“Exactly,” Ellie said. “It appears our killer is using the nursery rhyme as a blueprint for murder.”
Thirty-Two
Sunlight glimmered off the asphalt as Ellie drove toward Crooked Creek Police Station. Derrick was on her tail, and she’d stalled answering his questions until the briefing. There was no need to repeat herself a dozen times, and it wasn’t like she’d invited him.
No, her captain had done that.
He told you to take some time off.
Didn’t he think she could handle the investigation?
Forced to drive past the sheriff’s office in Stony Gap on the way, Ellie noticed the street in front of the courthouse had been blocked off. Protestors had gathered, waving signs and shouting as they marched back and forth. Her stomach lurched at the sight of the signs urging the prosecutor to come down hard on her father.
Randall Reeves is a child killer!
Reeves deserves to rot in jail.
Give him the death penalty.
She spotted her father exiting the courthouse with his attorney, and recognized parents of some of the Ghost’s victims. She saw Darnell Purcell, the brother of little Millie Purcell. The man looked stoop-shouldered and frail now, his wiry brown hair standing out in tufts. She’d heard he’d had drug issues after his sister disappeared but was supposedly in rehab now. Philip Paulson, Ansley Paulson’s father, looked angry as he stomped back and forth. Ginger Williams’ mother, Lynn, held a poster with her daughter’s face on it, a reminder of her devastating loss.
In spite of the shouts against him, her father held his head high. But he looked tired, worn down, and… guilt stricken.
Sympathy tugged at Ellie. Despite everything, occasionally sweet memories of her childhood broke through her anger. The day she’d learned to ride her bike, she’d been terrified of going downhill. But he’d run along beside her and steadied her, holding onto the seat until she was finally ready for him to let go. In middle school, she’d been dared to jump from a rocky ledge into the swimming hole where all the kids gathered, and she’d broken her foot. He’d held her hand in the hospital while they’d rushed her into surgery to set it. In high school, when her independent streak had surfaced and she’d rebelled against Vera’s smothering, he’d been her rock.
Pulling her gaze from him, Ellie drove on and turned down a side street before she was seen by the mob then sped onto the winding road between the two small towns.
Once upon a time, everyone in Bluff County loved and respected her father. He’d been a town hero. He’d taught Ellie how to shoot a gun and how to read maps when they ventured onto the trail and its treacherous terrain. She’d wanted to be just like him when she grew up.
But now… she could barely even look at him.
Ellie told herself to focus. You have to find Shondra and stop the madman who took her from killing again.
Or worse… From killing her friend.
Turning into the parking lot for the Crooked Police Station, she took a steadying breath before climbing out the Jeep. Chin in the air, she avoided looking at Derrick as he parked and followed her into the station. He must have seen the protestors––and he’d definitely agree that Randall should serve time. But thankfully he said nothing.
Captain Hale greeted her as they entered the conference room, and Heath glanced up from his computer and two other officers joined them. Derrick made himself at home by taking a section of the conference table, setting up his laptop.
Just as she started to attach photos of the first two victims to the whiteboard, footsteps pounded in the hall. A second later, the sheriff’s voice boomed as he stormed into the room. He stopped in his tracks when he spotted Derrick.
“What the fuck is going on, Detective Reeves?” Bryce shouted. “You called in the feds without asking me?”
Ellie stiffened, but Captain Hale stood. “I called him in, Sheriff. And I’ll thank you not to talk to my detectives like that.”
Bryce glanced at Ellie, his feathers ruffled, and she couldn’t resist. “We’ve got a serial killer here, and he took one of our own, your very own deputy,” Ellie said. “We’re going to be spread thin, as I know you’ll make finding Shondra a priority.”
The darkening of Bryce’s eyes indicated she’d touched a nerve, and a warning flickered in his eyes as well.
Derrick cleared his throat. “I am here to assist, Sheriff,” he said calmly. “Any way I can.”
Ellie bit back a smile. How could the sheriff argue with that?
Hell, she wanted to point out his incompetence, how he’d blown her off the night before when she’d first called him about Shondra. How she knew Shondra had threatened to file a complaint against him for gender bias. That she knew he was just looking for a reason to get rid of her.
But she kept her mouth shut. She’d dealt with her share of bullies at the police academy. Men who thought they were stronger and smarter and more resilient than her. She’d had to work harder, think fast on her feet, and develop a thick skin. A few had even exerted their power and physical strength to intimidate her. Sexual harassment had even been part of their tactical game. They’d cornered her in the locker room once and pushed her around, had teamed up to cut her off when they’d gone on runs, had even tried to grab a feel when they’d practiced defense moves.
But she hadn’t allowed them to make her quit, and she sure as heck wouldn’t let Bryce Waters intimidate her either.
The killer had challenged her. And Ellie Reeves did not back down from a challenge.
Thirty-Three
Ellie opened her mouth to speak, but Bryce cut her off. “As a matter of fact, I’ve got men searching for Deputy Eastwood now. We’re looking at abandoned properties and rentals in case this maniac is hiding out in the county somewhere.”
Chair legs scraped the floor as Bryce seated himself at the head of the table, marking his territory as the leader. His arrogance knew no boundaries.
While everyone else claimed seats, she handed Heath a sticky note with the name Carrie Winters on it.
“Dr. Whitefeather identified our second vic. See what you can find on her.”
The deputy nodded and instantly went to work on his computer.
“All right, then,” Ellie said as she stepped to the front of the conference room. “It appears that we have a serial killer targeting young women in the county. If he holds true to his pattern, we may be looking for another body today.” She paused for effect. “So let’s see if we can find him first.”
She wrote the nursery rhyme on the whiteboard, reciting it as she did.
“Monday—Monday’s child is fair of face.
Tuesday—Tuesday’s child is full of grace.
Wednesday—Wednesday’s child is full of woe.
Thursday—Thursday’s child has far to go.
Friday—Friday’s child is loving and giving.
Saturday—Saturday’s child works hard for a living.
Sunday—And the child that is born on the Sabbath day, is bonny and blithe, good and gay.”
Next, Ellie attached a photograph of Courtney Wooten to the board underneath the heading “VICTIM 1”. The stark sight of the dead woman with the bramble wrapped around her neck, smothered in unsightly makeup and her hands in prayer, silenced the room.