Scream For Me

Chapter Nineteen

Tuliptree Hollow , Georgia , Thursday, February 1, 7:00 a.m.

Daniel walked to the ditch, the Review tucked under his arm. Ed was already down in it, watching as Malcolm and Trey lifted the newest body to a stretcher.

“Ed, come on up,” Daniel called. “I need to show you something.”

Ed scrambled up the wooden ramp they’d placed against the side of the ditch. “You know I’m fucking tired of finding bodies in blankets,” he said. He looked over at Daniel’s car where Alex sat huddled in one of Daniel’s overcoats. “How is she?”

Daniel looked over his shoulder. “She’ll be okay.” He handed Ed the paper. “Look.”

Ed’s eyes immediately widened. “Dammit. It’s the kid who bought the blankets.”

“And picked up Janet’s Z.” Daniel tapped the page. “Byline is you know who.”

Ed glared. “He’s up in that tree. I thought you might want to yank him down again.”

“That’ll be a pleasure. Take a look at the kid’s name.”

“Sean Romney, of Atlanta. So?”

“So… Woolf says here that Sean Romney is the grandson of Rob Davis of Dutton, who owns the damn Bank of Dutton. That makes Romney a second cousin to Garth Davis, the mayor of Dutton. That enough Duttons for you yet? I don’t want to make any accusations,” Daniel added in a whisper, “but Garth Davis graduated a year before Simon and Wade, but from Bryson Academy.”

Ed puffed out his cheeks. “The mayor? That’s going to be fun to prove.”

“We’ll talk more back at the office. Now I’m going to pull Woolf out of his tree.”

Woolf was climbing down when Daniel approached. “Goddammit, Jim. What’s gotten into you? Climbing trees like you’re twelve years old.”

Woolf shrugged. “I’m on public property, so you can’t make me leave. This is a fascinating story, Daniel. It needs to be told.”

Fascinating. Anger shot up in Daniel’s head like a geyser. “Damn you. Fascinating story. You tell that to the victims and their families. You’re getting your damn pictures from up in a tree. How sanitary, how damn nice. You come with me. You’re going to meet a victim up close and real personal.” He started walking, then turned. Woolf hadn’t budged. Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t make me drag you, Jim.”

Slowly Woolf followed, a mix of curiosity and apprehension on his face. Malcolm and Trey were lifting the body from the stretcher to the body bag on the gurney. “Peel back the blanket, Malcolm,” Daniel ordered sharply.

Malcolm complied. “It’s the same. Face beaten, bruises around the mouth.”

“This one’s got some serious hardware,” Trey said. “Earrings up and down both ears. A nose ring and a tongue stud.” He pointed to the victim’s shoulder. “And a tat. This one says L-A-L-L. Live and let live.”

There was a thud behind him. Daniel turned to find Jim Woolf frozen where he stood, his camera on the ground, and Daniel suddenly had a very good idea of who this woman was. He should feel guilty for making Jim look, but all he felt was pity for the young woman who’d never have a life. For all the young women who’d never have lives. It was, he thought bitterly, a fascinating turn of events. “Jim?”

Woolf’s mouth opened in horrified silence. He said nothing, just stared.

Daniel sighed. “Ed, can you put Mr. Woolf in your vehicle? This is his sister, Lisa.”

Atlanta, Thursday, February 1, 8:35 a.m.

Daniel and Ed both sank into chairs at the team table. Chase and Luke were already there. Talia had left to interview the rape victims they’d identified from the yearbooks. Daniel hoped her luck was better than his.

“We’ve got two more bodies,” Daniel said. “Sean Romney and Lisa Woolf. Seeing his sister like that loosened Jim’s tongue a little bit. He told me that a man called him with the ‘tips’ on Janet’s and Claudia’s bodies. All the other ‘tips’ were text messages that came in on a disposable cell. It wasn’t registered to any of his accounts, so we didn’t know to include it with the warrant.”

“And all the incoming text messages were untraceable,” Ed said with a sigh.

“Maybe he’ll be a little less interested in pimping stories for this killer now that his sister’s a victim,” Chase said darkly.

Luke was reading the front page of the Dutton Review Daniel had brought back with him. “Who is this Romney kid?”

“APD received an anonymous 911 telling them a young man was dead in an alley,” Daniel said. “They found Sean Romney with a bullet in his head. Apparently they didn’t recognize him as the picture they’d posted on their visor because he was too bloody. They didn’t get a positive ID until they’d cleaned up at the morgue at about five this morning. They called Chase and Chase called me.”

“He was only eighteen years old,” Luke noted. “He was only in kindergarten when Alicia was killed and those girls were raped. And he grew up in Atlanta.”

“But he’s connected to Dutton,” Daniel said wearily. “Sean is the grandson of Rob Davis, who owns the bank in Dutton. Rob Davis is Garth Davis’s uncle. Garth’s dad was the mayor for years and best friends with Congressman Bowie. I think Sean is like the keys he tied to the victims’ toes. A definite message.”

“And you’re thinking the message was addressed to Garth Davis,” Chase said.

Daniel nodded, troubled. “Garth’s the right age, only a year ahead of Simon and Wade. Garth knew Simon. We can’t dismiss the connection to Simon’s pictures.”

“You knew Garth,” Ed said. “Was he capable of the depravity in those pictures?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so. I still hope not. I was a senior and he was a freshman, so I didn’t know him all that well. I do remember him coming by our house a few times though, looking for Simon. I wouldn’t say they were friends, exactly, but they hung out.”

Luke shook his head. “He might have known Simon, but did he kill these women?”

Daniel brought his focus back to the present. “Garth couldn’t have killed Claudia. He was at Congressman Bowie’s house Monday night during the time frame Felicity said Claudia died. But Garth is the first person we can connect to both Simon and one of these victims.”

“No, Jim Woolf is connected to all the victims,” Chase corrected. “He’s taken every one of their pictures for his damn paper. He gets all these leads handed to him on a silver platter. The perp has to know we’re watching Woolf. Why does he continue to feed him leads if he knows Woolf’s going to be followed by us?” Chase lifted his brows. “Unless he wants us to watch Woolf.”

“He sent Jim to his own sister’s grave,” Ed said. “Pretty powerful message.”

“This guy went to a lot of trouble to get Lisa Woolf,” Daniel said thoughtfully. “She was a student at the university up in Athens. He had to either drive up there or lure her here. I’ve requested her phone records and I called the Athens field office. They’re going to search her apartment and interview her friends. Maybe somebody saw him following her last night.”

Chase pointed to the Review. “I want to know how Woolf got this picture. His tail said Woolf was in the newspaper office from nine till two last night. How did Woolf get to Atlanta to snap this photo of Romney? He must have sent someone else.”

“He wouldn’t have trusted just anybody,” Daniel said. “I’m betting good old Marianne had something to do with it. That’s Jim’s wife. Of course, Jim neglected to mention that when he was unburdening his soul.”

Ed was still frowning at the paper. “Wait. APD didn’t make a positive ID until about five this morning, after they’d gotten the body cleaned up at the morgue. Woolf had to have this story by press time. Even on a diddly paper like the Review, that’s gotta be around midnight. I mean, the papers are hittin’ Dutton doorsteps by six.”

Daniel remembered the paperboy’s delivery the morning before as he and Alex still lay on her sofa, panting and trembling, and felt his cheeks heat. “Right at five-thirty,” he agreed. “So Jim Woolf somehow knew who Romney was before the cops did. That’s more than a tip. That could be conspiracy.”

“You’re right,” Chase said. “Let’s pick him up. Maybe the threat of real jail will loosen his tongue a little more. Daniel, you’ll talk to this Marianne woman?”

“As soon as we’re done. Have we heard from Koenig and Hatton?”

Chase nodded. “Koenig called in about an hour and a half ago. He said they’d looked all night but couldn’t find Crighton. They were going to hit the shelters during breakfast, then call it a night and go home and sleep and try again tonight.”

“Damn.” Daniel squared his jaw. “I was really hoping to arrest that slimy SOB.”

“I watched the tape we made of Alex and McCrady again last night,” Ed said, “and I was thinking. Alex remembered Crighton saying that Alicia ‘asked for it with her short shorts.’ Sounds like he might have known about the rape.”

“You’re right,” Daniel said. “He said Wade didn’t kill Alicia, but of course he would. If Wade raped Alicia, that was probably what he confessed to Reverend Beardsley before he died, and maybe what he wrote in the letters to Bailey and Crighton.”

“I checked up on Crighton,” Luke said. “After Alicia died and Crighton killed Alex’s mother, Crighton went downhill fast. He had a good job before, but he’s been MIA for almost thirteen years. No income taxes, no record of credit cards. Nothing.”

“Instead he’s been living on the streets playing the flute for quarters,” Daniel said with contempt. “And beating up poor old nuns.”

“Oh.” Ed shook his head hard. “Flute. I was looking at the inventory of stuff we found at Bailey’s house and it included one empty flute case. It looked really old, like it hadn’t been used in years. Huge dust buildup in the case crevices and hinges, but the inside was clean, like it had just been opened. Did Bailey play the flute, too?”

Daniel frowned. “I would’ve thought Alex would have mentioned that right away. I’ll ask her.”

“Did you tell her about the hair?” Chase asked.

“Yeah, I did. On the way to the scene this morning I asked her what happened to all of Alicia’s stuff. She said her aunt Kim had it shipped to Ohio and the boxes have been in storage ever since. But she also said that she and Bailey and Alicia shared clothes and makeup and hairbrushes, and Bailey and Alicia were sharing a bedroom at the time because Alicia was mad at Alex about something. That hair could still have come from Bailey’s house recently.”

“I don’t think so,” Ed said. “If it had been tangled in a brush all this time, it would be kinked, but it’s straight-and free of dust. It’s been kept sealed up.”

“A souvenir of the rape,” Chase said slowly. “Damn.”

“And, uh, there is one other thing.” Ed put a plastic bag on the table.

Daniel held it up to the light. “A ring with a blue stone. Where did you find this?”

“In the bedroom Alex told us used to be hers, right under the window.”

“She stared at her hands when Gary Fulmore talked about the ring Alicia wore,” Daniel said quietly. “Gary said it was on Alicia’s hand when he wrapped her up, but Wanda in the sheriff’s office said they found it in Fulmore’s pocket.”

“If the ring was on her finger when she was discovered, the Dutton sheriff’s office tampered with evidence,” Chase said, just as quietly.

Daniel sighed. “I know. We need to know if that ring was on her finger when she was found or not. I’m going down to Dutton this morning to talk to Garth and his uncle about Sean Romney’s death. I’ll stop by and talk to the Porter boys while I’m there. They found Alicia. I’ll see if I can find out if they remember a ring. Luke, will you process all the names Leigh got from the yearbooks?”

Luke looked at the printouts their clerk had produced the day before with a grimace. “Where do you want me to start?”

“For now, focus on the public school where Simon, Wade, and Rhett graduated and the private school where Garth and I graduated. See if any of them have records or histories of violent behavior. See if any of them have been… I don’t know, involved in anything weird.”

Luke gave him a dubious look. “Weird. Okay.”

“And I’ll finish calling all the potential targets I didn’t talk to yesterday,” Chase said with a sigh. “Maybe we can head him off at the pass before he bags another one.”

Dutton, Thursday, February 1, 8:35 a.m.

He stepped onto his front porch, bone-tired after another night of watching over Kate. He’d actually fallen asleep sometime after 4:00 a.m. When he’d woken, the sun was shining and Kate was pulling out of her driveway to go to work. She’d nearly seen him, and then he would have had to explain. Given the three dead women, he could probably just say he was worried, but Kate was too smart for that. She’d suspect more.

This had to be over soon. One way or the other. His wife met him at the door, her eyes red from weeping, and his heart started to race. “What happened?”

“Your uncle Rob’s here. He’s been waiting for you since six. Sean’s dead.”

“What? Sean’s dead? When? How?”

She looked at him, her lips trembling. “Who did you expect to be dead?”

He hung his head, too exhausted to think. “Kate.”

She let out a quiet breath. “Rob’s in the library.”

His uncle sat by the window, his face gray and haggard. “Where have you been?”

He took the chair next to Rob. “Watching over Kate. What happened?”

“They found him in an alley.” His voice broke. “They couldn’t even identify him at first. There was too much blood on his face. The police said they’d been looking for Sean, that they’d put his picture on the news. My grandson, on the news.”

“Why were they looking for him?”

Rob’s eyes filled with rage. “Because,” he gritted out, “they said they had proof he was helping the person who killed Claudia Silva and Janet Bowie and Gemma Martin.”

“And Lisa Woolf,” his wife added from the library doorway. “I just saw it on CNN.”

Rob turned to him, bitterness in every line of his face. “And Lisa Woolf. So you tell me what you know. And you tell me now.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know anything.”

Rob lurched to his feet. “You lie! I know you lie.” He pointed a trembling finger. “You wire a hundred thousand dollars to an offshore account Tuesday night. Then yesterday I get a visitor in the bank, checking out Rhett Porter’s safe-deposit box.”

He felt the color drain from his face. Still, he lifted his chin. “So?”

“So, when he left he said, ‘Tell Garth I have it.’ What does he mean?”

“You paid someone a hundred thousand dollars?” His wife’s expression was one of stunned shock. “We don’t have that kind of money, Garth.”

“He took it from the kids’ college fund,” Rob said coldly.

His wife’s mouth dropped open. “You sonofabitch. I have taken a lot from you over the years, but now you steal from your own children?”

It was unraveling. All of it. “He threatened Kate.”

“Who?” Rob demanded.

“Whoever’s killing all these women. He threatened Kate and Rhett. So I paid to keep Kate alive. The next morning Rhett was dead.” He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. “And to keep Kate safe, I’ll pay again.”

“You will not,” his wife screeched. “My God, Garth, are you crazy?”

“No,” he said quietly. “I’m not crazy. Rhett is dead.”

“And you think this guy killed him,” Rob said calmly. “Like he killed Sean.”

“I didn’t know about Sean,” he said. “I swear. He didn’t send Sean’s picture.”

Rob lowered himself to the chair. “He sent you pictures,” he said thinly.

“Yes. Of Kate. And Rhett.” He hesitated. “And of others.”

His wife slowly sat on the loveseat. “We have to tell the police,” she said.

He laughed bitterly. “That we definitely will not do.”

“He could come after our children. Have you considered that?”

“In the last five minutes? Yes. Before I heard about Sean, no.”

“You know why this killer is doing all this,” Rob said coldly. “You will tell me and you will tell me now.”

He shook his head. “No, I won’t.”

Rob’s eyes narrowed. “And why not?”

“Because I don’t know who killed Rhett.”

“Garth, what’s going on here?” his wife whispered. “Why can’t we go to the police?”

“I’m not going to tell you. Believe me, you’re safer not knowing.”

“You don’t care about our safety. You’ve gotten yourself sucked into some mess that involves us. Me and your children. So don’t give me that… bullshit. Tell me or I’m walking out of here and going to the police right now.”

She was serious. She would go to the police. “Do you remember Jared O’Brien?”

“He disappeared,” Rob said, his voice flat and detached.

“Well, yeah. He probably got drunk and ran himself off a road one night and…” She went pale. “Like Rhett. Oh my God. Garth, what have you done?”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer.

“Whatever it was, someone’s coming after you because of it,” Rob said. “If it was only you, I’d let them. But by God, this is destroying my family. We all know Sean wasn’t as bright as the rest of you. He used him, used him and killed him to send you a message.” He stood. “No more, Garth.”

He looked up at his uncle. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Are you going to the police?” his wife asked, crying now.

Rob scoffed. “Not in this town.”

Garth stood. Looked his uncle in the eye. “I wouldn’t say anything if I were you, Rob.”

Rob’s eyes narrowed to slits. “And why not?”

“You have a few hours? Actually, it would only take me a few minutes. A few well-placed calls and you’ll have a bank examiner down your shorts so fast…”

Rob’s pale face mottled with angry color. “You have the nerve to threaten me?”

“I have the nerve to do anything I need to do,” he said calmly.

His wife covered her mouth with her hand. “I don’t believe this. This is a nightmare.”

He nodded. “True. But if you keep your mouth shut and your head down, we just might live to wake up when it’s over.”

Atlanta, Thursday, February 1, 9:15 a.m.

The little room with the two-way mirror was quiet as they sat waiting for Dr. McCrady. Alex propped her elbow on the table, leaned her cheek on her fist, and watched Hope color. “At least she’s using other colors now,” she murmured.

Meredith looked up, a sad smile on her face. “Black and blue. We make progress.”

Something in Alex snapped. “But not enough. We have to push her, Mer.”

“Alex,” Meredith warned.

“You didn’t see them pull that woman from the ditch this morning,” Alex shot back, her voice shaking with fury. “I did. My God. Including Sheila, five women are dead. This has to stop. Hope, I need to talk to you and I need you to listen.” She tugged at Hope’s chin until the child’s hand stilled and wide gray eyes looked up at her. “Hope, did you see who hurt your mommy? Please. Sweetheart, I need to know.”

Hope looked away and Alex tugged her face back, desperation clawing at her throat. “Hope, Sister Anne told me how smart you are, how many words you know, and how well you talk. I need you to talk to me now. You’re smart enough to know your mommy’s gone. I can’t find her.” Alex’s voice broke. “You have to talk to me so I can find her. Did you see the man who took your mommy away?”

Slowly Hope nodded. “It was dark,” she whispered, her voice tiny.

“Were you in bed?”

Hope wagged her head no, misery filling her eyes. “I snuck out.”

“Why?”

“I heard the man.”

“The man that hurt her?”

“He left and she cried.”

“Did he hit her?”

“He left and she cried,” she said again. “And played.”

“With toys?” Alex asked.

“The flute.” The words were only a breath.

Alex frowned. “Your mom played a big shiny horn. That’s different than a flute.”

Hope’s mouth set stubbornly. “The flute.”

Meredith put a blank piece of paper in front of Hope. “Draw it for me, baby.”

Hope picked up her black crayon and drew a round face in a childish style. She added eyes, nose, and a thin rectangle that went sideways from where the mouth would have gone. She then chose a silver crayon from the box and colored the thin rectangle.

She looked up at Alex. “Flute,” she said.

“It is indeed a flute,” Meredith said. “That’s a good picture, Hope.”

Alex hugged Hope. “It’s a wonderful picture. What happened to the flute?”

Hope’s eyes dropped again. “She played the song.”

“Your pa-paw’s song. Then what happened?”

“We runned.” Her words were barely audible.

Alex’s heart was thumping hard. “Where did you run?”

“The woods.” Hope whispered it, then scrunched into the smallest space she could.

Alex lifted Hope to her lap and rocked her. “In the woods, were you with Mommy?”

Hope began to cry, with a low mewling sound that tore at Alex’s heart. “I’m here, Hope. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Why did you run to the woods?”

“The man.”

“Where did you hide?”

“The tree.”

“Up a tree?”

“Under the leaves.”

Alex drew a breath. “Mommy covered you with leaves?”

“Mama.” It was a frightened little plea.

“He hurt your mama?” Alex whispered. “The man hurt your mama?”

“She runned.” Hope’s hands clutched Alex’s blouse frantically. “He was coming, so she runned. He g-g-got her and he hit her and hit her and-” Hope was rocking as she chanted the words. Now that she was talking she seemed unable to stop.

Unable to listen to any more, Alex cupped the back of Hope’s head and pressed Hope’s mouth into her shoulder while the child sobbed. Meredith’s arms came around her and they sat, listening to Hope’s choked sobs. “Bailey hid Hope so he wouldn’t find her,” Alex whispered. “I wonder how long you stayed under those leaves, baby.”

Hope said nothing, just rocked and sobbed until finally she quieted, breathing hard, her little forehead covered in sweat, her cheeks drenched. The front of Alex’s blouse was soaking wet and Hope still clutched the fabric in her hands. Alex shifted her, prying her fists away, cradling her.

The door behind them opened and Daniel and Mary McCrady came in, looking sober. “You heard?” Alex said, and Daniel nodded.

“I came into the back room when she started drawing the flute. I called Mary.”

“I was already on my way for our session.” Mary brushed her hand over Hope’s hair. “That was hard, Hope, but I’m so proud of you. So’s your aunt Alex.”

Hope burrowed her face into Alex’s chest and Alex’s arms tightened around her protectively. “Can she be done for now?”

“Yes,” Mary said, sympathy on her face. “You hold her for a while. But let’s not wait too long, okay? I think we might be able to get somewhere with the artist now.”

“A little longer,” Alex insisted. She looked up at Daniel, whose eyes were resting on her in an almost palpable caress. Then he spread his big hand over Hope’s thin back in a gesture so tender it stole her breath.

“You did well, Hope,” he said softly. “But, honey, can I ask you one more question? It’s important,” he added, more for her own benefit, Alex thought, than for Hope’s.

Hope nodded, her face still pressed against Alex’s chest.

“What happened to your mommy’s flute?”

Hope shuddered. “In the leaves,” she said, her voice muffled.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Daniel said. “That’s all I needed to know. I’m going to have Ed go over that area in the woods again. I’ll be back in a little while.”

Atlanta, Thursday, February 1, 9:15 a.m.

Daniel had barely hung up after talking to Ed when Leigh appeared in his doorway.

“Daniel, you have a visitor. Michael Bowie, Janet’s brother. He’s not happy.”

“Where is Chase? He’s supposed to be handling communications.”

“Chase is in a meeting with the captain. You want me to tell Bowie you’re not here?”

Daniel shook his head. “No. I’ll come talk to him.”

Michael Bowie looked like exactly what he was-a man whose sister had been viciously murdered days before. He stopped pacing when Daniel stopped at the counter. “Daniel.”

“Michael. What can I do for you?”

“You can tell me you’ve found the man who killed my sister.”

Daniel steeled his spine. “No, I can’t. We’re following leads.”

“You’ve been saying that for days,” Michael gritted.

“I’m sorry. Have you thought of anyone who hated Janet enough to do this?”

Michael’s ferocity seemed to wilt. “No. At times Janet was selfish and arrogant. Sometimes she could be devious and just plain mean. But nobody hated her. She and Claudia and Gemma… They were just girls. They didn’t do anything to deserve this.”

“I’m not saying they deserved this, Michael,” Daniel said gently. “But someone has targeted Janet and the girls she knew.” To be pawns in a bigger game. “Anything you can remember. Any person she’d annoyed.”

Michael made a frustrated noise. “You want a list? The girls were spoiled and probably pissed people off every day of their lives. But this. They did nothing to deserve this.”

Michael was grieving, Daniel knew. That the girls hadn’t deserved their fate was a break in logic he couldn’t yet absorb. He would, in time. Victims’ families usually did.

“I can’t tell you what you want to hear, Michael. Not yet. But we will catch him.”

Michael nodded stiffly. “You’ll call me?”

“As soon as I have news to share. I promise you that.”