Читать книгу Killer Insight - Virginia Vaughan - Страница 14

Bryce arrived at the hospital the next morning carrying a suitcase. “I stopped by the B&B and asked Mrs. Ferguson to pack you some clothes from your room. I hope that’s okay.”

It was more than okay. It was wonderful, and Lucy was grateful he’d thought of it. She slipped from the hospital gown into a pair of jeans and a blouse and was finally starting to feel like a person again. She stared at herself in the mirror and saw a stranger staring back at her. The big ugly bruise took up one side of her face, and a busted lip completed the look.

The beating had been severe, and it was a blessing she hadn’t sustained more than a mild concussion. Thinking about what might have been had been enough to keep her awake all night. Even now it made her stomach roll. She’d come to town to catch a killer, not to become his next victim.

“Thank you for the clothes,” she told Bryce as she emerged from the bathroom where she’d changed. Last night the police had confiscated her running shoes for evidence, but Mrs. Ferguson had remembered to include another pair in the bag. She slipped them on, grimacing at the action. Her entire body ached from her ordeal, and she noticed Bryce didn’t miss her grunts of pain.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t be staying here?” he asked her.

She waved off his concerns. “I’m fine. Just a little sore. Getting out and moving will certainly help.” That and the massive bottle of Tylenol she planned to keep with her at all times. The doctor had prescribed her painkillers, but she was hesitant to use them unless absolutely necessary. She wanted to be as alert as possible, and she’d tried to avoid strong painkillers ever since discovering Danny’s addiction to them.

Bryce helped her slip into her jacket, and she couldn’t help but notice the way his shoulders seemed to take up all her space, yet his hands were gentle as he helped her. It was strange to her that ever since hearing his daughter tell her that she would be okay because her dad was a marine, she had felt safer whenever he was around.

She shook off those feelings. She’d come here for a purpose, and it wasn’t to cozy up to Bryce Tippitt. She couldn’t even think about such things, not after what she’d been through with Danny. She had to keep her head about her and not get lulled into a sense of comfort. For all she knew, Bryce knew his brother was guilty and was grasping at straws to pin his crimes on another man. It was essential that she maintain her objectivity.

“I think we should head to the floral shop first,” she said. She’d jotted down the name of the shop that bore the logo on the threatening note. “It was Busy Bee Flowers. Are you familiar with that shop?”

“Of course. I know right where it is.”

“Good. Let’s go then.”

She was glad to get out of the hospital and ready to stop feeling like such an invalid. Wearing normal clothes certainly helped, but working out the kinks in her joints would make her feel better too.

The hospital insisted on forcing her to use a wheelchair until they reached the front doors. She hated it—one more reason she was glad to get out of there.

“I’ve already driven my pickup to the front doors,” Bryce said as he wheeled her toward them. “A buddy of mine was able to replace the shattered back glass first thing this morning.” He stopped abruptly.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, glancing at the front doors. A group of people stood on the front stoop, blocking the path between the door and his truck. She spotted several cameras and knew they were the press. “What should we do?”

“We can find another way out, but I’ll have to get my truck sometime.”

“I can’t ignore them forever. Let’s just go through them. Let them have their photo op.”

He nodded and pushed her toward the door. Once it slid open, the group turned and started snapping photos. Microphones were pushed into her face, and people shouted questions at her.

She ignored them, keeping her head down as Bryce opened the passenger door to his truck and helped her inside, leaving the wheelchair on the sidewalk. She was grateful for his calm manner and the hand on her back to keep her steady. She’d thought she could handle this, but the flashes of light and the shouting were unbearable. She was thankful when he slammed the door shut. She covered her face as he walked around, climbed into the driver’s seat and took off.

It was all too reminiscent of the days after Danny’s death and the constant harassment by the press for a comment. She didn’t know what they’d expected her to say. Nothing she could have said would have changed anything or brought any of them back to life.

The drive to the flower shop gave her enough time to pull herself together. Once they arrived, Bryce walked around and helped her out. He kept his distance enough to give her some sense of dignity, but he didn’t stay so far away he couldn’t help her if she stumbled. She recognized that and appreciated it.

She stepped into the shop and was immediately hit with the scent of flowers. Her eyes began to water as her allergies kicked in. This was going to be a quick interview, or else they were going to have to go into the back room.

She pulled out her FBI credentials and showed them to the clerk on duty. “I’d like to ask you some questions about a delivery that was made to Whitten Medical Center last night.”

The woman behind the counter was in her forties with short hair and soft eyes. “Of course. I’m the owner, Charlotte Manchester. We had several deliveries there last night for the woman who escaped the serial killer. That was something special. That was you, wasn’t it? Everyone who came in was excited that finally someone can identify him. It’s what we’ve all been waiting for.”

Lucy smiled at her, thankful for her kind sentiments. She hated to tell her that she couldn’t identify him, that it had all happened so fast and that her attacker’s face was nothing more than a blur in her mind. So she wouldn’t tell her that. If the police wanted that information released, they would be the ones to do so. It wasn’t smart to let the killer know she couldn’t identify him, although it might take her out of his sights.

“That was me.” There was no point in denying it. Her face would be all over the news in a matter of hours after the show while leaving the hospital. Plus how many FBI agents would be in town looking like they’d just gone several rounds in the boxing ring? “I received several very nice bouquets. The one I’m interested in came with this note.” She pulled out a copy of the card Detective Ross had given her.

The woman read it and her face paled. “Oh my. That’s terrible.”

“Do you recall who wrote that?”

“No. Most of our orders were placed over the phone or online, but we did have several people walk in yesterday evening to purchase flowers. We were unusually busy last night. The entire town was excited about your escape. It had to be one of them, otherwise someone here would have written the card and I don’t recognize this handwriting.”

“But you don’t know who that person was?”

“No. I wouldn’t have sent it out knowing the note said something like that.”

“Okay, what about receipts. Did anyone who came in pay with a credit card?”

“Yes, I have those records, although we had several people pay in cash. They’re more likely to pay with cash if they come into the store.”

“I’d like to see those receipts. I’d also like to know who else worked last night.”

“I only have two other employees who help me. They both work part-time. I’ll get you their names. And I’ll copy that list for you.” She disappeared into the back room.

“What do you think?” Bryce asked her.

“I think it’s a dead end. I doubt someone who wrote that on a card would pay with a credit card, but we still have to check it out. Maybe Detective Ross will find a fingerprint to identify him.”

“Do you really think the person who attacked you walked in here and purchased flowers for you? Wouldn’t he be worried about being seen?”

Most people would think that, but Lucy knew from her experience that serial killers had a different mind-set than most regular people. “Serial killers are known for being able to blend into society. It’s why so many of them get away with it for so long.”

Mrs. Manchester returned with the list. Lucy thanked her for her help and turned to leave, when the woman stopped her with a question. “You can identify him, can’t you, Agent Sanderson? Please tell me this nightmare is over and you know who the killer is. It will put a lot of people at rest to know.”

She glanced at Bryce, and Lucy knew she was anxious to hear if Clint Tippitt had been the one behind her attack. She saw Bryce flush with embarrassment. “I really can’t say,” Lucy told the woman. “It’s still an ongoing investigation.” She held up the paper. “Thank you for your help though, and have a nice day.”

She and Bryce walked back outside to his truck, and he helped her inside. Despite her blustering to Detective Ross yesterday about her ability to interview and interrogate witnesses, she was glad this venture hadn’t called for that. She was tired and in more pain today than she had been yesterday. Her ankle was already protesting the short walk, and her head was pounding.

Bryce must have noticed because he suggested returning to the B&B. “I saw some boxes when I was there earlier, probably the ones Jim Ross sent over about the case.”

He was giving her a way out of her posturing. Once again, she owed him. “You’re right. I really should focus my attention on the cases. If I’m going to identify this killer, the clues will be in those files.”

Bryce drove Lucy to the B&B where Mrs. Ferguson, an elderly lady with a lot of spunk and a big smile, greeted them at the door and gushed over Lucy.

“I heard what happened. How terrible for you, Lucy. Are you okay, dear?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Ferguson. I’m fine. Thank you for packing me some clothes. I also got your flowers last night. Sadly, the police had to confiscate all of them.”

“What on earth for?”

Bryce set down her bag by the staircase. “It was a precaution. Someone sent Lucy a threatening message using flowers.”

“How strange,” the woman stated. “Two police officers brought by some boxes for you. They said they were files you requested. I had them leave them down here in the dining room. You’re welcome to use the table if you need the room to go through them.”

Lucy looked over and saw six boxes sitting in the corner of the dining room. The table would provide her more room, but she didn’t think anyone would care for graphic images of murdered women lying around. “That’s kind of you, Mrs. Ferguson, but some of the images may be disturbing. You don’t want them displayed in here.”

“Well, it’s only you and me here. I don’t have any other guests right now, and I promise not to look. There’s also a den in the back of the house. It has doors so you can close off the room. You’re welcome to use that if you’d rather.”

Lucy thanked her again and finally agreed to use the back room. With Bryce’s help, she unloaded the files from their boxes, stacked them into appropriate piles and taped up photos of the victims, turning nearly one entire wall into an evidence wall.

She stared at the images of the victims. Her body ached from the attack and she wasn’t at her best, but she had work to do and she was anxious to get to it.

She had a killer to catch.

Bryce helped Lucy unload the files, then spent the next several hours going through each case. The photos of the murdered women made his stomach roll. The thought that anyone could inflict such violence on another person angered and disgusted him. Yes, he’d seen violence. He’d even participated in it when necessary, but the face-to-face destruction of another person sickened him.

And to think his brother was being accused of these crimes.

“The last three victims all share the same modus operandi. They were all abducted, missing for several days, then found with their throats slashed.” Lucy picked up the photo of Jessica Nelson, the first victim, and his brother Clint’s girlfriend at the time of her disappearance. “Jessica’s case is different. It took place nearly two years before the next victim, and her body was never found.”

“You don’t think it’s related?”

“Physically, it’s impossible to link it to the other victims because she was never found. Her car is missing while the others were on foot when they were abducted, including myself, or else their car was found abandoned. I’ll have to profile the victims to see if there’s any overlap of their lives. I may be able to link them that way.”

Lucy scanned through Jessica’s case. “According to the report, she left Clint’s house in her car headed home around 1:00 a.m. but never made it. Her body was never found, and neither was her car or any of her personal belongings.” She glanced at Bryce. “Did you know her?”

“I did, although I wasn’t around when she went missing. I was working overseas at the time.”

“What was their relationship like?”

“Stormy. They fought a lot.” Bryce knew his brother had loved Jessica and couldn’t imagine him ever hurting her, but their relationship had never been a healthy one. Jealousy, drugs and alcohol had made for a bad mix between them.

“In the report, Clint says no one could confirm she really left that night. He was living alone at the time.”

“Yes, he was.”

“Where was Meghan? Where was she staying?”

“With her mother. That was before she died.”

Lucy gasped. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware you were widowed.”

Her sympathy was appreciated but unnecessary. “Actually, we never married. We dated in high school, then I joined the military. I only learned years later that Bridgette had given birth to Meghan and hadn’t told me. I spent the next several years fighting for my rights in court just to see her.”

“She kept Meghan from you?”

It had been a difficult time in his life, a time when he’d believed everyone and everything was against him. “She did. My family wasn’t exactly known to be upstanding members of the community. Bridgette and her parents fought to keep Meghan from me. In fact, if Cassidy hadn’t written to me telling me about her, I might not have ever known I had a daughter.”

“Cassidy? That was your friend at the hospital?”

“Yes. We grew up together before her folks moved out of town when she was ten. She came back to live with her grandparents and finish high school, and we became friends again. She was probably the only friend I had growing up.” He didn’t know why he was opening up to Lucy this way. He had friends in the military who never knew about his struggles. He was used to keeping things to himself, but something about Lucy made him want to open up and know that he wouldn’t be judged.

“We didn’t have an easy childhood and, I’m sorry to say, I got into a lot of trouble growing up. After my dad died, my mom worked three jobs to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table, but that also meant she wasn’t around much.”

“That sounds like a lonely way to live.”

“I guess it’s true what they say about negative attention being better than no attention. I made sure I received plenty of negative attention. Clint followed every move I made...except when it came to joining the military. He wanted nothing to do with it. Instead, he got into drugs and stealing cars and ended up spending three years in prison, all while I was overseas.”

She reached over and covered his hand with hers. “Well, it looks like you’re doing well enough now. Meghan is a wonderful girl, and I’m sure that’s your influence. You said her mother died?”

“She died in a car crash three years ago. After that, I was able to get sole custody and I worked out a deal with her grandparents. She would stay with them while I was on assignment, and they wouldn’t interfere any longer with my relationship with my daughter. It’s worked out well so far. Only, I’m not sure what will happen now. I don’t know if I’m going back overseas.”

“Because of your brother?”

“No. I’ve been working covert security overseas. A few months ago, my unit was involved in a rescue mission of an American embassy. We were ordered to stand down, but we went in anyway.”

“I heard about that incident. According to the news, you’re all heroes.”

“Well, according to the federal government, we disobeyed orders. Especially now that there’s been so much media coverage about it, I doubt the agency will be offering me another contract assignment.” He surprised himself sharing so much with her. Usually, he was closemouthed about his life and his feelings, but something about Lucy engendered trust in him.

He shook his head, trying to remember that she was part of the government and therefore part of the problem. He’d been burned too many times before, and besides, her hand on his was just a little too appealing to him.

“I should go now,” he said, standing. “It’s getting late and Meghan will be waiting for me.”

He didn’t want to go or leave Lucy, and that bothered him too. He’d grown protective of her in a short time, but he had responsibilities to his daughter too.

“Good night,” he said as he walked out.

He had to keep his emotions under control. Lucy was only here to do a job. Prove his brother innocent—and Bryce wasn’t going to do anything that would jeopardize that.

Lucy yawned and decided to call it a night. She stacked up the files and placed them back into the boxes, wishing she’d asked Bryce to carry them upstairs for her. She could at least take a few files in case she couldn’t sleep, so she wouldn’t have to come back downstairs and disturb Mrs. Ferguson.

The older lady stopped her before she went upstairs. “Is Bryce gone? I was going to offer him some of this lasagna we had for supper to take home to Meghan.”

“I’m sure he’ll be sorry. He just left. It was delicious, by the way. You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”

“Nonsense. Why do you think I opened this bed-and-breakfast? I enjoy taking care of people. I’ll put the remainder in the refrigerator in case you want some more later.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Ferguson, but I think this day is catching up to me. I’m going to take a shower then turn in for the night.”

“Rest well, Lucy. I’m going to finish cleaning up the kitchen then turn in myself. See you in the morning.”

Lucy walked upstairs. She was tired through and through, but at least today she felt like she’d accomplished something. The flower shop was more than likely a dead end for information about the threatening note, but learning more about the murdered women had helped her get a grip on what was going on in this town.

She knew now why Bryce had reached out to her. It was obvious the police were focusing all their attention on his brother because of his relationship with the missing girl, but after examining all the evidence, she couldn’t find anything to link her disappearance with the murdered women.

She was glad she was here. She was glad to still be able to help people by identifying a killer and aiding in bringing safety back to a community. So kids like Meghan didn’t have to be afraid to go out with her friends.

Why was she thinking about Meghan? Sure, it was for the girl’s sake, but she felt it had more to do with Meghan’s blue-eyed, former marine father and the way his touch had sent sparks through her. But how would Bryce Tippitt feel if her profile didn’t exonerate his brother as the killer? If it gave the local police more leverage against him? She couldn’t worry about that. Her job was to create a behavioral profile based on the evidence collected from each of the crime scenes and victim etiology. And she was good at her job. Or she had been before Danny anyway, before her confidence had taken a nosedive. She couldn’t let someone else, another man no less, disrupt her concentration because she was mildly attracted to his broad shoulders and warm smile.

Stop it, she told herself. She couldn’t go there. Romance was out of the question. She didn’t deserve a second chance at love, and she wasn’t going to risk it again. She took a shower and changed into a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt to sleep in.

Suddenly, a large crash from downstairs caught her attention.

Lucy grabbed her gun from the nightstand and hurried downstairs. She called out to Mrs. Ferguson. “Is everything all right?”

No answer. Not even the hum of the woman as she cleaned the dishes.

Lucy walked down the steps. The first night she’d arrived, before her run, the house had been filled with the sounds of Mrs. Ferguson humming as she did the dishes. Tonight, everything was quiet.

Lucy glanced at her watch. Mrs. Ferguson told her she was usually in her chair in front of the TV by this time every night. The television was still off. “Mrs. Ferguson? Is everything all right?”

She had a growing suspicion it was not. Her instincts were kicking in, but she tried to tell herself she was just hyperaware after being abducted, yet she couldn’t shake off the eerie feeling that something wasn’t right. How would she even know what was right or wrong in this house? It was only her second night here.

She approached the kitchen, hoping and praying she would push open the door to find Mrs. Ferguson humming quietly as she handwashed the dishes. No sense using the dishwasher, she’d said, for only two people.

She pushed open the door to the kitchen. It was empty. Hairs were standing up on her neck, a sign that something was seriously wrong. A flash at the window had her spinning around. Someone was there. Outside. She rushed to the door and down the back stoop, staring into the night with only the light from the streetlamp to illuminate the yard.

“Who’s out there?” she demanded.

She stepped into the darkness and moved around the corner of the house. Another shadow flitted, and she hurried to catch up to it.

“FBI! Freeze!” she demanded, but she saw no one when she ran around the back corner. Her ankle was screaming for relief, and her head was beginning to pound. It had been such a long day. Perhaps her nerves were finally getting to her. She headed toward the back door, slamming into a figure as she turned the corner.

A scream lit up the night, and too late Lucy realized she’d knocked down Mrs. Ferguson. Lucy lunged to catch her, but only managed to trip and fall herself. She slammed onto the concrete pavers and rammed her knee into one.

“Mrs. Ferguson, I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?”

The older woman sat up and checked herself. “No, I’m surprisingly uninjured. I’m sorry, dear. You frightened me.”

Lucy scrambled to her feet and helped Mrs. Ferguson up. “I was searching for you. I heard a noise and I was afraid something had happened to you.”

“No, no. I received a call asking if I could walk Mrs. Littleton’s dog because she’d decided to stay another night at her sister’s house. But Mrs. Littleton was at home. She hadn’t even gone to her daughter’s house. Why on earth would someone do that?”

Nothing about that sounded right. “You didn’t recognize the voice?”

“No, but that’s not unusual. I don’t hear that well anymore. I assumed it was her daughter calling me. They have my number, and I’m always glad to help whenever they need me.”

Lucy was certainly willing to believe Mrs. Ferguson was known for her helpfulness. “Perhaps you misunderstood the caller.”

She nodded. “Yes, that must be it.”

Suddenly a figure appeared in the darkness. “What’s going on?”

Lucy spun around, gun raised and all her senses on alert.

Bryce raised his hands and backed up. “Whoa. It’s only me.”

“What are you doing back here?” she asked, her heart rate beginning to slow.

“Mrs. Ferguson called me earlier and said if I wasn’t too far away, I should swing back and take home some of her lasagna for Meghan. I was at the gas station when she phoned.”

“Yes, I did make that call,” Mrs. Ferguson stated. “I’m glad I did. You’re back just in the nick of time. Lucy thinks someone was in the house.”

Bryce’s composure shifted to protective mode. “Are you sure?”

She saw his concern and felt silly at her obvious misinterpretation. “No, I’m not.”

“Let’s check anyway.”

He headed inside, and Lucy instructed Mrs. Ferguson to wait while they searched the house. She and Bryce looked through every room and saw no evidence of an intruder. Lucy was starting to feel like she’d imagined the threat—until she opened the door to the back room.

She shouted for Bryce, who was upstairs checking the bedrooms. She stared at the mess that was now her workspace. All her papers were strewn everywhere, and someone had been searching through her things. And on the wall, in freshly painted large letters, was a threat.

Leave town now or pay the price.

Bryce went through the entire house, checking all the doors and windows. He found what he was looking for in the first-floor living room. One of the back windows had been busted out, and it was obvious the intruder had gotten in that way. That must have been the noise Lucy had heard that made her investigate.

Lucy did her best to make Mrs. Ferguson comfortable while they waited for the police to arrive. He couldn’t help but notice how gentle she was with the older woman, and it spoke of her kindness.

The police arrived and got busy dusting for fingerprints and taking Mrs. Ferguson’s statement about the call she’d received that had lured her out of the house.

Bryce chatted with Jim Ross about the likelihood of finding the person who’d placed the fake call.

“We’ll try to trace the call, but if the guy was smart, he used an untraceable burner. It’s unlikely anything will come of it.”

“At least he didn’t try to harm her.”

Ross nodded. “We’ll increase patrols around her house just in case too.”

“Thanks, Jim. I appreciate it.”

Bryce looked for Lucy and found her in the back room glancing through her evidence files. The offending threat had already been photographed and well documented, but it sickened him to look at. He’d go by the hardware store tomorrow and pick up paint to cover it.

“What are you looking at?” he asked her.

“Just checking to see if anything was bothered.”

“Was it?”

“Only this.” She handed him a photo of Jessica Nelson, the same one they’d looked at earlier. Green paint now dotted its edges.

“He looked through the evidence.”

“This is the only thing I can find with any paint on it. It’s all he touched. I mean, why take the time to break in? What was he looking for? What did he want?”

He motioned toward the threat painted on the wall. “To do that, I suppose.”

“It doesn’t make sense, Bryce. The man who abducted me on the road—” she picked up the evidence photos of the murdered women “—the man who did this, he’s a killer. He wouldn’t be the type of person to orchestrate getting Mrs. Ferguson out of the house and vandalize my room just to frighten me into leaving town. It doesn’t fit what we know about him. Why not snatch us both? Or kill her then come after me?”

“Serial killers have types, don’t they? All of these women are between a certain age. Mrs. Ferguson is in her seventies. Maybe she didn’t fit his type.”

“Then he would have killed her and moved on. Besides, he brought the paint with him. He came here planning to do this with no intention of hurting anyone.”

“Could this be his way of reaching out to you like you said about the note? Taunting you?”

“He has no history of doing that before.” She shook her head, and worry clouded her expression. “It doesn’t feel right.” She sighed then turned to him. “I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask this—do you know where your brother was an hour ago?”

He hated the suspicion he saw on her face. “I knew someone would be asking me that question.” He hadn’t expected it to be her. He’d brought her here to help his brother, not join the accusers. “The answer is no. I haven’t seen him or spoken to him. But then again, there are a lot of people I haven’t seen today either. You’re only asking about Clint because they’ve put it in your head that he’s involved in those women’s deaths.”

“No, I’m asking because the only photo he bothered was the one of Jessica Nelson. Why would anyone else be interested in it?”

He gave a resigned sigh. Bryce was tired of the constant questioning of his brother’s motives, but she did have a point. “I don’t know. But Clint would have no reason to threaten you. You came to town to help him.”

“I also came here to profile a serial killer. Is it possible he’s worried I’ll uncover him in the process?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s not. He didn’t do this,” he said, motioning toward the horrific photos of murdered women. “He couldn’t have.”

“Why are you so certain your brother didn’t do this? It has to be more than family loyalty. You have to at least entertain the possibility. I can spout off countless instances where offenders were arrested for horrific crimes and their family members insisted they couldn’t be responsible.” She turned and rubbed her neck. “What is it about those we love that makes us doubt their culpability?”

He heard the weariness in her voice and wondered if she was thinking about Danny and the traffic accident. Had she known about his drug usage, or had she been as oblivious as she seemed to believe he was?

But her question had merit, and if he wanted her help, he needed to explain what must seem like crazy loyalty to his brother. “I’ve seen evil, Lucy. I’ve faced it down eye to eye.” He shuddered at the memory of the men who’d attacked the embassy and their disregard for anyone’s life. “There’s a coldness in their eyes. I don’t see that in my brother. I’m not saying he’s perfect. He’s messed up royally, I’ll admit that, but he’s no killer. He doesn’t have it in him.”

She looked like she was about to challenge him again, then she just sat down.

He took the seat beside her. “What are you thinking?”

“That someone wants me to leave town, but it’s not the same person who abducted me yesterday or who killed all those women.”

He had to agree with her assessment. Whoever heard of a cold-blooded killer breaking into a house only to send a threatening message? A killer was going to kill until someone stopped him.

But someone was determined to frighten her into leaving town.

If it wasn’t the killer then who was it? And why?