8 Scream for Me Read online

  She nodded unsteadily. “Yes. But Bailey’s still missing.”

  He knew what she was asking. “I can’t help you find her.”

  Her eyes flashed. “Why not?”

  “Because the GBI doesn’t just take cases from the locals. We have to be invited.”

  Her jaw tightened and her eyes went cold. “I see. Well, then, can you tell me how to get to Peachtree and Pine?”

  Daniel blinked at her. “Excuse me?”

  “I said Peachtree and Pine.” She enunciated it. “Sheriff Loomis, the Dutton sheriff, said that’s where I should look for her.”

  Damn you, Frank, Daniel thought. That was insensitive and irresponsible. “I’d be glad to give you directions, but you might have more luck after dark, and that I wouldn’t recommend. You’re from out of town and don’t know the safe areas.”

  She lifted her chin. “I don’t seem to have much choice. Sheriff Loomis won’t help me and you can’t.”

  He didn’t think so, but chose to keep his opinions to himself. He looked down at his shoe, then back up at her. “If you can wait until seven, I’ll take you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Because I have a six o’clock meeting that’s not done till seven.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t play games with me, Vartanian. Why?”

  He decided to tell her some small sliver of the truth. “Because that victim was found just like your sister, and on the same day my Jane Doe died, your stepsister disappeared. Whether I have a copycat killer or not, this is too much of a coincidence for me to ignore. And . . . you’re here, Miss Fallon. Has it occurred to you that you might be a target of a copycat killer, too?”

  Her face paled. “No.”

  “I don’t mean to scare you, but I’d rather see you scared than lying in there.”

  She nodded shakily and he could see he’d made his point. “I appreciate it,” she murmured. “So where should I meet you at seven?”

  “How about back here? Don’t wear that suit, okay? It’s too nice.”

  “Okay.”

  The need to put his arm around her swamped him again, but he shoved it away. “Come on, I’ll walk you up to the front.”

  Monday, January 29, 10:45 a.m.

  I’m still alive. She struggled to wake up and squinted, unable to open her eyes fully. But it didn’t matter, it was so dark that she couldn’t have seen anything anyway. It was daytime, but she knew that only because she could hear the birds.

  She tried to move and groaned when pain streaked everywhere. She hurt so bad.

  And she didn’t even know why. Well, technically she knew part of it, maybe even all of it, but she didn’t let herself acknowledge that she held the information in her brain. In her weaker moments she might tell him and then he’d kill her.

  She didn’t want to die. I want to go home. I want my baby. She let herself think of Hope and winced as the tear burned on its way down her cheek. Please, God, take care of my baby. She prayed someone knew she was gone, that someone had come for Hope. That someone is looking for me. That she’d be important to someone.

  Anyone. Please.

  Footsteps approached and she drew a shallow breath. He was coming. God help me, he’s coming. Don’t let me be afraid. And she forced herself to go blank, to clear her mind of everything. Everything.

  The door swung open and she winced at the dim light from the hall.

  “Well, now,” he drawled. “Are you ready to tell me where it is?”

  She gritted her teeth and prepared for the blow. Still she cried out when the end of his boot kicked her hip. She looked up into black eyes that she’d once trusted.

  “Bailey, darlin’. You can’t win here. Tell me where the key is. Then I’ll let you go.”

  Dutton, Monday, January 29, 11:15 a.m.

  It was still there, Alex thought as she stared up at Bailey’s house from the street.

  So go in. Check it out. Don’t be such a coward. But still she sat, staring, her heart beating hard and fast. Before she’d been afraid for Bailey. She’d been terrified of Bailey’s house. Now, thanks to Vartanian, she was afraid for herself, too.

  He might be totally wrong, but if he was right . . . She needed protection. She needed a dog. A big dog. And a gun. She started up the rental car and was ready to pull away from the curb when a knock at her car window had her screaming.

  Her gaze flew up to the window where a young man in a military uniform stood smiling. He hadn’t heard her scream. Nobody ever did. Her screams were only in her mind. Drawing an unsteady breath, she rolled down the window a crack. “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” he said pleasantly. “I’m Captain Beardsley, U.S. Army. I’m looking for Bailey Crighton. I thought maybe you might know where I could find her.”

  “Why are you looking for her?”

  Again his smile was pleasant. “That’s between me and Miss Crighton. If you see her, could you tell her Reverend Beardsley stopped by?”

  Alex frowned. “Are you a captain or a reverend?”

  “Both. I’m an army chaplain.” He smiled. “Have a nice day.”

  “Wait.” Alex grabbed her cell phone and dialed Meredith while the man stood outside her window. He did wear a cross on his lapel. Maybe he was really a chaplain.

  And maybe he wasn’t. Vartanian had her paranoid. But then again, Bailey was missing and that woman was dead.

  “Well?” Meredith demanded without preamble.

  “It’s not Bailey.”

  Meredith sighed. “I’m relieved and at the same time . . . not.”

  “I know. Listen, I came by Bailey’s old house to see if I could find anything—”

  “Alex. You promised to wait until I could go with you.”

  “I didn’t go in. I just needed to see if I could.” She glanced at the house and her gut began to twist. “I can’t. But as I was sitting here on the street, this guy came up.”

  “What guy?”

  “Reverend Beardsley. He says he’s looking for Bailey. He’s an army chaplain.”

  “An army chaplain is looking for Bailey? Why?”

  “That’s what I’m going to find out. I just wanted someone to know I was talking to him. If I don’t call you in ten minutes, call 911, okay?”

  “Alex, you’re scaring me.”

  “Good. I was getting too full of fear myself. Need to spread it around. How’s Hope?”

  “The same. We need to get her out of this hotel room, Alex.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” She hung up and got out of her car.

  Captain Beardsley looked concerned. “Has something happened to Bailey?”

  “Yes. She disappeared.”

  Beardsley’s concern became shock. “When did Bailey disappear?”

  “This past Thursday night, four days ago now.”

  “Oh, dear. Who are you?”

  “My name is Alex Fallon. I’m Bailey’s stepsister.”

  His brows went up. “Alex Tremaine?”

  Alex swallowed. “That’s my old last name, yes. How do you know that?”

  “Wade told me.”

  “Wade?”

  “Bailey’s older brother.”

  “I know who Wade is. Why would he tell you about me?”

  Beardsley tilted his head, studying her. “He’s dead.”

  Alex blinked. “Dead?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I assumed you’d been notified. Lieutenant Wade Crighton was killed in the line of duty in Iraq about a month ago.”

  “We’re not really blood relations, so I guess the government wouldn’t have contacted me. Why are you looking for Bailey?”

  “I sent her a letter her brother dictated to me just before he died. Lieutenant Crighton was injured in a raid on a village outside Baghdad. Some called it a suicide mission.”

  A sense of satisfaction stole through Alex, making her ashamed. “Was the mission accomplished?” she asked very quietly.

  “Partly. At any rate, Wade was hit by mort
ar fire. By the time the medics got to him, it was too late. He asked me to hear his confession.”

  Alex’s brows knit. “Wade wasn’t Catholic.”

  “Neither am I. I’m a Lutheran pastor. A lot of men who ask me to hear their final confessions aren’t Catholic, and clergy other than priests can hear them.”

  “I’m sorry. I knew that. We have all kinds of clergy come through our ER. I was just surprised Wade would confess anything. Do you visit all the families of the deceased?”

  “Not all. I was up for R&R and just came into Fort Benning. It was on my way, so I thought I’d stop on my way home. I still have one of Wade’s letters, you see. He asked that I write three letters, one to his sister, one to his father, and one to you.”

  The screaming took up in her head and Alex closed her eyes. When she opened them Beardsley was watching her with a concern she ignored. “Wade wrote to me?”

  “Yes. I mailed his letters to Bailey and his father to this address, but I didn’t know where to find you. I was looking for Alex Tremaine.” From the portfolio he carried under his arm, Beardsley pulled an envelope and his card. “Call me if you need to talk.”

  Alex took the envelope and Beardsley started to walk away. “Wait. Wade sends Bailey a letter. She disappears, the same day a woman is killed and left in a ditch.”

  He blinked at her. “A woman was killed?”

  “Yes. I thought it was Bailey, but it’s not.” She ripped open the envelope and scanned the letter Wade had dictated. She looked up. “There’s nothing in this letter that will tell me where Bailey’s gone. It’s just a letter asking for forgiveness. He doesn’t even say what he’s asking forgiveness for.” Although Alex was pretty sure she knew. Still, it wasn’t anything that Bailey would have been abducted over. “Did he tell you?”

  “He didn’t say in the letter.”

  Alex noticed the tightening of Beardsley’s jaw. “But he did say in his confession. Trust Wade to screw up. You won’t tell me what he said, will you?”

  Beardsley shook his head. “I can’t. And don’t say I’m not Catholic. The sanctity of a confession is just as critical to me. I won’t tell you, Miss Fallon. I can’t.”

  First Vartanian and now Beardsley. I can’t. “Bailey has a little girl. Hope.”

  “I know. Wade told me about her. He loved that little girl.”

  That Alex found hard to believe, but she didn’t argue with him. “Then tell me something that can help me get Hope’s mother back to her. Please. The police won’t help me. They say Bailey’s just a junkie and probably ran away. Did Wade say anything outside the confession?”

  Beardsley looked down, then into her eyes. “ ‘Simon.’ ”

  Alex shook her head in frustration. “Simon? What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s a name. Just as he died he said, ‘I’ll see you in hell, Simon.’ I’m sorry, Miss Fallon. That’s going to have to be enough. I can’t tell you any more.”

  Chapter Four

  Atlanta, Monday, January 29, 12:15 p.m.

  Dr. Felicity Berg looked up at Daniel through her goggles. She was standing on the other side of the autopsy table, bending over what remained of their Jane Doe. “You want the good news or the bad news first?”

  Daniel had watched in silence as Felicity had taken Jane Doe apart with deliberate care. He’d watched her do autopsies more than a dozen times, but he never failed to wonder how she kept her hands so steady. “The bad news, I guess.”

  The mask covering her face moved and he imagined her wry smile. He’d always liked Felicity Berg, even though she was called “The Iceberg” by most of the men. He’d never seen her as cold, just . . . careful. There was a difference, as Daniel well knew.

  “I can’t definitively identify her. She was about twenty. She had no blood alcohol, and doesn’t have any obvious diseases or defects. Cause of death was asphyxia.”

  “And the blows to her face? Where they pre- or postmortem?”

  “Post. As was this bruising around her mouth.” She pointed to four fingertip-sized bruises.

  Daniel frowned. “Wouldn’t those bruises be from the hand that killed her?”

  Her brows lifted. “That’s what he wanted you to think. Remember the fibers I pointed out in her lungs and in the lining of her cheeks?”

  “Cotton,” Daniel said. “From the handkerchief he shoved in her mouth.”

  “Exactly. I’m guessing he didn’t want any of his own DNA in her teeth in the event she bit him. There are bruises on her nose that were put there before she was dead, you just can’t see them because of the beating. But after she was dead, somebody’s fingers were pressed to the side of her mouth. The distance between the finger bruises indicates it was a man’s hand, small in size. He went to considerable trouble to make this happen, Daniel. He was careful when hitting her face to leave this area around her mouth untouched. It’s almost like he wanted the finger bruises to show.”

  “I wonder if Alicia Tremaine had finger bruising around her mouth.”

  “That’s for you to find out. I can tell you this woman’s last meal was Italian, with sausage, pasta, and some kind of hard cheese.”

  “Only about a million Italian restaurants in the city,” he said glumly.

  She picked up the woman’s left hand. “She has thick calluses on her fingertips.”

  Daniel leaned closer to see. “She played a musical instrument. Violin maybe?”

  “Or something in the string family, something with a bow, I think. The other hand is soft, no calluses, so it’s probably not a harp or a guitar.”

  “Was that the good news?”

  Her eyes glinted in mild amusement. “No. The good news is that even if I can’t tell you who she was, I think I can tell you where she’d been twenty-four hours before she was killed. Come here, to this side of the table.” Felicity ran a black light wand over the victim’s hand, revealing the remnants of a fluorescent stamp.

  He looked up and met Felicity’s satisfied eyes. “She’d been to Fun-N-Sun,” he said. The amusement park stamped the hands of anyone leaving and planning to return the same day. “They get thousands of visitors every day, but maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  Felicity placed the woman’s arm at her side with gentle care and respect, elevating her in Daniel’s regard. “Or maybe someone will finally miss her,” she said quietly.

  “Dr. Berg?” One of her assistant’s came into the room, carrying a sheet of paper. “This woman’s urine tox came back positive for flunitrazepam, one hundred micrograms.”

  Daniel frowned. “Rohypnol? He used a date-rape drug? That’s not a lethal dose, is it?”

  “That’s not even enough to knock her out. It’s barely enough to show up on the test. Jackie, can you run the test again? If I get called before a grand jury, I’m going to want a verification of your results. No offense.”

  Unperturbed, Jackie nodded. “None taken. I’ll do it right now.”

  “He wanted us to find the drug, but he didn’t want her completely incapacitated,” Daniel mused. “He wanted her awake and aware.”

  “And he knows his pharmacology. It wouldn’t have been simple to achieve that low level of flunitrazepam. Again, he went to some trouble.”

  “So the presence of Rohypnol is one more thing I need to check on the murder of Alicia Tremaine. I need to get that police report.” And so far, Dutton Sheriff Frank Loomis still hadn’t called him back. So much for professional courtesy. Daniel was going to Dutton to get that report in person. “Thanks, Felicity. As always, it’s been fun.”

  “Daniel.” Felicity had stepped back from the body and was pulling off her mask. “I wanted to tell you that I was sorry to hear about your parents.”

  Daniel drew a breath. “Thank you.”

  “I wanted to go to the funeral, but . . .” A self-deprecating smile bent her lips. “I got to the church, but I couldn’t go inside. Funerals make me queasy. Believe it or not.”

  He smiled at her. “I believe you, Felicity. And I t
hank you for trying.”

  She nodded briskly. “I had Malcolm request the autopsy report on Alicia Tremaine after Miss Fallon left. When we get it, I’ll let you know.”

  “Again, I appreciate it.” And as he walked away, he felt her watch him go.

  Atlanta, Monday, January 29, 1:15 p.m.

  When Daniel got back to his office, Luke was sitting in one of his chairs, a laptop in his lap and his feet up on Daniel’s desk. He looked up, studied Daniel’s face, then shrugged. “You’re making it damn hard for me to lie to my mama, Daniel. I can tell her you’re all right all I want, but those dark circles under your eyes tell a different tale.”

  Daniel hung his jacket behind his door. “Don’t you have a job?”

  “Hey, I’m working.” Luke held up the laptop. “I’m running a diagnostic on the chief’s machine. It’s been running ‘buggy.’ ” He quirked the air with his fingers, a smile on his face, but Daniel heard the tension in his friend’s voice.

  He sat at his desk and did some studying of his own. There were no dark circles under Luke’s eyes, but within them was a bleakness few got to see. “Bad day?”

  Luke’s smile disappeared, and closing his eyes, he swallowed audibly. “Yeah.” The single word was harsh and filled with a pain few truly understood. Luke was on the GBI’s task force against Internet crime, and for the last year he’d been focused on crime involving children. Daniel thought he’d rather watch a thousand autopsies than look at the obscenities Luke was forced to view every day. Luke drew a breath and opened his eyes, control restored even if serenity was not.

  Daniel wondered if any cop ever got to serenity.

  “I needed a break,” Luke said simply, and Daniel nodded.

  “I just came from the morgue. My Jane Doe went to Fun-N-Sun on Thursday and plays the violin.”

  “Well, the violin might narrow it down some. I brought you something.” Luke pulled a thick stack of papers from his computer bag. “I ran a deeper search on Alicia Tremaine and came up with all these articles. She had a twin sister.”