Hunted by a Killer, page 11
He turned in his seat to catch a view of what shadowed them. A white truck similar to the one he’d seen speeding away on Charlotte’s street. “Didn’t you say there’s hundreds of those kinds of trucks in the area?”
“There are. Maybe I’m being too paranoid.”
“A serial killer threatened your life. There’s no such thing as too paranoid.” Glancing back again, he watched the truck inch closer. The male driver’s face was obscured by the lowered brim of a baseball hat. “Turn here.”
She turned right at the next intersection. The truck copied their change in direction.
Adrenaline surged. Was this another method of intimidation?
At the next intersection, she turned right again.
The truck continued straight. Soon, he lost sight of it.
“That was probably some guy driving to meet his buddies for breakfast.” Her hands trembled slightly as they gripped the steering wheel.
“You need to stay vigilant. And if that means overreacting on occasion, then overreact.” He lowered the car window for fresh air. The AC was on in the car but he needed more. A pleasant fragrance drifted off the magnolia flowers that dotted the trees alongside the road. When he left town, he wouldn’t miss the heat and humidity. But he would miss the sweetness that always floated in the air—Charlotte’s peony perfume mingling with the scents of ever-prevalent flowers.
When they reached the police station, he breathed a sigh of relief. At least Charlotte was fairly protected inside its walls.
“I don’t trust anyone anymore, present company excluded.” She turned off the car and exited.
Austin got out and closed the door. He glanced at her over the roof of the silver sedan and hooked his thumb toward the brick building that housed the police station. “Even those you work with?”
“I don’t want to suspect a member of law enforcement but how did Ronald know confidential information about the investigation?” She drummed her fingers on the hood of the car.
“There’s a leak. Or Ronald could have spoken with Michael.” Could an informant or killer be hiding under the cover of a badge? Discovering an investigation had a leak, someone who spoke to the media without authorization, wasn’t uncommon. In this instance, one of their own was under threat. What purpose did sharing the connection the serial killer had with Charlotte serve? To cause harm? “Request that Chief Gunther place a cone of silence over the entire investigation. No more press conferences. No comments on any questions going forward.”
“I don’t want residents to think we’re keeping things from them.” All the tension that had left Charlotte’s body in church was reappearing. Her back was stiff, and her face tight with worry.
“We are keeping things from them for the integrity of the investigation.” He rounded the rear of the car to stand next to her. Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her so she met his gaze. “We have four more days to catch this guy. After he’s locked away, you can give the press conference of a lifetime.”
“Are you confident he’ll be captured in time?” Fear dilated her dark pupils.
“I’m confident in you…and in me.” He paused. “And most importantly in God.” Failure was not an option. Four more days. If the killer continued to elude them, Charlotte could lose her life. Four more days to track a madman and take him into custody. Clues remained hidden. What had they missed during the initial investigation that kept the killer concealed? All they needed was one big break. One piece of evidence that connected the dots and revealed the killer’s identity. He had faith that a big break would come. But would it come in time to save Charlotte and the other kidnapping victim?
Twelve
The piercing ring of a cell phone startled Charlotte out of a restless sleep. She looked at the time—three o’clock. Nothing good came from a call in the middle of the night.
“Detective Reid.” Her voice was husky from sleep.
“It’s Chief Gunther. There’s been another kidnapping. Officers are at the home of the potential victim, speaking with the family. I want you and Walsh down there now. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a witness.”
While he was talking, she was slipping out of her pajama shorts and into jeans. “We’ll be there right away.”
Chief Gunther provided the address and some preliminary details. When she ended the call, she made another to Austin. He didn’t sound nearly as groggy as she felt.
In the hotel’s tiny bathroom, she washed her face and brushed her hair, pulling it up in a ponytail. Taking a moment, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Dark circles underlined her eyes. Her skin looked sallow—possibly from the yellowish bathroom light or possibly because she hadn’t gotten a decent night’s sleep since the Presque killer had reemerged.
She exited her hotel room, closed the door and locked it. Austin came out of his room at the same time. They were noticeably acting in sync these days. Must be due to the two of them spending almost every waking minute together. Strange to think he’d soon be out of her life again—this time for good.
“Who’s driving?” He asked. His dark hair didn’t have the same sheen as normal and not every hair was in perfect order. In fact, short bangs swooped on his forehead, and he brushed them back off his face with his hand.
“You can. I want to be noticed.” She walked to his black SUV parked nearby. Given the lack of faith from the community, their recognizing an FBI special agent was on scene, an active participant in the investigation, would hopefully calm doubts. If the killer was to be caught, law enforcement needed the cooperation of the community. Someone could have witnessed the kidnapping but kept quiet due to distrust. No solid tips had been received so far, even after the press conference.
They silently drove to the neighborhood where the victim was last seen. Her brain had fully awakened and was currently engaged in speculation. But until she knew the facts, she wouldn’t get stuck on any one theory. This missing woman could be unrelated to the Presque Killer. People were jumpy and called the police for situations they normally wouldn’t.
Austin parked behind a marked squad car. The street was dark beside the couple of streetlights that still worked and the flashing of red and blue from the light bars on top of police cars. A group of people were gathered in the front yard of a house, some wearing nightwear. The house they stood before was brightly lit from the inside. More people stood toward the back of the driveway, by a rickety garage.
Charlotte approached Officer Evans, who stood leaning with his back against his squad car. “What house was the missing person last seen in?”
He indicated the house where people had assembled. “Candace—better known as Candy—Lyon attended a party at a home owned by Rich Walker.”
“He’s the go-to if people want drugs,” Charlotte added for Austin’s benefit.
“True.” Officer Evans nodded. “So it’s no surprise those in attendance aren’t being very chatty. We all know what kind of party Rich throws.”
“When was Ms. Lyon last seen?” During these drug-and alcohol-fueled parties, people stumbled off into the night all the time, making it home or onto a friend’s sofa or a neighbor’s front yard.
“Her dad came over to bring her home. Ms. Lyon was attending addiction counseling and had been clean for two months.” Officer Evans glanced over at the source of shouting coming from the front lawn. “Her dad learned Candy had left the party a little before midnight and no one has seen her since. She didn’t return home and none of her friends know where she is. Since she fits the victim profile of the Presque Killer, her father made a call to the police.”
“Is Mr. Lyon here?” She scanned the crowd, which was appearing more restless by the second.
“We convinced him to go home by telling him you and Special Agent Walsh would be over to speak with the family. It’s too loud here to hear yourself think.”
Two men began shoving one another. Charlotte, Austin and Officer Evans rushed over to intervene.
“Did anyone speak with Candy before she left?” Austin’s voice rang over the buzzing of other conversations. “Did she say where she was going?”
“She had a drink and left.” A skinny woman with short red hair pushed forward through the crowd. “Candy only came to the party to talk to her old boyfriend, Scooter. They fought and then she headed out the back door.”
“Did she walk or drive here?” Charlotte ask.
“Walked.” The redheaded woman pointed down the street to her right. “Candy lives with her folks and their house is only three blocks down that way.”
“Where’s Scooter?” Austin’s rigid posture and wide-set feet warned anyone considering running. Even slightly disheveled, he looked the part of a man tasked with saving the day.
Charlotte too often forgot not to be attracted to him. His handsome charm frequently slipped past her defenses. While she was supposed to be one hundred percent focused on her mission here, she’d caught her gaze lingering on Austin for a second more than it should have. Dreams of romance were selfish considering similar flights of fancy had been one of the reasons the murdered women’s cases had grown cold.
“That’s Scooter,” a different woman interjected. Charlotte’s gaze landed on a tall, broad-shouldered man standing on the front porch of the house. “He’s a mean one, so watch out. Don’t know what Candy saw in him, except maybe a good time.”
“Do you know why Candy wanted to speak with him tonight?” Charlotte inquired. Could be the former couple argued and Candy stormed off to find a quiet spot to think.
“He had some things that belonged to her and she wanted them back.” The lady with the red hair offered. “Did the Presque Killer snatch Candy? Is that why y’all are here?”
“We don’t want to speculate. Thanks for your help.” Austin smiled at the two women before walking in the direction of the porch and Scooter.
Charlotte’s intention to follow Austin was interrupted by the sight of a white truck rumbling down the street. Her alertness sharpened when she saw Michael Duncan. The man she unofficially considered a suspect. They were still waiting for the return of his DNA test to learn if it matched the sample taken from the first victim’s sweater.
The truck stopped in the street and several people wandered over to speak with Michael.
She walked over and stood a few feet from the driver’s-side door. “I’d like a word.” The others dispersed when they saw her badge.
“What are you doing?” Folding her arms across her chest, she worked to not appear as tense as she felt.
“I live three houses down. Don’t you remember paying me a visit the other day?” His scowl highlighted the lines on his face. Michael wasn’t much older than Charlotte but hard living aged a person. “Had the night off and needed another six-pack of beer.” A paper bag sat on the passenger seat.
She gazed down the street and found Michael’s house, dark and dreary in the shadow of night. “A young woman went missing tonight. Candy Lyon. Do you know her?”
“Sure, I know Candy. Like all us know one another in the neighborhood.” Michael stared at the party house and his scowl grew. “Was she at Rich Walker’s place?”
Charlotte pondered if Michael had kidnapped Candy. If he were the Presque Killer, would he come back to the scene of the crime? Some perpetrators enjoyed witnessing the chaos their actions produced. She couldn’t remember seeing Michael Duncan at any of the other crime scenes.
“Did you kidnap Candy?” She decided to push him to gauge his reaction. No time for a gentle approach.
“What?” His eyes widened. “You think I took her? The girl probably went to someone’s place to crash.” He rubbed his scruffy jaw. “I had nothing to do with it.”
The denial seemed honest, on the surface. If she scratched a little harder, would she draw blood? “Do you remember this?” She lifted her arm to bring her bracelet into view. “Ruby and I had matching ones. You stole mine.”
Michael snorted a laugh. “I stole a lot of stuff back then. Don’t be offended. I don’t remember swiping your bracelet, but you must have gotten it back.”
“I did after you were removed from the home.” She inhaled through her nose, trying to detect the aromas of alcohol or smoke coming from him. Nothing but a minty scent from the gum he smacked in his mouth. A person would need to be sober to pull off the types of crimes the Presque Killer had done. “You must like the crescent moon too? What is the meaning of your neck tattoo?” For Charlotte, the symbolism of the crescent moon linked back to her mom, who’d believed the small sliver of moon in the sky meant new beginnings.
He covered the inked spot on the side of his neck with the palm of his hand. “It’s something I saw on TV. Are you done with the questions? I don’t enjoy walking down memory lane. My time in foster care isn’t something I like dwelling on.”
She recognized the flash of pain that crossed his expression at the mention of foster care. Although the families she’d stayed with had been mostly kind and loving, they weren’t her mom. They weren’t her real home. At least she’d had Ruby. Caring for her sister had kept her mind off the loss of their mother. Ruby had needed her, and Charlotte hadn’t had time for tears.
“If you learn anything about what happened to Candy, call the police station and you’ll be put in touch with me.” She took a step back, questioning whether she was allowing the killer to drive away.
“Girls like Candy go missing all the time, in these parts and elsewhere.” He switched the transmission from Park to Drive. “No one cares. Why waste your time, Detective? Unless you’re worried you might be next.”
He pulled away, driving a couple dozen feet until he turned into his driveway. His taillights taunted her.
Charlotte considered chasing after him so she could press him on what he meant by you might be next. When she felt someone place a hand on her shoulder, she froze. Spinning around, she saw Austin. A breath of relief left her lungs, although her heart still pounded at a supersonic rate.
“Who was that?” Austin stared down the dark road.
“Michael Duncan. He denies being at the party or that he’s involved at all with Candy’s disappearance.” The crowd around the house had mostly dispersed, whether by the direction of the cops or due to dwindling interest. She hoped the officers had taken the names and contact information of all. “I want to bring him in for questioning. He said he was coming from the store after getting beer. It’s been almost four hours since Candy left the party and anyone has seen her.”
“Order another officer to bring him in.” Austin waved over a patrol officer who stood by the curb. “You and I can sit down with him but we don’t have enough to arrest him. We’ll need his cooperation. Unless we get the DNA results back and it’s a match.”
“And you don’t think he’ll cooperate with me.” Not a question. Charlotte provided instructions to the officer, giving Michael’s name, address and the command to take along another officer when making the house call. “We could be dealing with someone dangerous. Be on guard and if he acts or says anything threatening, slap cuffs on him and bring him in.”
*
Shouting caught Austin’s attention. A large man marched down the road, fists clenched at his side. “Where’s my daughter?” His booming voice echoed on the otherwise quiet street. “Where’s Candy?”
“Mr. Lyon.” Austin strode up the street to meet a man visibly in distress. “Special Agent Walsh. We understand Candy was last seen at a house on this block. We have a large presence of law enforcement questioning those who were with your daughter before she went missing.”
“Are you really searching or is this all for show?” Mr. Lyon glanced around, left to right. He wore tattered jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt. His bloodshot, puffy eyes left no doubt he’d been crying. “He has her, doesn’t he? The Presque Killer. She’ll end up just like those other girls, murdered with no justice.”
Every reminder of his failure to catch the killer felt like an arrow piercing his heart. “We don’t know if Candy is truly missing. Under normal circumstances, an adult will need to be missing for longer than twenty-four hours before law enforcement gets involved. The person could have gone somewhere else and not told others.”
“But this isn’t a normal circumstance,” Mr. Lyon spit out. “There’s someone hunting young women like my daughter. Last week, she applied at the local college to become a nursing assistant. She’d stopped doing drugs and wanted to make something of her life. I don’t want to imagine all that being taken away.” A gut-wrenching sob punctuated his last sentence.
Witnessing the raw grief of another human being ripped away a layer of the protective wall Austin had placed around his emotions when he joined the FBI. To be a good agent, he’d learned to stay elevated above the personal feelings of those affected by the crime. He was taught to view his investigation like he was floating in a balloon, gazing down at the evidence and facts. Gaining a perspective often missed by those standing too close on the ground.
Caleb had trained Austin to use all his senses, including listening to his feelings. He had given everything to the investigation of his own daughter’s murder, then dedicated his life to bringing justice to other victims of serial killers. But Austin had witnessed the toll that emotional investment had had on Caleb, especially at the end of a long career. His high level of personal dedication had drained his marriage and his health, and Austin believed it had cost Caleb his life.
Standing before a father fearing for his daughter’s life, Austin felt the pull Caleb had not resisted. His connection with Charlotte already threatened to rock the steady course of his career. If he allowed himself to feel too deeply, would he ever find his way back to solid ground? Or would the internal turmoil upend him, sending him plunging into unfamiliar water?
He rested a hand on the father’s shoulder. “We’ll find your daughter, no matter where she is.”
Mr. Lyon stumbled off in the direction of Rich Walker’s house, likely having questions of his own that needed answering.
