Читать книгу The Watcher - BEVERLY BARTON, Beverly Barton - Страница 12

A six foot, auburn-haired, good old boy with an easygoing manner and an infectious laugh, Benny Willoughby seemed like a nice guy. Nic guessed that he was in his early fifties, and the gold band on the third finger of his left hand indicated he was married. When they arrived at Mot’s, which was apparently the town’s most popular restaurant, at least for the Sunday lunch crowd, he greeted them cordially and suggested they order the chicken and dressing.

Nic wondered where Benny’s wife was.

After they placed their order and sat down at the table with the police chief, at least six different men stopped by to speak to Willoughby. Finally, just as the waitress brought their drink order, he turned and glanced from Griff to Nic.

“Aunt Cleo tells me you folks are private detectives interested in Kendall Moore’s murder.”

“That’s right,” Griff replied, giving Nic a don’t-contradict-me glance.

“Did the Moore family hire y’all or—?”

“No,” Griff said. “We’re not working for anyone on this case.”

“Then I don’t understand.” Benny frowned.

Griff leaned in closer to the chief and lowered his voice. “I’m not at liberty to reveal my sources—not yet—but we have reason to believe that Ms. Moore was murdered by a serial killer and if that’s true, her murder could be connected to a case we worked on in the past.”

Benny’s eyes widened in surprise. “If what you say is true, then I sure do need to know the source of your information, Mr. Powell.”

“I’ll make you a deal, Chief Willoughby.” Griff glanced from right to left, then focused his full attention on Benny. “If you’re willing to give us what information you can about Ms. Moore—nothing that would get you in any trouble, of course—I’d be willing to tell you who our source is.”

“Humph.” Benny looked down, his gaze not quite centered on anything in particular as he shook his head while he considered the proposition. “How about you divulge your source and then I’ll see what I can do about answering any questions you’ve got.”

Griff looked at Nic, as if wanting her agreement. She smiled and nodded, knowing damn well he couldn’t care less what she thought.

“Fair enough.” Griff grasped the back of Benny’s chair and moved in, right up against his shoulder, then whispered, “Kendall Moore’s killer called us and told us. There was another murder identical to Ms. Moore’s out in Stillwater, Texas, about a month ago.”

“Well, I’ll be.” Benny shook his head again. “If that don’t beat all. A serial killer, huh? Somebody that didn’t even know Kendall. That girl was Ballinger’s pride and joy, you know. She went to the Olympics nearly ten years ago and won a silver medal. She was on the track team in high school, just a few years ahead of my oldest, Benny Jr. Came from a good family. She’d been living in California until about six months ago.” Benny grunted several times. “I sure couldn’t figure out who’d want to do such a terrible thing to Kendall. It was a real puzzle to me and everybody else.”

“How long was Kendall missing before her body was found?” Griff asked.

“Her folks contacted me when she didn’t come home from an aerobics class one night over three weeks ago,” Benny said.

“Could you tell us if she was sexually assaulted?” Nic asked, knowing he’d be more likely to respond to that type of question if a woman asked it.

“We haven’t gotten back the autopsy report yet, but our coroner said it didn’t look like it to him. Of course, you know she was shot in the head and had been scalped. And our coroner, Larry Kimball, said he was pretty sure she hadn’t been dead more than ten or twelve hours. Three teenagers, the Oliver brothers and Mike Letson, found her body hanging from a tree in the park. By the time we got to the scene, there was already a crowd there and in no time, reporters were swarming like maggots. Information that shouldn’t have been released to the press got out before we could do anything about it.”

“Those things happen,” Griff said.

“If you’re right about the serial killer, then I sure am relieved. I hated to think anybody around these parts was capable of doing something like that.”

“Is there anything in particular you can share with us?” Nic asked. “Anything at all, even something you might consider insignificant.”

Grunting, Benny shook his head. “Can’t think of anything. Of course, y’all know that she wasn’t killed in the park. She was killed somewhere else. We’re waiting for the state boys to get back to us. If I let ‘em know we think it could be the work of a serial killer, that might get us an autopsy report a little faster.” His gaze connected with Griff’s. “You were involved in the Beauty Queen Killer cases, weren’t you? I saw your name and picture in the paper on and off for years.” He glanced at Nic. “And you look familiar, too.” He snapped his fingers. “Damn it all, you’re the FBI agent who headed up the task force, aren’t you?”

Nic nodded, but before she could respond, Griff took over. “This isn’t an official FBI case. Not yet. Special Agent Baxter is here in an unofficial capacity. We’re putting together a few pieces of a puzzle, that’s all. If enough pieces fit together and we can prove there’s a killer who is crossing state lines, then the bureau will step in.”

“As you know, any case with an interstate aspect to it comes under the FBI’s jurisdiction,” Nic added.

“Well, I tell you what—when I get more information, probably within the next few days, I’ll share it with you and whatever you find out about that murder in Texas, you share with me.” Benny picked up his fork and dove into his chicken and dressing. After a couple of bites, he continued the conversation. “You’re welcome to go out to the park and take a look at where we found her. And you can talk to the first officer on the scene, but I’d rather you not talk to the boys who found the body. They were pretty shook up about it and their folks don’t want them having to retell it again and again.”

“Mr. Powell and I appreciate your cooperation,” Nic said.

“We sure do,” Griff said. “Nic and I will take you up on your offer. We’ll stay overnight and then head for Stillwater in the morning.”

Apparently, Benny had talked all the business he intended to for the day. He concentrated fully on his meal. Griff ate heartily, seeming to enjoy the down-home country cooking. Nic ate two-thirds of the delicious food on her plate, then stopped. She had learned long ago that if she ate all she wanted, she gained weight easily. At five ten she could carry some extra weight, but God knew she wasn’t model thin. She worked out regularly and watched her diet in order to keep her body fit.

Thirty minutes later, after she’d drunk another glass of iced tea while Griff and Benny had finished off huge slices of German Chocolate Cake, they headed for Ballinger Park. Located in the center of four downtown streets and comprising an entire block, the park boasted a central fountain, a gazebo, brick walkways, towering trees, neatly manicured flowerbeds, and a variety of wrought iron and stone benches.

“You folks take your time,” Benny said as he led them directly to the corded-off crime scene. “The Crime Scene Investigation folks are finished, so you can’t bother nothing. If you need anything, you’ve got my number, so just give me a call. I’m fixing to head to Pine Bluff. I’ve been seeing a lady over there for the past six months and if things keep going along the way I hope, we’ll probably get married before Christmas.”

“Congratulations,” Nic said, even more curious about the wedding band he wore.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’ve been a widower nearly three years and my kids are all grown and gone. A man gets mighty lonely.” He looked at Griff. “You’re not married, are you, Mr. Powell? Don’t put it off too long. A man your age ought to be thinking about settling down with a good woman and having a couple of kids.”

Nic almost laughed out loud. If only Griff could see the expression on his face. But she managed not to laugh or make a snide comment until after Benny disappeared up the brick walkway. Then she laughed.

Griff gave her a hard stare.

“Sorry,” she told him. “But the way you looked, you’d have thought Chief Willoughby had suggested you should get yourself castrated.”

“Marriage isn’t for everyone, is it, Nic? You tried it once, didn’t you?”

That certainly achieved the desired effect. Wiped the smile right off her face. She wondered just how much Griff knew about her marriage. The fact that he obviously knew she was a widow was more than she’d like for him to know. What had he done—investigated her past? Probably. Okay, so he’d found out she had been married and that her husband was dead. That didn’t necessarily mean he knew how Gregory had died.

“No, marriage isn’t for everyone,” she replied.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he stepped over the yellow crime scene tape and walked around the massive oak tree. He stopped and studied the low-hanging branch from which Kendall Moore had been hung.

“A guy would need a ladder and some sturdy rope,” Griffin said. “And he’d have to be fairly strong to lift a dead body.”

Following Griff, she stepped over the yellow tape. “He probably laid her on the ground, tied her feet, then climbed up and tied the robe around the limb and hoisted her up.”

“This guy is smart,” Griff said. “And careful. During the five years of the BQK murders, he didn’t leave any clues that would lead us to him. Hell, nobody even realized there were two killers.”

“Not until the end. Not until one partner killed the other.”

Griff jerked around and stared at her. “He didn’t have to kill him that day. My sharpshooter’s bullet would have taken him out. He killed Maygarden because it was part of their game. That tells us that he plays by the rules, even if they are his own rules. He’s organized, methodical, and—”

“Evil,” Nic said. “He’s capable of just about anything.”

“He abducted Kendall and kept her somewhere for three weeks, then brought her here to the park. Where did he take her? Why keep her alive for three weeks before killing her?”

“We need to find out if she was tortured.”

“Do you think that’s why he kept her alive, to torture her?”

“Probably.”

“The BQ Killer’s MO didn’t involve prolonged torture. He moved in for the kill pretty damn quick and got it over with, then left the body there. This is a completely different scenario.”

“A new game,” Nic said.

“A solo game, one without a competitor.”

“No scorecard this time. No one to compete with—” Nic gasped. “That’s the reason he called us.”

“To tell us this game is different, that there are new rules, a completely different—”

“Yes, all that, but more. He wants us to play the game with him. Isn’t that what he said? He even gave us the first two clues. He’s daring us to play the game, to see if we can outsmart him, maybe even catch him.”

“We’re his competitors.” Griff snorted. “That son of a bitch!”

“We don’t have to play his game.”

“Yeah, we do. And he knows it.”

“Why us? How could he know that you and I were the only two people who believed he existed, that believed Cary Maygarden had a partner?”

“It was either a lucky guess or a logical conclusion. Whichever it was doesn’t matter, does it? We were the two investigators who followed the BQK cases for years. We were the two people who knew all there was to know about the murders and the murderer. And he had to know the ballistics reports would show that Maygarden was hit with two different bullets that day and that somebody would get suspicious.”

“He probably felt pretty sure that the bureau wouldn’t try to track down a possible second killer when we had no solid proof of his existence and there were no other BQK murders after Cary Maygarden was killed.”

Griff walked all the way around the tree and Nic followed him. When he stopped abruptly, she almost collided with his big, broad back. She caught herself just in time. Another two inches and she’d have slammed up against him.

“This is useless. We made a mistake coming to Ballinger first,” Griff said as he turned around to face Nic. “We should have started with the first murder, the one that’s nearly a month old. The sheriff in Stillwater will have more info.”

“What makes you think the woman in Stillwater was his first victim?”

Griff narrowed his gaze until his eyes were hooded slits. “Good question. I’m hoping she was, but it’s possible there have been others.”

“We need to know for sure, don’t we?”

“Do you suppose you could find out for us?”

“Are you asking me to use my position as a federal agent to acquire the information?”

“Would you?”

Nic knotted her left hand into a fist and squeezed it a couple of times, damning herself for being in this situation. “I knew hooking up with you would come to this, but I didn’t think it would happen so quickly. Just because you cut corners and push the boundaries as far as possible and steamroll right over the law when doing things the legal way doesn’t suit your purposes does not mean that I will, now that we’ve formed this unholy alliance.”

Griff chuckled. “Unholy alliance, huh? Does that make me the Devil? Probably does. And you’d be—?” When she opened her mouth to protest his taunting, he held up his hand in a STOP signal. “No, don’t tell. I figured it out. I’m the Devil and you’re a fallen angel.”

“You have no idea how much I’d like to slap that stupid smirk off your face.”

“But you won’t slap me, will you? That would require your actually touching me and you don’t want to do that, do you?”

“No. I’m going to resist temptation and avoid possible contamination,” Nic told him. “But I am going to call Doug Trotter first thing in the morning.”

“I take it that Doug’s the supervisory special agent over your squad in D.C. So, why do you think he’ll bend the rules for us?”

“Doug’s one of the SACs. And he will not bend any rules for us. If I can persuade Chief Willoughby to play along with us, all he’ll have to do is tell Doug that he suspects the same person who killed Gala Ramirez in Texas also killed Kendall Moore in Arkansas.”

“You know what will happen if we find out that there were other murders before Kendall and Gala,” Griff said.

“There is a distinct possibility that once all the law enforcement agencies in the states where the bodies were found are informed, then the FBI will become directly involved and a task force will be formed.”

“When that happens, you’ll want to cut me out of the action.”

“You’re smiling.” Nic really hated that smug look on his face. “As much as I do not want you involved, you will be. Not just because you make a habit of sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong, but because the man who called you and me isn’t going to allow me to cut you out of the action.”

“Already figured that out, have you? Yeah, for some reason he wants us to be a team on this one.”

“Maybe he has a giant ego and outsmarting just one of us isn’t enough of a challenge.”

“Maybe.”

“After we finish up here and talk to the first officer on the scene, I want to call Chief Willoughby in the morning and see if he’ll contact Doug.”

“Make it early, okay? I want us on the plane and heading for Stillwater by nine.”

Griff sure as hell hoped that Nic didn’t think he had requested this special romantic dinner. Miss Cleo had pulled out all the stops in arranging an evening under the stars for them.

Griff looked directly at Nic, who sat across from him at the small table decked out with a linen tablecloth. “I hope you know that I didn’t—”

Nic burst into laughter.

Griff grinned. “It seems Miss Cleo is a romantic.”

“Undoubtedly. And delusional as well. How anyone could think that you and I …” Nic laughed again. “We are the last two people on earth who’d ever be a couple.”

“Yeah, I agree. But neither of us ever thought we’d become crime-solving partners, either.”

“I don’t like to think of us as partners,” Nic said. “There’s just something unnatural about it.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s an unholy alliance.”

Nic smiled; and when she did, Griff realized that in all the years he’d known her, he had seldom seen her smile. She was downright pretty when she wasn’t frowning.

“We aren’t friends,” she reminded him, her smile vanishing. “We don’t even like each other, so there’s no point in pretending otherwise. But I can and will act in a professional manner, if you will. And I’ll try my best to be civil, even cordial, if at all possible.”

“Tell me why you dislike me so much?” Good God, why had he asked her that?

“Do you really want to know?”

He nodded.

“You’re an arrogant, egotistical, womanizing bastard who thinks because you’re rich, you can do whatever you want, that the rules others have to live by don’t apply to you. I’ve got news for you, Mr. Powell, you’re not all that special. You’re no different than any other man.”

Griff glared right into her eyes. She shivered.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I am different. And not because of my sizable bank account.” She had no idea just how different he was. Neither she nor the rest of the world would ever know. And he would give all he owned if he could forget.

“There’s that gigantic Powell ego speaking. Mr. Big-Bad PI with the mystery past and women swooning at his feet. You love it, don’t you? You love being Mr. Macho.”

Griff lifted the crystal flute and sipped the wine. Not great, but he’d tasted worse. He studied Nic, noting her flushed cheeks and rapid breathing. She was angry, and all that emotion was directed at him. But was he really the one she was upset with, the one who had prompted her anger?

“Go ahead,” she told him.

“Pardon? Go ahead and do what?”

“Tell me why you don’t like me.”

“If you really want to know.”

“Turnabout is only fair,” she said.

“I don’t like women who need to prove they can do anything a man can do and do it better. Men and women are inherently different. I like being a man and I prefer women who enjoy being female.”

“Fluttery and feminine and helpless and silly,” Nic said, her eyes flashing with anger. “Can’t get along without some big, strong man taking care of her. Good for fucking and having babies and not much else.”

Griff took another sip of wine, set his glass on the table, and asked, “Who put that enormous, ugly chip on your shoulder, Nicki?”

Gritting her teeth, Nic groaned; then she shoved back her chair and stood. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

When she turned to leave, Griff pushed back his chair, got up, and went after her. When he caught up with her, he grasped her arm, intending to apologize. But before he could say a word, she whirled around and gave him a killer glare.

“Let go of me.”

He looked at his hand holding her arm, then looked directly at her before releasing her.

“Don’t ever touch me again,” she told him.

When she turned and walked away, he didn’t try to stop her.