Till Death(83)

“Oh my God,” I whispered. “The mayor was related to the Groom.”

“Yep.” He laughed under his breath. “That’s the family’s dirty little secret. It got out briefly in the aftermath of the Groom, but was virtually swept under the rug.”

“Holy crap.” Stunned, I shook my head. “How has that not been all over the place?”

“Like I said, people with money have a lot of pull. Mayor Hughes is probably worried that someone who values their job a little less than me will dig that up if you started giving interviews on the Groom.” A wicked sort of amusement filled his eyes. “You sure you don’t want to give an interview?”

Staring at him, I shook my head.

“Now it’s my turn.”

I wasn’t sure I could focus on whatever he was about to say after a bomb like that was dropped, but I nodded.

“There was always something that didn’t make sense—something that the profilers with the FBI never really addressed.” He pressed his hands together. “It’s actually something you said to them.”

I gripped the arms of the chair. “What?”

“In the reports, you said at times that the Groom was almost kind and at other times he was extremely violent. That he had severe mood shifts and swings.”

My stomach churned as thoughts of the mayor slipped away. “Do I even want to know how you read any of that?”

Striker said nothing.

“The Groom was a sociopath. Of course he had mood swings.”

He scooted forward. “But the way the report read, you said to the agents that it was like you were dealing with two people. The Groom who was sick and twisted, but almost gentle, and the other side of him that was beyond cruel and violent.”

Acid rose. “Yes, I did say that.”

“Would you go as far as to say, one side of him was patient and the other not?” he queried softly.

Feeling sick, I nodded.

“Is it possible . . . that there were two of them?” Striker asked.

At first, all I could do was stare at him. What he was suggesting was absolutely insane.

“He kept you in the dark, didn’t he? Made sure you never saw his face. That’s correct?”

“Yes, but . . .” But I trailed off as I thought about it, really considered what Striker was suggesting. A numbness poured into my chest. “Are you saying that you think the Groom was actually two men and not one?”

“It’s not impossible. There have been instances of more than one serial killer working together. It’s not even that rare,” he explained. “So my question is, do you think it’s possible that there were two—”

“And that the other one is back, targeting other women?”

“If that’s the case, then you know he’s got another woman.”

Squeezing my eyes shut, I hated that he’d said what I already believed. “A copycat would follow—”

“Yes, a copycat would follow the same pathology. Agreed,” he said. “Can you answer the question?”

I wasn’t sure I could. I opened my eyes, but I didn’t really see the journalist. All I saw was the shadows of the room I was kept in. All I heard was his voice and the heavy slide of his hand.

Sometimes the Groom had been talkative, but when he was mad, when he used his fists and his feet, he never spoke. Thinking back, I realized, the Groom never spoke when he was angry. Not until the last day, when he took me outside, when he cried and then tried to kill me.

Exhaling roughly, I met Striker’s gaze. “Why do you want to know what I think on this?”

“Curiosity,” he answered. “It’s something that’s plagued me for ten years. Going to be honest with you. Vernon Joan wasn’t an extraordinarily bright man. I never believed he could’ve pulled it all off by himself for so long without getting caught.”

I couldn’t believe what he was suggesting, but as horrifying and—and as sickening as it was to consider, that there were two men and not one, it wasn’t impossible.

“And it’s more than that,” Striker continued. “Because if there was another one working with Vernon Joan, he got away. Not only that, there’s a good chance he’s been here this whole time, living among the families of the victims. No one would even take my theory seriously. Not until now. Do you think it’s possible?”

Bile was sitting in the base of my throat. “It’s . . . it’s possible.”

Striker’s shoulders rose with a deep breath, and the look that settled over his face was equivalent to him being told he won the lottery.

From the table, his cellphone rang, startling me. “One sec,” he said, and then answered the phone while I sat there floored.

The mayor was related to the Groom. I remembered once hearing that psychopath level of crazy could run in the family.

Holy crap.

“Damn.” Excitement gleamed in Striker’s eyes as he rose, snatching up the recorder and shoving it in his pocket. “Are you serious?” There was a pause as he placed a fist on his hip. “Yeah. Yeah. I’ll be right there.” Striker quickly hung up, his gaze finding mine. “It’s happened again.”

I felt the chair shift below me. “He’s taken someone else, hasn’t he?”