Thirty-Seven
Abercorn Street
10:30 a.m.
When a call from Troy awakened her at three-thirty this morning, Nick had been gone. The bed had felt as cold as ice. Bobbie’s heart had hurt as she’d gotten up and hurriedly dressed. No matter how he lied to himself, Bobbie had felt the intensity in his lovemaking. He was as attached to her as she was to him. The knowledge was both a blessing and a curse.
Focus, Bobbie. This case was quickly spiraling toward some sort of climactic ending. Officer Lance Reynolds had called Troy to let him know the Wilsons had gone to the downtown store. Half an hour later the injured security guard had crawled to the front entrance and waved frantically for help.
Bobbie walked around the broken glass that had once been the walls of the store’s office. The fire had been fairly easy to contain once the fire department arrived. Every door and window in the store had been opened to try and clear the smoke. There were no witnesses. The owners of the bakery across the street had seen the police cruiser arrive at the same time they’d gotten to the shop to begin baking. Then they’d heard the fire trucks. No one had seen anyone else come or go from the store. So far no other witnesses had come forward.
Hoyt Wilson had died of smoke inhalation before anyone was even aware the fire had started. Deidre Wilson had been found unconscious at the door to the smoke-filled office. She stated that Hoyt had forced her out of the office, locking the door. Then someone had struck her from behind, knocking her out. The paramedics had transported her to the hospital. A uniform had ridden with her.
The smoke detectors as well as the phone in the office had been disconnected. Oscar Ortiz, the security guard, likely had a concussion from the blow to the head he had received. Before being transported to the ER he had given a statement, as well. Considering both the wife and the guard had survived when Hoyt Wilson hadn’t, Troy had pushed him hard. He hadn’t seen his attacker. No one had broken into the store after it closed. He believed the perp had been hiding in the office when the store closed. Security did not have access to the office.
As if all that wasn’t questionable enough, someone had turned off the cameras in the store. No video surveillance had been running since early the day before. Only two people had access to the security equipment room—Hoyt Wilson and his wife, Deidre.
Only three players had not been touched by whoever had decided to reveal these long buried secrets.
The Durhams and Amelia Potter.
The only one Zacharias had attempted to warn or to contact was Amelia Potter. If Zacharias intended to warn her about Weller, why send the photo of Nick? The photo was the aspect that made Bobbie believe there was more to Amelia’s relationship with Weller than they knew. Yet every instinct resisted the idea that Amelia Potter could be part of these murders.
But Bobbie had been wrong before. It sickened her to think of Steven Devine.
Troy came up beside her. “The three men who took the Bonner boy, if my father can be believed,” he added with a heavy dose of sarcasm, “are dead. The Sanderses are dead. I just checked in with the officer keeping watch at my folks’ house and at Potter’s shop. You think our killer will target one of them next?”
Bobbie noticed that he had started referring to the killer as “the killer” rather than Weller. As certain as she was that Weller was involved, Troy was right to widen the net. The case had grown so murky at this point it was difficult to tell if they had one killer or two much less the identities of either one.
“I don’t know about Potter.” She met Troy’s weary gaze. “Your father wasn’t involved in what happened to the Bonner boy, but he did look the other way to some degree. If Weller is our killer, he won’t leave your father out unless he doesn’t know about his involvement, which is unlikely.” Weller always had the dirty details. Every step he took would be carefully calculated.
“Weller is not a young man,” Troy pointed out as he surveyed the overturned ladder. “If he’s involved, he isn’t alone.”
“This case would have to be extremely personal for him to take these kinds of risks.” That was a certainty if nothing else was.
Maybe Amelia Potter was that important to Weller. Maybe they had formed some sort of bond when she was in that private clinic. The woman Bobbie knew could never be described as violent in a million years. The only one of those who had been murdered who’d been described as having violent tendencies was Wayne Cotton. Yet the others were clearly involved.
There were no answers, only questions.
Supervisory Special Agent Kessler had returned to Savannah late yesterday apparently. Bonner’s murder had brought her back as Bobbie suspected it would. She was here now, along with Agent Ellis; the two had shown up just in time to see the charred body of Hoyt Wilson stuffed into an extra-large body bag and then carried away on a gurney. The GBI agent who’d arrived two hours ago was in deep conversation with the Fire Marshal.
As if Kessler had felt Bobbie’s scrutiny, she marched over and directed her attention to Troy. “This isn’t Weller’s work.”
“I’m certain you didn’t crash my crime scene to tell me what I already know,” Troy tossed back.
“The task force is on high alert, Lieutenant,” Kessler added. “He’s been here—that much is clear. Your people should remain vigilant.” She pivoted and strode away. Ellis followed her like an obedient servant.
“You think they’ll ever find him?”
Bobbie shrugged. “I hope so.”
“By the way, I went back to see my folks last night.”
“I’m glad.” That was the best news she’d heard all morning.
“We have a long way to go, but at least we’re headed in the right direction.”
Bobbie’s cell vibrated in her back pocket. She pulled it free and checked the screen. She didn’t recognize the number. “Excuse me.” She moved away from the fray so she could hear the caller and have some privacy. “Gentry.”
“Bobbie, it’s Amelia.”
Her voice was raw with emotion and no small amount of exhaustion.
“Are you all right?” Troy had said he’d checked in with her security detail.
“I need to see you.”
A new thread of tension trickled through Bobbie. “Is something wrong?”
“I had a dream last night. I could see Noah in the woods crying for me.”
Bobbie’s heart ached for the woman. “I know this is very difficult. Lieutenant Durham has assured me that he won’t stop searching for Noah.” The child’s remains should have been with the others...unless he was still alive.
“I don’t think he’s dead, Bobbie. I think he’s somehow part of this.”
Bobbie thought of the chains in Bonner’s basement. The possibility that the woman had taken Noah to replace her son had come up more than once.
“If he’s alive,” Bobbie assured the older woman, “we will find him.”
“I feel him pulling at me,” Amelia urged. “It started when I woke up. He needs me. I need to go to the place I saw in my dreams.”
“Wait.” Bobbie couldn’t have her taking off. “Stay right where you are. As soon as I can get away, I’ll come to you and we’ll go wherever you want.” That would give Bobbie the chance to question Amelia about Weller again.
There was a long hesitation before Amelia finally spoke. “All right. I’ll wait for you.”
“Whatever you do,” Bobbie pressed, “don’t go anywhere without me.”
Amelia promised to stay put. Bobbie put her phone away and went in search of Troy.
Maybe in a few hours she could get away.
She hoped if Noah Potter was alive that he wasn’t a part of this. If he was the one Bonner had kept chained like an animal in her basement, then he could very well be involved with these murders. Bobbie wasn’t sure Amelia Potter could bear to discover that her sweet child had been turned into a monster.