Silent Killer (32 page)

Nothing could go wrong.

No one could hurt her.

She couldn’t be stopped. Not when she was guided and protected by a higher power.

Slowly, carefully, she slipped out of the car, opened the trunk and removed the gas can. After checking her pocket for the lighter, she crossed the street. Glancing around, she saw no one, just a couple of stray dogs half a block away. She noted an SUV in the driveway and wondered why either the reverend or his wife had parked outside of their double garage. People often used their garages for storage, making it impossible to park their vehicles inside. That was probably the reason.

She made her way quietly across the yard, her gaze fixed on the front door. A smile warmed her from within. Courage roared inside her like a mighty lion. While doing the Lord’s work, she was invincible.

Be careful. Don’t do anything foolish.

She didn’t need to worry. God would take care of her. The Holy Ghost possessed a power unknown to mortals, a power that now surged through her veins.

Cloaked in the Spirit, held in the very palm of the Lord Almighty’s hand, she knew no fear. She walked up to the front door and rang the bell.

The door opened. A tall black man’s outline was silhouetted in the doorway, his muscular body backlit from the light inside the house.

“Yes, may I help you?” he asked.

His voice sounded odd, but he was probably surprised to see a stranger on his doorstep at this time of night.

She smiled.
God has sent me to you.

“Are you sure you’re at the right house? This is Reverend Phillips’s home.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, she uncapped the gas can she held behind her back, then hoisted it high and threw the contents straight at her target. Before he had a chance to react, she dropped the can, flipped open the lighter and using both hands locked the flame. She tossed the open lighter toward his chest. The lighter hit the edge of his gasoline-soaked silk tie.

Burn in hell for your sins.

The Holy Ghost surged through her, the feeling stronger than ever before.

She backed away from the man on fire and watched him burn. Then she quickly bent down, picked up the metal torch lighter and put it in her pocket.

A woman’s voice screeching for help warned her that she must leave quickly. She had accomplished her goal and done God’s bidding. It was time for her to return home, to rest, to recoup, to prepare herself for the next time.

She yanked the gold chain from her neck and tossed it down on the sidewalk. Then, without a backward glance, she walked away, crossed the street and got in her car.

Jack sat on the back porch, his gaze unfocused as he went over in his mind, again and again, what Cathy had told him. He wasn’t sure how he felt, other than being pissed as hell. But what lay beneath the anger?

He had a son.

He was Seth Cantrell’s biological father.

The logical part of his mind understood why Cathy had married Mark Cantrell and even understood her reasoning about why she’d never told him the truth. But his gut told him he had every right to be angry and hurt, to never forgive Cathy for what she’d done.

I was young and stupid and let Mark and my mother make all my decisions.

Damn Elaine Nelson!

And damn Mark Cantrell.
He couldn’t have a son of his own, so he stole my son from me.

Why had he thought, even for one minute, that this time around, he’d get it right? He should have known better than to believe he could finally live a somewhat normal life. He had actually thought he and Cathy had a chance. God, what an idiot he was.

A real home and a happy family weren’t in the cards for him. Never had been. Never would be.

Stop feeling so damn sorry for yourself. You’re not the first man who’s been in this situation, and you won’t be the last.

He had no idea what to do. Would Cathy tell Seth? And if she didn’t, did he have the guts to do it? He sure as hell had the right.

Jack wished he could cry. But the last time he’d shed a tear, he’d been a bruised and battered boy, scared to death of his stepfather. He held the tears inside, a pain without any form of release.

When his cell phone rang, he hesitated checking the caller ID, halfway certain it would be Cathy. But when he saw that it was Mike, he answered.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“The Fire and Brimstone Killer has struck again,” Mike told him.

“Who?” Jack asked.

“We’re pretty sure the intended victim was Reverend Dewan Phillips.”

“What do you mean the intended victim?”

“The reverend and his wife had company, Perry and Dionne Fuqua. Perry and Dewan are about the same size, close to the same age…”

“Fuqua got turned into a human torch instead of the reverend?”

“He’s still alive. It doesn’t look good,” Mike said. “But we caught a break. Seems Fuqua’s wife saw a glimpse of the killer as she ran off.”

“She?”

“Yes, she. Our Fire and Brimstone Killer is definitely female.”

Jack felt like shit. Not only had he gone all night without any sleep, but he’d been working with the ABI team since midnight on the new Fire and Brimstone Killer case. The urgency of the situation at work had left him with no choice but to push aside his own personal dilemma. Mike had left the office thirty minutes ago, leaving Wayne Morgan, Jeremy Vaughn and Karla Ross here at the office with Jack. They had gone over the information from the crime scene and Dionne Fuqua’s description of the person she had seen leaving the Phillipses’ yard moments after she heard her husband’s first agonized screams. There hadn’t been any point in bringing in a sketch artist, because the deacon’s wife had not seen the woman’s face.

Medium height, medium build, which covered 80 percent of the women in Dunmore.

“All I saw was a woman hurrying away. I never saw her face, and it was too dark to see her hair color. She was wearing pants, and she was carrying something square, about the size of an overnight bag, in her hand.”

The first officers on the scene had taken Mrs. Fuqua’s statement, and Mike had chosen not to requestion the lady whose husband had died less than an hour ago. Perry Fuqua was the sixth victim, a man who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. No one had any doubts that Dewan Phillips had been the intended victim, and only the fact that Deacon Fuqua answered the door at the Phillipses’ home had saved the reverend’s life.

“I don’t think Missy Hovater is our killer,” Karla Ross said, breaking the silence that had lingered in Mike’s office after he left.

Her boss, Special Agent Wayne Morgan, who was busy preparing a fresh pot of coffee, paused for a half second and asked, “What makes you say that? You must have a specific reason.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy Vaughn from the Huntsville PD added. “We’re pretty sure the locket found on the Phillipses’ sidewalk belongs to her. It has her name engraved on it, and the picture inside the locket could be her mother. You’ve got to admit that there’s a strong physical resemblance.”

“Sure, the locket probably belongs to her, but I think it was planted at the scene to make us suspect her,” Karla said. “The killer has been very careful not to leave behind any evidence the first five times. Why would she be so careless this time?”

“Good point,” Derek Lawrence said as he entered the room without knocking or alerting the others beforehand.

All eyes focused on the former FBI profiler.

“Glad you decided to join us,” Jack said, the tone of his voice gruffer than he’d intended.

“I’ll let your surly attitude pass this time, considering you’ve been up all night,” Derek told Jack. “Our killer wouldn’t be careless enough to leave behind evidence, not at this stage of the game. If she left something, she did it on purpose.”

“Let me get this straight,” Special Agent Morgan said. “You believe the killer left the locket to cast suspicion on Melissa Hovater.”

Derek nodded.

“How did she get hold of Missy’s necklace?” Detective Vaughn asked.

“And why single out Missy?” Morgan asked and then shook his head before anyone could respond. “Yeah, sure. I get it. Missy was a suspect in her father’s murder, so why not point the finger at her and lead us in the wrong direction.”

“It’s going to be rough on the girl having to be questioned for a murder we’re all pretty sure she didn’t commit,” Karla said.

“That’s why Mike has gone to see the Harpers,” Jack reminded them. “He wanted to talk to them and explain the situation. The last thing any of us want is to traumatize Missy Hovater more than she’s already been traumatized.”

“I’ll be as gentle as possible when I question her,” Morgan assured them. “But I have to question her. If she can ID the necklace, she should be able to tell us where she kept it and who had access to it.”

“If she took the locket with her to the Harpers’, then I’d say that narrows down the possible suspects,” Derek said.

“To the people living in the Harper house.” Detective Vaughn lifted the coffee pot off the warmer and brought it over to the desk where Karla sat. “More?” he asked. When she nodded, he filled her mug to the brim.

“That’s right,” Jack said. “The people living in the Harper house or anyone who has visited them recently and had free access to the house.”

“At least we now know that our killer is definitely female,” Derek said. “That rules out about half the population. And just in the Harper household alone, we have four females—Mrs. Harper, her mother and her two daughters.”

“Any other new, brilliant insight into the case?” Jack asked.

Derek eyed him with curiosity and hitched his thumb toward the door. “Got a minute for a private chat?”

Jack huffed. When he glanced around the room, each person avoided making direct eye contact with him. Okay, so he needed an attitude adjustment this morning. Who wouldn’t, considering the news Cathy had laid on him last night?

“Sure thing.” Jack opened the door and held it for Derek.

They walked through the outer office, where Mike’s secretary nodded at them and a couple of the deputies acknowledged them with a smile or a wave. Once they entered the entrance hall, Jack turned to Derek.

“Let me have it with both barrels,” Jack said.

“What’s wrong?”

“Personal problems.”

“How bad?”

“Bad enough.”

“Take some time off to deal with them.”

Jack shook his head. “That won’t work. There’s no easy solution. For now, I’m better off working.”

“Then bring it down a notch,” Derek suggested. “For your own sake as well as for the people you’re working with.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” He looked right at Derek. “Are we good?”

Derek grinned. “We’re good.”

When the two men returned to Mike’s office, they came in on a conversation about—what else?—the identity of the killer and what motivated her to kill clergymen and in such a gruesome way.

“She’s pissed,” Karla said. “Some preacher screwed with her in some way and messed up her mind. Right? We figure out the motive, we’re one step closer to figuring out her identity.”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” Detective Vaughn agreed.

“Our killer won’t stand out,” Derek told them. “Not the way you’d think. I still believe that she appears to be relatively normal. She’s got a hard-on for clergymen, all right. She’s handing out punishment as if she’s on a mission from God. Somewhere in her past is a clergyman who, like Karla said, screwed with her and messed up her mind.”

“This leads us back to Missy Hovater,” Morgan said.

“Her father sexually abused her for years. She hated him, wanted him dead.”

“And yet none of us believes she killed him,” Karla said.

“Our killer is screaming. We just can’t hear her. All the rage is inside her, but it’s not evident to anyone looking at her. Missy Hovater might have hidden her rage in the past, but now it’s out there for the world to see. Our killer’s rage isn’t. The Fire and Brimstone Killer has internalized her anger, kept it bottled up inside her. Oh, she’s screaming all right—screaming in silence. And we all know that silence is often the deadliest kind of scream there is.”

Cathy had been awake all night. Right after Jack stormed out of her house, she had called Lorie, who had come over and stayed until half an hour ago, when she’d gone home to shower and get ready for work. They had talked until Cathy was hoarse. They had cried until Cathy’s eyes were red and swollen. They had damned all men in general, but Jack and Mike in particular. And now, in the cold, hard light of day, Cathy had to face the truth—she might have lost Jack forever. And then there was Seth. She needed to talk to Jack again as soon as possible to find out if he intended to tell Seth that he was his biological father. But regardless of what Jack did or didn’t do, she realized that she owed it to her son to be totally honest with him.

After turning on the shower to let the water get steamy warm, Cathy stripped out of her gown and robe, kicked off her house shoes and laid out two clean towels and a washcloth. She took her time, lathering her hair, scrubbing her body, shaving her legs and underarms. In a way, she felt that she was preparing for battle. The normal routine that usually took her less than half an hour took nearly fifty minutes, but by eight-thirty she was dressed, her hair done and her makeup applied.

She was battle ready.

And she had made some decisions while the deliciously warm water had peppered her body. To hell with Jack. If he couldn’t forgive her, then losing out on their second chance would be his fault, not hers. She had to talk to Seth. It was her place to explain things to him, to help him understand why she had kept the truth from him and from Jack all these years.

With her stomach tied in knots, she decided to skip her regular breakfast and prepare coffee and whole-wheat toast. But just as she slid two slices of bread into the toaster, she heard a knock at the kitchen door. When she looked through the half-glass door, she saw Seth standing there, a frantic expression on his face.

Oh God, had Jack already spoken to him? Was he here to confront her?

Bracing herself for the worst, she wiped her hands off on the towel hanging over the sink and hurried to the back door. The moment she unlocked the door, Seth stormed in, a wild look in his eyes.

“We’ve got to go to the sheriff’s office right now.” Seth’s words ran together as they rushed out of his mouth so quickly that Cathy barely understood what he’d said.

He held up what Cathy assumed was her morning newspaper. “Slow down and tell me what’s going on.”

“Here, take a look for yourself.” Seth opened the newspaper and held it out for her to see. “It’s happened again. Just last night.”

Cathy read the headline:
Fire & Brimstone Killer Strikes Again.

“Who?” she grabbed the newspaper out of his hands and scanned the article. “Deacon Perry Fuqua?”

Seth grabbed her by her shoulders, startling her so that she dropped the paper to the floor.

“Mom, you have to go with me to talk to Sheriff Birkett. Please, let’s go now. I have to tell them I was with Missy last night.”

“What are you talking about? Why do you have to tell—?”

“Felicity called me to tell me that Mike Birkett came to their house just a little while ago and talked to her parents. The sheriff took Missy in so that the task force can question her. They think she killed Mr. Fuqua, just like they think she killed her dad. She didn’t. I know she didn’t.”

“Calm down, Seth.” Cathy pulled his hands off her shoulders and held them securely between them. “How do you know she didn’t?”

“Weren’t you listening to me? Because I was with her last night when Mr. Fuqua was killed, and I have to tell them that I was.”

“Seth, look at me.”

Reluctantly, he lifted his eyes, and his gaze connected with hers.

“Were you really with Missy last night?”

“Yes. I…uh…I slipped out of the house, and she did, too, and we met. It’s not the first time.”

Cathy suspected that Seth was lying to her. When he was a little boy, she could always tell when he wasn’t telling her the truth, and even now her maternal instincts still acted as a lie detector.

“Mom, please, please…”

“All right. Let me get my car keys and purse.” She picked up her purse off the kitchen counter and then lifted the keys off the rack by the door. “By the way, how did you get here? I didn’t hear a car drive up.”

“I walked. I left a note for Nana and Granddad.”

Cathy moaned. She’d deal with J.B. and Mona later.

“Hurry up, Mom.”

Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at the sheriff’s office in downtown Dunmore. She barely got the car parked before Seth opened the door and jumped out. Rushing to keep up with him, she got out, locked the car and ran to the front entrance. Seth paused long enough to hold the door for her.

“We need to see the sheriff right now,” Seth told Mike’s secretary.

“Sheriff Birkett is in a meeting,” she replied.

“You don’t understand. I’m a witness,” Seth said. “Well, sort of. He’s questioning Missy Hovater right now, isn’t he? I’ve got important information about Missy.”

The woman looked from Seth to Cathy, apparently uncertain if Seth was dangerous or just overzealous.

Before Cathy could reassure Mike’s secretary, Seth blurted out, “Get Jack Perdue. He’ll vouch for me. He and my mom are dating and—”

“What the hell is going on out here?” Jack opened the door marked with Mike’s name and stopped abruptly when he saw Cathy and Seth.

Oh God, please don’t let him assume that we’re here because I told Seth the truth about his paternity.

Seth ran toward Jack. “I’ve got to talk to the sheriff. Missy didn’t kill Mr. Fuqua. She was with me last night. I swear she was. I’m her alibi.”

Cathy held her breath as Jack reached out and laid his hand on Seth’s shoulder. Tears burned her throat, and it was all she could do not to cry out loud.

“Missy isn’t here,” Jack said in a calm, authoritative voice. “Reverend and Mrs. Harper are bringing her in later for questioning, along with her lawyer. I don’t think Missy will need an alibi, but if she does, I’ll call you and you can come back in and give a statement.”

Seth’s shoulders sagged as he released a pent-up breath. “She didn’t kill anybody, not even her father, that son of a bitch.”

Jack glanced past Seth, his gaze settling on Cathy. Her heartbeat accelerated alarmingly. “Take him home.”

“Come on, Seth, let’s go,” Cathy said.

“Thanks, Jack,” Seth said. “When Felicity called me, she thought for sure y’all believed Missy was the Fire and Brimstone Killer.”

“Go home with your mom,” Jack said. “The three of us will talk later. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Jack squeezed Seth’s shoulder as he looked at his son. Cathy knew that he wanted to grab Seth and hug him. But he didn’t. He released his hold on Seth and then turned and walked back into Mike’s office.

He had all but ignored her.

As soon as his mother took him to his grandparents’ home and his grandfather met them at the door with a reprimand, Seth knew what he had to do. He’d been thinking about it for a while now and had already pretty much made up his mind. After the way his mom had responded to his hysteria about Missy this morning, he felt certain he was making the right decision. His grandparents loved him and needed him, but his mother understood him. She didn’t expect him to be perfect. She just wanted him to do the very best he could.