Читать книгу Beverly Barton 3 Book Bundle - BEVERLY BARTON, Beverly Barton - Страница 21
ОглавлениеJim took his lunch break at eleven-thirty, exactly five minutes after Allen Clark phoned with the news that Mary Lee had come through the surgery just fine. When Jim pulled up in front of the Granger house, he sat inside his old pickup for several minutes, pulling his thoughts together, figuring out exactly what he was going to say to his son.
Be honest, but optimistic.
As he emerged from his truck and walked up the sidewalk to the front door, his mind wandered back a dozen years to when Kevin had been a baby. And Mary Lee had been his wife. They’d been happy then, hadn’t they? He and Mary Lee had still been in love. They’d been proud parents planning a future for their son. A future that they’d believed would include the two of them raising Kevin and giving him a brother or a sister at some point down the line.
Then everything had gone wrong. Little things at first. His obsession with his job. Mary Lee’s boredom and restlessness. The arguments. The accusations. And then his partner had been murdered and for a while, Jim had nearly lost his mind. After that, nothing had ever been the same again. Not with his marriage. Not with his life.
Just as Jim reached out to ring the Grangers’ doorbell, he heard loud laughter and splashing water, the sounds coming from the back of the house. He vaguely remembered R.B. telling him to make sure Kevin brought along some swim trunks because they had a backyard pool. Jim stepped down off the porch, rounded the side of the house and opened the black wrought-iron gate. He stopped a good fifteen feet away and watched Kevin and R.B. in the pool. They tossed a huge beach ball back and forth, the boy and the man laughing. Brenda Granger, in a pair of yellow capri pants and a short-sleeved white blouse, stood on the patio watching the two, a wide smile on her face. As if sensing Jim’s presence, she turned and waved, then called to him.
“Hello there. You’re just in time for lunch. We’re having hot dogs, potato chips, and chocolate pie,” Brenda said.
Kevin tossed the ball out onto the patio, then swam across the pool and pulled himself out and onto his feet. “Hey, Dad. Any word on Mom?”
Jim nodded. “Allen just phoned.”
“How is your ex-wife?” Brenda asked in a hushed tone as she approached Jim. “We’ve been trying to keep Kevin occupied so he wouldn’t worry.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Granger. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything y’all have done for Kevin and me.”
“It’s our pleasure. And please, remember to call me Brenda.”
Kevin rushed up to Jim and looked him square in the eyes. “How is she? She’s all right, isn’t she?”
“Allen said she came through surgery just fine. She’s still asleep. He’ll call us tonight and then if she feels up to it, your mother will call you tomorrow.” Jim glanced at Brenda. “I gave him your number. I hope that’s all right.”
“Yes, of course, it is.” Brenda reached down and picked up a large beach towel from a nearby chaise lounge and handed it to Kevin, then turned to R.B., who had just emerged from the pool. “Come inside and help me get lunch on the table.”
“Let me dry off first.”
“Well, hurry up. I’m sure Jim needs a few minutes alone with Kevin,” Brenda said.
As soon as the Grangers went into the house, Jim put his hand on Kevin’s back. “Let’s go sit on the deck and I’ll tell you what Allen told me.”
They walked over to the deck that separated the patio area around the pool from the back of the house. As soon as they sat in a couple of cushioned, brown wicker chairs, Jim faced his son.
“They removed your mother’s left breast. They’re testing the lymph nodes they removed during surgery, and they should know in a few days whether the cancer has spread. Either way, she’s looking at chemotherapy, which means she’ll lose her hair and the treatments will make her tired, sick and very weak.”
“Mom will hate losing her hair.” Tears pooled in Kevin’s eyes.
Jim wanted to pull the boy into his arms and hug him. He wished he could promise his son that everything would be all right, that there was no chance his mom would die. Be optimistic, he reminded himself, but be honest.
“Your mom’s a tough lady. She’s a fighter. She won’t let this thing beat her.”
Kevin glanced down at the deck floor. “She’s not going to want me to see her sick.”
“Probably not.”
“It’ll be a good while before I get to see her again, won’t it?”
“I know it’ll be rough on you not seeing her, but we’ve got to think about her right now. What she wants and needs.”
Kevin lifted his head and blinked. Teardrops clung to his eyelashes. “Allen will take good care of her. He loves her.”
Jim swallowed hard. He heard his son’s unspoken words: You didn’t take care of her. You don’t love her. All the old guilt resurfaced. He could have stayed with Mary Lee. He could have forgiven her for sleeping with other men. If he’d swallowed his pride. But how did a man erase the image of his wife screwing another man in their bed? Jim had walked in on them in the middle of the act and he’d come very close to killing both of them. Even now, he could still feel a little of that old rage.
But Kevin didn’t know what his mother had done, would never know if it was up to Jim to tell him. Besides, he was too young to understand then and now. All Kevin knew was that his dad had divorced his mom. And felt that his dad had divorced him, too.
“She’s not going to die, is she?” Kevin almost choked on his tears.
Clenching his teeth, praying he would say and do the right thing, Jim reached over and laid his hand on Kevin’s damp knee.
“I don’t think so,” Jim said.
Brenda Granger opened the back door and called to them, “Lunch is ready, you two.”
“Come on, son.” Jim stood. “Let’s go eat.”
When Kevin got up, Jim placed his arm around his son’s shoulders. Kevin shrank away from Jim, but stayed in step at his side as they headed for the house.
Jim sat at his desk and studied the information he’d gotten when he ran their killer’s MO through VICAP. There were numerous women who’d been raped, tortured and murdered, many of them killed by having their throats slit. But there were only four murder cases that were practically identical to what they knew about Stephanie Preston’s and Jacque Reeves’s abductions and murders. And there was a fifth murder case that had some similarities. All five women had been killed in the Southeastern part of the United States, all within the past five years. Two in Georgia—Julie Patton and Michelle McMahon; one in Tennessee—Courtney Pettus; one in North Carolina—Sara Hayes; and one in South Carolina—Shannon Elmore. Jim had no idea if these women had anything in common other than the fact they were all victims of brutal rapes and murders, their killer’s MO practically identical to the killer now stalking women in northeastern Alabama. But did that mean all these women had been murdered by the same man?
Thanks to this FBI program, Jim had access to the names of the lead detectives on all of the murder cases. He intended to get in touch with each of them in order to obtain as much information as he could. The more he learned about these similar cases, the better able he’d be to judge whether their northeastern Alabama killer was or was not the same man.
Although Bernie had given him free rein as the lead detective in the Preston murder case and the Hardy missing person’s case, she had asked him to make sure she was included in everything.
“I think I can learn a lot from you, Jim,” she’d told him. “And I’m not too proud to admit that fact. You’re probably better qualified to be sheriff than I am, but this is Adams County and my last name is Granger.”
He admired her honesty, admired her for having the guts to speak so bluntly. But he thought maybe she was selling herself short because she kept comparing herself to her father.
As if thinking about her had brought her to him, Jim heard Bernie’s voice in the outer office. She was talking to John Downs, asking him for an update on the Thomasina Hardy case.
“Have you and Ron questioned everybody you know of who traveled County Road One-fifty-seven between six and seven-thirty last night?”
“Yeah, there were only half a dozen people that we could find,” John said. “And none of them remembers seeing Thomasina, except old man Hammonds remembers meeting a car fitting that description around six-forty, right before he crossed the Sunflower Creek bridge. He said that the best he could tell the woman driving was alone.”
“Where’s Ron now?” Bernie asked.
“He’s over at Taylor’s Wrecker Service, waiting around for those crime scene fellows Charlie Patterson sent over from Huntsville to finish up with Thomasina’s car.”
Jim shoved back his chair, stood and walked across the room. When he opened the door, Bernie and John turned around and looked at him.
“Afternoon,” Bernie said.
Jim glanced at the wall clock above the outer door. Five-thirty-five. “It’s nearly evening.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get over here sooner, but my day has been wild. After this morning’s press conference, I had to meet with Jerry Dale; then Lisa has been fending calls all day from local citizens concerned about the fact we’ve had two abductions in such a short time span. And just when I thought I might escape and come over here, Robyn breezed in with the invitations to Mom and Dad’s fortieth wedding anniversary party, which she was supposed to have sent out a week ago.”
“Your folks have been married forty years?” Jim’s own parents hadn’t made it to their fortieth anniversary. His dad had died a month shy of their thirty-fourth.
“Is the party a surprise?” John asked.
“Yes, they’ve been married forty years,” she replied to Jim. “And they’re still very much in love. Imagine that.” She glanced at John. “No, the party is not a surprise. You don’t honestly think we could keep a secret like that from Brenda Granger, do you? My mother expects something special, and if she didn’t know for sure that Robyn and I were planning an extravaganza for her and Dad, she’d suspect something and start searching for answers.”
John laughed, but before he could lead Bernie off into some idle chitchat, something Jim had learned John was very good at doing, he motioned to Bernie with a nod of his head, indicating for her to come into his office. He backed up the nonverbal invitation by saying, “If we’re going to leave here before midnight tonight, we should get started on that profile we need to work up as soon as possible. The sooner we send it off, the sooner we’ll see results.”
“Oh, sure thing.” Bernie patted John on the arm as she passed him. “Tell Cathy not to make any plans for two weeks from Saturday. Y’all will be getting your invitations to the big bash tomorrow.”
“We’ll be there.” John grinned. “You know Cathy and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
As soon as Bernie entered Jim’s office, he closed the door behind her. “I have the VICAP report, and it looks like there were four almost identical abduction and murder cases, with a possible fifth.”
“In Alabama?”
Jim shook his head. “Two in Georgia, one in Tennessee, one in North Carolina and another in South Carolina. All within the past five years.”
“I’ve never done a profile matrix before,” Bernie said. “Except in theory at the class I took at Quantico.”
Jim pulled a chair around the side of his desk and aligned it next to his, then indicated for Bernie to sit. “You take my chair.”
After she sat in the big swivel chair, he sat and scooted his chair closer to hers, then picked up the yellow legal pad lying on his desk. “As you know, it’s a matter of developing a picture of the criminal and his crimes, connecting the dots to see what fits together.”
“Okay.”
“We start with asking and answering those six all-important questions.”
Bernie’s eyes widened. “Who, what, when, where, how and why?”
He clicked his tongue and grinned at her. “I knew you were a smart girl.”
Shaking her head, she laughed.
“What?” he asked guilelessly. “Ah … it’s not politically correct to call you a girl, huh?”
“I don’t mind, but some female officers do.”
“I’ll try to remember that. But I’m glad you don’t have a thin skin.”
Bernie cleared her throat. “So we start with the question of who.”
“Yeah, who are the victims?” Jim asked.
“Our three are all young, attractive women in their midto-late twenties.”
“Hmm … And what else did they have in common?”
“Thomasina Hardy teaches at Adams County Junior College, Stephanie Preston was a student there, and Jacque Reeves had been a student several years ago.”
“It could be a coincidence that they all had a connection to the college, but we won’t rule out that fact being important.” Jim glanced down at the legal pad. “Were you aware of the fact that all three women had dark hair and brown eyes?”
“No, not really. So, they were all young, attractive brunettes.”
“Young, attractive, popular brunettes.”
Bernie snapped her head around and looked directly at Jim. “Popular?”
“Translated that means women who have dated a lot of different men.”
“Okay. The answer to our who question is young, attractive, popular brunettes.” Bernie counted off each adjective on her fingers. “We need to find out if that description fits those four or five women you came up with through VICAP.”
“I’ve put in calls to two of the lead detectives, starting with the ones in Georgia, since they were the most recent. I expect to hear from them no later than tomorrow sometime. In the morning, I’ll contact the ones in the other states, too.”
Bernie nodded.
“There are two parts to the who question,” Jim said. “Who are the victims was part one.”
“And who is our killer is part two.”
“What type of killer is he?” Jim looked directly into Bernie’s brown eyes. Brown eyes flecked with dark gold. Odd that he’d never noticed her eyes weren’t a true brown the way Robyn’s were. But then again, he’d never been this physically close to Bernie.
“Our guy plans out the details,” she said. “He stalks the woman, which he probably sees as courting her. Then he kidnaps her, rapes her and kills her. Since rape is a crime of power and control and not one of passion, I’d say that is what motivates him.”
“I agree.”
“He’s an organized, power/control-oriented killer.”
“That leads us to the question of what,” Jim said. “What was the cause of death in our two murders? Was there any deviant sexual behavior? Is there anything unusual about the murders?”
“He slit both women’s throats. He tortured and raped them repeatedly. And as for anything unusual—I’d say the courtship is unusual, the gifts and notes. But what really sets Stephanie’s and Thomasina’s cases apart from the norm are those frightening S&M sketches.”
Jim wrote hurriedly, jotting down all the information as he and Bernie continued discussing the case. When did the crime occur? Were the dates significant? And where did the crimes occur?
“All three victims were abducted, but it doesn’t seem any of them put up a fight, so that indicates they knew and trusted their abductor,” Jim said.
“Well, the how and why of the actual killings are simple. The how is that he slit their throats with a sharp knife, and if we can’t find Thomasina soon, that will be her fate.” Bernie sighed heavily. “As for the why—only God knows.”
“We’ve got enough information here for me to go ahead and send it to Derek Lawrence,” Jim said. “I’ll fax everything to him before we leave this evening.”
“How did you manage to get a former FBI profiler, who now works independently, to do a profile for us for free?” Bernie leaned back in the swivel chair, crossed her arms under her breasts—her full, nicely rounded breasts, Jim noticed—and pinned Jim with her questioning gaze.
“I have an influential, wealthy friend who has used Derek Lawrence on other cases and he just called the guy and asked him to do me a favor.”
“Hmm … Must be nice to have a friend like that. Mind telling me who he is?”
Jim shrugged. “Griffin Powell.”
“Your old teammate, the Griffin Powell?”
Jim groaned. “No, please don’t tell me that you had a major crush on Griff the way ninety percent of the girls and women in the South did when we were playing ball at UT.”
Bernie smirked. “As a matter of fact …” She laughed. “I did not have a crush on Griffin Powell. But I’m as curious as everyone else about where he went and what happened to him during those ten missing years of his life. All the newspapers and magazines, as well as every radio and TV station in the South, have all speculated about him, about why he disappeared and how he earned his fortune.” Bernie leaned toward Jim. “Do you know?”
Jim noted a distinctly sweet, flowery smell and realized Bernie must be wearing perfume. That was something else he’d never noticed about her. She didn’t seem the type to wear perfume.
“Nope. I’ve never asked him and he’s never volunteered the information,” Jim replied.
“Oh, I see.”
“What’s that perfume you’re wearing?” He suddenly realized he’d spoken his thoughts aloud. Damn!
“Ah … er … I’m not wearing perfume.” Bernie seemed startled and confused by his inappropriate question.
Jim forced himself to laugh, hoping humor would get him out of the situation his stupidity had gotten him into. What on earth had possessed him to notice gold flecks in Bernie’s eyes or to ask her about her sweet scent? “Hey, somebody in this room smells like flowers and it’s not me.”
“Flowers?” Bernie’s eyes widened; then she smiled. “Oh, I know what it is. It’s this new hand lotion that Mom bought for me.” She held her right hand under Jim’s nose. “Is this what you smell? It’s something called Vanilla Jasmine.”
He grasped her wrist and held her hand in place, took a whiff, and grinned at her. “Yep, that’s it. You know, that hand lotion is some mighty powerful stuff. You’d better not use too much of it the next time you’re around Raymond or he’s liable to sweep you off your feet.”
Bernie’s smile vanished. “I’ll have you know that I am not the least bit interested in Raymond Long. He’s a very nice man, and I’ve known him all my life, but there is nothing between us. Not in the past before he married and moved away from Adams Landing. Not now that he’s divorced and back home running his father’s hardware store. And not in the future. Not ever. Besides, he’s gaga over Robyn, just like all you men are.”
“Are you lumping me in with all men?”
Narrowing her gaze, she looked right at Jim. “Only when it comes to what type of woman interests you.”
“And you think you know what kind of woman interests me, do you?”
“You can’t help yourself. Robyn has that effect on all men, and you are a man.”
“Guilty as charged. I am a man. I appreciate a good- looking woman as well as the next guy. And Robyn is a looker. But I don’t like sharing my woman. I tend to be the possessive type. And your sister seems to enjoy playing the field.”
“Robyn will eventually settle down when the right man comes along.”
“Yeah, she probably will.” He thought about Mary Lee, who was now married to her Mr. Right, Allen Clark. “But I’m not that man. Not for Robyn.”
Bernie grinned. “Don’t tell her that. There’s nothing she likes better than a challenge. If she hasn’t already seduced you, then finding out you’re not interested … Shit. I can’t believe I’m sitting here warning you about my own sister. Whatever’s going on between the two of you is none of my business.” Bernie scooted the chair back and stood. “I’m going to get a cup of coffee. Want one?”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Jim said. “Why don’t we finish up here, then go over to your folks’ house and pick up Kevin. I’ll take you two out for dinner. My treat. You name the place.”
Bernie’s smile widened. “I have an even better idea. Why don’t you pick up Kevin and you two come over to my house for dinner? I’m not as good a cook as my mother, but I can grill some steaks and pop some potatoes in the microwave.”
“Well, come on, woman, let’s fax that profile to Derek Lawrence and close up shop for the evening.” When he stood, she moved away from him as if she thought he was going to touch her and didn’t want him to. He lowered his arm, realizing that he had intended to put his hand on the small of her back.
Okay, Sheriff Granger, I get the message. And you don’t have anything to worry about from me. I’m not going to hit on you. I want us to be friends. That’s all. Just good friends.
He had stripped off her clothes and then bathed her. She hadn’t fought him, and now she wondered if maybe she should have, but she’d been too terrified at the time. Too disoriented. Too confused. She had no idea where she was and saw no means of escape. He had told her that he loved her, that he knew she loved him and wanted to please him. Not knowing what he wanted to hear, she had neither agreed nor disagreed.
“I’m taking care of your personal hygiene for you this time,” he said as he brushed her hair. “But from now on, I’ll expect you to do it. Do you understand?”
She nodded her head weakly, every muscle in her body taut, every nerve rioting, as she sat quietly—obediently—in the wooden chair.
He reached down, clamped his hand around her jaw, his fingers and thumb biting into her cheeks, and glared directly into her eyes. “When I ask you a question, I expect a verbal answer. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I … understand.” Her voice trembled.
He smiled and went back to brushing her hair. “You have beautiful hair, Thomasina. Long and lustrous and so dark it’s almost black. Your hair was the first thing I noticed about you. And then as I studied you, I realized how truly lovely you are.”
Fear ate away at her like an insidious poison, building gradually, increasing with each passing moment of bondage. And despite the fact that he had unbound her feet in order to undress her and take her to the shower to bathe her, she was his prisoner in every sense of the word. Trapped not only in this tomblike room, but by her own terror.
When he bathed her, he had touched her intimately. He’d lingered over her breasts, scrubbing her nipples until they were almost raw. And when he’d washed between her legs, he had slipped his fingers inside her.
“Please,” she’d begged him. “Don’t. Don’t do this.”
“Oh, Thomasina. I promise I won’t tease you too much before I give you what you really want.” He had then concentrated on her clitoris, rubbing the washcloth over the sensitive nub until she thought she would scream.
“No … no …”
“What’s the matter, darling? Can’t you come without my being inside you?”
He had laughed and moved on to finish her bath.
Thomasina had no idea what time it was, but she felt fairly certain that it was Friday, the day after she’d been abducted. He had left her here overnight—wherever here was. Left her alone in the semidarkness of what she believed to be a subterranean room, a basement of some sort. There was a bed, a table, a chair, and what appeared to be an unfinished bathroom, with a shower, sink, and commode, surrounded by a four-foot-high concrete block wall. The wall separated the bath from the room, but provided no privacy whatsoever.
“There, all finished,” he said. “You’re ready now.” He held out his hand to her.
She stared at his hand, which seemed large and powerful and frightening.
He frowned. “Never hesitate, Thomasina. If you do, I will see it as a rejection and be forced to punish you.”
Her hand shot up and into his of its own accord, prompted by her innate survival instincts. She had to do whatever was necessary in order to survive.
He smiled. “Come with me.”
She stood and followed him as he led her to the small bed in the corner. Please, God, help me. Help me!
“Lie down,” he told her.
She obeyed his command.
You could fight him. You could hit him and scream and scratch him. You could hurt him. But you can’t stop him. He’s larger and stronger. And you have no weapon.
And you can’t escape. There is no way out.
Do as he says. Obey him. Pacify him. And maybe …
“What did I tell you about hesitating?” He growled the words through clenched teeth.
She hurriedly lay down on the bed.
“You’re learning,” he told her. “But that’s twice you’ve hesitated.”
Lying there, her mind crying out silently, her heart pleading for mercy, Thomasina closed her eyes and waited for her punishment. She heard him grunting, moving about, and wondered what he was doing, why he hadn’t acted immediately. She had expected a slap or even a hard punch of some kind.
Then she felt the side of the bed give and sensed him hovering over her. He was going to rape her and there was nothing she could do to stop him.
“Open your eyes, darling.”
She opened her eyes instantly and stared up into the handsome face of a madman.
With a swift, subtle survey, she scanned his body. He was naked, but not aroused. His penis hung limply, the tip brushing her left thigh.
“I’m not quite ready,” he said. “But there’s no need for you to worry. I’ll be hard as a rock very soon.”
She swallowed the knot of fear in her throat.
His big hands roamed over her shoulders, her breasts, and her belly. Then he lowered his head and licked a trail from her navel to her throat. Her heartbeat accelerated. Sweat dotted her forehead.
His mouth played with her breasts, tormenting her nipples. And suddenly, without warning, he bit the side of her breast. She cried out in pain. He bit her again and again, covering her right breast before pausing at the nipple.
Weeping profusely, she tried to push his head away, but he captured her hands and held them over her head. With his powerful body holding her in place, she could barely breathe. His erect penis probed between her thighs. Then he bit down on her nipple and thrust into her simultaneously.
Thomasina screamed with agony as he viciously raped her.
