Wildflower Graves: A totally gripping mystery thriller (Detective Ellie Reeves Book 2) Page 8

  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.

  “Monday, we found our first victim, twenty-nine-year-old Courtney Wooten, at a place on the AT called the Reflection Pond. Inside her mouth, he left a piece of paper with the ‘Monday’s child’ part of the rhyme typed on it.” She explained what they’d learned about Courtney from Heath’s research and her conversation with Courtney’s sister.

  “We are looking into the lawsuit angle,” Captain Hale interjected. “So far no one is talking. The lawyer insists that Courtney settled because the complaints were bogus, and that the women who sued were money-hungry.”

  Anger twinged inside Ellie. Courtney’s sister told a different story.

  “We’ll keep pursuing it,” Hale added, “but given how things are developing, it feels less likely than it did on Monday that it’ll lead to our killer.”

  Moving on, Ellie said, “Dr. Whitefeather also found a thick band of bruising around the victim’s neck, which could be consistent with a dog collar or a choker that might be used in sexual play.” Ellie gestured to Heath. “Did you find anything on that?”

  “Nothing definitive,” the deputy said. “The adult shop on the interstate sells several versions that might fit the crime, although most of his customers pay in cash, as they don’t want to give their names.”

  “Or their wives to see the shop on the credit card bill,” Bryce muttered.

  “And he said a lot of the trade is online anyway these days,” Heath continued, ignoring him. “A collar or choker could have been ordered from countless online stores.”

  “The killer texted me personally,” Ellie went on, also ignoring the sheriff. “The number was from a burner phone, which as you all know is difficult if not impossible to trace to the owner.” Ellie released a breath. “The message on the paper found in the victim’s mouth appears to have been written on a typewriter. The lab is analyzing it now, along with the wounds on the woman’s throat, to pinpoint what kind of knife he used. Although the striations look like a regular hunting knife.”

  “Send everything to my people,” Derrick said. “Maybe they can trace the type of typewriter and who bought it.”

  Ellie motioned for Heath to handle it.

  “What’s this place called the Reflection Pond?” Derrick asked.

  Ellie explained about the folklore associated with the area. “Locals claim that if you look at your reflection in the water there you see a mirror of your inner soul. I think our killer knew about the flaws with Courtney’s makeup line, and that she was lying to her customer base to sell her product.”

  Ellie pinned up a photograph of victim number two. “This is Tuesday’s victim. Her name is Carrie Winters.” She glanced at Heath.

  Heath looked up from his laptop. “She’s a stripper,” Heath said. “Works as a dancer at a place called the Men’s Den.”

  “They do more than dance there,” Bryce muttered with a chuckle.

  Ellie barely resisted an eye roll. Of course he would know that. “That could mean something to our killer. I believe the way he poses the victim, the wording of each day’s rhyme, and the locations where he chooses to leave the body are significant.”

  Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Derrick making a note. “Where did he leave victim number two?” he asked.

  “At a primitive Baptist church called Ole Glory, by Red River.” She filled him in on the folklore about the color of the water and the baptisms held there. “Tuesday’s child is full of grace
,” she said as she gestured to the whiteboard. “My working theory is that our killer must have thought Carrie had fallen from grace, so he left her at a church which has old-school, traditional values and would be a place to repent.” She tapped the photograph of Carrie. “He also left a Bible page from Genesis in her hands. The very page where Eve took a bite of the forbidden fruit.”

  A heavy silence settled over the room as everyone absorbed the information. Derrick was making copious notes and Heath was tapping away. Over his shoulder, she saw him studying Carrie’s social media.

  “Did you find Ms. Winters’ next of kin?” she asked.

  Heath shook his head. “According to records, her parents are dead, and she has no siblings.”

  “I’ll talk to her coworkers,” the sheriff offered. “Maybe one of her customers is this perv.”

  Of course he’d volunteer to go to the strip club.

  But they had to divide up manpower, so she said nothing.

  “Why wrap thorns around their necks when he’d already slashed their throats?” Captain Hale asked.

  Deputy Landrum cleared his throat and spoke before Ellie could. “According to Biblical symbolism, thorns represent sin.”

  “Which means our killer could be religious, or he’s studied its symbolism,” added Ellie.

  Derrick drummed his fingers on the table. “Your theory sounds right, Detective Reeves. The posing and places are definitely significant. He may have some kind of God complex where he believes he’s punishing these women for perceived sins.”

  Ellie relaxed slightly. She was accustomed to being underestimated by her peers, and it was refreshing for someone to respect her opinion.

  “What is the importance of the wildflowers?” Captain Hale asked.

  Ellie raised a finger. “Daffodils are what’s called a schizophrenic flower, which can either have the attributes of rebirth and resurrection or the negative connotations of vanity. It’s also considered the flower of the underworld.”

  “So we’re dealing with a religious freak who’s into nature?” Bryce muttered.

  Ellie shrugged. “Or one who has knowledge of nature’s symbolism and mythology. Its symbolism comes from the Greek legend of the youth Narcissus, who was admiring his own image in a pool of water and drowned. At the spot where he fell in, a flower emerged, giving it the attributes of love and sacrifice over vanity.”

  “You seem to know a lot about this,” the sheriff said.

  “Research,” Ellie said. “When the killer contacts you personally, you can’t waste time.” Her father had also taught her some about plants, flowers and trees in the forest, and she pushed away the pain that surfaced at the thought of him.

  Another tense silence fell for a second.

  “What about the dress color?” Heath asked. “It seems to vary. Monday is dressed in olive green, Tuesday in red.”

  “That I don’t know,” Ellie admitted.

  “I’ll have my people look into it,” Derrick offered. “If the clothing doesn’t belong to the victims, maybe we can pinpoint where he’s purchasing the dresses.”

  Ellie’s mind turned to Shondra and she attached her photograph to the board. “At this point, we have reason to believe that he abducted Deputy Shondra Eastwood.” She filled them in on her phone call. “It’s Wednesday already, so he’s going to kill again.”

  “A victim a day for a week,” Bryce said. “The Weekday Killer.”

  Ellie hated to glorify this sicko with a name, but the press would name him if they didn’t. And that name reminded her of the urgency of the investigation.

  She tilted her head toward Derrick. “Perhaps you can work on a profile of the perpetrator while Deputy Landrum looks for connections between the victims.”

  Derrick tapped his notepad with his pen. “Already working on it.”

  Bryce’s cell phone buzzed on his hip, and he glanced at it. “Hold on, I’ve got to take this.”

  “Let’s take five,” Derrick said.

  The captain excused himself for a minute, and Deputy Landrum turned back to his computer.

  As Derrick made a phone call, Ellie remained silent, watching Bryce.

  Just like him to storm in, assert himself, then expect everyone to wait on him. He stepped to the doorway and spoke in a hushed tone, his body tensing. When he glanced up at Ellie, his eyes flickered with wariness.

  Ellie’s pulse jumped. Something was wrong.

  A second later, Bryce hung up and stepped back into the room. “The protest at the courtroom turned violent. I have to go.”

  Remembering the scene she’d witnessed on her way to the station, Ellie stood quickly. “Is my father all right?”

  Bryce shrugged. “I don’t know yet. But I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Maybe I should go,” Ellie murmured.

  He shook his head. “No, stay away. You’ll only make things worse.”

  Thirty-Four

  Derrick struggled to control his temper at Bryce’s callous remark. He’d seen those damn protestors and understood their anger. God knows he detested Randall Reeves himself.

  But group mentality could be dangerous––it was best that Ellie stayed away.

  Captain Hale loped back in, and as everyone convened again, Ellie gestured to the whiteboard, indicating where the victims’ remains were found.

  “Special Agent Fox, what can you tell us about the killer from the information we have so far?”

  Admiration for Ellie’s ability to focus on the case stirred inside him, and he forced himself into analytical mode. Derrick eyed the details on the whiteboard and the photos of the crime scene, disturbed by the images. He was tempted to say the bastard was FIH—fucked in the head. But that much was obvious.

  “I would say that our unsub is a male––he appears to have a hatred for women, given the manner he is posing them and almost punishing them for what he perceives as their sins. I would guess he’s probably early to mid-thirties. There’s a level of sophistication about the crime scenes that suggests this man has been around the block. He’s highly organized, intelligent, and methodical, which could be reflected in his job. He carefully chooses the locations where he disposes of the bodies and is meticulous in the details of how he poses them. He could be choosing the victims randomly, spontaneously, although the rhyme and the potential meaning of the victims you’ve noted indicates he’s researched them. It’s possible he meets them in person or online somehow.” He exhaled. “We’ll be able to tell more once we dig deeper into the victims. Did Courtney have a business partner?”

  Ellie glanced at the captain.

  “Yes, but the partner is a she. So is her accountant.”

  So that almost certainly ruled them out.

  “We need the vics’ computers and cell phones,” Derrick said.

  “I’ll call the Atlanta PD to go to Ms. Wooten’s residence and obtain them, then have them sent to the Bureau,” replied Captain Hale.

  “I’ll check out Ms. Winter’s residence and canvass her neighbors,” said Ellie, before addressing Heath. “Pull together a list of all the members of the Ole Glory Church. Ask them to go back twenty-five years. Our killer could attend there now, or it’s possible that he attended as a child.”

  Deputy Landrum nodded.

  Captain Hale gestured to the clock. “I guess we should start considering places where he might leave Wednesday’s victim.”

  Ellie paled, and Derrick knew what she was thinking. They wanted to find Deputy Eastwood alive, not to be looking for her body.

  “Wednesday’s child is full of woe,” she said, thinking out loud.

  Derrick squared his shoulders. “Perhaps the unsub plans to leave her at a place of mourning.”

  “Possibly a cemetery,” Captain Hale suggested. “I’ll send my new deputies to stake out graveyards and churches with cemeteries.”

  “I’ll call Ranger McClain and see if he has any ideas,” said Ellie.

  Derrick stiffened at the mention of the ranger. He hadn’t liked
McClain when he’d met him on the last case, certain he was hiding something.

  The ranger clearly had a thing for Ellie, too. A tiny seed of some feeling he didn’t want to analyze gnawed at him, but he quickly dismissed it. It didn’t matter if they were involved.

  All that mattered was stopping the Weekday Killer and finding the missing deputy.

  Thirty-Five

  Stony Gap

  Snap, snap, snap. Vinny clicked his fingers. Snap, snap, snap. Over and over and over.

  He always snapped them three times in a row when he was nervous or excited. Couldn’t help himself. Snap, snap, snap. Snap, snap, snap.

  As the crowd outside the courthouse chanted and waved their homemade protest signs, Vinny moved into the shadows. He had the kind of face that went unnoticed. It used to bother him that he was bland and boring. That was when he took those damn stupid pills though. Not anymore.

  When he flushed them down the toilet, he became another man. Full of life and energy and action. Nothing––and nobody––got in his way.

  No more Skinny Minnie Whiny Vinny.

  Snap, snap, snap.

  Wheezing out a breath, he lifted his phone and took a picture of Vera and Randall Reeves as they slipped into their Lincoln town car. They couldn’t hide from what they’d done. The cameras were watching. Following. The crowds were chasing. The demons would get them one day.

  Just like the old hag. She’d gotten what was coming. Now she was rotting, her bones turning to dust.

  Her words chimed in his ears. No friends. No friends. No friends.

  But she was wrong. He had a friend. The best kind. They would do anything for one another. Anything.

  They would kill for each other.

  Thirty-Six

  Crooked Creek

  Before Ellie could make the call to Cord, her phone buzzed. Hoping for a lead, she connected.