“I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe you can talk to him on the phone instead? We’d like to show you some photos of the victims, see if that sparks anything,” Ellie said. “I know that’s tough, but it might help us. Would you be okay with that?”
Melissa’s breathing rattled out. “All right, but I don’t really think I can help.”
“Sometimes we know things we don’t even realize,” Ellie said. “I’m going to get him now and have him call you back.”
Hanging up, Ellie hurried over to Heath. “Heath, send Melissa pics of the victims and see if she recognizes either of them. We have to find out if there’s a link between the women.”
Giving a nod of understanding, Heath returned to his desk with Melissa’s number. Grateful he was detail-oriented, Ellie headed back to her office to call Cord.
The day was getting away from her. Just like the killer.
Thirty-Seven
“I need your help, Cord.”
His heavy breathing echoed back, and she pictured him chopping wood for his stove. It was a less unsettling image than the taxidermy wildcats he kept in his dark house. Lately, she’d had nightmares where she woke up and the feral animals were watching her, teeth bared, ready to tear her apart.
“What is it?” Cord asked.
Fear made her voice crack. “The man who killed those two women—he took Shondra.”
“What?”
Ellie closed her eyes. She suddenly felt as if she was suffocating. When she’d rescued Penny Matthews and the other little girl after Hiram took them, Hiram had buried her alive. Cord had literally dug her from the ground and saved her. He also admired her father, who’d been a mentor to him over the years. But she’d been so wrapped up in her own shock and pain she hadn’t considered how the fallout had affected him.
Forcing aside the thoughts, Ellie exhaled. “Special Agent Fox, the captain and Deputy Landrum just met for a briefing. We know where he left the first two victims. If he’s true to pattern, the nursery rhyme ‘Monday’s child’ is a clue. And he’s going to kill a woman for each day of the week. The sheriff has already named him the Weekday Killer.”
Emotions threatened to overcome her. “Shondra may be next, Cord.” Her voice cracked. “Bryce has deputies searching abandoned buildings and properties. But the rhyme may be a clue.”
“What can I do?” Cord asked gruffly.
“Help me think. According to the rhyme, Wednesday’s child is full of woe. The captain is dispatching deputies to cover local cemeteries and church graveyards. Woe means sadness, so look at the map and see if any place strikes you as significant.”
“I’ll get right on it,” Cord agreed.
“Good. Agent Fox and I are going to search the second victim’s house and look for her computer and phone. Call me if you come up with anything.”
“Sure.” His voice rasped out as if he was hurrying somewhere. “And Ellie, this man is dangerous. If he contacted you, he may be trying to lure you into a trap.”
“I survived my own brother’s attempt to kill me,” Ellie said. “This son of a bitch is not about to make me back down.”
Thirty-Eight
Somewhere on the AT
Shondra jerked at the chain around her neck, desperate to escape. All night long she’d listened to the other woman crying, weeping as the hours crept by.
Her heart ached. She’d tried to call out to her, to let her know that she wasn’t alone.
But her voice had made the woman only sob harder.
Shondra knew that her days were numbered. But for some reason, the monster was holding her, making her suffer first. Not like the others, who he kept a day or two before killing them. Why didn’t he just kill her, too?
Damn him to hell and back. He’d shown her the pictures of the women after he’d cut their throats. The sick way he’d posed them on beds of daffodils. The bramble around their necks.
He was sadistic. He killed for the thrill. Enjoyed watching a woman beg to live as she drew her last breath.
A noise sounded above, jerking Shondra from her thoughts. He was back. Storming through the house. Shouting and stomping and throwing something.
Frantic to free herself, she fumbled yet again in the dark for a way to release the chain, but there was no way to loosen it. Her fingers were bloody and raw from prying endlessly at the cage door. Summoning her strength, she struggled to loosen one of the screws holding the cage door shut, but it wouldn’t budge. The sharp metal stabbed the tip of her finger and blood trickled down her hand.
Exhausted and sore, she clenched her teeth and sagged against the floor of the cage, tears of anger filling her eyes.
You’re trash, her daddy used to say. Good for nothing trash.
When she was little, she’d believed it. She’d worn thrift-store clothes and used an outdoor toilet. She had free lunches at school, and the other kids made fun of her.
One day she’d had enough of being pushed around and she’d fought back. Sure, she’d gotten suspended for three days, but it was worth it. The bullies left her alone after that.
A crash sounded above, then the door creaked open. A sliver of light wormed its way through the opening, then his heavy breathing punctuated the silence. She thought she heard a dog barking again. But it sounded far away, outside somewhere.
She craned her neck to see her abductor’s face, but then the door slammed shut and blackness engulfed him.
His sinister chanting filled the shadows, the wood steps squeaking as he descended.
In spite of her training, fear seized her.
You’re a survivor, she told herself. Look for your opening and attack.
Sucking in a breath, she steeled herself to take whatever he dished out. She’d grown up tough. She’d play along with him if necessary, get him to talk, get inside his head.
And when she got her chance, she’d claw his damn eyes out.
But instead of coming to her, footsteps echoed in the opposite direction. He kept more cages in there. More screaming women––his next victims.
“Wednesday’s child is full of woe…” he chanted.
A shrill shriek made chills rip through Shondra, as the woman cried and pleaded, “Please don’t do this, please let me go.”
A sob welled in Shondra’s throat.
The chain around her neck rattled as she yanked at the metal bars of the cage. As a police officer, she’d vowed to protect others.
But helpless frustration seized her. She couldn’t save this woman now. She couldn’t even save herself.
Thirty-Nine
Crooked Creek
Ellie retrieved Carrie Winters’ address from the file before striding back to the conference room. She tensed at the sight of the TV airing a late breaking news story. Derrick and her captain were watching it with solemn faces, and her stomach pitched as she realized it was the reason the sheriff had left so abruptly.
“This is Angelica Gomez coming to you live outside the Bluff County courthouse, where this morning former Sheriff Randall Reeves and his wife met with the DA in hopes of settling the court case that has rocked the good citizens of Bluff County.”