CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Korine sized up Wyatt while he and Hatcher did the man-hug thing. Wyatt was almost as tall as Hatcher, with broad shoulders and a strong jaw. Even wearing sweats, Wyatt’s muscles bunched beneath his black T-shirt and baggy pants.
Shaggy dark-brown hair framed a square face, and his skin was slightly pale, probably from being inside and his injuries. He met them at the door, leaning on a cane.
She offered her hand and introduced herself. “I’m working with Hatcher now.”
“It’s temporary,” Hatcher said bluntly.
He must be counting the days until she was reassigned.
Wyatt gave her a warm smile and his partner a dry look. “Nice to meet you, Korine. You got your work cut out for you with him.”
Hatcher grunted. “How’s the leg?”
Wyatt lifted his cane to demonstrate that he could stand on his own, but his wince suggested he was still in pain.
“You don’t have to show off because there’s a woman around,” Hatcher said, a mixture of amusement and irritation in his voice.
“I don’t want the pretty lady to think I’m helpless,” Wyatt said with a wink.
Korine bit back a smile. Had Hatcher told Wyatt about their one-night stand? Was Wyatt flirting with her to see whether he got a reaction from his buddy?
Wyatt leaned on his cane and led them through the entry of his apartment to a den that adjoined an open living area complete with a home gym.
“My torture chamber,” Wyatt said as they passed the exercise bike.
Hatcher grunted again. “By the time you come back, you’ll be in better shape than me.”
“Hell, man, I always was.” Wyatt lowered himself in a chair and gestured for them to sit. “You talked to Bellows?”
Hatcher nodded. “He said you’ve been pushing him for work.”
A darkness shadowed Wyatt’s eyes. “I’m sick of physical therapy and sitting on my ass.”
“He told you about the case we caught?”
Wyatt settled his cane by the chair and murmured that he had. “You found the body near Tinsley Jensen’s place?”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t like it,” Wyatt said. “That bastard may have done it just to let her know he found out where she lived.”
“I thought about that,” Hatcher admitted. “We’re still looking for him, you know.”
“I know. When you stopped calling, I stayed in touch with Bellows.”
Hatcher looked down, his expression tortured. “I’m sorry, man.”
“I’m going to find him and make him pay,” Wyatt said gruffly.
“We’ll find him,” Hatcher said, his tone full of conviction. “We just need a lead.”
Korine felt as if she was intruding. These men shared a close bond. And now a cause.
Wyatt rapped his knuckles on the arm of the chair. “How’s Tinsley?”
Hatcher glanced at Korine, then his former partner. “Scared. She had no association with the judge, although he once owned a place on Seahawk Island. A cottage near the one Tinsley’s renting.”
“Where are you on the case?” Wyatt asked.
Korine filled him in on the family dynamics and the rape victims.
“I wouldn’t blame those women if they killed him,” Wyatt said. “But if I were them, I would have saved my vengeance for Milburn.”
Hatcher mumbled agreement. “I’ll bring in the file boxes. The sooner we clear this case, the sooner we can get back to tracking down the Skull.”
“I’ll help.” Korine followed Hatcher outside. It took them several trips to haul all the boxes in.
Wyatt whistled. “Wow, he was an unpopular man, wasn’t he?”
“That’s why we need your manpower.”
Wyatt patted his chest. “I’m on it.”
Korine’s phone buzzed with a text. She quickly checked it. Bellows.
“You two want a drink?” Wyatt asked. “We can get started on those files.”
Hatcher licked his lips but declined.
Korine gestured toward her phone. “Bellows just texted. Judge Wadsworth persuaded the parole board to deny parole to a convicted felon last week. That inmate escaped after the transfer bus crashed the morning the judge died.”
Hatcher stood. “Let’s go.”
She said goodbye to Wyatt and headed to the door. Hatcher was on her heels, his expression solemn as they climbed in his SUV.
“Add another suspect to the list,” Hatcher muttered as he drove toward Pooler, where the escaped prisoner’s brother lived. “No telling how many others Wyatt will find in those files.”
Korine sighed. “True.”
“Tell me about this inmate.”
Korine accessed the police database on her iPad and found Pallo’s history. Skimming it made her skin crawl. “Pallo Whiting is a child molester. Started with his niece, then his appetite was whetted. He coached a Little League T-ball team where two of the kids told their parents that he molested them.”
“I can see why the judge didn’t want to release him,” Hatcher said. “Did the brother help him escape?”
“Not sure how the brother felt about Pallo,” Korine said. “It was his little girl that Pallo molested.”
“Brother could have broken him out to get revenge,” Hatcher suggested.
“That’s possible, although the record indicates that he didn’t visit Pallo.” Korine continued studying the file. “Looks like Pallo was targeted in prison for preying on kids.”
“Not unusual.” Hatcher had zero sympathy for pedophiles. The bastard deserved to suffer for what he’d done to those children.
“Why did the judge speak to the parole board?” Hatcher asked.
“Says here that Pallo stabbed two other inmates to death. He claimed it was retribution because they raped him, but murder charges were added to his other charges. He was being transferred to Hays when he escaped.”
Nobody wanted to go to Hays. The maximum-security facility housed the worst of the worst.
Hatcher veered onto a country road leading to swampland. Late-afternoon shadows played across the road, the sea oats waving in the wind, the sky dark with storm clouds. Downed trees from the hurricane had been pushed to the side to clear the road, and blue tarps covered roofs that had sustained damage until insurance settlements ponied up to fund repairs.
He barreled over the ruts in the dirt road until he reached a wooden shack that jutted up to the marsh. Senses alert, he scanned the property in search of the brother or Pallo. The last thing they needed was to walk into a trap.
A rusted black pickup was parked beneath a tin-roofed carport to the side. Hatcher climbed out, hand on his gun, braced for Pallo or his brother to attack.
Korine did the same, her posture alert, her eyes scanning. She’d been sharp in training at Quantico—not the first thing that had caught his eye, but impressive.
They inched toward the house, guns drawn. Seconds ticked by, the wind whistling, gravel crunching beneath their boots as they crept to the front porch. The rotting wooden stairs creaked as Hatcher climbed them, and Korine stepped to the right to peek through the front window.
“Dark inside, no movement,” Korine said in a low voice.
Hatcher raised his fist and knocked, then twisted the doorknob. The door screeched open. He peered into a dark entry, then an outdated kitchen/living room. No sounds inside.
He gestured that he’d check the hall and bedrooms, and she moved through the kitchen to the back stoop. A quick sweep through the dingy rooms, and he’d cleared the space. No sign the brother was on the premises. Or that a child lived in the house either.
Korine’s shout echoed from the back. “Hatcher! Get out here!”
Adrenaline shot through him, and he gripped his gun at the ready and raced to the back door. A gunshot blasted the air, and his stomach clenched.
He pivoted, searching the yard for Pallo or his brother. Did one of them have Korine? Was he going to have to watch another woman die?
A movement near the swamp caught his eye, and relief spilled through him when he spotted Korine. She was standing upright. No one holding a gun or a knife to her. Thank God.
His heart pounded as he inched his way outside. A mangy-looking dog was slumped on the ground. At first he thought it was dead, but it howled and tilted its head toward him. It was alive, and blood dotted its nose.
“Korine?” He moved slowly, eyes tracking the property, gun braced. Korine pivoted slightly. Then Hatcher spotted the reason she’d called his name.
A man lay on the ground, naked, covered in blood. An alligator lay dead beside him.
The gunshot. Korine had killed the gator to prevent it from sinking its teeth into the man’s carcass.
Korine’s face paled as he drew closer. “It’s Pallo Whiting.” She stepped aside, giving him a better view.
He halted. Pallo was naked, arms yanked above his head, tied to the tree, eyes wide in shock. Blood was everywhere.
He’d been emasculated. Penis cut off.
Body left for the gators to feast on as if he were nothing but roadkill.
Hatcher quickly phoned for the ERT.
Just like the judge, the killer had painted SS on the man’s forehead in blood.
The scene disturbed Korine. Not because Pallo Whiting was an innocent who hadn’t deserved to die. Because his death had been violent. Sadistic.
It was also fitting to his crimes.
Judging from the fresh blood, she’d estimate he hadn’t been dead long. Meaning he could have killed the judge.
So who had murdered him? His brother?
A parent of one of his victims?
She stooped to pet the dog and check it for injuries. It appeared fine. The blood on its nose had come from Whiting.
She led it back to the porch, then tied it to the rail to keep it from contaminating the scene any further. Animal Control could take it to a shelter and find it a home.
After she called Animal Control, she and Hatcher walked the property as they waited on the ERT, studying the layout of the land and looking for forensics.
A few minutes later, it roared up in a blaze of lights and sirens. Hatcher went to greet them. It was Bellamy and Hammond again. They were keeping them busy this week.
Korine snapped photos of the body, the rope, the way Whiting’s hands were stretched above his head, and the bruises on his face and torso. They could have come from prison, the bus crash, or his murderer. Pinpointing time of death would help. Hopefully the ERT would find forensics that would lead to the truth.
The investigators fanned out to search the swamp, property, truck, and house.
Hatcher approached, jaw clenched. “I’ve issued an APB for Pallo’s brother, Ernest.”
“I can understand why he hated him,” Korine said. “But why would he have killed him on his own property and left him here for us to find? That wouldn’t be smart. It was like he was pointing the finger at himself.” She gestured toward the marsh. “Pallo’s body is only a few hundred feet from the swamp. Why didn’t he drag him out there and dump him in the water? The gators would have disposed of him, and no one would have ever found him.”
“Maybe he figured the blood would draw the gators, and they’d finish him off.”
“Leaving no evidence.” Korine twisted her mouth in thought. “But still, he could have disposed of him more quickly. His body might never have been found. We would have thought Pallo was still on the run.”
Hatcher turned and surveyed the land, then walked to the edge of the swamp. “Maybe he planned to do that, but he was interrupted and decided to run.”
Korine considered that theory. “That’s possible, I suppose. Although the judge’s killer did the same. He could have dumped the judge in the water and let the tides carry him out to sea. We might never have found him.”
“Good point.”
“Do you see any indication that another car was here?”
Hatcher pointed to footprints at the edge of the swamp. “No, but the unsub could have come via boat and escaped the same way.”
“The unsub had to be strong to subdue him, then tie him up out here. Whiting’s a big man. We know from his prison file he was a fighter.”
“He had bruises,” Hatcher said. “The ME should be able to tell us more about the source and timing after the autopsy.”
Korine nodded agreement. Speculation did no good. They needed evidence.
“I’ll check with the prison warden, dig into the details of the bus crash.” The pieces were all connected in some way. And too coincidental not to be important.
A white van bearing the logo for the local news station careened up, and Marilyn Ellis jumped out with a microphone in hand, a cameraman on her heels.
Shit. The press would blast details they didn’t want revealed. Create panic.
Drummond snapped a picture of the body. “No one’s gonna throw a memorial for that creep.”
Korine tensed. Drummond was right.
But something about that seemed odd as well. The judge had a boatload of enemies. And so did Pallo.
Now both were dead.
The reporter made a beeline for Hatcher, and Korine ducked into the shadows. Hatcher could handle the barracuda, Marilyn Ellis.
Right now Korine needed to watch. To think.
If Pallo had killed the judge, one of the judge’s family members could have come after him as payback.
But how would they know that Pallo had killed the judge when she and Hatcher had only learned about Pallo’s escape a couple of hours ago?
From that crime-watch app Serena had created?
She had to consider all the possibilities. If Pallo hadn’t killed the judge, they still had a mountain of suspects.
The same for Pallo.
Unless . . . the same unsub killed both men. The justice symbol on the victims’ foreheads indicated that was true.
A chill slithered up Korine’s spine as a theory took shape in her mind.