the rain.
The voice chimed in Vinny Holcomb’s ears as he rocked back and forth in the old dilapidated house. He hated the nickname. Hated the house.
The one that held the memories of all the bad things.
Blood dripped through his fingers and dotted his clothes, but he didn’t care. She had deserved to die for what she’d done.
Her ugly laugh echoed in his ears, a sound that gnawed on his nerve endings like a falcon sinking its talons into its prey.
You’re a loser, boy. You don’t have any friends. You’ll never have any.
But she was wrong. He’d made friends with Hiram. Hiram was like him. He’d suffered and been locked away by the woman who was supposed to love him.
He pulled the article about the Ghost from his wet pocket, unfolded it and smiled at the headline.
“I’ll be your friend if you’ll be mine,” Hiram had said as they’d ditched their pills in the potted plants in the solarium.
Vinny promised he would. He’d do anything for Hiram. Anything.
Twelve
Between Springer Mountain and Crooked Creek
Dammit. Her phone was dead.
Ellie snagged her charger and plugged it in, starting the Jeep and flooring the engine. Nerves on edge, she sped around the twisting mountain road back toward Crooked Creek as night hugged the forest. Wind whipped through the towering trees and howled off the steep mountain ridges, tree limbs rocking back and forth.
Self-doubt warred with Ellie’s stubbornness. She should call Bryce. She would have no choice but to deal with him on the case.
But not tonight.
Tonight she’d call the captain and let him deal with the new sheriff. Deputy Heath Landrum who’d joined Crooked Creek’s police department a few months ago, was young and green, but he was working out as a decent cop. Still, his expertise was in technology, and he hadn’t worked the field on a big case. Not to mention the fact that her gut was telling her this one would be big.
Her tires screeched as she swerved up the drive to her bungalow. Her body ached from hiking, and a hot shower and a strong vodka beckoned.
Grabbing her phone and her backpack from the trunk, she dragged herself up the porch steps and let herself inside.
The sound of the furnace’s rumble was comforting as she entered, and she carried her bag to the laundry room, dumping it there. She’d unpack tomorrow.
With her phone battery still low, the hot shower came first. Stripping her soggy clothing, she stepped beneath the warm spray of water and scrubbed her skin raw, desperate to cleanse the sweat and dirt from her pores.
And the horrific images of that dead woman from her mind.
After soaping her hair, she rinsed it, then conditioned the hell out of it, before rinsing again. Stepping out of the shower, she pulled on a pair of sweats and after a quick towel dry of her hair, she walked to the kitchen, grabbed a frozen pizza from the freezer and stuck it in the oven.
While the pizza cooked, Ellie poured herself a chilled vodka, carrying it to her den, where she flipped on the gas logs. Already the dark shadows of death were stampeding around her, reminding her of the screams of dead children that she couldn’t shake from her head.
Now the screams of the murdered woman on the bed of daffodils were added to the haunting collection.
Fortifying herself with the drink, she grabbed her phone and called her boss. He sounded a little groggy when he answered. “I’m sorry if I woke you, Captain. But it’s important.”
“I thought you were on vacation,” he growled.
Ellie rolled her eyes. It was hardly a vacation. “It got cut short when I found a woman murdered today.”
“What?” He spewed a string of expletives. “How? Where?”
She explained about the dead woman and the MO. “It looks ritualistic, Captain. Like he might have done this before.”
“Aww, geesh. The dust hasn’t settled from the Ghost case yet.”
“Tell me about it,” Ellie said sardonically.
“Are you ready to take this on, or do you want me to hand it over to the sheriff?”
Hell, no she didn’t. “I can handle it.” Besides, something about the woman had spoken to her. Those terrified eyes, as if she hadn’t known such horror existed. “I’m going to run a search for cases with similar MOs,” she carried on. “Hopefully, Dr. Whitefeather will have her autopsy complete tomorrow and we can get an ID. Then I can notify and question the family.”
“I’ll call Bryce and inform him,” Captain Hale said. “Meanwhile, get some rest and let me know what else you need.”
Ellie thanked him, then hung up and checked her voicemail. There were two more messages from Angelica Gomez. Both the same, wanting to tell Ellie’s story.
But Ellie didn’t have the energy to deal with the journalist now. She’d been crucified enough already.
The next message was from her father: “Hey, honey. I know you’re still upset, but your mom is so torn up, and that reporter is hounding her. Please don’t tell the press about the adoption yet. I don’t think your mother is ready for all that to come out.”
Ellie deleted the message. Of course Vera wasn’t ready. Her fall from society had hit her hard.
There were two more voicemails from her counselor asking if she wanted to reschedule along with a reminder about the group therapy session.
She deleted them, then discovered a text from an unsaved number. The hate mail she’d received about the Ghost case sprung to mind, messages that left her sleepless, searching her house every time she entered and leaving the lights on all night long.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the message, expecting more hate. But it was even more chilling.
Monday’s child is fair of face. Did you find her, Detective Reeves?
Thirteen
Somewhere on the AT
The screams of the other woman reverberated over and over in her head as he tied her arms and legs spread-eagle inside the cage.
The beating last night had been bad. But whatever he had in store for her now was going to be worse.
“It’s your fault she had to die, Cathy,” he spat. “Your fault I have to do this.”
Terror washed over her as he tied the restraints tighter. The screech of the door swinging back and forth at the top of the stairs bounced off the cold dank walls, the crack of the whip against the floor echoing around the basement.
Tears pooled in her eyes as she braced herself for the sharp sting of leather cutting into bare skin, but instead he knelt beside her. All she could see were dark eyes boring through the holes of his mask, but his voice sounded familiar, and he smelled of wood, sweat and dirt, as if he’d been outdoors.