CHAPTER 12
Derek tried to come up with an innocent reason for a random person to walk through a bug-and-reptile-infested swamp at night, singing a weird-ass song as he went.
He couldn’t think of a single damn one.
Whoever the singer was, he had to be involved with Andrews’ murder. And judging by the strange tone of the voice that was pitched high like a child’s, he might very well be crazy. Crazy, violent, and armed with a knife he’d used to stab a man in the back.
Part of him wanted to plant himself in the center of this path and confront the monster emerging from the black lagoon. But he didn’t want Kate in the line of fire, and he didn’t want to leave her alone.
“We need to hide,” she whispered, grabbing his arm.
He sneered at the suggestion that he hide from this evil-on-two-legs.
“Derek, come on. It’s not because I’m scared. We have to watch and see who it is! If he catches sight of us, he’ll run and we’ll be back to a swamp chase.”
Of course. This singing psycho had stayed ahead of them for hours the last time. They couldn’t risk scaring him off.
As usual, she was absolutely right. Smart Kate. Sensible Kate. Brave, heartbroken Kate. The most remarkable woman he’d ever met.
The one he suddenly realized he had fallen in love with.
Fuck of a time to figure that out.
“Let’s go,” he snapped, taking her hand and dragging her with him into a dense, muddy stand of cypress and black gum trees. He’d put the flashlight in his pocket when he carried her outside, which was probably a good thing considering its beam might have travelled far and warned off the approaching man. But the darkness made running a bitch, and they both stumbled as brush and vines leapt up from the ground like thorny barbed wire and tried to drag them down.
Finally reaching the biggest tree in view, the one with the widest trunk, he led her around it, right into a pond. His boots squelched as he sank to his shins in stagnant water. A frog leapt out of the way, an angry bat swooped overhead, and something long and slim slithered into the lily-pad covered pool behind them.
Praying their fast dash hadn’t warned off the man with the almost childish voice, he peered around the tree, eyeing the path.
He’s done gone to seek a wife, then he’ll kill her with a knife, that’s where he’s gone, darlin’ Billy.
The ugly song was growing louder. Thankfully, their quick dash hadn’t alerted him to their presence. Turning to face Kate, he laid a finger across his lips. She nodded, understanding.
He drew his gun. They waited, barely breathing. Seconds ticked by in his brain, at least sixty of them. At ninety, Derek became aware of a change in the quality of the light. The tree canopy had not blown open and suddenly flooded the area with moonlight. This was man-made.
Moving slowly, an inch at a time, he peered around again. The person they sought had come close enough to reveal a swinging lantern hanging from what looked like a cart, or a big wheelbarrow. The dark figure pushing it was hunched forward, straining under the weight of whatever it contained. His head was down, his face in shadow.
Look up, God damn you. You know you want to look over at that hellhole building, at the spot where you killed him.
As if Derek’s mental orders had shot straight into the man’s brain, he suddenly did raise his head. But he didn’t look toward the building where he’d murdered Andrews. Instead, he swung the other way and peered directly toward the trees where they stood. Like an animal, he had sensed danger and gone on alert. The twisted song died and the night was filled with nothing but the creaks of trees and the croaks of animals.
Derek froze, cursing the darkness. The position of the lantern made the person behind it difficult to make out. He could determine the man was tall. He wore a floppy hat and a long coat that flapped around his shins. It gleamed, reflecting the lantern’s light, and he suspected it was made of plastic or some waterproof material. That would make cleanup easier and more discreet.
This motherfucker might sound crazy, but he was sane enough to take precautions.
The man from the swamp lowered his cart and stepped to the side of it. He had his back to Derek, which increased the frustration. A hand went up and unfastened the lantern, taking it off the cart and lifting it high.
Finally, he turned around, revealing his face.
Revealing the truth.
Derek flinched. Even as his mind tried to comprehend what he was seeing, he forced himself to freeze. If he’d jerked harder, he might have bumped into Kate, or splashed the water, giving away their position to the man he now recognized.
He’d expected to see someone connected with the school.
He just hadn’t expected it would be him.
As the killer turned away and shone the lantern in another direction, Derek peered at Kate, seeing her wide, frightened eyes. She lifted her shoulders, asking a silent question. Derek leaned toward her, and she turned her head so his lips touched her ear.
He breathed the truth to her. “It’s Chester Slate. The school custodian.”
Her mouth fell open. She obviously remembered the man. Considering Slate was at least seventy, her surprise probably matched his own.
Was it really possible Slate could be a serial killer, murdering strong, teenage boys? Or had Derek overlooked some reasonable excuse for someone to be out here this late? The man was a custodian and did all the odd jobs around here. By some insane chance, did he come into the swamp to dump garbage or tree trimmings?
They had to know, to be absolutely certain. He couldn’t confront the older man with his suspicions yet. If tonight proved to be a bust, they found nothing concrete, and he had to go back to his instructor job tomorrow, Derek needed to maintain his cover. And if Slate were a killer, he couldn’t just pull a gun on him and order him to freeze. The man knew every inch of this swamp, judging by the chase he’d led them on before. He could melt away in the darkness and the trees before Derek even had time to line up a shot.
He tucked the .9mm into the back of his pants and waited.
After turning in a slow circle, examining everything around him, Slate finally decided he was safe. He reattached the lantern, moved behind the cart, and began struggling to push it up the narrow path again. The weight of the thing made it sink down into the mud below, but the old man got it moving. It rolled closer, and closer, until it was even with their hiding place. The lantern swaying above it shone a light on what was inside.
A fire kindled in Derek’s brain, threatening to ignite as he saw what he’d been looking for.
Kate saw it, too. Her gasp was soft, but not soft enough.
The man who’d killed Sam Andrews—whose limp, bloody remains lay haphazardly in the rusty, filthy cart—heard the noise, dropped the handles, and spun toward them.
Derek didn’t hesitate, launching from behind the tree and tearing through the muck. He was about twenty feet—less than ten seconds—away, and was determined to stop the man from fleeing. As he neared Slate and left his feet to dive on him, he realized ten seconds had been enough for Slate to draw a knife.
Hearing Kate’s warning scream from behind him, Derek managed to jerk himself to the side. Just enough to avoid a direct thrust, and only take a slice of his forearm. He still slammed hard into the man, sending them both flying.
“You evil son of a bitch,” he snarled. They went down hard, rolling through thorns. Derek’s right fist rammed into the bramble, and the jumbled vine wrapped tight, delaying the punch he intended to use to break this sick fucker’s jaw.
Slate took advantage of Derek’s forced immobility. Old he might be, but he was strong, with ropy muscles built by hauling dead bodies around. He fought back, jerking his knee up, trying to kick Derek in the groin. It was a near miss. Rolling back and forth, bucking, squealing like a wild animal, the killer fought hard to free himself. A surprisingly powerful punch landed on Derek’s stomach. Squealing with rage, Slate began to spit and scratch. He went for Derek’s face, clawing at him with long, yellowed nails that had smears of red underneath their tips. Only a quick jerk of his neck saved Derek’s eyes.
“Leave off me! Leave me go.” Slate twisted and struggled, wriggling like a snake. Derek grabbed the man by the neck with one hand, gripping hard. But Slate didn’t give up, continuing to struggle. He was hot, sweaty, and wearing that slick plastic coat. Somehow, he managed to strain hard enough to free his neck, and scrambled to escape from under Derek’s bigger, heavier body.
That’s when Kate literally stepped in. Her booted foot appeared from above them, and she stomped down brutally on Slate’s clawing hand. There was a cracking sound as something in that hand broke.
“Awwrgh! You broke my hand!”
“Shut up or I’ll break the other one,” she snapped, sounding as filled with fury as Derek.
“And then I’ll shatter every other bone in your body,” Derek snapped as he tried to grip him again. “Now stop struggling.”
The man was now hysterical, tears running down his dirty, bloody face, snot dripping from his nose. He began to scream. “I done it all, I done what I’se s’posed to do. I put them boys in the stewpot. You can’t hurt me no more. Don’t do it, don’t!”
Derek finally yanked his arm free of the undergrowth, losing a lot of skin but not giving a shit. Although Slate appeared to have lost his mind, and the fight had ended, he still reached for his gun.
“Derek, watch out for the knife!”
Derek saw the murderer’s uninjured hand grab the handle of his weapon, not so beaten down after all. Slate swung it in a high arc, aiming for Derek’s face, but almost hitting Kate’s leg instead.
That’s when Derek lost the last of his control. The idea that he’d even get near her with that filthy, bloody blade made him explode with rage. Drawing his arm back, he threw every ounce of fury he had into a punch that landed on the other man’s jaw and snapped his head back.
Slate screamed and dropped the knife. Derek got to his feet and kicked it out of the way, but not so far that the police wouldn’t be able to find it whenever they got out here to retrieve poor Andrews’ body.
The body. Derek had caught a glimpse of the remains when watching Slate come down the path. But he hadn’t entirely believed his eyes. He hadn’t wanted to.
Now, he had to know.
He looked over. What he saw almost made him vomit, and he had to turn away. He quickly stepped between it and Kate, not wanting her to see.
Derek had known what had happened to Andrews, he’d seen it happening. He just hadn’t realized the psychopathic bastard had done more to the teacher after his death.
“I hope you fry,” he snarled.
“In the stew pot. Chop ’em up and put ’em in the stew pot.”
“Why did you bring him back here? You dragged him into the swamp, why come back this way?”
The man just continued to mumble, “Stewpot. Goin’ in the stewpot.”
It was completely maddening, but Derek wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t an act. “I’m not falling for that again.”
“Chop it up. Dump it in. Make the stew. Skip to the Lou my darlin’.”
The truth hit him hard. The monster was answering his question.
Slate had dragged the body off somewhere to prepare it for the stew pot—the swamp that would suck Andrews down into its depths, ensuring he was never found. Loading the remains into the cart, he was bringing them back to whatever rancid hole he preferred.
That’s why Andrews’ body was in pieces.
That’s why this lunatic continued to screech the horrible song.
“I could kill you right now.”
“No, no, no. I’m good. I’m not bad. I done what I had to. Don’t hit me. Don’t kick me.”
Derek forced himself to stay in place, staring dispassionately down at the man responsible for the deaths of as many as a dozen people.
Slate was writhing on the ground, rolling, screaming. And once again…singing. The song had changed. “I’m home again, home again, jiggety jig! I’m home again, home again, jiggety jig! I’m home again, home again, jiggety jig!” The volume rose with every line until the children’s song was being screeched loud enough to frighten every bat above their heads and scurrying rodent below them. It was eardrum-breaking…and completely insane.
When Kate realized that the killer wasn’t going to get up again, she came over to Derek and reached for his arm. “He cut you. You’re bleeding.”
He shrugged. “It’s nothing.”
The two of them stood there, looking down at the deranged man whose song had devolved into a series of low, squeaking yips. He looked out of his mind, somewhere beyond this reality. But he’d looked that way once before.
Derek reached for his utility knife and bent down to cut several long vines, like the ones that had captured him. Slate ignored his order to roll over, so Derek nudged him with his boot. The man didn’t resist, flopping onto his stomach, still whimpering.
Bending down and pulling Slate’s arms behind his back, Derek looped the vine around his wrists several times. He was bound tighter than he would have been with handcuffs, and couldn’t possibly get free.
“He’s out of his mind,” Kate whispered. “He might have been able to hide it before, but tonight has completely broken him.”
“That your professional opinion?”
She slowly nodded, staring down at the man who had almost certainly killed her brother, assessing him far more calmly than he could have in her position. There was no pity in her gaze, nor, at this moment, hatred. She merely studied him as she would have a bug.
“He obviously hears commands from some frightening being, he retreats to a childlike state when threatened. He changes the pitch of his voice when he sings—as if he is playing all the different parts in a play going on in his mind.”
Yeah. That sounded pretty much like totally-crazy to Derek. Whether that made it easier to accept the man had murdered a loved one, he didn’t know. He only knew he would help Kate get through the days and weeks to come, when more truths were revealed. Including Isaac’s ultimate fate, and his resting place.
“That boy, that boy. A nice boy. Red hair like you.”
Kate and Derek both jerked their attention back toward Slate, who was now lying almost peacefully on his side, staring up at whatever madly-colored clouds circled in his madly-colored world.
Kate stepped toward the man. Derek put a hand on her arm, warning her not to get too close.
“What did you say? What about a red-haired boy?”
Derek had seen pictures of Isaac. His hair hadn’t been a striking auburn like his sister’s, more reddish-blond. But the words had been enough to catch Kate’s ear.
“Nice boy. But nosy. Nosy but nice.” A strange giggle. “Not bad. Not a crybaby. Not too weak to walk out of here and be a man.”
Kate looked at Derek, and he shrugged. I don’t understand.
“Too nice for the stewpot. Too nosy to stay home.”
Shaking off Derek’s arm, Kate went over to the killer and bent down beside him. Derek didn’t like her being that close, but knew he couldn’t have dragged her away if he tried.
“Are you talking about my brother? About Isaac?”
“Nice…nice boy. Polite.” Slate smiled and rolled over onto his back, apparently not bothered by his tied-up hands. “Never any trouble.”
Kate grabbed his face and forced him to look at her. “Tell me what you know about Isaac. Where is he? What did you do to him?”
He looked back at her, and a slow cognizance seemed to appear in his face. He tilted his head, studying her, looking at her eyes, and her hair. “Nice boy?”
“Yes. A nice boy. My brother was a very nice boy.” She sniffed. “He would never have hurt a fly. He was brave and good.”
“Nice boy. Not a loser. Not a crybaby. Not a whinersissystupidweakuselessnothing.”
“Talk to me,” she demanded, her hand tightening on the grizzled, dirty chin. “Tell me what you know!”
“Red-haired boy. That’s a nice boy…clean up after yourself, always a smile, always hello. Isaac. Nice boy him.”
She lurched back and fell on her ass. Derek dropped to her side, sliding a supportive arm around her shoulders. He didn’t tell her to stop, not now when she was on the verge of discovering something she desperately needed to know.
Kate was shaking, shuddering, and hoarse gasps came from her mouth. But she still managed to ask, “Is he…is Isaac in the stew pot?”
Slate smiled—truly smiled at her. “No, no, no. Nice boys go to sleep. Sweet dreams…rock-a-bye baby.”
“What do you…”
“Wish upon a star.” Slate’s eyes glazed, and he looked up again, into his own kaleidoscope sky. “Wish. When you wish. Wish upon a star.”
“Tell me!” She grasped the man’s shirt and pulled him up. “Tell me what you know.”
“Look, a mouse! Mouse has big ears. Put him in the stew pot with the baby boys.” A shrill laugh and he started singing again. “It’s raining, it’s pouring. It’s raining! It’s pouring!”
Derek’s heart broke for her when he realized the man had retreated into his own mind again. He was talking nonsense now, jumbling songs, muttering about colors and flying elephants, mixing children’s rhymes with vicious murders. It was, to put it in his words, a stew of gibberish.
He felt Kate sag against his body and knew she realized she wasn’t going to get the answers she sought. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
He held her for a minute, letting her bring herself under control, and then slowly helped her to her feet. “Come on, Katie. Let’s get this over with.”
Her reply was little more than a breezy whisper. “Okay.” She cleared her throat. “Yes, let’s. I’m ready to be finished with all of it.”
So was he. God, was he ever. Not for his own sake—not because by going undercover here he had been dipped in a pool of sludge and wasn’t sure he’d ever wash off the stench. But because he wanted that bleak, hopeless look in this woman’s eyes eradicated.
“Believe it or not, I’ve used my phone out here. I’ll call 911 and kick-off the final act of this drama.”
She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself, rubbing her hands up and down to warm her goosebumped skin. He pulled her into his arms, shared his warmth, and dropped his forehead against hers. They swayed together like that for a couple of much-needed, silent moments.
When they separated, Derek cupped her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. They were red, but not wet. He thought she might have finished with her crying for tonight. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t broken deep inside.
“You okay, Doc?”
She shook her head back and forth. “No, not really.”
As he’d suspected. “Are you gonna be okay?”
After a hesitation no longer than a heartbeat, she nodded.
“Yes. It might take a while, Derek. But I really think I will be.”
When Gabe got Derek’s call about the capture of the monster who’d been using the boy’s academy as a hunting ground, Julia was standing right beside him.
She had followed Liv and her husband home from the hospital after a long battery of tests, wanting to see if she could do anything else to help. Olivia was fine. The baby was fine. Stress and worry had caused Braxton-Hicks contractions, but once hours had gone by without any more, Liv had been released. Julia had been about to leave for home when Gabe’s phone rang and he read Derek’s name on the screen.
Now, after a brief conversation, Gabe was disconnecting his call, frowning as he looked back and forth between Julia and his wife. “You wanna tell me why Derek spent the evening up in some swamp, tracking down a boy-killing psychopath, who he tied up with a bunch of vines?”
Julia and Olivia exchanged a look. She saw her own relief mirrored in the blonde’s face. “He got him.”
“Thank God,” her pregnant coworker exclaimed.
“What else did he say?” Julia asked.
Shaking his head, well used to the investigators from Extrasensory Agents speaking in shorthand, he replied, “That he’s with your client and they’re both fine. That they’re sitting in the office of some furious school principal, talking to some small town local cops who don’t know their asses from gopher holes.”
Oh, Gabe. He certainly knew how to paint a picture with words.
“Go with him, Jules,” Olivia said, immediately standing up.
Gabe gaped at his wife. “I’m not going anywhere. Derek asked me to send somebody I trust up there.”
Olivia shrugged. “You’re more trustworthy than anybody I know.”
“I’m not leaving you, Liv. You just got out of the hospital.”
“I’m totally fine.” Her hand on her belly, she headed for the hallway of their lovely historic-district home, saying, “Julia, you must be starving. Let me make you a sandwich for the road.”
“Nah, I’m good. I grabbed something from the cafeteria.”
Gabe was shaking his head, completely overruled by his sweet wife. He obviously did not want to argue with her after the scare they’d had tonight, but wasn’t ready to do what she asked.
Now not having to make sandwiches, Olivia came back into the living room, putting both hands on her hips. She stared at her husband, a confused look on her face. “What are you waiting for?”
Gabe went to her. “I’m waiting for you to come to your senses and say you know there is no way I’m leaving.”
“That’s so sweet.” Liv rose on tiptoes and brushed her lips across his. Then she put her hands on his chest and shoved. “Now go.”
His jaw unhinged.
“Shut your mouth and let’s hit the road, big guy,” Julia said, trying to hide her laughter.
Olivia had that effect on people. The daughter of a wealthy political family she may be. But she had that steel spine of a true southern woman.
She always got her way. Always.
Which was why, about a half-hour later, Gabe pulled up to the front of the Fenton Academy, with Julia riding shotgun.
“Oh boy,” she whispered, seeing a half-dozen police cars lined up out front. Not one of them was from SCMPD.
Gabe noticed, too. “The local boys aren’t gonna be happy if I just barge in.”
“Derek told me they don’t even have their own detective squad. They always call you guys in anyway.”
“The key word being call. It’s not exactly polite to come on up here without an invite.”
“When has anybody ever accused you of being too polite, Cooper?” Julia said with a snarky grin. Hopping out of the car, she strode toward the entrance, knowing he would follow, which he did.
Walking inside, they were greeted by a rumble of voices talking over each other. Cops were arguing over conducting a search this late at night. A man she recognized as Richard Fenton was ordering everyone to remember that this was a school and they had to keep quiet.
Huh. Knowing what she did about the man, she suspected he was talking about more than a few raised voices and some sleeping teenagers. If Derek really had caught a murderer on the grounds of this place, Fenton was going to have to tap dance his way through the questions of some really angry parents. He would undoubtedly like to keep a lid on this whole thing.
Fat chance, dude.
“Here he is,” a man’s voice said, sounding relieved. “Thank you for coming, Cooper.”
Gabe nodded at the uniformed cop. “Glad to help.”
Julia caught his eye and smirked. Apparently an invitation had been issued, and Gabe was the first guest to arrive.
Looking around for a familiar face, Julia breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Derek standing at the far end of the hallway. His back was to her, his arm against the wall as he looked down at someone who had striking red hair.
“Looks like your bad-boy might have finally met his match,” a voice murmured.
She glanced over and saw Morgan standing right beside her. Glaring since he knew the rules—no appearing when other people were around, risking making her look stupid for talking to the air—she walked away from him without a word. Heading toward Derek and their client, she had to acknowledge Morgan might be on to something. Derek was almost huddled over the woman, protecting her from the noise and cacophony going on back in the lobby.
Lord, she hoped it was true. The first time she’d met Kate Lincoln she couldn’t help thinking what a nice match she would be for Derek. He was such a loner, with such damage. His day-to-day existence was a constant struggle against brutality. The last thing he needed was someone who brought more chaos and upheaval into his life. A calm, lovely, intelligent woman like Kate would smooth his edges. She would bring him back from whatever dark place he visited every day, would cool his heated dreams, and give him peace. She was, frankly, perfect for the man.
“It doesn’t bother you?”
Morgan again. She looked around, seeing a crowd ten feet behind her, and Derek and Kate twenty feet ahead. “What?” she whispered.
“That he’s found someone else?”
She frowned. She had often wondered if Morgan knew about her brief sexual affair with Derek. He’d never said anything, but his dislike of the other man had aroused her suspicions. Now, it appeared she’d been right.
“No,” she said, her voice low. “It doesn’t bother me at all. Derek was never in love with me, nor I him.”
“You could have been though.” Morgan’s perfect brow furrowed. “If I hadn’t been there. If I weren’t pulling you away from the real world and real people.”
“Oh shut up.” She rolled her eyes. “Nobody likes a self-deprecating ghost.”
He didn’t laugh, or even smile. He merely continued to stare at her, studying her face, her hair, her mouth, her throat. As if he had to memorize her. As if he needed to imprint her image on his mind.
As if he was preparing for a time when he would not see her.
“Don’t you dare,” she ordered. Realizing she’d spoken too loudly, she coughed into her fist, her head bent forward, her hair falling in her face. “We’re not having this conversation.”
“Julia…”
“Not now.”
“When?”
Never? Seven years ago? Five decades from tomorrow?
On the day she died?
“Go away, Morgan,” she ordered. “Derek and his girlfriend have been through hell tonight, and I need to be at my best to help them deal with the police and the fallout. So just…go away.”
He hesitated, looking into her eyes, his own dark and almost mournful.
“Julia!” a voice called, drawing her attention. It was Derek, who’d turned around and spotted her.
She waved at him and nodded at Kate, who offered her a weak smile. Before walking down to greet them, she knew she’d better try to smooth things over with Morgan.
“Hey, I didn’t mean…” Her words faded away as she looked at where he’d just been standing. She’d been talking to nothing but air. He’d gone away, just as she’d asked him to.
Her stomach lurched, and a momentary panic whipped through her. For quite some time now, Julia had the feeling Morgan thought he was doing her more harm than good. He hadn’t said it, but she knew him well after all these years.
Morgan was thinking of leaving forever.
And if he did, if he left her alone on this earth again, she didn’t think she would ever forgive him.
Although he’d been the man who captured the swamp killer, as the night wore on, Derek found himself fading into the background. That was just fine with him. He in no way wanted to be in the thick of that clusterfuck.
Everything had gone about as badly as he had thought it would when he took out his phone and called the police earlier tonight. After telling the 911 dispatcher there had been a murder, he’d half-led, half-dragged Slate along the path until they reached the school. Kate brought up the rear and watched the killer’s every move. Once they reached the driveway, Derek had pushed the murderer onto his butt on the ground. He and the strong woman he’d fallen hard for waited for help to arrive.
It had come quickly. As the blue strobes hit the windows, lights started going on within. On cue, pompous, sputtering Richard Fenton had marched outside in his bathrobe, demanding to know what was going on.
He’d shut up when Derek informed him the dismembered remains of one of his teachers were sitting in a cart a quarter-mile away.
When they’d seen the blood all over Slate, and heard his crazed mutterings, the responding officers realized this was no joke. Within minutes, every cop in town was on site.
The guys were in over their heads from minute one. They were unable to decide among themselves whether to take the still-tied-up Slate to their station, put him in a car, force him to lead them to the bodies of the missing kids, or lock him in a room in the school. It was a clown-car of uncertainty and arguing, and it did nothing except waste time and give him a headache.
Eventually, Derek had convinced them it was time to call in Savannah-Chatham. The minute the local chief agreed, Derek had called Gabe directly, asking for help.
That had been two hours ago. Since then, he’d never been gladder Olivia had married a Savannah detective. They were doubly lucky that Julia had tagged along and joined the fray, backing up Gabe until more detectives from his precinct arrived.
The minute Cooper had shown up, order had come over the place. A team was sent out to secure the crime scene. The headmaster was told to inform the staff and make plans for what to do about the students. Off-site faculty were being called in.
In the meantime, Slate, the cause of all this misery, had devolved into a strange, unmoving catatonia. His hair was bloodstained, gore was splattered on his coat and his hat, his body reeked of sweat and grime. But he just sat there, silent and motionless, looking like the statue of an old man. Not the monster he really was.
Because every officer from the town station was now on site, and there was not one armed person back at the jail to watch him, the decision was made to lock him in the headmaster’s office until they decided what to do with him. He should be in a psych ward, but there was blood in the water and everybody wanted answers from the man. They weren’t in a hurry to let him out of here.
Derek didn’t blame him. He hoped Slate would have one more moment of lucidity and could provide the answers Kate and so many other grieving family members would desperately want.
At around two a.m., Cooper came into the quiet, empty administrative lounge to check on them. Derek had been sitting on a lumpy leather couch with Kate while the action went on down the hall and outside. He hadn’t even considered leaving her alone. Holding her in the darkness, he’d urged her to try to get some rest, glad when she’d drifted off to sleep in his arms.
Tomorrow, the world would learn what had been happening here. Her brother’s name would be on every news channel in the country. Tonight might be the last night of peace she had for a long time.
“How’s it going?” he whispered.
“About like you’d expect when the Mayberry police find out there’s a serial killer lurking in their midst.”
“Mayberry my ass,” he muttered.
If they’d been doing their damn jobs when the disappearances were originally reported, a lot more boys might be alive today. Not to mention Sam Andrews.
“Everything all right with you two?”
“We’re fine. Glad you’re here.”
“Yeah, I guess it’s a good thing you called me,” Gabe said. “Forensics is on the job. Jesus, what a mess. That sum’bitch is downright evil.”
Kate moaned and shifted. Derek pulled her closer.
“Listen, why don’t you two get outta here?” the detective said. “The focus tonight is on the Andrews crime scene. There won’t be any searches for, uh, other victims until daylight.”
Julia must have told Gabe about Kate’s connection to this case. He didn’t say anything more, nothing about chopped up bodies being dumped in gator-infested waters.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Derek said. He was exhausted, sore and bruised from the short fight with Slate. Heartsick and saddened for Kate.
“I’ll call you and fill you in tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, just get her home.”
“I will.”
Gabe opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could, a loud shriek echoed from somewhere in the school. The cop went on alert, sprinting out the door. Kate lurched up, her hand clutching her heart.
“What was that?”
“I don’t know.”
They got up together and walked out of the room. Cops were running, shouting, all of them talking about something that had happened in the headmaster’s office, which was close to where they stood.
“Slate,” Derek said.
“Oh my God, did he escape?” Kate looked around frantically. “The boys! Someone has to go up and protect them.”
As another cop went running by, Derek barked, “What is it? What’s going on?”
The guy skidded to a stop. Apparently recognizing Derek, he said, “It’s the swamp killer. He offed himself.”
“What?”
“They’re saying he stuck a pen in his neck. Bled out.” The uniformed officer took off again, joining the crowd surrounding the entrance to the administrative offices.
Derek was stunned into silence. Looking at her, he realized Kate was as well.
How the fuck could that man have managed to commit suicide? After the detectives had untwined his wrists, they’d slapped cuffs on him. Gabe had said they’d ankle-cuffed him to a heavy metal radiator. Slate shouldn’t have been able to move more than a few inches, so how could he have stabbed himself in the throat, with a pen no less?
“Derek? Did he really say what I think he said?”
He braced her elbows. “Yes. It sounds like that sick bastard took the easy way out, rather than face up to what he did.”
She blinked a few times, whether in shock, in loss, or in exhaustion, he didn’t know. He only knew that when she looked at him and calmly said, “I think I’d like to go home now,” he was damn well going to take her. And nobody in this place had better dare try to stop him.