When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(89)

“That’s another maid,” D.D. supplied. “She died right before Martha Counsel. Bonita saw it, but said the demon didn’t do it.”

“The cook?” Kimberly glanced up at Bonita.

The girl shook her head.

“Do you know this woman’s name?”

Nod.

Kimberly thought about the files she’d discovered in Martha Counsel’s office. One had a name, but was empty. “Stacey?” She attempted to remember. “Stacey . . .” She couldn’t quite get the last name.

Two quick nods.

Kimberly pursed her lips, then sighed.

A sharp clap. They all glanced up. Bonita clapped again.

“What is it?” D.D. asked.

The girl was frowning, moving her hands. She clearly had something she wanted to communicate, but didn’t know how to do it. Finally, she pointed at Flora’s boot. The butterfly blade. She wanted the knife.

“Are you sure?” Flora asked her.

Curt nod.

Flora appeared skeptical, but she pulled out the folded up blade and handed it over. Bonita took a moment to examine it. She shifted it from hand to hand, clearly feeling the weight, then traced the intricate dragon design etched across the surface.

“She’s very tactile,” D.D. volunteered.

Apparently, D.D. was doing a good job of bonding with her new charge. Now, Bonita tried to pry open the closed sides with her fingernails. She was frowning hard, one corner of her mouth pinched.

“Give it back. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Bonita reluctantly relinquished her new toy back to Flora. With a flick of her wrist, Flora transformed the instrument from a closed fan to a deadly knife. Bonita’s eyes widened in appreciation. She took the blade back, closing her fingers around the handle gingerly.

“The blade is sharp, do not cut yourself,” Flora ordered.

The girl glanced at her, then looked up again to make sure everyone was watching. Slowly, she placed the knife just above her thigh. Then, with a short, violent jerk, she pantomimed slicing open her leg.

“Someone cut open the woman’s femoral artery,” D.D. said.

Nod. Bonita held out her hand again. This time for the drawing. Kimberly handed it over, still confused.

Bonita’s fingers danced gently over the form she’d colored in blue. Then she tapped the image once, and gazed at them expectantly.

“She cut open her own leg,” Kimberly filled in softly. “She killed herself, that’s what you’re trying to say.”

Bonita nodded sadly.

“To escape them,” Flora said, because she of all people would know.

More nodding.

“Do you know what happened to the body?” D.D. asked.

Nod.

“Is she in the woods?” D.D. gestured to the remaining drawing, which Kimberly now realized was a mountainside filled with subtle slashes of black lines.

Shrug.

D.D. turned to Kimberly. “Those black lines, they all represent other deceased victims.”

“But . . .” Kimberly couldn’t speak. There were dozens of them. The sheriff and the others crowded close, inspecting the image, as well.

“Holy mother of God,” Sheriff Smithers exhaled. “How . . . for how long . . . Holy mother of God.”

“Bonita, could you lead us to where you last saw Stacey’s body?” D.D. was asking.

Another nod.

Kimberly was starting to feel overwhelmed. Harold believed he’d discovered another old grave, plus they now had this new grave. She was going to have to call Atlanta, demand half the office report for duty immediately. Not to mention her supervisor would be in the next vehicle headed up.

“Plan,” Kimberly directed out loud, to herself as much as anyone. “We will find Stacey’s remains. We will process Hélène’s body, we will send the ERT to start exhuming Harold’s possible find. But all of that is reacting. We’re chasing past damage, when what we need to do is get ahead. If we don’t have any ideas for the so-called mastermind, and no leads on our current killer, where to focus next?”

“Marketing,” Keith spoke up immediately. “Group like this has to be operating on the dark web. Meaning they got a computer nerd somewhere.”

Kimberly contemplated it. “Except, of all the business positions, as you call it, that one doesn’t have to be local. Their internet support could live anywhere and still manage shop.”

“True,” Keith acknowledged. “But Bill Benson—who runs the ATV rental—he mentioned a town clerk, Dorothea, who now runs the town’s website and social media platform.”

“That’s right.” The sheriff nodded. “She’s been doing that . . . long time now.”

“Ten years,” Keith volunteered.

The sheriff stared at him. “If you say so.”

“It’s quite possible that whole thing is a front. Remember the ghost tourists the agent was talking about last night? Those may be customers of the cabal, brought here by that website, which has a back door to the dark web, where the real transactions are taking place.”

“I’ll pick up Dorothea,” the sheriff said immediately.

“No!” Keith exploded, then seemed to realize he’d come on too strong when the sheriff puffed up in size. “I’m sorry. But the worst thing you can do is let a site manager know you’re onto them. Plenty of computers have a kill switch—a single code that the administrator enters twice, and everything is automatically erased. We need to find the portal for the dark web, access the business enterprises site, and download all the information we can before alerting anyone to our game.”