Bed of Bones (A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book Five) (13 page)

The sacred book slipped from my hands, thumping on the ground like I’d dropped a sack of flour. I leaned down, picked it up. “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

He smiled. “It’s all right. Tell me, what has you so frightened?”

“I…it’s nothing. I’m grateful to you. You’ve helped in ways you don’t even realize, but I need to go.”

He caught my arm with his leathery hand as I rose. “The verses you just read. They mean something to you don’t they?”

They meant I had to tell Carlo there was a good chance Melody was already dead.

“Please,” he continued, “let me help.”

I paused, sat back down. I’d give him two more minutes. Two minutes and I was gone. “I think what happened to the women all those years ago—the murders—they’re happening again. Maybe even in the same way they happened before.”

“Why do you think this?”

Butch was a wealth of information, a man who, it seemed, was passionate enough about what he did for a living to have spent a great deal of his life studying it, keeping it safe, protecting its secrets. Could I trust him?

While I pondered the question, my hands fidgeted, unable to keep still, no matter how tightly I clasped them together. I wondered if he sensed my apprehension.

He said, “Would it help if I told you I understand why this is happening again and explained why I feel this way?”

I nodded, hardly believing he was capable of such a thing.

He continued. “And would it help if I provided you with the name of the killer?”

His name? Was he joking?

I squeezed my eyes shut, nodded, and braced for impact.

CHAPTER 27

“Chester Compton.”

The name didn’t ring a single bell.

“Who is Chester Compton?” I asked.

He paused, building up to the final reveal. “Willie and Leonard’s grandfather.”

I absorbed his words.

Let them sink in.

“You said Chester Compton was already dead. The family was in town to sell his property. So how did they know he committed the murders?”

“After the women were found, investigators initially focused on the other mines, thinking they might find additional bodies in them too. Every mother, father, aunt, uncle, and brother who’d lost a female of any kind over the past several years came forward.”

“It gave them hope,” I said. “They thought if the other women turned up, their relatives would too.”

“Exactly.”

“And?”

“After several weeks of searching, no other bodies were found. In hopes of finding the killer, a statement was released citing the gun cops believed was used in the murders. And Detective Hurtwick received an interesting phone call.”

I’d leaned so far forward on the seat, I almost fell off. “From whom?”

“Harvey Compton.”

“Willie’s father?”

He nodded. “He said while they were packing up his dad’s place, preparing for the sale, they found the gun stashed in between the mattress. Hurtwick talked to several gun shops in Salt Lake City and verified Chester Compton purchased the gun some ten years earlier. They got a search warrant and scrubbed the place from top to bottom.”

“Did they find anything else?”

“Several typed pages kept in a notebook, a journal of sorts. Read like a personal belief system. It was filled with random thoughts about the women he stalked. He took his time. He knew where they worked, where they lived, their daily routines. The journal spoke of punishing them for their wickedness. The way he talked about them—he didn’t see them as humans, he saw them as sinners.”

I’d read about this type of person before. Chester Compton was what was known as a missionary type of killer, just not in the biblical sense, although he’d probably convinced himself some higher power led him to do what he did. Missionaries were compelled to kill, on a mission to rid the world of a certain type of person. They saw their victims as worthy of death in one way or another based on the victim’s odious actions in life. To the killer these people were undesirable, unworthy to continue on with their lives. Orchestrating their deaths was a favor to the rest of humankind. Death was often impersonal and quick. To the killer, the victim was hated. The Axeman of New Orleans and Carol Edward Cole both came to mind.

“Did they find anything other than the gun and these pages?” I asked.

“Fabric from the last victim’s dress. It had torn off on a nail in Chester’s shed. They found the manufacturer, matched it up. The parents confirmed their daughter was wearing the dress the day she went missing.”

A message popped up on my phone from Carlo? WHERE ARE YOU? I SAID TWENTY MINUTES, NOT SIXTY.

I was too engrossed in the conversation with Butch to respond.

“Aside from the murders, what type of person was Chester Compton?” I asked.

“He was a prominent member of the community. He threw elaborate parties at his home when the silver mines were booming. He was well liked. My grandparents attended his home on multiple occasions. Neither of them ever suspected a thing.”

“Did he live alone?”

“Had a wife. Pearl. She went a little nutty after he died. Didn’t want to leave the house for anything. Talked aloud to Chester like he was still there. Even said he talked back to her on occasion. People were concerned, started talking, and her son put her in a home. She died there a few years later.”

Chester Compton was dead, and yet, three women had gone missing over the last three days. Someone had renewed his cause again. If anyone could help me, Butch could.

“Three women have gone missing in the last few days,” I said. “All three were part of the movie in some way—one a director, one an actress, one an assistant. Two of the three were sent scripture references that tie in to the chapter you just showed me, and I suspect the third received one too—police just haven’t found it yet.”

“What scripture references were sent to the women?”

I told him.

“Mm.”

“What are you thinking?” I asked.

“Those verses are an exact match to the ones sent to two of the seven women discovered in the mine shaft. Vera Robinson and Anne Farmer. Their families found the verses on typed slips of paper. Vera’s was found in her car, and Anne’s was inside a locker she’d rented at the town pool.” He rested his hands on the desk. “Remember before, when I said I could tell you why this is happening again?”

I nodded.

“I put a display together with a few items pertaining to the murders. It wasn’t anything large or significant in any way, just a simple glass enclosure about the size of a coffee table. It had newspaper clippings and various other things inside.”

“Was there anything of significance?” I asked.

“I’d managed to procure a few of the typed pages some years ago. I made it the centerpiece of the display. I wanted the gun, but they wouldn’t release it from evidence.”

“Can I see the pages?”

He shook his head.

“Why not?” I asked.

“About eighteen months ago, before we moved into the new building, the display was stolen. I arrived one morning to find the glass case had been shattered with a rock which the thief left behind. Everything in the case was gone. And the strange thing is, far more valuable items in the museum were left untouched.”

“Someone came in with the specific goal of stealing the contents relating to the murders,” I said.

“I never could prove it, but I was suspicious of a female employee who’d locked up the night before. Always thought she had something to do with it.”

“What made you consider her?”

“Aside from the rock, there was nothing to suggest someone physically broke into the place, not through a door or a window.”

He watched me glance around the room.

“The old building didn’t have surveillance. This one does. As you can see, I learned my lesson.”

“Wasn’t she questioned?” I asked.

“By a Detective Cooper, yes.”

I rolled my eyes.

“You find him as engaging as I do, I see.”

Engaging. Never a word I’d use for Coop. Crude, insensitive, and brash, but never engaging. I appreciated Butch’s sarcasm nonetheless.

“Did Detective Cooper know you thought she did it?” I asked.

“He was aware of my suspicions, and she was questioned, but there was no evidence to support my argument.”

“Where is she now? Does she still work here?”

“I may not have been able to get her convicted of the crime, but I was able to coax her into quitting of her own free will.” A look of satisfaction settled on his face. “A few write-ups, followed by a demotion, did the trick.”

“Can you give me her name?” I asked.

“Karin Ackerman.”

I jotted it down in my head, shelved it for later.

“Why would anyone, after all these years, want to take up the cause again?”

He shrugged. “Why does one do anything? We are unpredictable creatures, all of us. I will say this…I’ve given it a lot of thought over the years, and I believe it would be near impossible to get the ladies down the shaft alone.”

“You think he had an accomplice?” I asked.

“I do. I think someone helped him get those bodies down the shaft.”

It made sense. An accomplice would require complete trust, someone who shared in his beliefs. Not an easy combination to find.

“What about his wife?”

“It’s possible, although I’ve seen her in photographs. I don’t think she could have managed the weight of anything more than a newborn baby.”

“He could have done all the heavy lifting,” I said.

“Even if he did, and even if Pearl had helped him, they’re both long gone now.” He flung his arms in the air. “It doesn’t matter how many years have passed, I’ve always wondered if I was right. Guess I’ll never know.”

“You said Chester killed his victims over several months. He wasn’t in a hurry.”

“Probably wanted to make sure he got it right.”

This time it was different. These women were taken within a matter of days. They all shared a common bond—the movie. It gave me the sense someone was trying to complete the ritual fast, get it over with. Maybe this person had watched the women for months—years even—waiting for the festival to begin, the perfect time to strike.

“Can you show me the mine?” I asked.

He stood and turned, opening a drawer behind him. “Sure, I have a map of all the mines in the area.”

“Not on paper,” I said. “I want to go to the exact location the women were found.”

“Even if we did, the mine is sealed now. They’ve all been sealed for years for safety reasons. The only thing I could show you is a mountain of snow. You’d never even know anything happened there.”

“I still want to go. I need to see it for myself.”

“You can’t. Not on foot. We’d need snow machines to get out there this time of year.”

There had to be a way.

And then it came to me.

“What are you doing right now?” I asked.

He gave me a look like he knew what was coming. “Why?”

“I have an idea. And Butch…I’m going to need you to send me the attachment of the movie—the one you couldn’t open.”

CHAPTER 28

It took a lot of convincing to lure Carlo away from the station, but he trusted me enough to follow up on a good lead when I promised one, and once I backed it up with a brief explanation of my conversation with Butch, he decided it was worth his time The three of us met at a small air strip in Heber, where we chartered a private helicopter owned by the Luciana family. Probably owned by Giovanni himself.

While the chopper was being fueled, Carlo pulled me to the side. “I had to do a lot more than twist a few arms to be here.”

His eye twitched like he was having second thoughts. I could have soothed him, come up with some witty female comment to make him feel a lot better about putting his job on the line if anyone found out what we were doing, but I didn’t. I played the honesty card.

“I can’t guarantee what we’ll see out there.”

“Then why are we here, Sloane? I don’t have time for anymore false leads.”

“As opposed to having time for what? You don’t have to be here.”

“Don’t get all worked up. I have a right to ask a question.”

And I had the right to refuse an answer.

The pilot signaled to Carlo. We were ready to go.

I placed my hands on my hips and stood, waiting. “Are we doing this or aren’t we? If you don’t believe in me, shut it down. Shut it down right now. I’ll find a way out there without you.”

He gave me a look like he could stronghold me into the car, haul me off to the station if he wanted.

I’d like to see him try.

Sensing the tension between us, Butch backed away until his shoulder collided against a chain-link fence behind him. He stared at the air strip, pretending like he wasn’t privy to our conversation.

For a minute I thought it was a bust. Carlo was hard to read. Even harder than Giovanni. The pilot waved again, like maybe he thought Carlo hadn’t seen him wave the first time. Carlo gave him a look:
flail your arms again and I’ll sever them from your body
. The pilot put his arms down.

“Let’s do this and be done,” Carlo said through gritted teeth. He walked toward the plane, leaving me standing there. When he realized I wasn’t by his side, he looked over his shoulder, but kept walking. “Now, Sloane. Now.”

I had paused not just because Carlo doubted me…I doubted myself. What if he was right? What
were
we doing? A gentle nod from Butch propelled me toward the plane. Even over a blanket of snow, I had to see the original crime scene.

Once we were in the air, no one spoke at first. Butch sat on one side, Carlo and I sat on the other. Butch was quiet and observant, seemingly pleased to be along for the ride. It felt peaceful floating on air, seeing the clouds dot the skyline. Then my phone rang. Shelby.

There were no pleasantries, no hello, nothing to suggest we’d bonded the night before. Back to square one.

“I got bored, I’m sorry,” she began. “Don’t be mad, but can I get a ride back to your place?”

“Shelby, I asked you not to go anywhere. I was very clear. Didn’t you talk to your dad? You know he’s coming today.”