Seventy-Nine
Weeping Willow Holler
Ellie replayed the woman’s death in her mind as Cord led her toward Weeping Willow Holler. She’d recognized the place the moment she’d seen the video and had called Cord immediately.
Before she left, tips from the public had started coming in about Vinny, and Derrick had gotten word that a man fitting his description had been spotted at a property near a small country store. He had gone to check it out.
Meanwhile, Paulson had been ruled out as the Weekday Killer. Evidence proved he’d set the fire at her parents’ house, but he had alibis for the other murders.
Although Ellie was relieved Shondra hadn’t been in the video, watching another young woman die at the hands of this monster had torn her up inside. How many other innocent victims would die under her watch?
Derrick’s team was analyzing the video to see if it was real time, and nausea rolled through Ellie at the thought.
Dusk had set in, casting the forest in gloom as the moss from the weeping willows draped the ground and formed a circle near the creek bed. They passed a group of hikers setting up camp, and Ellie paused to ask them if they’d seen anyone suspicious, but no one had.
Ellie, the ERT, ME and recovery team followed Cord as he led them deeper into the woods. Other than the frogs croaking and crickets chirping, it was so quiet Ellie could hear her own breath puffing out and Cord’s soft footfalls in front of her.
“Do you recognize the woman in the video?” Cord asked as he maneuvered across a rocky section of the creek.
“No,” Ellie said, uncomfortable discussing the details of the case with Cord. Once she’d trusted him completely and as a teenager had a crush on the enigmatic man. Later, they’d slept together, but when she’d tried to get him to open up about his past, everything came to an abrupt halt.
The mental health counselor’s comment about the killer’s professional affiliation with a mortician nagged at her. She considered asking Cord about his foster father now, but their friendship was tenuous enough already.
“Why is he contacting you?” Cord asked.
“In case you haven’t noticed, my parents and I have been in the spotlight lately. It’s possible he’s doing this to hurt me or show my incompetence because he believes I failed to protect those children. That he’s a family member, father or brother maybe, of the Ghost victims.”
“What about the man who set your parents’ place on fire?”
“He’s doesn’t fit the profile and has alibis,” Ellie said, knowing they had to move on. Then she explained about Vinny Holcomb.
Cord paused and looked down at her, his smoky eyes intense. “You think he’s coming for you, Ellie?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “If he does, maybe I can put an end to this nightmare.”
At his penetrating stare, Ellie felt guilty for questioning his past. But she pushed it aside and forged on. She had to explore every single lead, and she had to focus.
Except the image of her mother dying in the hospital bed kept playing through Ellie’s mind as she crossed the rugged terrain, slashing at brush and bramble. The thorny bushes reminded her of the vines wrapped around the women’s throats and the sins they represented.
Mentally she reviewed the case. Victim one, fair of face, found at the Reflection Pond, was vain and made her money off hocking shoddy beauty products. She’d deceived her clients, caused them physical and emotional suffering and then paid them off, leaving her own family member in pain. Victim two, full of grace, found at Ole Glory, had fallen from grace by selling her body for money. Victim three, Wednesday’s child, full of woe, was found at Teardrop Falls and they were still waiting on information about her. But according to his pattern, she must have lacked sorrow.
With night falling, the dark shadows of the forest felt eerie now, making her skin prickle with unease.
The tops of the trees grazed each other as they rose toward the sky above, casting the mountain in an ominous gloom, the sky growing even more gray as they descended into Weeping Willow Holler.
The lush, overgrown greenery of the holler surrounded by the dripping weeping willows was an area of natural beauty. According to locals, people traveled here to mourn lost ones. Legend claimed their tears dampened the earth and made the weeping willows grow. Tonight Ellie swore she heard a mournful wail of sorrow permeating the air. The team with her remained silent, as if in reverence to the dead woman they were searching for.
“Thursday’s child has far to go,” Ellie said, thinking out loud. “So why leave her body here?”
Cord wiped perspiration from his forehead, and she noticed scars on his thumbs and a long scratch on his forearm. “Symbolically, the brown of the tree trunk stands for strength, and green leaves symbolize life. The weeping willow is the only tree that can bend like this without snapping,” he continued in a low monotone. “It’s supposed to signify being adaptive, as one survives challenges.”
“We need to learn more about this woman to see how the rhyme fits her,” Ellie said with a sigh.
The call of a bird of prey in the night sky added to the dread in Ellie’s stomach as they broke into the clearing and she spotted the woman’s body.
Grief for the woman struck her. A simple gold bracelet circled her wrists, shoes a plain black. Again, she was dressed in funeral attire, this time wearing a brown dress. But unique to this victim, he’d placed a copy of the Ten Commandments between her hands.
Which commandment had she broken?
Wildflowers covered the ground below her and a single daffodil had been placed in her light brown hair. Blood dried on her throat, and the bramble he’d wrapped around her neck was tied in a knot. Her eyes were so wide open that it looked as if she was silently begging for help.
“She didn’t deserve this,” Laney said quietly.
Ellie studied the victim for a moment. She was slender, her face oval-shaped, eyes a dark brown, darker than her hair.
As Laney began her initial assessment, Ellie leaned closer to photograph the bruises on the woman’s arms. A darker, deeper one circled her neck. The impression was so grisly that once again she was struck by the fact that the killer might have been into S and M… or… what if the collar was actually a dog collar? What if the killer raised and trained—or abused—animals?
Laney pointed to the woman’s fingernails, which were painted a shocking pink but were jagged on the ends. “Acrylic nails. Looks like he ripped some of them off. Her fingers are dark with blood.”
“He’s escalating. Growing more cruel. Time of death?”
“She’s not in full rigor yet,” Laney said. “So I’d say two to four hours at the most.”
Dammit. They were close again.
As she looked around the scene, wondering how recently he had been here, something caught her eye in a patch of weeds nearby. Walking over to look at it, with gloved hands and a pair of tweezers, she plucked it from the grass. It was a small piece of a fingernail, painted hot pink. Either it had broken off in the struggle or the unsub had dropped it after he’d clipped the woman’s nails.
Hope flared in her. If she’d scratched him, maybe they could get DNA.