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Chapter 5

Jim had listened, commented when asked a point-blank question and otherwise let the others carry the conversation. He was the new man on the job and despite the fact that he was in charge of this case for the sheriff’s department, it was officially now an ABI case. He had sized up Agent Patterson within twenty minutes of meeting him—laid-back and easy to get along with, intelligent without being the least bit cocky. Bernie had informed Jim that Patterson held a B.S. degree in Criminal Justice, as did she, which didn’t surprise him in the least. He figured Bernie probably also had, as he had, gone through the ten-week program at the FBI National Academy in Quantico. Besides taking forensic classes, he’d learned something about management techniques during the course.

The four of them—Patterson, Hensley, Bernie and Jim—sat around in Jim’s office, everybody on their third cup of coffee and rehashed the situation.

“I think we can eliminate Kyle Preston,” Patterson said. “The guy’s a basket case. He’s been under a doctor’s care for over a week now, sedated a great deal of that time, and if I ever saw a grieving widower—”

“I agree,” Ron Hensley said. “But without the husband as a suspect, who does that leave us with?”

“It leaves us with nobody,” Patterson replied. “At least for tonight. But somebody knows something, even if they think they don’t. It’s our job to dig deep until we come up with a workable scenario. Some nut job kidnapped Stephanie Preston, raped and tortured her for two weeks, and then killed her. Was he some guy just passing through Adams County or has he lived here all his life? Did he have something personal against Stephanie? Or maybe against her husband or another family member? Or did she just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“And how was he able to kidnap her from the college campus without anyone noticing?” Bernie grimaced. “Where had he kept her for the past thirteen days? If he’s done this once, will he do it again?”

“Yes,” Jim said.

All eyes turned to him.

“Are you saying that, yes, he’ll do it again?” Bernie asked.

Jim nodded. “Is this the first case of its kind in the area that you know of?”

“What are you implying?” Hensley asked.

“You’re not thinking we’ve got the makings of a serial killer on our hands, are you, Captain?” Patterson asked.

“Oh, God.” Bernie cringed. “Whatever y’all do, don’t repeat that outside these four walls. If the phrase serial killer gets bandied about, we’ll have all-out panic on our hands.”

Even though Jim’s gut instincts told him that there was a possibility that the man who killed Stephanie would do it again and she might not have been his first victim, he wasn’t about to go out on a limb on his first day on the job. Not when he’d been wrong in the past and been slapped down for it. Not if the opinion of a seasoned ABI agent differed from his. He could always do some snooping around on his own, if he felt strongly enough about it once they had a few more facts.

“Aren’t you jumping to conclusions?” Hensley glowered at Jim. “Shouldn’t we wait on the official autopsy report and other forensic findings before we automatically assume anything about this case?”

“Nobody’s jumping to conclusions,” Patterson said. “And we’re not assuming anything. But every opinion counts. We can’t rule out anything at this point.” He turned to Jim. “It won’t hurt to check with neighboring counties to see if there’s been any similar murders. But if our killer is nomadic, it’ll make solving this case more difficult.”

Jim nodded. “I hate to bother her husband and her parents, but I think we should talk to them again and also take a look at her home.” Jim glanced at Bernie. “Maybe Sheriff Mays can help us with that.”

“You still think the husband might have done it?” Hensley asked.

“No, not really,” Jim said. “But it’s possible there’s something he or her parents haven’t told us.”

“Why would they have kept anything from us?” Hensley’s harsh gaze narrowed until his eyes were mere slits. “They were desperate to find Stephanie. They’d have done anything to—”

“I didn’t say they deliberately kept anything from us,” Jim said. “But the husband and the parents were under unbearable emotional stress and could have easily forgotten something or dismissed something they thought insignificant. Didn’t y’all mention that the husband’s been sedated for a good part of the past seven or eight days?”

“I see what you’re getting at,” Bernie said. “And you’re right. I’ll contact Ed first thing in the morning and arrange for us to talk to Stephanie’s husband and her parents and get Kyle Preston’s permission to search the house.”

“He’ll think he’s under suspicion,” Hensley said. “Even if he’s innocent, he’s liable to clam up and hire a lawyer.”

“Not if we handle things right.” Agent Patterson glanced at Jim. “We have no reason to suspect the husband and he needs to know that up front. But if he refuses to allow us to search his house, well …”

Bernie glanced at her watch. Twenty till eleven. “It’s getting late. Why don’t we call it a night, get some sleep and start fresh first thing in the morning?”

“Sounds good to me.” Patterson rose from his chair.

Hensley got up and stretched. “Agent Patterson, do you need a ride to the hotel or do you have your car with you?”

“I think I’ll walk back to the hotel. It’s not that far and it’s a nice night. Besides, I do my best thinking when I take leisurely walks.”

Hensley nodded, shook Patterson’s hand and said good night to Bernie and then to Jim before heading for the door.

Patterson shook hands with Jim and Bernie. “Is seven in the morning too early for you two?”

“Seven’s fine,” Jim and Bernie replied in unison, then looked at each other and grinned.

A silly little phrase popped into Jim’s mind. Two fools here and two more coming. How many times had he heard his father use that expression whenever two people said the same thing at exactly the same time?

As soon as Patterson left, Bernie picked up the empty Styrofoam coffee cups scattered about the room and threw them into the garbage. Jim turned off the coffeemaker, picked up the glass pot and took it into the adjoining bathroom. He emptied the remainder of the coffee into the sink, rinsed out the pot and brought it back into his office.

“You didn’t have much to say about this case,” Bernie said.

“There’s not much to say at this point. We don’t have the official autopsy or—”

“What’s the official autopsy from DFS going to tell us that we don’t already know? Morris examined the body at the scene and told us she’d apparently been raped and tortured, and the cause of death was obvious—somebody slit her throat.”

“There’s more to it than the autopsy. Patterson hasn’t heard back from his crime scene unit yet.”

“He should have a preliminary report from them by morning, but you’re an experienced investigator. You looked over the scene before Patterson’s team arrived. You must have a gut feeling about this case.”

“My gut feelings aren’t a hundred percent accurate. I’ve been known to be wrong.”

“Haven’t we all?”

They stood there and stared at each other for at least a minute. Jim wondered what this in-control, got-it-all-together woman had been wrong about in the past?

“Look, there’s something you should know,” he said, the comment coming from out of nowhere. He hadn’t meant to unburden himself on his boss, at least not yet. But before Kevin arrived on Thursday, he’d have to tell her about the changes in his personal life that might conflict with his duties as her chief deputy.

“Something about this case?”

He shook his head. “No, about me. About something going on in my personal life right now. I hadn’t meant to bring it up tonight, but you need to know.”

“Is it something that will interfere with your doing your job?”

“I don’t think so.” He huffed out a disgruntled breath. “No, it shouldn’t. Not if I can figure out how to handle being a full-time single father and do justice to my job at the same time.”

Bernie lifted an inquisitive eyebrow. “Your son is coming to live with you?”

“Temporarily. My ex-wife… Kevin’s mother has been diagnosed with breast cancer. Her surgery is scheduled for next week. I know the timing is lousy, what with me just starting this job and our facing this major murder case, but—”

“How old is Kevin?”

“Twelve.”

“He won’t need a babysitter, just someone to keep an eye on him when you’re not at home.”

“Yeah, and with this case coming up the way it did, I can’t predict what my hours are going to be during the next month or so while Kevin’s living with me.”

“I see why you’re concerned, but I think I have a solution for you.”

“You have a solution? What kind of solution?”

“My parents are retired. They both want grandchildren and unfortunately neither I nor my sister, Robyn, has given them any … yet. Why not let Kevin spend time with my folks when you’re at work? My mother will spoil him rotten. And Dad will take him fishing and play ball with him and—”

“Whoa, hon—slow down.” He’d stopped himself just short of calling his boss honey. “You haven’t even checked with your parents. You can’t make that kind of offer without asking them about it first. I can’t imagine they’d want the responsibility of looking after my kid. They don’t even know me.”

“I’ll tell you what, come to Sunday dinner. Meet my folks. I’ll tell Mom about your dilemma and I’ll bet you twenty bucks she’ll volunteer for the job of playing surrogate grandmother to Kevin.”

Jim felt overwhelmed by this generous offer. Stunned might be a better word. He was unaccustomed to people going out of their way for somebody who was little more than a stranger to them. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll come for Sunday dinner. My dad’s dying to meet you anyway.”

“He’s dying to meet Jimmy Norton and I haven’t been that guy in a long time.”

Bernie stared at him, her gaze pensive and penetrating, as if she were trying to delve deep inside him, to figure out what made him tick. “I believe that the child we were, even the teenager and young adult we were, always remains a part of us. Something of who Jimmy Norton was is still a part of you, whether you like it or not.”

“You’re awfully philosophical for so late at night, or do you always play amateur psychiatrist?”

“Guilty as charged,” she told him. “I minored in psychology at Alabama.”

“If I agree to come to Sunday dinner and join your dad in regaling my glorious past, will you promise not to try to figure out what makes me tick?” Jim turned off the lights in his office, opened the door and held it for her.

Taking her cue from him, she walked out into the hallway. “Why does it bother you that I want to get to know you better? I’ve known most of my deputies for years. I went to high school with some of them; some have married friends of mine. You’re an unknown, Jim Norton, a bit of a puzzle. And puzzles intrigue me. Besides, I like to really get to know my friends.”

“Are we going to be friends?” He kept pace with her as they walked down the hall.

“I’d like to think so.”

They exited the jail together, and then paused outside on the sidewalk.

“Don’t you want to be friends?” she asked. “Or do you have trouble being just friends with a woman?”

Jim chuckled. “The truth is I’ve never been just friends with a woman.”

“There’s always a first time for everything.”

“So there is.”

She headed toward her Jeep, leaving him standing in the middle of the sidewalk. After unlocking the driver’s door, she glanced back at him and smiled. “See you at seven in the morning. You make the coffee. I’ll bring sausage biscuits.”

“Make mine ham and cheese.”

“How many, one or two?”

“Two.”

She slid behind the wheel, closed the door and started the engine. Jim stood and watched her until all he could see was the Jeep’s red taillights off in the distance. He decided right then and there that he’d definitely like to be friends with Bernie Granger

He stroked the pearls, loving the feel of their cool, slick surface. These were not real pearls, of course. He couldn’t afford real ones like the necklace she had worn. But his lovers didn’t seem to mind that the necklace he sent was faux pearls. After all, it’s the thought that counts, right? Smiling, his mind filled with memories of her, he closed his eyes and the images grew brighter and sharper. He could see her clearly, almost as clearly as the night he had made love to her. She had been so surprised to see him.

He had foolishly thought she would welcome him with open arms, but she hadn’t. And in the long run, it really hadn’t mattered. He had gotten what he wanted—actually, more than he’d ever dreamed possible. Satisfaction. Revenge. Empowerment.

Afterward, he had believed her death had evened the score, that killing her had appeased the rage and anger inside him. But he’d been wrong. It had only fueled his need for revenge. That’s why he had sought out the other three, prolonging his time a little more with each of them, making them suffer as he had suffered. And when all four of them had been punished, he had thought that would be the end of it. Once again, he’d been wrong.

Just because someone hurts you, disappoints you, breaks your heart, doesn’t mean you should stop looking for love, stop searching for the one woman to fulfill your fantasies.

He hummed quietly to himself as he opened his eyes, laid the pearls down inside the white gift box and closed the lid. He would deliver these tomorrow, along with the note.

After pulling out the desk chair, he sat, picked up the black ink pen and stared down at the white note paper. Hmm … what to say … what words would seduce Thomasina? She was a romantic at heart, so she wouldn’t respond well to anything crude and earthy. Not yet.

Please accept this small token of my affection. Pearls for a lovely lady.

There, that should do it. All he wanted to do was whet her appetite for more.

He put the note inside the envelope and wrote her name across the front, then laid the message aside. The note and the pearls were always the next step in his courtship, then the sketch came later. But he was so eager to move things along, not to take weeks to court her, that he felt he should go ahead and send the sketch along with the note and pearls.

He opened the middle desk drawer and brought out his sketch pad and pencil, then closed his eyes for just a moment—long enough to picture her in his mind. His eagerness transferred to his drawing as he quickly sketched Thomasina’s face, her flowing dark hair, her sweet smile, her long, slender neck, the curve of her naked shoulder.

There, that’s enough. Stop.

He laid the charcoal pencil aside and took a deep breath. Thinking of her naked, of her lush breasts, the nipples peaked, her flat belly, her nicely rounded hips, and that thatch of dark hair between her thighs aroused him unbearably. But he couldn’t draw her that way. Not yet. It wasn’t time.

Accept the pain. Make it your friend. Remember that waiting for her makes the moment you first come together all the sweeter.

Tomorrow, he’d find a way to deliver his note and little gifts. It shouldn’t be a problem. She drove into Adams Landing every Saturday morning and went to Robyn Granger’s gym.

Ron went around to the back door and pecked on the glass. When he’d called Abby to cancel their weekend plans, she’d been disappointed, but she’d understood. After all, he was a deputy, and the Stephanie Preston murder case was the biggest thing to happen in Adams County in a good ten years or longer.

He waited for Abby to come to the door; then when she didn’t, he pecked again and called her name softly. He had parked down the street and come down the alley, taking every precaution not to be seen. But hell, it was eleventhirty— who’d be up at this hour staring out their windows?

“Abby, honey …”

He heard footsteps inside the dark kitchen, then the distinctive click of the deadbolt being unlocked. The minute she opened the door, he rushed inside, kicked the door shut behind himself, and grabbed her.

“Slow down,” she told him, then giggled when he grabbed her ass with both hands and yanked her up against his hard-as- a-rock penis.

“I can’t slow down, baby. I want you too much.”

He kissed her neck as he rubbed her mound against his arousal.

“You can at least wait till we get to the bedroom,” she said. “I’ve had a long, rough day and I don’t want to wind up with my butt on the floor or slammed up against the wall.”

“Ah, baby, you like it any way you can get it.”

When he lifted her up off the floor, she wrapped her legs around his hips and tossed back her head when he opened his mouth and covered one breast through the thin material of her shorty pajama top.

Clinging to him, whimpering and talking dirty, Abby encouraged him to hurry as he carried her out of the kitchen, up the hall and into her bedroom. After tossing her onto the bed, he stripped off his clothes, and by the time he came down over her, she was naked and ready. Without saying a word, she reached out, encircled his dick and slid a condom over it. No matter how turned on Abby got, she never forgot to make sure she was protected. He liked that about her, that she took care of herself instead of expecting him to do it.

He thrust into her with one powerful lunge and nearly came right off the bat. She was hot and wet and tight. When she bucked up, he clutched her buttocks and held her for half a second before retreating and plunging again.

“I’m not going to be able to hold it much longer, baby,” he told her.

She slid her hand between her legs and stroked herself. “I’ll just help things along.”

He paused, allowing her to go at it, all the while whispering in her ear, talking the talk, exciting her. In only a matter of minutes, she came in a frenzy, crying, shivering. He jack- hammered into her for a couple of seconds, then came, the top of his head exploding as he jetted into the condom.

Once he was spent, he rolled off her and onto the bed beside her. She cuddled up against him and said, “Get some rest. Next time I’m not going to let you off the hook so easily.”

Ron reached over and stroked her belly, then delved his hand between her thighs. She was damp and sticky. When he fingered her clitoris, she whimpered.

“Set the alarm, will you, babe? I need to leave here before sunrise. We don’t want to run the risk of somebody seeing me sneak out your back door.”

“I’ll set it for four,” she told him. “That’ll give us time for a good morning fuck.”

Chuckling, Ron closed his eyes and hugged up to Abby, spoon-fashion.