Dead By Morning

Chapter 34

He would not depend on underlings to make this very important telephone call, as he had originally planned. No, he had decided that he wanted the pleasure of issuing this specific order himself. As he placed the call, he thought about Griffin Powell, a man he hated with every fiber of his being.

“I assume that Shiloh Whitman is dead, isn’t she?” he asked the moment his puppet inside Griffin’s Rest answered. “If you lie to me, I will know.”

“Yes. I did what you told me to do and I expect you to keep your part of our bargain. Don’t hurt her. Please. Let her go.”

“No one has hurt her. She is alive and well. And as long as you continue to follow my instructions, no harm will come to her.”

“I was told that if I killed—”

“Be very careful what you say. You do not want to be overheard, do you? It would be a shame if anyone found out what you had done, at least not before you are able to give me everything I want in exchange for what you want.”

“I am not going to kill anyone else for you!”

“Yes, you are, if you ever want to see her alive again.”

“Damn you!”

He laughed, gaining great pleasure from having caused so much anger and pain to someone Griffin Powell trusted. “I’ve chosen your next target. This time I want you to strike a lethal blow a little closer to Griffin and Nicole. I want this kill to be more personal than all the others. It’s time to up the ante before the Grand Finale of Act I.”

“Why do you hate Griffin Powell so much?”

“My motives are of no concern to you. Your only purpose is to obey my orders.”

“I swear to God if you hurt her, if—”

“You are in no position to make threats. But I have no reason to kill her. She is nothing more than a means to an end. As long as you do what you’re told, she stays alive. Tell me that you understand.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good,” he said. “Now, while Griffin’s Rest is in a state of turmoil today, when no one is expecting another strike so soon, I want you to kill Maleah Perdue as soon as possible. Take her by surprise.”

“Maleah? You want me to kill Maleah? I can’t. I won’t.”

“Are you sure you are willing to trade one life for another? Does Maleah Perdue mean more to you than—?”

“How do you expect me to kill her in broad daylight with Powell agents and guards and the sheriff’s department covering every inch of Griffin’s Rest? It will be impossible to isolate her.”

“Find a way. If Maleah Perdue isn’t dead by morning, someone else who is very important to you will be.”

“No! God, no . . . I—I’ll do it. I’ll find a way.”

“Now, that’s what I want to hear. By following my orders, I will get what I want and you will get what you want.”

“What I want is for you to rot in hell, you son of a bitch.”

Luke had begun to think Meredith would sleep all night. She had certainly slept the day away. But she roused a little before seven and after freshening up, she met him downstairs for a bite of supper. She ordered tiger prawns for a starter, and then honey roasted ham, served with fried eggs, house fries, and baked beans. She ate like a ravenous wolf, as if she hadn’t eaten in days. Luke had settled for the homemade lasagna, and when Meredith had suggested dessert, they had both ordered the sticky toffee pudding.

Just as the waitress set their puddings in front of them, Luke’s phone rang. “Excuse me.” He removed the phone from his jacket’s inner pocket.

Meredith nodded. “Yes, of course.” She picked up the dessert spoon.

“Sentell here,” Luke said.

“We have a couple of possibilities,” Mitchum told him, skipping any preliminary pleasantries. “All parties who arrived by private plane in the specific twenty-four-hour period have been accounted for except two. A guy named Horacio Vasquez Luna. He has a Venezuelan passport and he was traveling with a female, supposedly his wife. No one by that name has checked into any hotels in or around London. He hasn’t rented a condo, a house or an apartment. And there is no record of a car service picking him up at the airport.”

“Any physical description?”

“Late fifties, heavyset, beard and mustache.”

“Our guy isn’t that old, but then we have reason to believe he’s a master of disguise. Keep looking for Luna,” Luke said. “Who’s the other possible?”

“A man named Zachary Fairweather. He had a British passport. Our report said early forties, average size. No one at Heathrow remembered much about him, but they all remembered his daughter.”

“His daughter?”

“What?” Meredith dropped her spoon in her halfempty pudding dish, the metal clinking against the china.

“Hold on a minute,” Luke told Mitchum. He asked Meredith, “Are you okay?”

“Whose daughter are you talking about?” she asked.

Glancing around the noisy pub, Luke realized that no one was paying any attention to them and figured that, over the loud din, it was highly unlikely anyone could hear more than a word or two of their conversation.

“A man who may be our guy got off a private plane at Heathrow last night, along with his daughter,” Luke told her. Before he could say more, her eyes widened and she suddenly turned as white as a sheet. “Damn, Meredith, don’t you pass out on me.”

“Luke . . . Luke . . .” She gasped for air. “His female companion. Not sex. Oh, God, oh God . . .”

“Pull yourself together.” He reached across the table and grabbed her hand. Then he said into the mobile phone, “Call me back in five—”

“There’s something else you need to know about Fairweather’s daughter,” Mitchum said. “She’s a child of six or seven.”

“Then Fairweather wouldn’t be our guy, would he?” Luke squeezed Meredith’s hand and then released it. “He would hardly be traveling with a kid.”

“I don’t know,” Mitchum said. “Can you think of a better cover?”

“His female companion is a little girl,” Meredith said in a strong voice. And when Luke nodded, she told him, “Don’t hang up. Find out everything about this man right now.” She offered Luke a weak smile. “I’ll be all right.”

“Anything else?” Luke asked Mitchum, all the while looking directly at Meredith.

“Zachary Fairweather hired a car,” Mitchum said. “We’ve been able to trace the route the car traveled out of London.”

“And?” Luke prompted.

“Fairweather rented a black Mercedes C220 Europcar.” Mitchum recited the tag number. “He took M10 north out of London.”

Well, I’ll be damned. North of London, just as Meredith had said.

“Run a detailed check on Fairweather.”

“I have people working on that as we speak.”

“Contact me again when you have more information on both Luna and Fairweather.”

“Fairweather,” Meredith whispered the name. “Fairweather.”

“What about him?” Luke asked.

“Forget about the man named Luna. Concentrate on Fairweather.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Luke relayed the message to Mitchum, ended the conversation, and stared at Meredith. “You’re picking up on something, aren’t you? What happened? What got your woo-woo mojo working again?”

“Tell me everything Mitchum told you and don’t leave out even the most insignificant detail.” She shoved back her chair and stood. “We need to leave now. We have to go farther north as soon as possible.”

By late afternoon, the invasion of Griffin’s Rest by what seemed to be half the law enforcement personnel in the state of Tennessee had begun to wane. Sheriff Fulmer was still with Griff, the two overseeing every aspect of the investigation, but only a CSI team and a few deputies remained on the property. Shiloh’s body had already been taken to the lab in Knoxville for an autopsy. The detectives had questioned everyone there at the compound, beginning with the guard who had found Shiloh’s body. And Sanders had followed up with interviews of his own.

Maleah had spent most of the day glued to Nic’s side, the two women supporting each other. And Derek had been going over the personal files of everyone living and working there at Griffin’s Rest, searching for anything that might alert him to a problem. Every guard employed by the Powell Agency who had undergone a thorough background check before being hired and, to a person, each man and woman now working at Griffin’s Rest had been with the agency for years. There was not one single new employee working there at present.

As for the Powell agents on duty at Griffin’s Rest . . .

Derek didn’t want to consider the possibility that one of them could have killed Shiloh Whitman. He knew these men and women and was on a first name basis with most. In his opinion, both personally and as a professional profiler, they were all good people. Not one of them would kill without just cause.

Or unless they were under duress, forced to act against their will.

“Hey you.” Instantly recognizing Maleah’s voice, Derek turned to glance at the open office door where she stood staring at him. “It’s about time for a late afternoon break, isn’t it?”

“Hi yourself.” He closed the file folder in front of him, shoved back his chair and stood. “What do you have in mind?”

She came over to him, lifted her arms up and around his neck and kissed him. As she ended the kiss, she murmured against his lips, “I still love you.”

He grinned as he cupped her butt. “I’m glad to hear it since it just so happens that I still love you, too.”

Maleah eased her arms downward and spread her hands out across his chest. “I wish we could pretend that everything is all right, that none of these horrible things have happened. I wish we could concentrate on each other and forget everything and everyone else.”

He reached up, took her hands in his hand, and held them between their bodies. “Want to get out of the house and leave all this behind for a while?”

“Is that possible? The grounds are crawling with law enforcement and—”

“I think we’re down to a few essential crime scene investigators for the most part.”

“I guess I’m behind on the latest. Nic and I have been holed up in Griff’s study for the past few hours.”

“How’s Nic doing?”

“She’s tough. She’ll be okay. She’s worried about Griff more than anything else,” Maleah said. “He just came back up to the house and found us in the study. So, I thought I’d make myself scarce and give Nic time alone with her man while I went to look for my man.”

“Your man, huh? I like the sound of that.”

She pressed her cheek against his. “Don’t remind me later on that I ever said this, but . . . I need you, Derek. I need for you to hold me and tell me that everything is going to be all right.”

“In case you didn’t already know it, Blondie, I need you just as much as you need me.” He tugged on her hands. “Come on, let’s go outside and sit on the patio. We can breathe in a little fresh air and soak up some sunshine while we’re holding on to each other.”

As they made their way through the house like two kids rushing away from school to play hooky for the day, they crossed paths with Sanders and Barbara Jean, who were walking toward the kitchen. Brendan Richter and Shaughnessy Hood were following them.

“We’re all in need of a caffeine pick-me-up. I’m going to put on a couple of pots of coffee,” Barbara Jean said. “There will be plenty in the kitchen if y’all want some.”

“Thanks,” Derek replied.

A few minutes later, Derek and Maleah found the patio deserted. There wasn’t another person, not even a Powell Agency employee or a sheriff’s deputy, anywhere in sight. Derek guided Maleah to the canopied swing at the edge of the huge brick and stone floored patio that overlooked the lake. He sat down and pulled her onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder.

“We should be talking about you and me and being in love and what we’re going to do about how we feel,” Derek said. “But instead of being able to focus on the two of us, we’re embroiled in what would appear to be a never-ending nightmare.”

“God, Derek, who could have killed Shiloh Whitman?”

He hugged her to him and nuzzled her cheek, his actions comforting. “I don’t believe it’s possible that anyone from the outside could have somehow gotten through security and into Griffin’s Rest.”

“I think you’re right, so that means . . .” She paused, obviously reluctant to say aloud what they both knew to be true. “That means whoever killed Shiloh is either working here or lives here.”

“I’ve spent most of the afternoon going over the personal files on every guard and every agent who is here at Griffin’s Rest right now.”

“I can’t believe that it’s one of the agents. It couldn’t be.” Maleah lifted her head and looked at Derek, her eyes wide and round. “What about one of Yvette Meng’s protégés?”

“I seriously doubt that one of them killed Shiloh.”

“No, I didn’t mean I thought one of Shiloh’s fellow students killed her. What I was thinking, wondering really, is why didn’t Yvette or any of her other students sense that Shiloh was in danger? They’re a group of psychics, aren’t they? You’d think one of them would have seen it coming.”

“I’m not sure I can explain it,” Derek told her. “But as far as I know, neither Yvette nor any of her protégés claim to be able to see into the future and predict events that haven’t happened.”

“I don’t understand all that psychic stuff.”

“Psychic talents are like any other talents, no one person can do everything. Just as other people are sculptors or painters or writers or musicians, these people have specific gifts, too, and it all falls under one heading.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“And it is my understanding that Yvette strictly forbids her students to intrude on the private thoughts of others. She’s trained them to control any mind reading or empathic abilities.”

Maleah laid her head back on Derek’s shoulder. “Do you think the killer could be one of the guards?”

“Possibly.”

“I refuse to believe that the killer could be one of the agents,” she said adamantly.

“I think at this point, the only people we can rule out completely are you and me, Griff and Nic, and Yvette, Sanders, and BJ.”

“It doesn’t make sense. What possible reason would anyone have to kill Shiloh? Why her?”

Maleah burrowed closer into Derek, as if she could draw strength from his body. He stroked her silky hair and pressed his cheek against the top of her head.

“I’ve given it a great deal of thought,” Derek told her. “And the only thing that makes sense is that Linden or York or whoever is running this horror show forced one of the guards or one of the agents to kill.”

“How could he force them to kill against their will?”

“I’m not sure. He would need some type of leverage.”

“A threat, maybe.” She lifted her head. Her gaze locked with Derek’s. “If he has threatened to harm someone they love, a member of their family, then that type of threat would be some mighty powerful leverage, wouldn’t it?”

Luke had gone through three traffic circles and headed due north from St. Albans, straight toward the next village—Harpenden. And that’s where they had been for the past few hours, driving up one street and down another.

Hunting.

Up High Street until it turned into Luton Road. Then they had back-tracked toward town, taking side streets to investigate every psychic twitch Meredith had. Vaughn Road. Leyton Road. Bower’s Parade. And all the while, they had both been on the lookout for a black Mercedes.

Searching.

“It’s nearly midnight,” Luke told her. “I say we call it a night, check into a hotel and get a fresh start in the morning.”

“No, Luke, please. I know I’m not wrong about this. I know they’re here somewhere. We can’t give up.”

“We’re going around in circles now,” he said. “I’m surprised the local police haven’t stopped us to ask what the hell we’re doing. I saw what looked like a really nice hotel right off High Street, someplace called Eagle Glenn Manor.”

“Another thirty minutes,” she pleaded. “Take one of the roads leading out of town. I think if they were in town anywhere, I’d have sensed it by now.”

“Thirty more minutes isn’t going to matter. I’m tired. You’re exhausted. I don’t think you’ll last another thirty minutes.”

Disregarding her pleas for them to continue tonight, Luke headed for the hotel. Just as he turned off High Street onto Townsend Lane, his phone rang. He pulled into the hotel car park and stopped.

Meredith stared at him, her eyes suddenly bright with speculation, as if she knew the call was important. Or maybe she just hoped it was.

“Yeah, Sentell here.”

“We’ve got an address,” Mitchum said, then gave Luke the information. “It’s about a mile outside Harpenden. From the real estate photo, it’s a small cottage situated in a wooded area that is fairly secluded.”

“You’re sure about this?”

“The house was rented by a Zachary Fairweather for an entire month.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Meredith tugged on Luke’s arm. “He’s here, isn’t he? He’s in Harpenden or somewhere close-by.”

“Go ahead and put everything into play on your end. I’ll take it from here,” Luke told Mitchum. “And thanks.” He turned to Meredith. “I’ll check us into the hotel and get you settled before I leave.”

“Damn it, Luke Sentell, you’re crazy if you think you’re leaving me behind. I’m going with you.”

“Like hell you are.”

“Like hell I’m not.”

“I have a job to do, and your coming along for the ride will only complicate matters. Do you understand?”

“There is a child involved. When you rescue her, she’s going to be very, very scared. It will make things easier for her if I’m there, because I’m a woman and she’s more likely to trust me than you.”

As much as he hated to admit it, her lopsided logic made a weird kind of sense. “No way. You can do your nurturing female thing when I bring the child back here with me.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“I mean that I’m going with you and that’s that.”

“Meredith, I can’t do my job and worry about something happening to you.”

“I swear that I will stay in the car, with the doors locked. I’ll even lie down in the floorboard and hide if you want me to.”

“We’re wasting time arguing.” He held up his index finger and wagged it in her face. “You will stay in the car and out of my way, no matter what you hear or see.”

“I swear I will.”

“And when I bring the child out to the car, you will not ask me any questions about what happened.”

“I won’t. I swear.” She looked him square in the eye. “You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”

Luke didn’t answer. He put their vehicle in reverse, drove out of the car park and back onto Townsend.