Thirty-Eight
Habersham Street
3:50 p.m.
Troy scanned the murder board he, Bobbie and his team had created in the main conference room. They had six dead in five days, seven if Ms. Cortland was counted. No matter that there was no indication she had been a victim of homicide, her death was the first in this tragic chain of events.
He picked up the photo of Allison Cortland and placed it on the board next to her husband’s. “How the hell did you people keep this secret all these years?”
He’d asked his father if the wives knew what their husbands had done. His father had always been under the impression they didn’t know. Maybe that was why Allison had gone swimming alone in the frigid water. Maybe her husband finally told her the truth. A sort of deathbed confession. After being diagnosed with terminal cancer, Cortland had advised his attorney to get his affairs in order.
Obviously someone else had learned this ugly secret.
Five children had gone missing. Four were confirmed dead and now, thirty-two years later, four of their parents were dead, too—three of them murdered.
Actually six children had gone missing. Treat Bonner might have been a teenager but his disability made him a child, as well.
If Bobbie’s conclusion was correct, and Troy believed it was, Lucille Bonner was the only one Weller had personally killed. That set her apart from the others. The question was why.
Troy had teams going through the victims’ houses and workplaces. An agent from the GBI was lending a hand. Friends and family were being interviewed again. Agent Ellis was pushing the DNA analysis on the hair and skin samples they’d found in Bonner’s cellar. At this point Troy was leaning toward the scenario that the prisoner Lucille had kept was the Potter boy, but he wasn’t about to rule out anything. The one thing he had learned he could count on in all this was to be ready for another surprise around the next corner.
Shelia Cotton and Deidre Wilson had been as forthcoming as could be expected under the circumstances. Like Bobbie, Troy felt something was off with the two women, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what. He had them under surveillance, as much for their personal safety as for keeping an eye on their activities.
His cell sounded and he snatched it from his pocket. Weston flashed on the screen. Troy hoped this was the good kind of surprise. “You have something new for me?”
“I do but I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
Troy swore under his breath.
“The remains you pulled up from the well on the Cotton place are not Treat Bonner.”
Troy groaned and collapsed onto the corner of the conference table. “What’d you find?”
“First off, based on the cranial suture lines, I feel confident these remains belong to a male victim closer to thirty than twenty. During his life he suffered a number of fractured ribs and several boxer’s fractures of the second and third metacarpal bones of both hands, all of which had healed prior to his death. Based on his medical records, Treat Bonner had no such fractures. Finally, in looking at the teeth, this victim’s wisdom teeth were fully erupted. Bonner’s dental records showed only two of his had as of his exam three months before his disappearance. I’m afraid what you have, Lieutenant, is another victim to add to your growing list.”
Just what he needed. Troy thanked the doctor and tossed his phone onto his desk. He scanned the case board again. “What the hell?”
Maybe Lucille Bonner had been keeping her son in that old cellar. But why would she keep him in hiding once he was cleared of murder? Didn’t add up.
Something his father said about Cotton elbowed its way into Troy’s thoughts. He grabbed his phone and called his father.
“Is everything okay?” Luke Durham asked rather than saying hello.
“Okay might be an overstatement, but so far no more bodies. You said Wayne Cotton once threw a cat down that well.”
“That’s right. I hate to speak ill of the dead but he was a bully. A smart-ass and a bully.”
“Is it possible he had murdered someone before...when he was younger maybe?”
“I take it the remains you found in the well weren’t the Bonner boy’s.”
“Doc Weston says it was likely a man closer to thirty. Maybe a scrapper. Got into fights a lot and had the boxer’s fractures to prove it.”
“Holy hell,” his father muttered.
Troy straightened. “What?”
“Not long after their son was born it was rumored Shelia had an affair with this drifter. They called him Irish. He claimed to be from Ireland, had the accent and everything. He was always getting into fights, mostly with some man whose wife he’d...well, you know. I even hauled him in once and warned him to watch his p’s and q’s or move on.”
“You remember his name?”
“Murphy. Jack Murphy, I think.”
“Thanks. Call if you think of anything else.”
Troy ended the call and frowned. If it wasn’t Treat that Lucille kept in the cellar, where the hell had Cotton and the others dumped his body? If Treat was alive, where was he now? Had Weller taken Treat when he murdered Lucille? Why hadn’t Weller killed her husband? Way too many questions and not nearly enough answers. Troy ran his hands through his hair. He needed coffee. This shitty day had started way too early.
A knock on the conference room door drew his attention there. Sergeant Phillip Goodwin, records section. Troy hoped he would be able to shed some light on who might have added Bobbie’s name to the case file.
“Hey, Lieutenant.” Phillip poked his head in the open doorway. “I did as you asked and talked to my people to see if anyone who wasn’t listed on the sign-out sheet had been in the records section in the past week.”
Was it possible he was finally going to get a lead? “What’d you find out?”
“According to Tate Fulton, the case file on the children was only pulled once before you asked for it on Friday. It was around eight Thursday night. Ordinarily Fulton would have been long gone by that hour but he’d been out sick all week and was way behind so he stayed late. The file was pulled that night but he doesn’t know what time it was returned. Evidently before you called him to come in Friday morning.”
His patience gone, Troy barked, “Who?”
“Delores Waldrop.”
Shock, anger and a host of other emotions descended on Troy. “Thanks, Phillip, I appreciate your looking into that for me.”
The sergeant gave him a nod and went on his way.
Before Troy could grasp the idea of what the sergeant had told him, another knock sounded. He looked up, assuming Phillip had forgotten something.
Delores beamed a smile at him. “The pizza is here. Since the task force will be filtering in and out at different times, we set the food and drink up in the lounge. Would you like me to bring you a plate?”
Troy held his anger and disappointment in check. “Can we talk for a minute first?”
“Sure.” Delores stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.
There was no way to sugarcoat this. He hoped like hell Phillip was wrong. “You went to the records section on Thursday night and pulled the case file on the children.”
The defeat and shame that emerged on her face warned him the records sergeant had been right. “Why?” Troy asked, not waiting for her to find a way to deny the charge.
“I did it to help you.”
Outrage pushed him to his feet. “You falsified a document in a murder case to help me?”
She flinched at his raised voice. “Yes.”
“Who asked or paid you—or whatever the hell—to do this?”
“I can’t say.”
Shock rocked through Troy. “You can’t say?”
He had known this lady his whole life. She was one of the few people who understood how he felt. She had worked for Metro since she was nineteen years old. She and his parents were close friends.
Delores shook her head. “I can’t say.”
“Did Randolph Weller pay you to do this?”
The horror that claimed her expression then was answer enough. She quickly recovered and looked him straight in the eye. “If that’s what you think, I’ll give you my resignation right now.”
His first thought was to accept her resignation and to send her home. Or better yet, to fire her. But then she might end up another face on that goddamned case board if, as Bobbie suspected, Weller was cleaning up the loose ends related to some secret he wanted to keep.
“Just tell me who told you to do this, Delores, and we’ll figure out where to go from there.”
She shook her head. “Fire me, arrest me, whatever you want to do, but I’m not answering that question.”
He wanted to shake her but he suspected that wouldn’t change a damned thing. She was protecting someone and it damned sure wasn’t Weller. The answer slammed him in the gut. “My father...he told you to do it.”
Once again her face gave him the answer without her having to say a word.
Troy reached for his cell. Hadn’t Luke Durham done enough to damage this case? This time he wasn’t getting away with his bullshit.
“Don’t.” Delores held out a hand. “You two are finally talking again. Don’t ruin that.”
Troy barked a laugh. “Am I just supposed to pretend he didn’t do this?”
“Kessler, that FBI agent, she told him to do it. She said it was imperative if he wanted you protected.”
Bobbie’s warning that he shouldn’t trust Kessler echoed in his ears. “You’re certain about that?”
She nodded. “Your father was worried sick. He did what she told him because she claimed it was the only way to get you through what was coming.”
“If Kessler wanted Bobbie here...” A cold fear tightened in Troy’s throat. “Then whatever she has planned includes Bobbie.”
That same icy fear cluttered Delores’s face. “Oh my God. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Have you heard from her?” Troy was already reaching for his cell. “She was going to talk to Amelia Potter.” How long had she been gone? An hour maybe?
Delores shook her head. “I haven’t heard from her. I thought she was still at the scene.”
Troy held his breath as he waited for the call to connect. Bobbie’s phone went directly to voice mail. To Delores he said, “See if you can get Amelia Potter on the phone.”
Delores nodded and rushed from his office.
He called Lacon Hillman next. Hillman was the officer assigned to Potter’s surveillance today. As soon as the officer answered, Troy asked, “Do you have eyes on Potter?”
According to Hillman she hadn’t left her shop all day.
“I want you to go inside and confirm Potter’s there. Call me back when you’ve spoken to her.” Troy ended the call. He stood and headed for the door. Maybe Delores had gotten Potter on the phone. He didn’t like this.
“Troy!”
He stepped into the corridor to find Delores rushing toward him. His pulse thumped harder. “Were you able to reach her?”
“Potter didn’t answer.” Delores paused for a breath. “You have a visitor.” She moistened her lips, her eyes wide with uncertainty. “He insisted on waiting in your office. Under the circumstances, I agreed.”
Was she purposely being ambiguous? “Who is it?”
“That man the FBI is looking for. Not the serial killer, the other one. Nick Shade.”
“Do not tell anyone he’s here,” Troy warned, before hurrying past her. As he reached the door to his office, he slowed and composed himself, then stepped inside and closed the door. “Mr. Shade, what can I do for you?”
Shade met his gaze. “I’m looking for Detective Gentry.”
Troy considered his options. The FBI was looking for this man. Kessler wanted this guy bad and he was standing in Troy’s office, from all appearances, unarmed.
“If she isn’t with you,” Shade said before Troy decided what he wanted to do, “she could be with him. In case you don’t fully comprehend the situation, as soon as Weller accomplishes what he came here to do, he will kill her.”
“So he’s still here?” Troy asked without answering the other man’s question. Kessler had said she suspected he was gone but Bobbie believed otherwise.
“Yes.” Shade glanced at the cell phone Troy still held in his hand. “Think carefully before you make your next move, Lieutenant. Her life depends on what we do.”
“She’s with Amelia Potter.” Troy rubbed his thumb over the screen of his cell phone. The instinct to call for backup screamed at him. “Is there something you need?” He shrugged. Saw no point in beating around the bush. “The FBI is looking for you. Any cop on the premises could be calling you in right now.”
“She’s not answering her phone.” Shade seemed to completely ignore Troy’s warning. “Something’s wrong. We can continue to debate my current standing with the FBI or we can find her.”
Troy’s cell vibrated, he flinched. Hillman. He hit Accept. “Yeah.” The news was not what he’d wanted to hear. “How the hell did that happen?” As Hillman babbled about how he couldn’t believe Potter had given him the slip since no one had gone in or out of the shop in the past hour, Troy tried to remember exactly what time Bobbie left. “Keep looking, I’ll be right there.” He ended the call. “Amelia Potter isn’t at her shop or in her apartment. Bobbie isn’t there either.”
Shade headed for the door.
“Where the hell are you going?” Troy demanded.
“To find her. You coming with me?”