Don't Cry (30 page)

“I do,” J.D. said. “I'll be there as soon as I can.”

He pocketed his phone and turned to Audrey as he rubbed his chin. “Any chance you have an electric razor? I really need a quick shave.”

“It's a lady's razor, but yes, I have one.” She laid her hand on his arm. “He's kidnapped another woman, hasn't he?”

“We think so. A woman who fits the general description of his other victims. She didn't come home from work last night.”

 

J.D. sat in on the interviews, but left the questioning to Tam and Garth. For all intents and purposes, the Rocking Chair Killer cases were theirs. And even though they had no proof that Somer Ellis had been kidnapped by the man who had abducted and murdered Jill Scott, Debra Gregory, and Whitney Poole, his gut instinct told him that it had been the same guy.

One by one, they questioned the employees who had left work with Somer last night. So far, each of them had said the last they saw of Somer, she'd been walking toward her car.

“She was parked a little farther back than I was,” one of the women had said. “When I drove off, she was almost to her car, I think.”

“Did you see anybody else around?” Garth had asked.

She had shaken her head. “No, no one.”

Alice Finch entered the manager's office, glanced around the room at the two police officers, the TBI agent, and then her boss. J.D. guessed her to be a well-preserved sixty, her makeup flawless, her short platinum hair stiff with hair spray, her body slender and her clothes no doubt Belk's top-of-the-line merchandise.

“Sit down, please, Alice,” the manager said and then he introduced Tam, Garth, and J.D. “They want to ask you a few questions about Somer, about when y'all left work last night.”

“Has something happened to Somer?” Alice inquired, genuine concern in her voice.

“Somer Ellis has disappeared,” Tam said. “She didn't go home last night. Her husband contacted the police early this morning to report her missing.”

“Oh, dear. This is awful. If I'd had any idea…if I'd thought for one minute…but she seemed to know him and—”

“Please, Mrs. Finch, slow down.” Tam sat in the armchair identical to the one Alice settled into, both chairs facing the manager's desk. “Start over, at the beginning from when you left work last night.”

Alice nodded. “I said good night to everyone, including Somer, and we all walked into the parking lot, going to our vehicles. Somer was parked a little farther away than the rest of us. She works a short shift on Friday evenings and I suppose she parked as close as she could.” Alice took a deep breath. “I noticed a car parked next to hers, the only one nearby. I didn't think anything about it. I mean, it is a parking lot and sometimes people leave cars there all night.”

“We understand,” Tam assured her.

“Do you remember what model car you saw parked next to—?” Garth asked.

Alice cut him off with an instant reply. “A big white car. An older model. A Lincoln, I believe. I'm not very good with makes and models, but I do know an older car from a newer one.”

Garth glanced at J.D. Their gazes locked as they processed the information. Each knew there now could be little doubt that the Rocking Chair Killer had abducted Somer Ellis.

“Did you see anyone inside the car?” Tam continued her questioning.

“No,” Alice said. “He wasn't in the car when I saw him.”

“You saw him?” The words came out before J.D. realized he had spoken.

“It was when I was driving away,” Alice explained. “I noticed there was a man standing between that older-model car and Somer's car. They were talking. She was smiling. I thought she knew him. She didn't act like anything was wrong.”

They had a witness. Alice Finch had seen the Rocking Chair Killer.

“Mrs. Finch, can you describe the man you saw?” Tam leaned forward, closer to Alice.

“Well, it was after nine last night, so it was dark, and Somer wasn't parked under one of the security lights.”

J.D.'s hopes sank like a lead balloon. Once again they had a witness who could no more ID the killer than the two previous witnesses could.

“Then you didn't see his face,” Tam said. “You can't describe him.”

“Of course I can describe him. He was medium height and build and had light hair. I caught just a glimpse of him, but I could tell he was young. And I remember thinking he was quite good looking. That made me wonder if perhaps Somer was cheating on her husband, that this man might be her boyfriend.”

“If you saw him again, do you think you could identify him?” Garth asked.

“Pick him out of a lineup, you mean?” Alice asked.

“Yes, ma'am.” Garth moved in behind Tam's chair.

“Probably not. Not positively. But you know, I did think he looked familiar. I thought I'd seen him before.”

“Any idea where?”

“I'm not certain, but I think he may have been a customer. Not mine, but Somer's.”

“Does Somer work in the men's department?” Tam asked.

“No, she works in the children's department.”

J.D. wanted to ask the next question, but waited, certain that Tam would ask it for him.

“The children's department, does that include infant and toddler items such as baby blankets and shawls?” Tam asked.

“Yes, of course.”

Tam turned to the store manager. “I need to see Somer Ellis's sales records for the past two months, starting with this past week.”

The sketch artist had drawn a picture of the person Alice Finch had described. But since she had caught only a quick glimpse of the man's face, the results had shown a rather generic likeness, one that could have fit a great many young, handsome, fair-haired men who wore glasses. But no mustache. They had asked Alice about the mustache and she had been certain that the man she saw had been clean-shaven.

The man in the sketch bore a vague resemblance to Hart Roberts as well as Jeremy Arden. The face also possessed the same sexiness women saw in Matthew McConaughey and, decades ago, in Paul Newman. Bottom line—the sketch was all but useless in identifying their killer. There were too many good-looking blond guys who fit the same general description. After the sketch artist had completed the picture, J.D. had shown Alice photos of both Hart Roberts and Jeremy Arden and asked her if she could ID either man. She had taken her time studying each photo before answering.

“It might have been either one of them,” she'd said. “But I can't be sure.”

So they were back to square one in positively identifying their killer.

J.D. continued to do his best to keep tabs on Roberts's and Arden's movements, but he was only one guy and couldn't be in several places at once. He'd tried to convince Tam to put a tail on both men, but she had told him they didn't have any evidence against Hart, certainly nothing to warrant tailing him 24/7. And the same held true for Jeremy Arden.

So J.D. had focused on what he could do on his own, which included tracking down the guy who had bought Luther Chaney's old Lincoln for parts and scrap metal and searching for any records of the adoption of a little boy named Corey Bennett. So far, no solid results on the adoption records. But he was waiting on a court order that would allow him partial access to sealed adoption records for the year that Frankie Jo Rogers had told them Dora Chaney had sold her husband's illegitimate child for twenty thousand dollars.

Ever since Somer Ellis had disappeared, three days ago, the local and state media, as well as nationwide TV, had crucified both the CPD and the TBI for their inability to stop the Rocking Chair Killer. From the mayor and DA to Chief Mullins, orders had been issued to make these cases the police department's top priority. And J.D.'s boss had relayed word for word his conversation with the TBI director, who was none too pleased with the unfavorable publicity the state bureau was receiving. J.D. hadn't enjoyed getting his ass chewed out, but it had been worth it because now the director was involved and his influence could open doors that would otherwise be closed. Subtle pressure could persuade judges to issue court orders and light a fire under everyone even indirectly involved with the crossover Baby Blue and Rocking Chair cases.

J.D. hadn't taken a day off in a couple of weeks, nor had Garth Hudson. And Tam had been working practically around the clock ever since Somer Ellis's kidnapping. He wasn't sure what he would have done without Audrey's help. If she hadn't offered to look after Zoe, he would have had little choice but to hire some unknown baby-sitter for nighttime duty, which Zoe would have hated.

“Let Zoe pack a bag and move in with me, temporarily,” Audrey had told him Saturday evening. “It will make things easier all the way around, for Zoe and for you.”

Audrey had been right, of course, and any reluctance he'd felt had been only because having Zoe living with her meant daily contact with Audrey. He didn't have time to analyze the kiss they'd shared. But he knew one thing for sure, that kiss had been a one-time-only thing. He had no intention of getting involved with a woman who had Trouble with a capital
T
stamped on her forehead. A guy would be a fool to think he could have a casual fling with Audrey Sherrod. She was the type who'd get under a man's skin, in his blood, and could make a guy forget all the reasons he had sworn off committed relationships for the rest of his life.

J.D.'s phone rang, effectively snapping him out of his now daily keep-Audrey-at-arm's-length rationalizations. He didn't recognize the caller's ID.

“Special Agent Cass.”

“Yeah, this here's Eugene Vann Jr. up in Erwin.”

Erwin, Tennessee, was a small town south of Johnson City. J.D. gripped the phone tightly. “Yes, sir, Mr. Vann, what can I do for you?”

“Ain't what you can do for me, it's what I can do for you.”

“Is that right? Just what can you do for me?”

“I can tell you what happened to that 1980 white Lincoln you state boys have been looking for.”

J.D. smiled. “I'm listening, Mr. Vann.”

“Well, I bought me an old Lincoln from a man named Frank Elmore a couple years back intending to scrap the car and sell whatever parts I could. But my wife took a liking to the car so I fixed it up a little for her. Had a new engine put in and had it painted, and that sure did tickle her pink.”

“I assume your wife doesn't still have the car, is that right?”

“That's right. I had a guy offer me twice what the darn thing was worth before I even got a chance to buy a car tag,” Eugene said. “So I sold it to him and halved the money with Patsy. Had to give her half to smooth over her ruffled feathers. She was powerfully fond of that old car.”

“Who bought the old Lincoln?” J.D. asked.

“Figured you'd ask.”

“Yeah?”

Eugene chuckled. “His name was Corey Bennett.”

J.D. hadn't doubted it for a second, had known who it would be even before Eugene said the name. “Can you give me a description of this guy?”

“Sure can. Young, good-looking fellow. Light hair, blue eyes. About five-ten, slender.”

“If you saw this man again, would you recognize him?”

“Yep, I probably would.”

J.D.'s gut tightened. He didn't want to get excited over the possibility that they might finally have an eyewitness who had seen Corey Bennett face-to-face and believed he could ID him.

“You don't happen to have a fax machine or a computer, do you, Mr. Vann?”

“Ain't got no fax machine, but I got a computer. Do all my bookkeeping on the computer.”

“I'd like to send you a couple of photos and see if you might be able to identify either man as Corey Bennett.”

“You do that, Special Agent Cass, and I'll call you back as soon as I take a look at them pictures.” Eugene cleared his throat. “Mind if I ask you a question?”

“You can ask, but I can't promise I can answer you.”

“Fair enough. What I want to know is why you state boys are so all-fired interested in that old Lincoln?”

“We're interested because there's a possibility this car is being used for illegal purposes.” J.D. kept the response as honest and yet as vague as possible.

“We get the state, country, and world news up here in Erwin, too, you know,” Eugene said. “You state boys and the Chattanooga police are looking for that Rocking Chair Killer, so it don't take no rocket scientist to put two and two together and come up with four.”

“Whatever you think you know, I'd appreciate it if you kept it to yourself for the time being. And the TBI director and Chattanooga chief of police would appreciate it.”

“Mum's the word. I can keep my mouth shut.”

“Thanks, Mr. Vann.” J.D. brought up the photo of Hart Roberts on his computer screen. “Give me your e-mail address and I'll get those photos to you right away.”

Eugene Vann recited his e-mail address, assured J.D. that he wouldn't breathe a word to anybody about the old Lincoln, and promised to call him back as soon as he'd taken a good look at the photos.

 

Audrey had awakened with a headache that morning. So far, neither coffee nor aspirin had helped very much, and it was now nearly noon. After dropping Zoe at Baylor, she had come to the office early and tried to take care of some backlogged paperwork that Donna had been pestering her to do.

“It's not like you to get behind,” Donna had told her. “It's this Baby Blue and Rocking Chair mess that's got you all tied up in knots, isn't it? That and a certain TBI agent who could most definitely eat crackers in my bed any time he wanted to.”

“J.D. Cass has nothing to do with—” She had stopped abruptly, knowing her denial was a lie. “Okay, so maybe I'm confused about J.D. A part of me cannot stand the man, but another part of me, the crazy, stupid, I'm-an-idiot part of me, finds him attractive on some elemental, primitive level.”

Donna had laughed. “Yeah, I know what you mean. He's definitely the type that makes you wonder what it would be like to be his woman.”

Leave it to Donna to bluntly state the obvious.

Audrey's feelings about J.D. confused her. And being conflicted about her feelings right now only added to the emotional pressure she had been experiencing since the first skeleton had been identified as a Baby Blue toddler. Nightmares that she had conquered years ago had returned to haunt her, dreams about the day that Blake had disappeared. Sometimes the nightmares seemed as accurate as her memories of that long-ago day; and yet sometimes they made no sense at all because they were about things that hadn't happened.

Because of her mixed emotions about J.D. and the reoccurrence of the nightmares, Audrey had spent several restless nights lately.

When Mr. Dwyer, her 11:30 A.M. client, left a few minutes after 12:30, Audrey opened the middle desk drawer, removed a bottle of aspirin, and dumped two tablets in her palm. Just as she got up, intending to retrieve a bottled water from the mini-fridge, Donna knocked, called Audrey's name, and cracked open the door.

“I'm heading out for lunch.” Donna inclined her head backward, the gesture indicating the outer office. “You've got a visitor.”

J.D.?

As if hearing Audrey's unspoken question, Donna shook her head. “It's Porter Bryant.”

Audrey groaned quietly. What was he doing here? Didn't she have enough problems without having to deal with Porter today?

“Thanks, Donna. You go on to lunch.”

“Are you sure?” Donna asked.

“I'm sure.” Audrey forced a smile as she walked toward the door between her private office and the outer office waiting area.

Porter looked as he always did—immaculate. A gray pin-striped suit, silver shirt, and dark red tie. Spit-polished shoes. Manicured nails. His hundred-dollar haircut kept neatly styled with hair spray.

“Hello, Audrey.” He held out a single red rose.

Go away, Porter, please.

She had hoped that since she hadn't heard from him in a while, his unnerving pursuit of her had been a short-term obsession.

She took the rose and laid it on Donna's desk. “Why are you here, Porter?”

“I miss you.” He took a tentative step toward her.

She stood her ground. “Please don't do this.”

“How about lunch? I have to eat. You have to eat. Just two friends sharing a meal. What do you say?”

If she thought he actually meant what he'd said—just two friends sharing a meal—she might have accepted the offer. But she had no intention of giving Porter any false hopes about their relationship. The easiest excuse was a lie. “I'm sorry, but I already have lunch plans.”

“With Special Agent Cass?”

“Who I'm meeting for lunch is really none of your business,” she said. “But no, I'm not meeting J.D. for lunch.”

“Another man? I had no idea you had become so popular with the opposite sex. You're certainly not the type. That's what attracted me in the first place—the fact that I wouldn't have to compete with anyone else for your favors.”

“If you were trying to be insulting, you succeeded.” Audrey sensed a strange vibe coming from Porter, something she hadn't felt in the first few months they'd been dating and something she had ignored until she ended their going-nowhere relationship.

“I would never insult you, darling. I adore you. You must know that.”

“Porter, you have to stop this. Do you hear me? If you don't stop—”

He grabbed her upper arms and shook her. She yanked out of his firm hold and glared at him. A rush of pure fear-induced adrenaline pumped through her system.

“What is the matter with you? Have you lost your mind?” Despite being rattled by Porter's unexpected actions, Audrey didn't back down; instead, she confronted him with her bold attitude. “If you don't stop harassing me, I'll have no choice but to take out a restraining order against you.”

“You wouldn't do that.”

“Yes, I would. I thought I knew you, but the Porter Bryant I knew would never stalk a woman. This is insanity. You have to see that.”

He stood perfectly still. His eyes misted. The pulse in his neck throbbed when he clenched his teeth.

After a few silent, intense moments, he cleared his throat and said, “I thought you were the one. I thought you, of all people, would understand. But apparently I was wrong about you, about us.”

“Yes, you were wrong,” she told him, not completely sure what he was talking about, but it didn't matter as long as he accepted the fact that there was no “us” now or ever.

“I'm sorry. I was so sure,” he said, his expression one of complete puzzlement. “I can assure you that I will not bother you again with my unwanted attention.”

“Thank you, Porter.” On the verge of mentally sighing with relief, she held her breath, sensing he had something else to say.

Staring at her, his blue eyes bright and moist, he said, “Why you would prefer J.D. Cass to me, I don't understand. I am superior to him in every way. I have more money, I'm more intelligent and have more class in my pinky than he does in his entire body.”

Before Audrey could respond, Porter snapped around, squared his shoulders, and left Audrey's office without a backward glance.

Several minutes later, certain that he was gone and wouldn't return, she slumped down in one of the waiting-area chairs and finally breathed that mental sigh of relief.