Don't Cry (2 page)

J.D. had seen some weird sights in his time, as well as several sickeningly gruesome scenes, but never anything like this.

“It's a first for me,” Tipton said.

“Yeah, me, too. Any idea who…what…?” J.D. found himself stammering, something he never did. But then he'd never seen a fresh corpse cradling the skeletal remains of a small child. He cleared his throat and asked, “Any idea how either of them died? The woman—?”

“Asphyxiation.”

J.D. studied the dark-haired victim sitting so serenely in the wooden rocking chair. Traffic from the nearby interstate hummed over the din of voices, conversations blending with news coverage and bystanders' comments. Overhead the September sky was clear, the morning sun warm, the temperature somewhere in the high seventies. The beginning of a perfect pre-autumn day. But not so perfect for Jill Scott.

“Method of asphyxiation?” J.D. asked.

“Probably suffocation,” Tipton replied. “There's no sign of strangulation.”

“How long do you think she's been dead?”

Tipton glanced at the corpse. “She's in full rigor. Time of death—six to twelve hours ago. I'd guess eight to ten.”

“You don't think she was killed here, do you?” J.D. asked.

“She was probably killed somewhere else sometime before midnight and then brought here while it was still dark so it would be less likely anyone would see what was happening.”

“Yeah, not much chance anyone saw something.”

“Whoever killed her staged this little scene,” Tam Lovelady said. “He painted us a picture.”

“Mother and child,” J.D. surmised.

“He's a sick son of a bitch, whoever he is.” Tam stared at the victim. “She looks so damn peaceful.”

“He went to a great deal of trouble to dispose of her body in such a dramatic fashion.” J.D. remembered a bizarre case in Memphis when he was a rookie agent where the killer had placed his victims by the river, sitting up in a camp chair and holding a fishing pole. Weirdest thing he'd ever seen. Until now. “He's telling us something. We just have to figure out what it is.”

“He's telling us that he's fucking crazy,” Garth said, his voice a low grumble, as he came up behind them.

“What about the child?” J.D. asked.

“At this point, nothing more than the obvious—that the woman and the child didn't die at the same time. So, if that's all, J.D., I need to get back to work,” Tipton said. “We're about ready to bag the body and the skeleton.”

“Yeah, sure thing.” As Tipton walked away, J.D. called to him. “We'll talk again later.”

Tipton threw up his hand in a backward wave as he walked off.

“Are you hanging around?” Garth asked J.D.

“I thought I would, if you have no objections.”

Garth shook his head. “My crime scene is your crime scene.”

With a hard, craggy face, deep-set hazel eyes, and thinning gray hair, Garth Hudson looked every one of his fifty-some-odd years. Borderline butt-ugly, the sergeant wouldn't win any beauty contests, but he was neat as a pin. Whenever J.D. saw the man, Garth was wearing neatly pressed slacks, a jacket, and a tailored shirt.

J.D. and the investigators watched quietly while Tipton slipped the blue baby blanket and its contents into a body bag and then carefully handed the tiny unknown child to one of his assistants. That done, he went back to the woman in the rocking chair. He covered the victim's head, feet, and hands with individual bags and secured them with tape.

They stood by respectfully until the body was bagged and removed from the scene.

Before they could resume their conversation, a series of ear-piercing screams and mournful cries stopped everyone in their tracks.

“What the hell?” Garth's gaze traveled around the crime scene and beyond, searching for the source of the noise.

“I want to see her!” a female voice shouted. “If it's my baby, I want to see her!”

A uniformed officer rushed over to Garth. “It's the mother. Jill Scott's mother.”

“Damn!” Garth huffed. “How the hell did she find out?”

“My guess is from the live TV coverage.” Tam motioned past the crime scene tape to the horde of reporters chomping at the bit for a closer view.

“The whole family just showed up,” the officer said. “Mom, Dad, and kid sister. The mom's screaming her head off.”

“Keep her out of here,” Garth said. “But tell the guys they're to handle the family with kid gloves.”

“Want me to take care of it?” Tam asked. “I can go talk to the family.”

“Yeah,” Garth said. “You can handle a hysterical woman a lot better than I can.”

When Tam gave her partner a you're-a-chauvinist-pig glare before walking away, J.D. fell into step beside her.

“Do you do that a lot?” J.D asked.

Without slowing her pace, Tam said, “Do what?”

“Handle the unpleasant tasks for your partner?”

“Sergeant Hudson and I have been partnered for less than a month. I'm the new investigator on the homicide squad. But before then, yeah, I usually handled anything my partner thought was woman's work. Other women. Kids. Anything that had to do with emotional issues.”

“And you don't mind?”

“I don't mind. I don't have anything to prove. I know I'm a very good police officer and I'll be a very good detective. And I don't think of it as a negative thing that I'm capable of handling some of the most difficult aspects of being a police officer.”

“And one of those difficult aspects is dealing with the victim's family.”

“Can you think of anything more difficult than telling a mother that her child is dead?”

 

Debra Gregory tugged on the ropes that bound her red, chafed wrists to the arms of the rocking chair. Her seemingly useless struggles to free herself had eaten away skin, leaving her wrists and ankles bruised and bloody. He had secured her feet together and tied her wrists before he had left her. She had screamed for help until she was hoarse, but had soon realized no one could hear her and that's why he hadn't gagged her. Wherever he was holding her captive was so isolated that there was no danger of anyone hearing her screams.

Dark and damp. And as silent as a grave.

Terror had given way to frustration, and frustration to anger.

She had lost count of how many hours she'd been in this horrible, obsidian hell. He had left her alone for what seemed like days, alone in the pitch-black darkness. She didn't think she'd been here days. Not yet. Only a few hours. Maybe a little longer. God help her, she wasn't sure.

The last thing she remembered before waking up here was coming out of the gym late Tuesday night. Days ago? Hours ago? She'd been one of the last to leave shortly before closing at eleven and noticed that only two other cars remained in the parking lot. She had hit the Unlock button on her keypad before reaching her Lexus, and just as she'd opened the door, someone had grabbed her from behind. It had happened so quickly. A strangely sweet odor coming from the cloth he cupped over her nose and mouth. Her senses dulling as the anesthetic took effect. The weightless feeling as he lifted her off her feet. And then unconsciousness.

The police are looking for me. My family is doing everything possible to find me. I'll be rescued soon. I can't give up hope. I have to stay alive, no matter what.

When would he come back?

She was alone in the darkness, strapped to a chair, unable to escape, going slowly out of her mind. Suddenly a dim light instantly obliterated the darkness.

She turned her head sideways, but couldn't see the source of the light. It came from somewhere across the room. A candle? A lantern? Maybe a night-light?

Light had to mean that he had returned. Not enough light to see anything clearly, just enough to make out shapes and shadows.

Debra's heartbeat pounded in her ears. Her fear escalated quickly as she sensed him moving toward her. Closer and closer.

“Did you have a nice rest while I was gone?” he asked from where he stood behind her.

“Please…please let me go.” Her voice quavered. “I haven't seen your face. I don't know who you are. I can't identify you.” She was bargaining for her life, pleading with this unknown, unseen devil.

He stroked her hair, his touch terrifyingly tender. “You're talking nonsense. Of course you know who I am.” He untied her left hand and rubbed her chafed, bloody wrist before pulling her arm inward toward her waist.

“I don't…” She drew in a sharp breath when he reached over her head and around her shoulder and placed something in the curve of her arm. She looked down at the bundle lying in her lap and was able to make out the form of what she thought might be a baby wrapped securely in a blanket.

No, no, it couldn't be a baby. It wasn't moving, wasn't crying. It wasn't warm and alive.

“He needs you,” the man told her. “He won't rest unless you sing to him.”

She swallowed the fear lodged in her throat. Was she holding a doll, a very large baby doll? As her vision adjusted to the semidarkness, she looked right and left, then upward, trying to catch a glimpse of her jailor. All she saw were his legs clad in jeans and the sleeves of his dark jacket.

“Sing to him. You know the song he likes,” he told her, his voice soft yet stern. “Rock him to sleep the way you do every night.”

“I—I don't remember the song.”

“Of course you do. Now sing to him.”

She forced out the words of the most familiar lullaby she knew. “Rock-a-bye baby—”

“That's not the right song!” he shouted. “Sing the right song. He wants you to sing the song you always sing. You know the words!” And then he sang the first verse. “Hush, little baby, don't say a word…”

On the verge of screaming hysterically, Debra somehow managed to sing as she held the blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. She vaguely remembered the tune, but not the lyrics.
Sing, damn it. Make up the words. Improvise! Your life could depend on it.

“Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Mama's going to buy you a golden ring.” Her voice quivered. “If that golden ring don't shine, Mama's going to sing, sing, sing.”

“You're mixing up the words.” Leaning over her, watching her, his breath warm against her neck, he whispered, “But he loves the sound of your voice. We both do. Keep singing.”

Debra forced the words, making them up as she went along, trying her best to fit them to the tune she barely remembered. She tried not to cry, not to panic, not to say or do something that would upset her captor. He held her life in his hands. As long as she cooperated and played his little game, she had a chance of staying alive.

Why she chose that moment—midsong and midthought of doing whatever was necessary to stay alive—to glance down at the doll, she would never know. With her eyes fully adjusted to the dim, distant light, she was able to see the object in her arms. Not a doll at all.

The song died on her lips, and the scream vibrating in her throat remained trapped there by sheer paralyzing horror.

Charlie Scott kept his arm clutched tightly around his wife's shoulders, the strength of his hold the only thing stopping her from breaking through the yellow barricade tape that separated the onlookers from the crime scene. While Mary Nell pleaded with her husband to release her, Audrey held eighteen-year-old Mindy's damp, shaky hand as she tried to talk to Mary Nell. But Mary Nell was beyond listening, beyond anyone helping her at this point. There would be a time, later on, days from now or perhaps weeks or months, that Audrey might be able to help her. But not today.

“Why won't someone tell us if it's Jill or not?” Mindy's soft voice was barely audible over her mother's loud, pitiful cries.

“The police probably haven't identified the victim,” Audrey said. “Until they do, we cannot lose hope that the woman they found isn't Jill.”

“I can't stand it.” Mindy gripped Audrey's hand. “Mom's falling apart and…” Unable to control her tears, Mindy jerked away from Audrey and dropped her head, hunched her trembling shoulders, and covered her face with her hands.

As Audrey turned to comfort Mindy, she spotted her friend Tamara Lovelady, lifting the crime scene tape, walking under it, and heading in their direction. She and Tam had been friends all their lives. Both of their dads had been Chattanooga policemen. Oddly enough, she and Tam had been born exactly two days apart. How many birthday parties had they shared over the years? Their last party had been four years ago when they turned thirty, an event hosted by Tam's parents.

Tam's eyes widened with a hint of surprise when she saw Audrey. Despite Mary Nell reaching out to Tam, she passed by Jill's mother and came straight to Audrey.

“Are you here with the Scott family?” Tam asked.

“Yes. Mary Nell—Mrs. Scott—was with me when we got the news about the body being found here in Lookout Valley.” Audrey leaned down and whispered, “Is it Jill Scott?”

Tam, who stood five-three in her bare feet, looked up at Audrey, who towered over her at five-nine, and replied, “We'll need a family member to officially ID the body, but, yes, we're pretty sure it's her.”

“What are y'all talking about?” Mary Nell demanded, her eyes wild with fear. “Tell me! I have every right to know if…” She gulped down her hysterical sobs. “If it's Jill, I want to see her.”

“Mrs. Scott, I'm Officer Lovelady.” Tam's gaze settled sympathetically on Mary Nell. “The body is being taken to the ME's office. We'd appreciate it if a member of the family”—Tam looked directly at Charlie Scott—“would identify the body.”

Mary Nell keened shrilly, the sound gaining everyone's immediate attention.

“Isn't there some way that Mr. and Mrs. Scott could see the body now?” Audrey asked.

“I don't know. I'll check with Garth—”

“Please, let me see her,” Mary Nell whimpered.

“Why don't y'all give me a few minutes,” Tam said. “Audrey, want to come with me?”

“Sure.”

When they were out of earshot of the Scott family, Tam said, “Mrs. Scott is going to fall apart if she sees her daughter's body.”

“I've already called her GP to alert him that she's going to need medication.”

“Good.”

Tam took Audrey with her past the tape barricade as she rushed to catch up with Pete Tipton's assistants, who were carrying the body bag toward the ME's van parked in the restaurant's back parking lot.

“Wait up, guys,” Tam called to them.

Tipton, who was still talking to Garth and another man, someone Audrey didn't know, quickly ended his conversation and threw up his hand. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Tam said. “I just need y'all to wait a couple of minutes.”

Tipton, Garth, and the stranger came over to where Tam and Audrey stood only a few feet away from the body bag.

“Look, the parents want to see the body now,” Tam explained. “The mother is hysterical as it is. I don't think letting her see the body can make it any worse.”

“If anything, it might help her.” Audrey injected her opinion. “The not knowing is often far worse than the knowing.” She glanced at Garth, her step-uncle, and saw the flash of painful memories in his eyes. “If it is Jill, then why make her parents wait any longer to find out the truth?”

“And you are?” The tall, rough-around-the-edges stranger looked right at Audrey. The midday sun turned his salt-and-pepper hair to black-streaked silver.

Garth looked questioningly at Audrey and asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I'm here with—” Audrey said, but Tam interrupted her and rushed straight into introductions.

“Audrey, this is Special Agent Cass with the TBI.”

Garth added, “J.D., this is my niece, Dr. Sherrod.”

Audrey and J.D. Cass exchanged quick, intense inspections. She wasn't sure exactly what he thought of her and really didn't care. As a general rule, people tended to like her and she liked almost everyone she met. But there was something about the way this man looked at her, as if he found some flaw she wasn't aware of, that annoyed her.

His black-eyed gaze settled on her face and then he smiled. “You're not an M.D., are you?” He rubbed his chin. “Hmm…Let me guess—”

“Doctorate of philosophy in psychology,” Audrey told him. “I'm a mental health therapist.”

“Audrey is Mary Nell Scott's counselor,” Tam explained. “She came here with Jill Scott's family because Mrs. Scott is one of her patients.”

“Damn,” Garth grumbled under his breath.

“Is it your professional opinion that Mrs. Scott can handle seeing her daughter's corpse?” J.D. asked, his gaze intensely focused on Audrey

“It's my opinion that seeing her daughter's body—if indeed that's Jill”—she nodded toward the body bag—“will harm her less than not knowing.”

Audrey glared at J.D. Cass. Admittedly, she found him attractive. Who wouldn't? He was about six-three, broad shouldered, and extremely masculine, although not classically handsome. But for some reason, he irritated her. Maybe it was because of the almost condescending way he'd said, “You're not an M.D.” Or it could be because she sensed that he found her lacking in one way or another?

And that bothers you, doesn't it?

Damn right it did. After all, she was reasonably attractive, some even said pretty. She was highly intelligent and well educated and possessed more than competent social graces. Who was he to look down his imperfect nose at her?

“Let's get this over with,” Pete Tipton said. “Bring the parents over and let them ID the body.” He motioned to his assistants.

“Thank you.” Audrey focused on the ME, offering him a genuine smile.

“I'll tell the Scotts.” By the time the statement left her lips, Tam was in motion.

Garth received a phone call, excused himself, and left Audrey and the TBI agent standing side by side. Usually quite adept at conversation, even idle chitchat when necessary, Audrey suddenly found herself unnaturally silent.

Sensing the TBI agent looking at her, she turned back around and faced him. “Is there something you wanted to say, Special Agent Cass?”

With a sly smile curving his lips, the man shrugged. “No, ma'am, Dr. Sherrod.”

“Here they come,” Pete Tipton said as the Scott family approached. “No matter how many times I've done this, it doesn't get any easier.”

Tam escorted the Scotts, Charlie with his arm around Mary Nell, and Mindy following her parents.

“May we see her, please?” Charlie asked.

Tipton nodded. Tam led the family to where the ME's assistants held the body bag. Tipton unzipped the bag, removed the small, protective bag covering the victim's head, and stepped back to allow the family an unobstructed view.

Mary Nell gasped and then burst into tears as she crumpled right before their eyes. Weeping uncontrollably, she doubled over in pain. Charlie held her, his arms circling her waist, supporting her twisted body. Mindy stood silent and alone a few feet behind her parents. She had turned an ash gray, her glazed eyes overflowing with tears.

Charlie pulled Mary Nell up and into his arms. He looked Peter Tipton right in the eye. “It's our daughter. It's Jill.”

 

Tam and her husband Marcus, an engineer with the Tennessee Valley Authority in Chattanooga, met Audrey and her current boyfriend, Porter Bryant, for dinner that evening. Audrey and Tam arrived late, less than two minutes apart, so they paused outside J. Alexander's for a quick chat before entering the upscale restaurant on Hamilton Place Boulevard. Neither had changed clothes from earlier that day. Tam still wore black slacks, a lightweight camel blazer, and sensible but stylish one-inch pumps. She had discarded her shoulder holster, something she had forgotten to do a few weeks ago when the foursome had met for dinner. Of course, it had been her first week as a detective.

How Tam could look so good with practically no makeup at the age of thirty-four, Audrey would never know. Maybe it was her flawless golden brown skin or her large, luminous, dark chocolate eyes and thick black lashes.

Although Audrey hadn't taken time to change from her tailored navy pin-striped slacks and matching jacket into something more femininely casual, she had added fresh blush and lipstick, which she kept in her handbag. She had almost phoned Porter and canceled, but a girl had to eat, and what better company could she find tonight than three good friends? The last thing she wanted to do after a day like today was go home to an empty house. She kept thinking about getting a pet, a cat or a dog or even a goldfish. She thought about it, but never did it.

“You look beat,” Tam said. “Have you been with the Scotts all this time?”

She nodded. “Yes, I stayed and talked to Charlie and Mindy after Dr. Jarnigan's nurse practitioner came by and gave Mary Beth an injection. A strong sedative. And I helped Charlie deal with countless phone calls and an endless parade of family and friends who came and went all afternoon. Their priest is there with them, as well as Charlie's sister and her husband and several cousins.”

“It's been a difficult day all around,” Tam said. “I left your uncle Garth at headquarters. No wonder he's been divorced four times. What woman would put up with a man married to his job?”

“Every missing persons case is personal for him.”

“Because of Blake,” Tam said. “Garth is a dedicated policeman for the same reason you're a dedicated counselor. You both want to help people in pain.”

Although Audrey managed to go days, often weeks, without thinking very much about Blake, any missing persons case stirred up old memories. And when she was personally involved in the case, a counselor to someone with a missing family member, she occasionally still had nightmares, decades-old nightmares, about her little brother Blake's disappearance. The two-year-old had been abducted twenty-five years ago and was still missing. Missing and presumed dead.

“I know you can't talk about evidence and all that,” Audrey said. “But can you tell me one thing—do y'all think that whoever kidnapped and killed Jill Scott is the same person who abducted Debra Gregory?”

“Possibly. It's common knowledge that the two women are both in their mid-twenties, both average height and weight, both white females, both brunettes with long dark hair. The
Chattanooga Times Free Press
ran their photographs side by side on the front page this morning. At the mayor's insistence, I'm sure. Did you see it?”

“I saw it. And before you ask, yes, I thought there was a resemblance.”

“Enough of a resemblance that they could pass for sisters,” Tam said. “Debra Gregory looks more like Jill than her own sister Mindy does.”

“But the CPD is downplaying the resemblance, aren't they? The fact that the women resembled each other wasn't mentioned in the press conference.”

“We don't want to panic all the young, dark-haired women in Hamilton County who fit the same description. Not when we can't be a hundred percent sure the two cases are connected. Debra hasn't been missing twenty-four hours.”

“Then why bring in the TBI?” Audrey asked.

“They're not officially involved. Not yet.” Tam forced a smile. “We'd better find our dates. We're already twenty minutes late. Marcus has called me twice since he arrived.”

As they entered the restaurant, Audrey asked, “How well do you know Special Agent Cass?”

Tam spoke to the hostess, who offered to show them to their table.

“I never met him before today,” Tam replied. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason. Just curious.”

“There they are.” Tam waved at Marcus and Porter, who were seated in a booth halfway across the restaurant. “FYI—the DA called in the TBI. We did not request assistance.”

“He seems like the type who'd expect to take over.”

“Who? Special Agent Cass? What makes you think that?” Tam's smile widened. “Yeah, I know. He was sending out some powerful He-Man vibes, wasn't he? And I noticed the way you two kept looking at each other. What was that all about?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Audrey lied.

When they approached the booth where their dates sat, both men stood, gentlemen that they were. Marcus gave Tam a quick kiss on the mouth and a big I'm-glad-to-see-you smile. Porter gave Audrey a peck on the cheek. She and Porter had been dating for nearly six months now and she suspected he was ready for more than the friendship they shared. He hadn't pushed her into a sexual relationship and she was grateful, although she knew that it was only a matter of time. More than once recently, he had hinted about them moving in together, but she had ignored the hints. She had no desire to live with Porter or any other man. And marriage was out of the question. No way, no how.

“Sorry I'm late,” Tam said. “We're in the middle of—”