Parliament Circle
8:50 p.m.
Bobbie had dark brown hair and pale skin that refused to tan, but Dr. Lisa Carroll had her beat by a mile with deep black hair and skin so light it was almost translucent. Back in school, the boys the future doctor had ignored and the mean girls who picked on her had nicknamed her Morticia Addams. Carroll had been quiet with few friends. She graduated as valedictorian and won every damned scholarship imaginable. She and Bobbie had never actually been friends, more like acquaintances surviving the brutal teenage years.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t meet with you sooner,” Carroll apologized again as she led Bobbie through the lobby of her small clinic. “It took me hours to catch up here.” She shrugged. “People have appointments, they expect to be seen.”
“No problem.”
Bobbie had done some checking when she heard about Carroll taking the coroner position. Never married, no kids. Like Bobbie, work appeared to be her life. She had refused to go into practice with anyone else. She wanted to see all patients whether they could pay or not and she didn’t want anyone’s permission to do so. Rumor was she had turned a large storeroom at the back of her clinic into a mini apartment to avoid rent or a mortgage.
“You’ll have to overlook the mess. I need to catch up on my filing.” Carroll stepped into an office no bigger than the cubicle Bobbie had at CID. “Just set those on the floor and have a seat.” She gestured to the chair flanking her desk, the seat stacked high with patient charts.
“Thanks.” Bobbie moved the stack to the floor and took the seat.
Photos of children, patients Bobbie decided, lined most of the wall space. The rows of smiling faces were interrupted only by a narrow space for a small bulletin board. Announcements and business cards were thumbtacked to the board. A filing cabinet with drawers too full to close all the way stood in one corner. Aside from the mounds of files on the doctor’s desk, there was a huge mug filled with pens and pencils and one framed photograph. The photo was Carroll and her parents. The coroner’s freshman year, as best Bobbie recalled. Her parents had been killed in a car accident the next year. Losing their parents at an early age was another thing they had in common.
Carroll cleared a space on her desk for the file she dug from one of the smaller stacks. When she’d opened it, she looked up at Bobbie. “I can’t tell you much. I do a cursory examination, draw a few blood, urine and tissue samples to send to the lab, and send the bodies to one of two places—a funeral home or the state lab—depending on the circumstances of death.”
“There was a serial killer, several years ago, the Seppuku Killer,” Bobbie explained. “He injected his victims with fentanyl and then murdered them the same way the Parkers were murdered.” Something had kept the Parkers and Manning from fighting their attacker. Had to be a drug.
Carroll nodded. “You’re thinking this killer used it as well.”
“I am. You can test for that, right?”
“You can. First thing in the morning I’ll call the lab since I’ve already sent the samples I collected. It’ll take some time. They’re always backed up but I can try and sweet-talk my contact there. I’ll have a look at the bodies once more before they’re picked up to see if I can find any injection sites.”
Bobbie was regrettably very much aware of how long it could take to get test results from the state lab. “I appreciate it.” She fought a wave of weariness. She needed to eat and shower. She was beat. “You checked on the Parker boy today?” Dr. Upchurch had called Bobbie to let her know that Carroll had offered to drop by the hospital and follow up with Sage.
“He’s doing really well, considering. Dr. Upchurch mentioned you’d rather he not be released today. I assume it’s okay to sign off on his release tomorrow? You know those pesky insurance companies don’t like patients staying any longer than necessary.”
“That works.” Pesky insurance companies were something else Bobbie was well aware of. Her months of rehab had come with loads of insurance issues. “As soon as he’s released we’re planning to move him and his aunt to a safe house until we determine whether or not he’s in danger.”
The feds were picking up the tab for the safe house, which was actually a suite at the Renaissance downtown. Lieutenant Owens had ensured an MPD officer would be posted at the room along with two FBI agents assigned to the boy’s protection detail.
“Your partner, Detective Devine,” Carroll said, “is convinced the unusual pattern made by the blade used on the Parkers is significant. One of the evidence techs—Andy—took extensive photos of the wounds.”
Andy Keller was the best. He was also determined to spend time with Bobbie. She agreed to dinner occasionally. He’d done her far too many favors to ignore his requests. She only wished she could make him understand that being friends was the most she could offer him or anyone else. The image of Nick Shade pushed into her thoughts. Not meant to be.
“You never know what piece of evidence will make the difference,” Bobbie said. Devine could be onto something. She thought of Hanover with all his swords and daggers. Whatever Hanover’s game she had to separate her personal feelings from the job. Not always easy. Particularly since the man seemed to know how to hit just the right spot for a reaction.
“You know—” Carroll closed the folder and braced her arms on her desk, drawing Bobbie from the troubling thought “—I remember what you did in junior high.”
“I hope I won’t be too embarrassed.” Bobbie was relatively certain Carroll wouldn’t be interested in hearing what she remembered.
“You kicked Shane Culver’s butt for calling me names.” Carroll smiled. “It’s the only time I ever felt like I had a real friend and I barely knew your name.”
Bobbie smiled, something she did a little more of lately. “I never could abide a bully.”
“I wasn’t surprised that you became a police detective.” She gave a nod. “The job suits you.”
Bobbie appreciated that the other woman didn’t mention the more recent appearances in the newspaper. “Thanks.”
Carroll’s face clouded with regret and Bobbie realized she had not dodged that bullet. “What happened,” Carroll said carefully, “was...unimaginable. Your courage and strength amaze me.”
If only she was as strong and courageous as everyone seemed to think. Bobbie gave Carroll a nod and stood. “Let me know what you find. I won’t hold my breath on the test results.”
“I’ll push them as hard as I can,” Carroll assured her.
They didn’t speak as they made their way back to the front entrance. When Carroll had unlocked and opened the door, Bobbie said, “Thanks again.”
“Anytime.”
As Bobbie walked away she heard the locks click into place behind her. Considering the stack of files on her desk, she imagined Carroll would be burning the midnight oil. Bobbie would be doing the same thing no matter how exhausted she was.
She climbed into her Challenger and started the engine. She had the case files Devine had sent her on the killers their perp appeared set on copying. Whoever had executed three people and abducted two others in the past forty-eight hours had familiarized himself with the MOs and signatures of the killers he wanted to imitate. The abductions were a big deviation. Neither the Seppuku Killer nor the Pretty Boy Killer had taken victims without killing them right away.
Whatever reason this killer or killers had for taking Fern and Vanessa, Bobbie hoped like hell they could find them before the bastard carried out the next step in his plan. Maybe there was more to those two killers than could be found in the reports. When she spoke to Nick she could get the whole story from him. She remembered the wall of information he’d gathered on the Storyteller. He would know far more than any of the databases or case files she could explore. This morning he’d confirmed that she had the right phone number. When she got home if he wasn’t there waiting for her, she would call.
As she drove, her mind drifted back two months to all the times he had showed up at her house in the middle of the night. She’d been so focused on having her revenge against the Storyteller she hadn’t wanted Nick’s interference. She’d told him more than once to stay away. How else was the Storyteller supposed to get close to her? Nick had refused to go away. As much as he had wanted to get the Storyteller for his own reasons, he’d been determined to keep Bobbie safe. She sure as hell hadn’t cared whether she lived or died...as long as the Storyteller died first.
Turning onto Gardendale, she slowed. As always the house at the end of the street was lit up like a beacon in the darkness. Javier Quintero’s place was the farthest thing from a safe harbor as could be found in any neighborhood in this city. Quintero and his gang ran the organized illegal activities on this side of town, but no one could prove it. It was as if the man had an inside source within the department that kept him one step ahead of the law. Bobbie wanted to hate Javier but she couldn’t. He’d done her a tremendous favor two months ago and, sadly, she owed the man. One of these days he would call in that marker. She supposed as long as it wasn’t illegal she would reciprocate.
She pulled into her driveway and shut off the engine. Guilt immediately settled on her shoulders. Though he had food and water and access to the backyard, she felt bad she’d been gone fourteen hours. Poor D-Boy. At least he was no longer chained to a porch as he’d been with his previous owner.
Her cell vibrated against her side as she climbed out. Don’t let it be another body. She didn’t immediately recognize the number but the out-of-state area code was a familiar one. “Gentry.”
“We need to have a conversation, Bobbie.”
Special Agent Anthony LeDoux. Bobbie bit back the immediate response she wanted to hurl at him. “No kidding.”
“I would have thought you’d learned something from your last involvement with a serial killer.”
Bobbie jammed the key into her front door and gave it a twist. D-Boy waited for her on the other side. She scratched him behind the ears. “I think we both learned something.” She shut off the alarm system and locked the door during the ensuing silence. LeDoux shouldn’t dish it out if he couldn’t take it.
“I thought we were friends, Bobbie. Why didn’t you call me when Weller contacted you?”
“Don’t try the guilt thing with me, LeDoux, you started this.” There was absolutely no reason for him to call the chief and tell him about her visit to Weller. “You could have called me.”
“I’m trying to help you, Bobbie. You can’t go visiting an asset of the Bureau’s without having your name pop up in places it shouldn’t. If I hadn’t called Chief Peterson, someone else would have. I was able to frame the situation a little more to your advantage.”
Bobbie suspected there might be some truth in his words. “So why didn’t you mention the rest?”
She tossed her keys onto the table next to the door and toed off her work shoes. As tired as she was, she should change clothes and go for a run. The nightly ritual went a long way in keeping her sane. She’d been letting other things get in the way too often lately.
“Your chief doesn’t have clearance.”
Shrugging out of her jacket as she made her way to the bedroom, Bobbie laughed. “But I do?”
“Weller was properly reprimanded for violating the terms of his agreement with the Bureau. This is the second time he’s crossed the line. He’s skating on thin ice.” LeDoux made a sound that failed the definition of a laugh. “He should have been exterminated years ago.”
She hung her jacket in her closet and moved to the bed. “What was the other violation?” She placed her Glock on the bedside table, then crouched down to loosen the ankle holster.
“Your friend Nick Shade visited him back in August when Perry was in Montgomery. He asked the old man for help.”
Bobbie stilled, her fingers on the belt at her waist. “Weller is his father, why would his visit be a violation?” She held her breath as she waited for LeDoux’s answer. She could think of one very large reason—Weller had murdered his mother and Nick had been the one to out the heinous serial killer.
“He can visit his daddy—not that he ever has—but Weller isn’t allowed to pass along information, particularly information about criminals or crimes he hasn’t even shared with the Bureau.”
“Information about another serial killer?” Bobbie’s heart was pounding. Nick had told her he was going to a source for information on the Storyteller. Had he really visited his father for the first time just to help her? Or maybe he’d wanted to stop the Storyteller that badly. Either way, the impact of that news shook her.
“I’m afraid I can’t say. Why don’t you ask your friend the serial killer hunter?”
Bobbie bit back the response she really wanted to make. LeDoux had nothing to do with Weller or this case. Why was he suddenly involved? “What’s going on, LeDoux? Why are you a part of this? And what is this so-called Consortium?”
Silence filled the line once more. Images of the time she and LeDoux had spent chained in that desolate place crashed through her mind. It was a miracle either of them had gotten out alive. Others hadn’t been so lucky.
“Like I said,” LeDoux answered finally, “I’m trying to help you. He’s using you, Bobbie. We don’t know why just yet, but that’s the only thing you can be sure of. This business about a consortium of serial killers is bullshit. It doesn’t exist.”
“I don’t need you trying to protect me, LeDoux.” She endured enough of that from the chief. She was a highly trained, seasoned detective. She could take care of herself. She pulled the clip loose from her hair and tossed it aside.
“We have to stick together against them, Bobbie. They’re not like us... Shade is not like us. You shouldn’t trust him, either.”
“How can you say that after the way he saved both of us?” The man was unbelievable. Frustrated, she headed for the kitchen. She needed to eat. D-Boy raced ahead of her, hoping for a treat.
“Just be careful, Bobbie.”
She opened her mouth to demand what he had to do with any of this since he’d ignored her the first time she asked, but the man leaning against the counter in her kitchen temporarily stole her ability to speak.
Nick Shade.
“I have to go,” she said to LeDoux. The agent was still ranting at her when she hit the end call button. “Hey,” was all she could think to say. D-Boy sat at his feet as if Nick was his long-lost master.
“What does LeDoux want?”
Bobbie considered lying but he would know. Nick could read her like an open book. She suspected he could do the same with anyone. “He told the chief about my visit to Weller.”
“LeDoux doesn’t want you to get yourself killed.” Nick gestured to the paper bag on the counter. “I thought you might be hungry.”
Out of habit she started to deny his assessment but her stomach rumbled and her mouth watered.
“Thanks.” She propped against the counter and reached into the bag. Chicken sandwiches and chips. She passed one of the sandwiches to him. “I guess you heard about the latest homicide.” It wasn’t a question. Nick Shade had connections.
“The Pretty Boy Killer was my fourth hunt.” Nick peeled the wrapper from the sandwich. “Apparently he isn’t going in any particular order.”
Bobbie swallowed the first bite and resisted the urge to moan. “I remember headlines about the Seppuku Killer, but not the other one.”
“The Seppuku Killer had a higher body count and his victims were headline makers, like the Parkers. You would remember him.”
Since their earlier conversation was interrupted, she still didn’t know his thoughts on Weller’s story. “LeDoux says the Consortium doesn’t exist.”
“He’s right.” Nick sank his teeth into his sandwich instead of saying more.
She needed way more than that. Why would Weller make up a shadowy organization to explain the threat to Nick? How would such misleading information help her keep Nick out of danger? “Then he’s baiting you,” she reasoned. Using me.
“It’s working.”
Nick was Weller’s son but he was also responsible for his arrest. Maybe this wasn’t about protecting Nick. After all, could a psychopathic serial killer really love anyone? Weller’s reaching out to Bobbie and the murders could very well be about vengeance. But why wait all these years?
“Do you think Weller is behind the murders somehow?”
His dark gaze settled on hers, searching, analyzing as if her every thought and feeling were right there in front of him. “I’m not certain yet what his involvement is.”
She moistened her lips and reached for the courage to ask the questions that had burned in her brain since the day Nick left. “Was he...a good father before?” She shrugged, knowing the words weren’t coming out right. She wanted to know more about Nick. He certainly knew everything about her. “I mean did he appear to be a good father? Did he go through the expected motions? Teach you how to play baseball? Take you fishing?”
Nick finished his sandwich and wadded the wrapper into a tight ball. “He was average, I guess. Though he didn’t do sports. My mother took up his slack when it came to outdoor activities.” He shrugged. “He came home in the evenings. Listened to whatever my mother and I wanted to talk about over dinner. He was patient.”
The memories visibly confused or unsettled him. “The details you recall don’t fit with what you know he is.”
He braced his hands wide apart on the counter and leaned against it, then shook his head. “He didn’t miss the important events at school. He always did exactly what he said he was going to do. I have no memory of hearing my parents argue.” He looked away. “And then one morning she was gone. He said she left during the night. Some of her clothes were gone. Her purse and jewelry. We never heard from her again.”
The pain in his voice was one Bobbie recognized all too well. She could imagine the little boy trying to be strong, hoping to hold on to his father’s approval after his mother had vanished. Had his father—the heinous serial killer—held him and promised him everything would be okay?
“You were a kid. Ten years old? Who took care of you while he was at work?” When her mother had died, her aunt Sarah had picked her up from school and did many of the things her father couldn’t do because of work. “Did you have any other family to help out?”
“Just the two of us. He moved his office to the house and I came home every day to a parade of patients, one every hour like clockwork.”
Bobbie had read that before his downfall Weller volunteered several hours a week at the very prison where he now resided. Even then the FBI and other law enforcement agencies had relied on his superb insight and opinions. How ironic. The very man whose opinions waxed so brilliantly about the subjects he evaluated had been committing shocking murders right under their noses. She studied the man who had been the little boy living with the most evil monster of all. How had he survived?
“Don’t waste your sympathy on me, Bobbie.” His voice was low, quiet and far too knowing.
“You spent all those months feeling sorry for me and I can’t feel sorry for you,” she countered. Nick had visited her in the hospital after she escaped the Storyteller. Bobbie didn’t actually remember, but his promise to stop the serial killer who’d stolen her life had found a place deep inside her and lodged there. “Don’t even try to say you didn’t.”
Hell, the whole world had felt sorry for her.
“Most of the time what I felt was respect and admiration.”
The confession took her by surprise. She decided to take the compliment for what it was and move on. “Are you planning to stay in town for a while or are you just passing through?”
He’d ignored her when she’d asked him the same question this morning. As much as she feared the danger was all too real and that it would have been better if he hadn’t come, she couldn’t deny being glad to see him or that she hoped he stayed. She hadn’t expected to feel this...attraction...to him or anyone, for that matter. She’d spent so long being angry and sad and filled with the need for vengeance she’d thought she couldn’t feel anything beyond those three painful emotions. He made her feel...more. What the more was remained unclear at this point but she wanted to explore whatever it was.
“Do I have a choice?”
She wanted to insist that of course he had a choice. He could disappear and never look back, rendering any efforts by this killer—whoever the hell had sent him—pointless. But he wouldn’t do that. He would stay and fight and protect her, damn it.
“I suppose not.” She thought of the two missing women and said, “There was a major deviation from the MOs of both the Seppuku and the Pretty Boy Killers.”
“The Parker girl is still missing?”
Bobbie nodded. “A woman who was with Manning when he was murdered is missing, as well.”
“Is there anything at all that connects the two?”
“Not that we’ve found so far.”
He drew back and reached for the bottle of water on the counter.
“If Weller is behind all of this, why would he reach out to me?”
“He’s curious about you, I imagine.”
“Why?” Every part of her stilled in anticipation of his answer.
His gaze locked on hers and the ability to breathe vanished. “Because I’ve never allowed a personal involvement before. He can’t stand not knowing what you are to me.”
She held her breath. “And what is that?”
He downed another swallow of water before resting his gaze on her once more. “Someone who means a great deal to me.”
She managed to draw air into her lungs despite the tightness in her chest. “You think he would really send a killer after his own son?”
“Yes.”
It was a simple word, only three letters. It was the utter certainty and complete lack of emotion in his voice that levied a kind of devastation that she couldn’t fully quantify.
“Okay.” She squared her shoulders. “I should tell the team what we’re looking at.”
“You should. LeDoux needs to push Weller for answers.”
Bobbie glanced at the clock. She hadn’t realized how late it was. “Tomorrow will be soon enough, I guess.” She shook her head to try and clear it. “So, are you staying at the Economy Inn this time?”
The memory of that wall in his room where he’d compiled all he had learned about the Storyteller quickened her pulse. Would he do the same this time? More important, would he allow her to be a part of it? Damn it, she was a part of this. She would not permit him to leave her out.
“If they have a vacancy. I haven’t checked.”
One, two, five seconds lapsed. “My couch is vacant.”
Inside, she cringed. Friends did that, though, right? He needed a place to stay; she had an empty couch. It was the right thing to do. Besides, the proximity could help keep her in the loop.
“How can I refuse such a generous offer?” A smile tipped one corner of his mouth.
His smiles were so very rare even the ghost of one was startling. “Good.” She nodded, repeating the word over and over in her head. This was good. She could keep an eye on him if he stayed at her place. “First one up feeds D-Boy and lets him out.”
Still sitting at attention near Nick’s feet, the animal swept his tail back and forth over the worn floor at the sound of his name.
Nick gave the dog’s head a rub. “Glad to see he has a good home.”
She smiled. “A friend suggested I get a dog.”
For another of those long lapses of silence they held each other’s gaze. The foolish need to reach out to him nudged her, but neither of them was ready for that. Maybe they never would be. They were both so broken.
“Well...” She drew in a deep breath. “I should call it a night. There’s an extra house key in the drawer by the stove. The code for the security system is Newt1. You’ll find a pillow and blanket in the hall closet.” She nodded. “Good night.”
She turned her back and headed for her room. If she could just get inside and close the door she might be able to avoid hugging him or something equally embarrassing. She was tired and vulnerable. Never a good combination.
“Thank you.”
She hesitated, told herself to keep walking. Couldn’t. Slowly, she met his gaze once more, her heart pounding hard enough to fracture her sternum.
“For what?”
“For caring enough to drive all the way to Atlanta and face the monster who stole my life.”