Her Dying Breath (11 page)

Sadie’s eyes looked troubled. “What did you say?”

“Nothing. But she showed me this text about finding a present for the Commander in a motel room.” Tension vibrated in the air. “What was in that room?”

“Have you been to that motel?” Sadie asked.

Amelia twined her hands. She wished Sadie wouldn’t worry so much about her. And if she told Sadie the truth, that her memory of the night was foggy, she would. “No,” Amelia said. “I’ve never been there.”

Jake stepped back into the room, his badge glinting in the sunlight. Sadie loved Jake, but he was the sheriff. He was also the Commander’s son.

He’d arrested Amelia and locked her in a cell before, and he might do it again if he thought she was dangerous. Amelia had to watch what she said.

“Why is everyone so upset?” Amelia asked.

Jake and Sadie traded looks that sent alarm through Amelia. “Tell me,” Amelia insisted. “What was in that motel room?”

Sadie inhaled before she spoke, the way she always did when she was delivering bad news. “A dead man.”

“He was murdered,” Jake said as he looked down at Amelia. “He died of asphyxiation.”

Amelia bit her lip.

She had been to the Slaughter Creek Motel. She just couldn’t remember when, or whom she’d been with.

But Sadie didn’t need to know that. All she needed to know was that Amelia was getting better. She might not be well yet, but she was working on it.

Even though a new voice had climbed into her head. Amelia understood what that meant, too. Another personality was trying to emerge.

But Sadie didn’t need to know that either.

N
ick knocked on Linda Logger’s door, his posture ramrod straight. He wasn’t looking forward to delivering the bad news about Logger’s death.

Of course, watching an ex’s reaction when she received the news was vital in deciding whether or not she was a suspect.

But the text that Brenda had received had changed his way of viewing the crime in a way he didn’t like. Not that he hadn’t already been looking for the other subjects of the experiment, but he’d hoped to find them and help them receive treatment.

Instead of learning that another one was a killer.

He knocked again, and the door opened. A tired-looking thirtysomething woman with short brown hair stood on the threshold, juggling a toddler on her hip.

“Mrs. Logger?”

The baby girl tugged at her mother’s hair, and the woman grasped her hand in her own, then affectionately tweaked the little girl’s cheek.

“I’m Special Agent Nick Blackwood.”

She frowned as he flashed his credentials, the freckles on her nose prominent as the sun streaked her face. “Actually, it’s Linda
Robertson,” she finally said. “I took my maiden name back when the divorce was final.”

Nick nodded and quickly glanced into the house. Judging from the mess, she had her hands full. Children’s toys littered the den, dishes were piled up in the sink, her shirt was stained with something green, and she smelled like bananas. The Cartoon Network blared on the TV in the background.

“I hate to bother you this early, ma’am, but I need to speak to you about your ex-husband.”

Apprehension and some other emotion he couldn’t define creased her face. “What about Jim?”

Nick debated what to say. The toddler babbled something that sounded like “Da Da,” and pain darkened her mother’s eyes. “Are you here alone with the baby?” he asked.

“Yes, why?”

“Can I come in?”

She reluctantly nodded, then gestured for him to follow her to the den. The couch was piled high with unfolded laundry. She set the baby down inside a Pack ’n Play, then handed her a rubber squeaky duck and pointed to the sofa.

He took a seat and braced his legs apart while she claimed the chair near the baby. “What’s Jim done now?”

He frowned. “Why would you ask that?”

“When he returned from Iraq, he wasn’t the same. The physical injuries were nothing compared to his psychological state.”

“He suffered from PTSD?”

“Yes.” She reached down and handed the baby a stuffed dog with ears that looked worn from loving. “He adored little Ginny, but he couldn’t sleep. He was in pain, too, and got hooked on oxycodone. His mood swings turned erratic.”

“How do you mean?”

“He had a hard time with his temper. He even…” She let the sentence trail off.

“He hit you?”

Linda rubbed a hand over her face, embarrassment heating her cheeks. “No, he just…liked things rough.”

“You mean sex?”

She squeezed her eyes shut as if to block out the memory. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” Nick said quietly.

She looked up at him again, her breathing ragged. “I loved him, even then,” she said. “I tried to convince him to go to counseling, but he never was one to talk about his problems. He saw it as some kind of weakness, that it made him less than a man.”

“That’s a shame.”

“I know.” She sighed wearily. “But I couldn’t live with that kind of violence in the house, especially with a baby.”

“When did you last see him?”

She hugged a throw pillow from the couch to her. “About a week ago. Now please tell me what this is about.” A frown pulled at her eyes. “Did something happen to Jim? Did he do something?”

So far, Nick believed everything she’d said. “I’m sorry to have to inform you, ma’am, but he’s dead.”

Linda gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “No, he can’t be…gone.”

Nick waited silently, giving her a minute to absorb the information.

“How? When?” she asked. Then as if something had clicked in her mind, she released a low, shocked sound. “Oh, my God, was he the man who died in that motel?”

Nick sighed. “I’m afraid so.”

“I can’t believe this,” she cried. “What happened?”

The baby squealed, her chin wobbling as if she was about to burst into tears, and Linda scooped her up, soothing her by rocking her back and forth.

“I’m afraid I can’t divulge all of the details yet, as we’re still investigating, but it appears he was murdered. Can you tell me about your divorce? Did you instigate it? Did he?”

She stood, walked to the kitchen, grabbed a handful of tissues, then wiped her eyes and returned to her chair. The baby snatched a plastic maraca off the end table and banged it, the sound echoing in the quiet.

“I asked for it.” Her voice cracked. “I couldn’t have him exploding around little Ginny.”

“How did he take it?”

“Not well. Jim was a prideful man.”

The killer had taken that pride from him. But Nick refrained from commenting.

She leaned her head on her hand. “He even accused me of cheating on him, but that was ridiculous.”

“Did Mr. Logger have a job?”

Linda chewed her bottom lip. “He had a hard time getting one when he first returned, but he finally started work as a security guard. I don’t think he liked it, though. His drinking got worse. He quit the job or lost it, I’m not sure which. We separated around that time.”

“Do you know the name of the security company?”

“He didn’t mention it.” She rocked the baby back and forth, holding her tightly as if she didn’t want to lose her as she had her marriage. “He finally started driving a big rig for some freight company. Mountain Truckers, I believe it was.”

“Thanks. I’ll look into that.”

“How about his personal life? Was your ex-husband involved with anyone else?” Nick asked.

The baby started crying, and Linda unfolded the top of a bag of Goldfish, shook some into her hand, and let the child eat out of her palm. Like magic, the little girl quieted, munching greedily.

“He saw women,” she said in a voice laced with disgust.

“You mean he was dating?”

“I’m not sure you’d call what Jim was doing dating.”

She sounded resigned.

“Was there anyone in particular?”

“Not that I know of. He just…needed to sow some oats, still feel vital, he said.” She gestured down at her daughter. “I guess he needed something more than us.”

“He was a fool,” Nick said, then wondered why he’d made such a statement. But something about the woman and the baby tugged at his heartstrings.

Heartstrings he didn’t even know he had.

“If you think of anyone, a name, that might be helpful, give me a call.” He laid a business card on the table.

She followed him to the door, patting the baby’s back. “Jim doesn’t have any other family,” she said. “I’d…like to see him. To give him a proper funeral. For Ginny’s sake.”

“The military will help with that. I’ll have someone contact you when the body is released.”

“Agent Blackwood,” she said just before he stepped outside. “You…aren’t related to that man Arthur Blackwood who headed up those awful experiments in Slaughter Creek, are you?”

His gaze met hers, his heart pounding. “Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry to say I’m his son.” Then his instincts kicked in. “Why? Did you know Mr. Blackwood?”

She shook her head no, and pressed her baby to her more tightly, as if she feared he was his father incarnate. “No—he was a monster, though. Hurting all those kids like that.”

“Yes, ma’am, he was.”

But as he walked to the car, an uneasy feeling gnawed at him. Linda Logger had motive to kill her ex, but he didn’t think the single mother had it in her to murder him, especially in the heinous way Logger had met his death.

Which left them with no viable suspects. All they had was that damn text to Brenda.

Would their unsub contact her again?

Brenda tried to shake off the incident at Amelia’s house as she drove away. She wished Sadie, Amelia, and Jake could realize that she wasn’t the enemy. Amelia had been wronged terribly, and any gossip that had dogged her over the years needed to be set straight.

Focus on the case—that was her first priority.

She mentally ticked over the facts she knew so far. The victim’s name was Jim Logger. She pulled over at a gas station, grabbed her iPad and accessed the Internet, then entered the man’s name on Google Earth. A few seconds later, she had his address.

She plugged it into her GPS, then pulled back onto the road and drove toward Logger’s apartment, a complex outside town in an older development. She passed a small country church, the choir music drifting through the open windows reminding her that it was Sunday.

Her parents would be upset that she’d missed church today. They’d forced her to attend every Sunday when she was a child. And afterward, dinner, always banana pudding.

She hated banana pudding. Just like the hospital soap, it turned her stomach. A memory floated into her head, of eating rotten bananas.

Where had that come from? Agnes Banks had never fed her rotten food.

She turned off the main road into the apartment complex. Whereas her place was set on the ridge, taking advantage of the natural setting and the mountains in the background, this low-income complex had been thrown up off the main road into town, with an eye more to convenience than to the picturesque landscape.

Several cars were scattered across the parking lot, where the lines marking the parking spots were just as faded as the beige color on the building. The complex was two stories, with cookie-cutter one- and two-bedroom apartments.

Checking the number for Jim Logger’s apartment—112B—she parked in front of the 100 building, not surprised to find Nick’s black sedan already present. A crime unit van was also parked beside his car.

Of course Nick wouldn’t want her here, but she steeled herself against his disapproval. Grabbing her shoulder bag with her notepad and recorder inside, she stepped from her car and walked up the cracked sidewalk to 112B.

The door stood ajar, but she rapped on it just to alert Nick she’d arrived before she pushed it open. Nick stood next to a crime tech who was dusting for fingerprints. Nick wore gloves as well.

His dark brown eyes reflected resignation. “I figured you’d show up here.”

“I won’t interfere, and I didn’t bring cameras,” she said. “I just want the story, Nick.”

“Is that the reason you went to see Amelia?”

“Yes,” Brenda said. “I know you and Jake and Sadie don’t believe this, but I don’t want to hurt her. I want people to know that she’s strong, that she’s not ill now, that her actions were all because of—”