Field of Graves(48)
Fighting with the door, she finally managed to slam it behind her. She was soaked to the bone, shaking with fear and cold. For a brief moment, silhouetted against the storm, he was hidden in shadows, his hair standing on end, his eyes blank, ghastly holes in his face.
Then the light went on in the car, he gave her a huge smile, and she saw he was just the ordinary, handsome man she knew. She laughed at herself; it was just the storm spooking her.
“Thanks so much. I almost blew away there.”
“I saw under the altar the souls of them that were slain for the Word of God, and for the testimony which they held.”
“Pardon me?”
Mary Margaret’s internal alarm bells went off, but before she could do anything, she heard the locks on the doors snap closed. The man said nothing more, just smiled and put the car into gear.
38
The storm worsened, and conversation drifted off, the detectives lost in their own thoughts about the case or the storm or what to have for dinner. Taylor sat on the floor under a small stack of blankets, feeling incredibly foolish. She’d been through many storms before, but this one had a different feeling about it: a malevolent, evil oppression. She shook her head, trying to get the feeling of doom out of her mind. How silly was she? Thirty-four years old and afraid of a little storm.
Thunder shook the building, and they heard a rushing noise like a freight train getting ready to ram through the walls. There were a few nervous laughs from the darkness, but everyone was listening to the rushing wind intently.
Baldwin reached over and touched her shoulder to get her attention over the noise of the storm. “Were you here the last time the tornadoes came through downtown?”
His voice gave her a little comfort. Strange, it seemed to be hours since their spat on the stairwell. But Taylor was used to that. She didn’t lose her temper often, but when she did, she did it thoroughly and without thought. Once it was over, it was over. She did feel a little embarrassed by her outburst, but she was too worried about the storm to deal with it at the moment. Besides, she thought, fear makes strange bedfellows. She blushed in the dark at the fleeting image that came with the thought, cleared her throat, and replied to Baldwin’s innocuous question.
“No. I was on vacation and saw it on the news. I’m glad I wasn’t here. Sometimes I prefer to watch the wrath of God from afar.”
“Wrath of God, huh? Think it’s that bad out there?”
She gave him a sidelong glance, trying to decide if he was mocking her. She had the distinct impression he wasn’t talking about the storm.
But Baldwin sat calmly, legs drawn up and hands dangling loosely in between.
“You never know,” she said lightly. “How are we going to find the boyfriend?”
“The moment we’re cleared to get out of here, we drive to Vanderbilt and take the place apart. Someone knows who these girls were seeing. From all you’ve told me, Shelby Kincaid didn’t necessarily confide in her parents. She could easily have been seeing someone as well. Three girls seeing the same man? If we’re right, now we have a suspect and a possible motive.”
“You mentioned cults earlier when we talked about the aconite. Do you think the girls were aware of each other, that the relationship with this man was open, so to speak? Or done in a group? You know how kids love to experiment. If they had a charismatic leader pushing them into a group situation...”
“It’s entirely possible. It all depends on our suspect. But I’m inclined to say no, simply because of the timing. It feels like he’s snatching and dumping, going through some sort of ritual sacrifice. But I’ve been wrong before.”
“I want to talk to Shelby’s mother again. I did get the sense there were things left unsaid during the interview.”
“You have good instincts. Follow them.”
“So do you,” she said, surprised how pleased she was by the compliment. “The problem is, we’re three steps behind this creep. I have the worst feeling, like he’s out there on the storm’s winds, doing something right now. Silly, I know.”
“It’s not silly at all. It’s how I always feel when I’m working a serial. Completely out of control, and every step I make could be the wrong one and cost a life. It’s the chance we take, working these cases, knowing no matter what we do, we might be too late.”
He said it without artifice, and she realized, for all the seriousness of the conversation, she enjoyed talking to him. You’re out of your mind, Jackson.
“Something else is bothering me,” she said. “They’re all so different. I mean, Jordan Blake was supposedly trouble on a stick, and her parents are quite absent. Shelby Kincaid was the extreme opposite, with overprotective parents and a reticent personality, super focused on her studies. Jill Gates is in between, and her parents certainly sound like they’re attentive, at the very least. Would one man be drawn to three wildly different personalities? I thought serials went for the same type.”
“The different personalities are interesting to me as well, but they all have similar physical characteristics. I think what makes them alike in looks attracted this man, not what made them different. What’s bothering me is the mixed presentation. Leaving semen and fingerprints tells me this is a disorganized killer. Multiple victims in a short time frame, staged scenes, the herbs, all point to a very organized offender. In other words, these could be his first crimes and he doesn’t know any better, doesn’t know how to clean up after himself. Or he could be very much in control, is building up to something bigger and splashier, thinks he’s smarter than us and will get away with it, or doesn’t care if he’s caught. Because he’s exhibiting hallmarks of both, that tells me he’s decompensating. He’s making mistakes now. I’m inclined to think he’s a disorganized offender, and there’s something else going on.”