Читать книгу Beverly Barton 3 Book Bundle - BEVERLY BARTON, Beverly Barton - Страница 20
ОглавлениеDead on her feet, frustrated and worried sick, Bernie pulled her Jeep into her driveway at three-thirty on Friday morning. Jim sat quietly at her side, so quietly that she wondered if he’d fallen asleep on their ride back from Verona. Jim had agreed that it was best to let Kevin stay with her parents until he could pick him up this evening; he’d also readily accepted Bernie’s offer to fix breakfast for them at her house. Charlie Patterson would drive over from Huntsville and be in Jim’s office by seven, which gave Jim and her a little over three hours to rest for a while, grab a bite to eat and freshen up.
Bernie reached out, intending to gently shake Jim, but before her hand made contact with his shoulder, he grunted and turned to face her.
Her hand paused midair. “I thought you were asleep.”
“Just had my eyes closed.”
“It’s been a long night.”
He nodded.
Bernie opened the driver’s door and got out of the Jeep. She waited on the sidewalk for Jim to join her. Even this early in the morning, there wasn’t a hint of a breeze and the temperature probably hadn’t dropped below the high eighties. Alabama’s sweltering July humidity made it feel hotter than it actually was, something the weather forecasters referred to as heat indexes. When it was ninety, it often felt like a hundred.
Once inside her house, the cool air-conditioned atmosphere surrounding them the minute they entered, Bernie sighed deeply, then removed her belt and hung it on the hall tree just inside the entrance. Jim hung his belt beside hers and followed her into the living room.
“Sofa or recliner?” she asked.
“Either.”
“You take the recliner,” she told him. “My feet hit the sofa arm when I lie down, so there’s no way you can get comfortable on it.”
He sat down in the recliner, released the footrest latch on the side of the chair and propped up his big feet. “Damn, this feels good.”
Bernie kicked off her brown loafers, stacked one decorative throw pillow on top of another and laid her weary bones down on the sofa, stretching out all the way and resting her heels on the sofa arm.
“I can’t begin to imagine what Thomasina Hardy’s family is going through right now.” Bernie glanced over at Jim, who had his eyes closed. His arms rested on either side of the chair’s cushioned back, his hands cupping his head.
“Mmm … They’re wondering if they’ll ever see her alive again.”
“What do you think?”
“I think it’s too soon to make any predictions.” Jim yawned.
“Want me to shut up so you can take a nap?”
He opened his eyes, lifted his head and looked at her. “I doubt either of us can sleep. We’re too tired. Plus, we know we have to be at the office in a little over three hours.”
“I wish we had some idea where Thomasina is, where he took her. If we just had a clue of some kind, something—anything—that could help us.”
“If Ron can’t track down Professor Kelley, we might have ourselves a real suspect.” Jim yawned again. “The guy could be with Thomasina right now, hiding her away.”
“If only it could be as simple as finding him and making him talk. But we both know that just because Brandon Kelley wasn’t at home when Ron checked on him and apparently hasn’t come home yet, it doesn’t mean he abducted Thomasina or that he’s the man who’s been stalking her.”
“True. But according to her family, there hasn’t been any special guy in her life since she broke up with Ron. They have no idea who her secret admirer might be if it’s not Kelley.”
“I’m concerned about Ron,” Bernie said. “I know her sister said that he’s the one who broke off things with Thomasina, but he must still have some feelings for her. I mean, wouldn’t you think that even if he doesn’t love her now—”
“I’m sure that knowing a former girlfriend’s life might be in jeopardy makes this case a bit more personal for him. But just because they dated and, as her sister implied, had a sexual relationship, doesn’t mean they were in love.”
“No, of course not.”
“Too bad Thomasina disposed of everything except that final batch of sketches and the ankle bracelet.” Groaning contentedly, Jim burrowed his head into the cushioned softness of the recliner. “Of course, I doubt the guy was stupid enough to leave fingerprints. And like with the stuff we found at Stephanie’s, the ankle bracelet, the artist paper, and the envelopes are all probably items that could be purchased just about anywhere by anybody.”
“Why on earth didn’t she go to the police as soon as she started receiving those notes and presents?” Bernie flipped over onto her side and curled her legs at the knees. “What would make her think that any of it was romantic, that the notes and gifts and sketches were from some guy playing secret lover?”
“You’d have to ask her,” Jim said. “I’m the last man on earth you should ask about why women think the way they do. I never could figure out my ex-wife’s thought processes.”
“You shouldn’t assume that all women think alike.” Bernie felt an odd twinge of something in her gut. Jealousy? Get a grip, girl. She had absolutely no right to feel anything even remotely related to jealousy where Jim Norton was concerned, certainly not because he was talking to her about his ex-wife.
“Yeah, you’re right. Mary Lee was—is one of a kind.”
She wanted to ask if he meant one of a kind in a good way or a bad way, but it was really none of her business. If he wanted to elaborate, he would. If not…
“You’ve never been married, have you, Bernie?” Jim asked.
“What makes you think that?”
“Well, your last name is still Granger and—”
“I married my high school sweetheart before we left for college and I divorced him seven years later.” She had been nuts about Ryan, had twisted herself like a pretzel, every which way, to please him. And in the end he’d thanked her for being a good wife by not contesting the divorce. “I haven’t seen Ryan in years. I heard from one of his cousins over in Pine Bluff that he remarried about five years ago, has a couple of kids and is living in Nashville.” Remembering her two miscarriages still hurt, still made her feel inadequate. “I took my maiden name back after the divorce.”
“Mary Lee and I got married right after I graduated from UT. Seems like a lifetime ago. Hell, even the divorce seems like a lifetime ago. Kevin was only six when his mother and I split and now he’s fixing to turn thirteen.”
“At least you have a kid.” Bernie hadn’t meant to say that out loud. It had just slipped out, gone straight from her thoughts to her tongue.
“Did you want kids?”
She knew he was looking at her, but she couldn’t face him, not when she had tears in her eyes. Had she wanted children? God, yes, she’d wanted them. At least three, maybe four. But apparently it just hadn’t been in the cards for her to be a mother.
Glancing down at the floor, she swallowed, then said, “Yes, I wanted kids. It just didn’t happen.”
“Guess we’d better get a little rest,” Jim told her, as if sensing her discomfort in answering his question. “I’ll help you with breakfast before we head over to the office. Seven o’clock will roll around before we know it.”
She took his comments as a cue that he wanted peace and quiet, a little downtime to rest and regroup before they returned to work and dealt with the horrible fact that another Adams County woman had been abducted.
Bernie closed her eyes, took a deep breath and tried to relax. But her brain wouldn’t shut off, wouldn’t allow her any peace. Various thoughts flickered through her mind, everything from who might have abducted Thomasina Hardy to what her life could have been like if Ryan had never cheated on her and if one of her babies had lived.
Stop thinking, damn it.
She hummed silently, a repetitive tune that was soon overpowered by her thoughts. Then she tried counting. That, too, didn’t work. It never did, but she kept trying it anyway. Finally, she gave up the effort to switch off her mind and allowed the thoughts to take over, which they always did anyway.
Wonder about what Jim’s marriage had been like. Wonder whether he still cared about his ex-wife. Mary Lee was probably gorgeous, the way Robyn was. Guys like Jim always went for the obviously sexy types. Hey, who was she kidding —all men went for the sexy types. So why had a jock like Ryan married someone like her, someone who’d been an athlete in high school?
He married you because you worshipped the ground he walked on. He liked having his own little groveling slave. She had given in to Ryan’s wishes in a way she’d never given in to anyone else, not even her dad. In her teens and early twenties, she’d had some major self-esteem issues, and it wasn’t until after her divorce that she’d come into her own. Well, as much as it was possible for a people-pleaser to choose her own path in life.
Had Jim’s ex-wife adored him, tried to please him, loved him beyond all reason? Had he broken Mary Lee’s heart? Or had it been the other way around? Something instinctive within her sensed that Jim had been the one who’d gotten his heart broken and that maybe he still carried a torch for this ex-wife. Mary Lee, who’d remarried. Mary Lee, who was now facing a battle with breast cancer.
Stop thinking about Jim Norton. He’s not interested in you.
Concentrate on something else, someone else. What can you do to find Thomasina Hardy before she becomes another murder victim? She was doing all that could be done, wasn’t she? Her chief deputy was a top-notch detective who’d proven himself on the Memphis PD. And Charlie Patterson was an experienced ABI agent. It wasn’t as if she was in this all alone, so why was it that she felt an overwhelming need to call her father and ask for his help?
Your lack of self-confidence is showing, Bernadette.
Her mind continued jumping from one thought to another, asking her questions she couldn’t answer, posing problems she couldn’t solve, demanding that she listen instead of sleep. But finally, exhaustion claimed her and she dozed off for a few minutes.
When she woke fifteen minutes later, her house was quiet and still. All she heard was the tick of the mantel clock and the hum of Jim’s hard, steady breathing. She sat up, put her feet on the floor and stretched. A sudden chill hit her, making her wonder if Jim might be too cool sitting there in his short-sleeved shirt. She removed the cream knit afghan from the back of the sofa, got up and walked over to him. For a couple of seconds, she stood by the recliner and watched him as he slept. She liked the way he looked, the way he talked, the way he moved. He appealed to her on so many different levels, including the physical. He was a big, tall man with an athlete’s body. And he was good looking in a rough, rugged sort of way.
Bernie unwrapped the afghan and laid it over Jim, spreading it out from his chest to his ankles. He grumbled and turned onto his side.
That’s when several almost irresistible urges hit her—the urge to touch him, to caress his face, to lean down and kiss his slightly parted lips. She moved back toward the sofa, putting distance between them.
Damn it! Why is it that you bring out all my female instincts, Jimmy Norton? All those nurturing, loving, sexual instincts that I work so hard to control?
Charlie Patterson was waiting for them when they arrived at the jail promptly at seven A. M. And he wasn’t alone. Ron Hensley had also come in early, and from the looks of him, he hadn’t gotten any more rest than they had. Bloodshot eyes, a heavy five o’clock shadow and a wrinkled shirt said it all. The guy had probably been up most, if not all, of the night.
R.B. Granger sat behind Jim’s desk, drinking coffee and talking to Ron and Charlie. Jim glanced at Bernie as they stood side by side, just a few feet over the threshold. When she saw her father, she stopped dead in her tracks. Jim noted her reaction change from what he thought was gladness in seeing her dad, knowing he was here to help, to a sense of disappointment, as if she understood that her father didn’t trust her to handle this case without him.
“Good morning.” Charlie saluted them with his cup.
“Are we late?” Bernie asked, her tone tense.
“We just got here,” R.B. said. “I met up with Charlie outside a few minutes ago. Ron was already here and had put on a fresh pot of coffee.”
Jim walked over to R.B. and asked, “How’s Kevin this morning?”
“He was still asleep when I left,” R.B. replied. “Brenda’s planning on making him blueberry pancakes this morning.”
“I really appreciate you and your wife looking after him for me.”
“It’s our pleasure. He’s a great kid. Smart and friendly. Has really good manners, too.”
Jim grinned like the proud papa he was, even though it was a bittersweet pride. Kevin was his son, flesh of his flesh and all, but Mary Lee had been the one who’d raised him.
“How long have you been here?” Bernie asked Ron.
“About fifteen minutes,” he replied. “I came straight here from”—he glanced at R.B. and grimaced— “from where I found Brandon Kelley.”
“You finally found him?” Bernie focused on her deputy.
Ron nodded.
“Where? Was Thomasina—”
Ron shook his head. “The guy has an alibi. He was with a young lady from yesterday evening until I tracked him down around four-thirty this morning.”
“And this young lady will swear that he was with her all evening and night?” Jim asked.
“Yep.” Ron looked down at his feet, as if deliberately avoiding eye contact with anyone in the room.
Jim noticed Bernie and R.B. exchange odd glances.
“Was he with Robyn?” R.B. asked.
“Yep.” Ron walked over to the coffeemaker and refilled his half-full cup.
“Damn that girl.” R.B. growled the words. “She’s turning my hair white. And what she’s doing to her mother’s nerves …”
“Okay, so that rules out Brandon.” Bernie gave her father a stern glare, then followed Ron to the coffeemaker, picked up a clean cup and filled it with hot coffee.
Jim wondered why, if he was actually interested in Robyn Granger, the knowledge that she’d spent the night with Brandon Kelley didn’t bother him in the least. He’d had exactly one date with Robyn—dinner at the River’s End restaurant—and if she’d offered him sex on that first date, he wouldn’t have turned her down. But she hadn’t offered, although he’d gotten the feeling from the way she’d been all over him that she’d have made the offer on their second date. And until just this minute, he’d believed there would be a second date.
Now he knew that he had no intention of asking Robyn out, and if she asked him out, he’d turn her down. And it had nothing to do with the fact that she’d spent the night with Dr. Kelley. But it did have everything to do with the fact that the more he learned about Robyn, the more she reminded him of Mary Lee. The truth had just hit him like a sledgehammer right between the eyes. If he got involved with Robyn, she would be a substitute for his ex-wife. And that wouldn’t be fair to Robyn or to him.
With her coffee mug in hand, Bernie turned around and faced the others. “We knew Dr. Kelley being our assailant was a long shot. So now we’re back to no suspects and no clues.” She looked at Charlie. “Jim’s going to run a check using VICAP this morning. That’s a start anyway. I don’t suppose you have anything from your people yet, do you? Any evidence left in or around Thomasina’s car?”
“It’s too soon for results,” Charlie replied. “But if this guy was never in her car …”
“I know, I know,” Bernie said.
“And that stretch of One-fifty-seven is pretty isolated, not much traffic, so I doubt anybody saw anything,” Ron added. “But we’re going to ask around, just in case. We might get lucky and find someone who saw something.”
“Are we convinced that this has all the same earmarks as the Stephanie Preston abduction?” R.B. asked. He looked directly at Jim. “Have we got ourselves a serial killer?”
“Possibly,” Jim replied. “Probably.”
R.B. cursed under his breath. “How long will he keep her before he kills her?”
“Stephanie Preston was murdered fourteen days after she disappeared,” Jim said. “And Jacque Reeves over in Fort Payne was missing for sixteen days before she was killed.”
“Approximately two weeks.” R.B. grunted. “He rapes and tortures them for two weeks, then kills them.” He looked right at Bernie. “We’ve got two weeks, gal, to find this guy and stop him before he kills again.”
“Yes, sir, I know that.” Bernie’s cheeks flushed.
Jim had the craziest urge to step in between Bernie and her dad, to tell R.B. that Bernie was the sheriff, a very capable sheriff, and she didn’t need his badgering. But he kept quiet, knowing full well that neither Bernie nor R.B. would appreciate his interference in what was obviously a father/ daughter thing.
R.B. turned back to Charlie. “So what’s our next step?”
Charlie glanced at Bernie. “Well, since this isn’t officially an ABI case yet, the next step is up to the sheriff.”
Jim wanted to slap Charlie on the back, shake his hand and thank him for figuratively reinstating Bernie to her elected position, for finding a way of tactfully putting R.B. in his place.
R.B. grunted. “Ball’s in your court, gal.”
Bernie gripped her coffee cup with both hands. “Unless someone comes forward to say they know something, that they saw something, there is no point in searching for Thomasina, is there? We’d have no idea where to look.” Bernie sipped on her coffee, then placed the mug on Jim’s desk. “If we had a profile of this guy, something to give us an idea of what kind of man we’re looking for, of who might be a suspect—”
“I think I know somebody who could help us with that,” Jim said, remembering the former FBI profiler Griffin Powell had hired on the Quinn Cortez case. He glanced at Charlie. “Unless you can get—”
“I could put in a request, but with the backlog at the FBI, I have no idea how long it might take.” Charlie grimaced. “If you’ve got an ‘in’ with an independent profiler, then I say go with it.”
Jim checked with Bernie. “Sheriff, do I have your authorization to make some phone calls and ask for this profiler’s assistance?”
Bernie hesitated for a split second; then she and her father spoke at once, both saying yes. Jim glowered at R.B.
“Sorry, honey,” R.B. told his daughter. “I forget sometimes that I’m no longer the sheriff.”
Bernie forced a smile, then said, “Go ahead, Jim, make your phone calls.” Her gaze traveled around the room, settling momentarily on each man. “Why don’t we vacate Jim’s office so he can make those calls?”
The other three men nodded, mumbled agreement and cleared out of Jim’s office. Just before exiting, Bernie paused in the doorway. “I’m going to take Dad back to my office with me. I have a press conference to prepare for and he enjoys giving me pointers on how to handle the press.
“If I line up this profiler, I’ll give you a call. No, scratch that. I’ll come over to your office. As your chief deputy and the lead detective on this case, I should be there when you give the press conference.”
“Of course.”
Bernie closed the door behind herself. Jim stood there and watched her through the half glass as she walked up to her father, laced her arm through his and smiled at him with love and adoration in her eyes.
Shaking off an odd feeling, Jim sat down behind his desk, removed a small black notepad from his shirt pocket and looked up Griffin Powell’s private number. After memorizing the Knoxville number, he glanced into the outer office and saw that it was empty. Ron Hensley must have walked out with the others. He couldn’t help wondering about Bernie and her father. Didn’t R.B. have any idea that by constantly ‘helping’ his daughter, he was undermining her confidence? Probably not. Although she was a grown woman and the duly elected sheriff of Adams County, R.B. undoubtedly still saw her as his little girl. And what man wouldn’t want to help and protect his child?
Jim envied R.B. He wished his son loved and admired him half as much as Bernie did her father.
Jim cleared the stray cobwebs from his mind, lifted the telephone receiver and dialed Griff ’s number. His old college buddy was now a very wealthy man who owned a prestigious private security and investigation firm based in Knoxville, Tennessee. They had worked together on a high-profile case in Memphis not long ago, a case involving a serial killer.
Sanders, Griffin’s personal assistant, answered on the fourth ring. “Powell residence.”
“Sanders, this is Jim Norton. Is Griffin there?”
“Yes, sir, he’s here.”
“I need to talk to him. It’s important.”
“If you’ll wait, I’ll let him know you’re on the line, Lieutenant Norton.”
“Captain Norton,” Jim corrected in an offhand manner, not really thinking about what he’d said.
“Congratulations, sir, on your promotion.”
Jim chuckled. “Thanks.” No need to explain to Sanders that the so-called promotion had meant a job change, a move from one state to another and a demotion in pay.
“I’ll see if Mr. Powell can come to the phone,” Sanders said.
While Jim waited, he eyed the coffeemaker. Just as he rose from his chair, intending to get himself a cup of coffee, Griffin came on the line.
“Jim?”
“Yeah, Griff. I … uh … need a favor.”
“All right.”
“I left the Memphis PD recently.” He went on to explain about Mary Lee’s remarriage, his subsequent move to Adams Landing and his new job as chief deputy. “We have a possible serial killer on our hands here in Adams County. Two women have been kidnapped and murdered and, as of last night, a third has come up missing. We have very few clues and our only suspect in this latest case has an iron-tight alibi.”
“What can I do to help?”
“You can put me in touch with the profiler you used on the Quinn Cortez case.”
“Derek Lawrence doesn’t work cheap,” Griffin said.
“Yeah, I figured as much. I’m not sure the Adams County Sheriff’s Department can afford him, but we need him. Any chance you might intervene and see if he’ll give us a discount?”
Griffin laughed. “Is that a subtle way of asking me if I’ll pick up the tab?”
“I wouldn’t dream of asking you to—”
“Derek owes me a favor. I’ll call in his IOU. But if I do, that means you’ll owe me one.”
“Deal,” Jim said.”
“Derek will be in touch with you by noon today.”
“Thanks, Griff.”
The dial tone hummed in Jim’s ear.
There had been a time when he and Griffin Powell were best friends and teammates. They’d both had big dreams of turning pro after they graduated from UT. A couple of bad knees had ended any hopes of that pro career for Jim. But nobody knew what had happened to destroy Griffin’s plans. Shortly after graduation, he had disappeared off the face of the earth, then reappeared ten years later, a very rich man. A rich mystery man. Only Griffin could answer the questions of where he’d been and what had happened to him during those missing ten years. Griffin and possibly Sanders, the man who had returned with him from only God knew where.
