All the Beautiful Brides (17 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

Cal didn’t like the location of the fishing camp.

“This would be a good place to hide out,” Mona said.

“And so off the grid that if you wanted to murder someone here, no one would ever hear the victim scream.” Cal surveyed the property. “I have a bad feeling about this guy. Deputy Kimball said he was obsessed with Constance and pressured her to marry him.”

“That sounds like our guy,” Mona commented.

He nodded. “Wait in the car.”

Mona didn’t argue. Instead she huddled next to the door.

Cal removed his gun and hiked up the path to the camp. An old, weathered building that served as a lodge sat among the pines, the mountains rising behind it.

Cal knocked on the door as the wind screamed off the mountain. He tapped his boot while he waited and scanned the property. To the left of the lodge sat a carport, which housed a broken-down lawn mower, a three-wheeler, and assorted tools.

A faded, rusted-out black pickup was parked underneath. Not a white van, though.

He listened for sounds that someone was inside, and thought he heard footsteps so he knocked again. “Fulton, this is Agent Coulter from the FBI. I need to talk to you.”

Inside something rattled. Then a thump as if someone had knocked something over.

Cal gripped his gun at the ready and pushed at the door. It squeaked as it opened, and he peered inside. Battered wood floors, old fishing caps piled on a side table, a stuffed fish on the wall.

A noise echoed from the back, and he inched inside, scanning the open area to the living room, which was furnished with an old plaid couch and a coffee table.

A lamp burned from the back, giving him enough light to see as he combed through the living room. He veered to the left to the kitchen and stopped cold when he spotted photos of Constance covering one wall like a shrine.

Candids of the woman in various places—at school, her apartment, catching a bus, undressing . . . photos he had a feeling she hadn’t posed for.

An article Carol Little had written about Gwyneth Toyton’s murder was tacked on a bulletin board, then another one about the Thorn Ripper murders and the yearly memorial.

Cal frowned. Had Fulton gotten the idea for killing Constance from the articles about the original murders? He could have murdered Gwyneth first to cover for his real target and make it appear both were murdered by a serial killer.

The floor creaked again, and he jerked his head up, then thought he detected a movement outside. Instincts alert, he pushed open the screen door and stepped onto the landing.

There was another movement to the right and he crept in that direction, wood bowing beneath his weight as he descended the rickety stairs and headed around toward the shed.

He couldn’t let this guy get away.

A scream suddenly rent the night.

Mona.

Dammit.

He took off running, his heart hammering when he circled to the front yard and saw the man dragging Mona from the car.

The bastard grabbed her around the neck, pushed her in front of him as a shield, then raised a knife to her throat.

Terror shot through Cal. One wrong move and Fulton would kill her.

The knife at Mona’s neck cut off her scream. She went still, terrified that one movement would set the man off and he’d slit her throat.

Cal came to a halt, his hand frozen in midair, his weapon trained on Fulton.

“You don’t want to hurt her,” Cal said. “Just put down the knife, Fulton.”

Mona could feel the tension in his big body. His hand shook at her throat. “No, if I do, you’ll take me in.”

“Please, Steve,” Mona said softly. “Put the knife down and talk to me.”

“When Tanya called and told me Constance was dead, I knew you’d come up here and try to pin her murder on me!” Fulton shouted.

Cal lowered his gun. “Listen, man, put the weapon down and let’s talk.”

Fulton’s voice cracked. “Talking won’t bring back my girlfriend.”

“I know you loved her,” Mona said, keeping her voice calm. “But hurting me isn’t the way to honor her.”

“She was everything to me,” he muttered bitterly. “But she wouldn’t marry me.”

“She was ambitious,” Mona said. “But I’m sure she didn’t mean to hurt you.”

His breathing became raspy. “If she’d cared about me, she wouldn’t have told me to leave her alone.”

“Is that why you killed her?” Cal asked.

“I didn’t kill her, I loved her!” The man’s gaze shot to Cal. His hand was shaking so badly the knife pricked Mona’s neck. She felt the sting of the point, a blood drop pooling . . .

She didn’t want to die.

Cal kept his gun by his side, but his fingers were clenching it, ready to fire at any moment. He just had to take the guy off guard.

Get him away from Mona.

“I saw your photographs of Constance,” he said.

“She was beautiful,” Fulton murmured, his tone far away as if he was remembering a specific day. Maybe one of the pictures from that damn shrine.

“What happened the last time you saw her?” Cal asked. “Did you try to convince her to marry you again?”

“Of course I did,” Fulton shouted. “But she refused just like before.”

Cal eased forward. “Is that why you strangled her?”

The man’s eyes widened, his nostrils flaring. “No, I told you I didn’t hurt her. I would never hurt her.”

Cal inched closer. “If you aren’t dangerous, then drop the knife.”

“But you’re going to put me in jail,” Fulton yelled. “I can’t be locked up.”

The man staggered backward, dragging Mona with him. Cal didn’t hesitate. He fired a shot into the man’s right shoulder. Fulton dropped the knife and bellowed in pain.

Mona ran toward him, and Cal rushed forward and kicked the knife aside.

“What the fuck?” Fulton snarled. “You shot me.”

“You held a knife to a woman’s throat. What did you think would happen, asshole?”

Fulton started to fight, but Cal pressed the gun to the back of his head. “Move and I’ll kill you this time.”

The fight went out of the man, and he went limp. Cal snapped the cuffs around his wrists, then tossed Mona his phone.

“Call an ambulance.” He glared at Fulton. “You ready to confess now?”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” Fulton insisted.

Cal ignored him. “Here’s what I think happened. You decide to kill Constance but figure everyone will look at you so you come up with a plan. You kill Gwyneth Toyton first, then kill Constance and make it look like some kind of nutcase serial killer is in town.”

“That’s not true,” Fulton shouted. “I wanted to win Constance back.”

“So much that you stalked her,” Cal said. “So much that you decided if you couldn’t have her, no one would. So you dressed her in a wedding gown and then left her at the falls.”

“What?” Fulton’s voice broke. “Why was she wearing a wedding gown?”

Cal ground his teeth. “Because you dressed her that way. Because you wanted her as your bride.”

The man shook his head. “I didn’t kill her. You have to believe me. I loved her, I didn’t do it, you have to find out who did . . .”

Cal looked up at Mona, his pulse still pounding as he remembered the man holding that knife to her throat. Even if he hadn’t killed Constance—and Cal wasn’t sure yet either way—he had almost slit Mona’s throat.

For that, he had to be punished.

The next two hours passed in a blur for Mona. She watched the paramedics load a handcuffed Fulton into the ambulance. Deputy Kimball sent an assistant to ride with them and guard Fulton while he was treated at the hospital.

She tried to gather her composure while Cal met with the crime team, and they searched the house and fishing camp for evidence that would tie Constance’s ex-boyfriend to her murder and to Gwyneth Toyton’s.

“The photographs are damning,” Cal told her. “But I’m hoping for more. If they find garters or sewing supplies and fabric, or the jewelry he took from the victims, it would make the case.”

And if his DNA matched the sample from the crime scene, it would confirm that they had the unsub in custody.

The lead CSI approached them. “Except for those photographs and the articles, we haven’t found anything damning in the house,” CSI Ward said. “It looks like the guy’s been hitting the booze a lot and is behind on his bills. There are a couple of items of women’s clothing in the closet, a pair of underwear and a sports bra, but no wedding attire or jewelry.”

“Nothing in the truck,” another investigator said. “No blood, signs of a body, or anyone being held against their will on the property either.”

“How about underground storage units, maybe a cellar?” Cal asked. “Or a key to a storage unit or gym locker.”

“We haven’t found one.” CSI Ward pointed to the truck. “The battery on that truck is dead, the engine rusted. If he did kill those women, he didn’t use it to transport their bodies.”

Mona dug her hands in her pockets to ward off the chill from the relentless wind, and the realization that Fulton might not be the man they were looking for.

Which meant the killer was still out there. That women were still in danger.

And they were no closer to finding him.

Frustration knotted Cal’s shoulders as he listened to the CSI’s findings. Or the lack thereof.

Dammit, he wanted this to be over. To pin both murders on Fulton.

But he had to listen to the facts. While the man was unstable, had stalked his ex-girlfriend, and had taken Mona hostage out of panic, he wasn’t sure he was their man.

“See if you find a computer or his cell phone,” Cal said. “I’ll have the tech team analyze his calls. If he made any contact with Gwyneth Toyton, it might be enough to solicit a confession and nail his ass. And we have DNA from the first victim for comparison.”

The investigator nodded. “I’ll keep you posted. Meanwhile, is someone watching the falls?”

“Yes, Deputy Kimball’s assistants are supposed to be rotating.” Although if the unsub spotted them, he might just pick another spot on the trail by the falls as a dump site.

Cal placed his hand at the curve of Mona’s back. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

Mona didn’t argue. She looked exhausted and shaken, and she still had to face the vandalism in her home.

She wrapped her scarf around her neck as she climbed in the Jeep, and he cranked up the heater, the night wearing on him as well.