Heinous (4 page)

“My momma loved him to the moon and back,” Amanda continued, ignoring Jess completely. “It made my granddaddy crazy. When he caught them in bed together the first time, our daddy was scared to death. That’s when he had to start doing whatever granddaddy told him or end up buried in the yard like all the others. Back then my granddaddy had lots of friends who came over, but our daddy was the only one my momma ever wanted.”

“Did your grandfather’s friends live in Scottsboro?” All Jess needed was one living witness who knew the Brownfield family’s story. And her father. As desperately as she wanted to pretend this wasn’t personal, it was. Dammit, it was.

“Most of them. After he died, my momma run them all off. She said she wanted no part of that mess.”

“How can you remember that? You were what? Four years old when—” Jess clamped her mouth shut.

“When our daddy died?” Amanda finished for her. “My momma told me the stories when I was older. She wanted me to understand why daddy did bad things so I wouldn’t hate him the way she hated her daddy.” Amanda laughed. “She didn’t understand I was totally like my granddaddy. I love doing bad things.” She writhed beneath the thin sheet as if thinking about it made her restless. “You might, too, Jess, if you ever tried it.”

Jess refused to let the woman’s words get to her. “Are you sure there isn’t anything else you remember about where you met Spears? If we could rescue those women, the Bureau would consider that quite a heroic deed. It could make all the difference, Amanda.” Not that Jess was in any position to offer deals.

“I can’t believe you haven’t figured this out already, sis. He’s somewhere in Birmingham. Close,
really
close.” Amanda exhaled a big dramatic sigh. “Doesn’t really matter where he is though. You could be standing right beside him and you wouldn’t be able to save those women.”

Worry gnawed at Jess. “Why not?”

Amanda laughed softly. “You can’t stop him, Jess. All you can do is watch the innocent lives taken until your time comes. That’s the way this game works. He always finishes the game.”

“I thought you were going to help me, Amanda.”

Amanda shook her head. “I can’t help you. No one can.”

The sound of Jess’s cell shattered the tension. She stepped back and reached for it. The phone number wasn’t one she recognized. “Harris.”

“Chief Harris, this is Sheriff Foster over in Jackson County.”

Jess took a breath. “You have something new?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” Foster went on. “To tell you the truth, it’s downright strange.”

Jess decided against reminding him that there was a farm with somewhere in the neighborhood of forty homicide victims buried on it in his county. What could be stranger than that?

“Sometime last night a car went off the road near the old Comer Bridge over on Route 35,” Foster explained. “You know the one where your folks had their accident. Anyway, a fisherman found it this morning. We’re still looking for the driver or any passenger. So far we haven’t found a soul.”

A chill settled in her bones. “I take it you’ve found something though.” Jess didn’t use his name or rank. The less Amanda knew the better.

“Well, yes, ma’am, we did. Oddest thing. And that’s saying something considering what we found last week.”

Jess’s point exactly.

“There was a note in the car. It was all sealed up in a plastic bag and taped to the dash. The note was addressed to you, Chief.”

Any chance of drawing in a reasonable breath deserted her.

“I’ll read it to you,” Foster went on. “
This is where it began, Jess, and this is where it will end.
”

“I’m on my way.” She severed the connection and told herself to breathe.

“Did something happen?”

Ignoring the question, Jess readied to go. “I’ll be back soon, Amanda. If you remember anything, tell the officer on duty you need to speak with me. That’s the only way I can help you.”

“Something did happen!”

Jess didn’t look back.

“He’s getting closer, Jessie Lee!”

The words followed her out the door.

Scottsboro, Alabama, Noon

For such a small town, the Friendly City had at least three hungry reporters giving the uniforms at the blockade on Route 35 a hard time. Jess kept her face turned away from the reporters. If anyone recognized her, the minor nuisance of a trio of local reporters would turn into an all-out circus. The scene at the Brownfield farm required a six-man team on duty around the clock to keep the newshounds and curiosity seekers off the property.

Hayes was at the Oasis with the manager reviewing the video recordings from last Friday. The only cameras were in the parking lot, which was better than nothing, and might provide the license plate number of the car the masked man had been driving. They could definitely use a good lead.

Lori braked and flashed her badge for the officer holding back traffic. He waved them through. En route, Jess had spent some time on Google learning all she could about the bridge and the number of accidents that occurred on or near it every year. The historic bridge was scheduled for demolition next year. Alongside the nearly century old steel structure, a new, state of the art bridge spanned the Tennessee River. Local preservationists were working hard to prevent the tearing down of yet another piece of history. Jess stared at the looming web of steel. It looked eerie and unsafe to her, but then she was far from objective. Her parents had died in the water beneath that bridge.

What the hell was Spears up to now?

Jess had called Gant and given him the new information Amanda had passed along, whether it was reliable or not. Gant didn’t share an opinion one way or the other with her. She didn’t hold it against him since she hadn’t shared with him Amanda’s claim that she was Jess’s half sister. A true team player would have done so, Jess supposed. Things had been like that between her and Gant for a while.

Gant was probably calling Chief Black right now. Harold Black was deputy chief over the BPD’s Crimes Against Persons Division. He was BPD’s representative on the Spears Joint Task Force. Technically, Jess should have called him first, but she hadn’t done that either.

From the beginning, Black had made it clear he didn’t like her. In part, she supposed, his decision had been based on an outsider coming in and taking a prized opportunity for promotion within the department. Jess understood those feelings. What she couldn’t understand was his seeming determination to treat Dan as a person of interest in the case of a missing cop, the head of the Gang Task Force. Black and Dan went way back. He should have Dan’s back.

Dan didn’t agree with Jess on that one. He saw what Black was doing as nothing more than his job. Time would tell if he was the man Dan thought him to be. For Dan’s sake, Jess hoped he was.

Lori parked her Mustang behind a Jackson County deputy’s cruiser. Jess surveyed the cluster of official vehicles at the bottom of the ravine that leveled off as it reached the riverbank. From the looks of the aftermath, the car had plowed down the ravine and disappeared into the murky depths of the water.

“If there was no one in the car,” Lori speculated, “someone must have rigged the accelerator to keep the vehicle going when it left the shoulder of the road.”

She’d read Jess’s mind. Once the vehicle left the road, it plunged some twenty or more feet down a steep incline. “And it just kept going,” Jess agreed. The ground leveled off for maybe ten yards before reaching the river.

Her attention returned to the bridge. Jess wasn’t clear on the precise location where her parents’ vehicle had left the bridge and entered the water, but she knew it was closer to this side of the river than to the other. The railing had required repair after their car crashed through it. She remembered the officer who’d spoken to her Aunt Wanda after the funeral saying as much. He had suggested that Jess’s father had been traveling at an inordinately high rate of speed.

Why would a man with his wife in the car and two children at home counting on him be so careless?

Why was it she could only remember snippets of that time? She’d never really thought about it until now, but her memory of the first ten years of her life was vague and scattered.

Emerging from the Mustang, Jess cleared the disturbing thoughts from her mind. She glanced at her feet and wished she’d had the presence of mind to start packing sneakers for this sort of expedition. She and Lori had talked about it before. Had that been two or three cases ago? Lately, the passage of time seemed more accurately measured by the number of murders than the days and weeks on the calendar.

“You’re going to be very glad I’m your ride today.”

“Have you ever heard me complain?” Jess shut the car door and adjusted her sunglasses. “Besides, no one else has a sporty red car.”

“I mean,” Lori popped the trunk, “you’ll be glad because I remembered to pack sneakers.”

“I wish I could say the same.” Jess carried so much in this bag now the prospect of adding a pair of sneakers had her shoulders aching.

Lori held up two pairs of sneakers like trophies. “I’ve got you covered, Chief.”

Jess could have hugged her. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Be sure to remember that when evaluations come around.” Lori tossed her a pair of the sneakers.

Two minutes later, they both sported Skechers Trail running shoes in a sleek black with neon pink trim. Didn’t go too well with Jess’s tangerine-colored suit any more than they did with Lori’s rust-colored trousers and matching summer jacket, but Jess wasn’t complaining. The sneakers would make trudging up and down the grassy slope more comfortable and far less hazardous than the high heeled Mary Janes she loved.

A woman was never too old to adapt.

Descending the ravine while avoiding the obvious path the vehicle had taken proved on the precarious side even with the proper footwear. Sheriff Foster and two of his deputies stood near the silver sedan, which had been dragged from the river. Foster broke away from the group and met Jess a few yards from the vehicle.

“We decided not to have the car towed until you got here.” He gave Jess a nod then another for Lori. “Chief Gleason and I talked about this and he prefers we handle anything related to this case even if it happens inside Scottsboro’s city limits.”

“I appreciate that, Sheriff. Be sure to thank Chief Gleason for me.” Jess shifted her attention to the car. “Have you identified the owner?”

“We’re working on it. The owner listed in the database claims he sold the car months ago, but the new owner never registered it. We’re still trying to track the new owner down.”

“Did you turn the note into evidence already?”

“I figured you’d want to see it first, too.”

“I owe you one, Sheriff.”

He hitched his head toward the car. “My deputy’s holding on to the note for us if you’d like to have a look.”

Two deputies waited by the car, an Impala. The taller of the two presented the note, protected by a clear plastic evidence bag, to Jess. She studied the plain white piece of paper with its words fashioned from letters cut out of magazines. A similar note had been pinned to Maddie’s dress last week.

This is where it began, Jess, and this is where it will end
.

Steadying her hand before passing the note to Lori to photograph, Jess turned her attention to the car. A quick perusal confirmed there was nothing inside except damp cloth upholstery and factory installed carpet.

“Are you continuing the search for victims?” Jess looked out over the dark water, goose bumps spilling over her skin. The Impala’s windows were down, which ensured the vehicle sank faster. She doubted there would be any survivors. If Spears or one of his followers wanted the driver and anyone in the car dead, they were dead.

“Yes, ma’am,” Foster assured her. “We got another team of divers coming in the next hour. We’ll be at it until we’re satisfied there’s no one down there.”

“No evidence except the tire tracks?” Jess visually traced the path the car had taken. A different angle sometimes provided a new prospective.

“We searched the area with a fine tooth comb.” Foster gave a firm shake of his head. “No beer cans, liquor bottles, discharged ammo jackets, discarded food wrappers, not even a cigarette butt that wasn’t already mostly disintegrated. Whoever walked away from this, assuming anyone did, they were very careful not to disturb or to leave anything.”

Didn’t take a genius to walk away from a scene without leaving evidence. What it did require, however, was careful planning.

Lori passed the note back to the deputy, and then gave Jess a look before glancing up to the highway. Jess followed her gaze. A man emerged from his black Ford truck. He made no move to come down the grassy hill. He simply stood there and watched.

“He’s a local,” Foster said with a wave to the newcomer.

“I take it you recognize him.” Jess studied the man as best she could from this distance. Around six feet tall and a good hundred eighty pounds with short-cropped gray hair, his bearing said cop. The jeans, T-shirt and boots indicated he was retired or, at the very least, off duty.

“Randall McPherson,” Foster explained. “ABI agent, retired.”

“Does Mr. McPherson consult on your investigations?” Or possibly, he needed to speak with the sheriff for some other reason.

McPherson looked directly at Jess before he turned, climbed back into his truck, and drove away. Perhaps he only wanted to find out what all the fuss was about.

“Jackson County was part of his territory,” Foster explained. “He was buddies with the trooper who worked the accident your parents were in.” The sheriff glanced out over the water. “He was new to the area back then.”

“Did McPherson have a part in the investigation?” The one report Jess had read was the trooper’s report. Unfortunately, the trooper was now deceased. Lori had checked for a BPD investigation related to the accident but hadn’t found one. Apparently, Buddy Corlew’s source had gotten that one wrong. If the BPD investigated her parents’ deaths, there was no record of the case.

Foster shrugged. “Alabama Bureau of Investigation and the troopers are both part of Public Safety. Mac was pretty hands-on with his jurisdiction, you know. Anything went on down here, he wanted to know about it.”

Do tell
. “I’m certain men like McPherson make your citizens feel safe.”

“You got it,” Foster confirmed. He turned his attention back to the Impala for a moment. “We’ll go ahead and make the call to the Joint Task Force on this and hand over the evidence. Let me know if I can do anything else for you, Chief.”

Jess thanked the sheriff and started the climb back up to the street.

“I have McPherson’s home address and phone number.” As usual, Lori hadn’t wasted any time preparing for the next move. “I can set up a meet.”

“Let’s not give him a heads up.” Jess paused to fan her face once they reached the asphalt again. The temperature had to be ninety-five. “Sometimes surprise visits prove far more informative.”

Lori rounded the hood of her Mustang. “Not to mention more interesting.”

Tupelo Pike, 2:15 p.m.

“The truck’s here.” Lori eased into the gravel drive, parking squarely behind the black Ford pickup McPherson had been driving.

The front door was open, but the screen door prevented Jess from seeing inside. Or maybe it was the darkness. There was no visible light beyond the tightly drawn shades of the windows. Maybe McPherson liked the dark. He’d worked this jurisdiction for over thirty years, eventually making Scottsboro his home. According to Foster, McPherson had made it his business to know the people and the place. How had he missed what the Brownfields were doing right under his nose?

Notification that she’d received a text had Jess digging for her phone. Why was it the darned thing always found its way to the very bottom of her bag? She read the message from Sylvia. “Dr. Baron would like us at her office before five.”

Lori checked the time. “As long as we head that way by three-fifteen, I can make it happen. Gives us an hour before we need to leave.”

Jess contemplated the modest home with its painted clapboard siding and shingled roof. “An hour should be plenty of time to get this guy’s story.”
Unless he has something to hide
.

Five seconds after she and Lori were out of the Mustang, a deep, throaty growl made the hair on the back of Jess’s neck stand on end and had her calculating whether it was quicker to go for the car door or for the hood.

Jump or dive?

The German shepherd lunged off the porch.

Wishing for pepper spray, Jess held her ground. On the street behind her, a car door slammed. Her surveillance detail was coming. Completely focused on her and Lori, the dog didn’t seem to notice the approaching uniform.

“Come here, boy,” Lori said firmly.

The dog waited halfway between where he’d hit the ground and where they stood at the front of the Mustang. Body tense, tail high and wagging slowly, he shifted his full attention toward Lori.

“Get back in the car,” she said to Jess. “I got this.”

Not happening
. Jess reached into her bag. She had crackers in there somewhere. The dog growled again, raising goose bumps on her skin.

“Roger! Stay!” The command boomed from inside the house.

The dog dropped into a sitting position, his attention lingering on Jess.

McPherson opened the screen door and stepped out onto the porch. “Come,” he ordered.

The big dog hustled up the steps to stand next to his master.

The sound of the car door closing behind Jess signaled that her surveillance detail had returned to his cruiser.

Jess relaxed. “Roger?” she asked of the man now watching her so intently. “I would’ve expected something like Terminator or Killer.”

“He was nothing but a pup when he wandered onto my doorstep,” McPherson said, glancing down as his pet. “My wife had left me for another man. I decided I’d name the dog after that lowlife bastard. Seemed fair at the time.” He ruffled the fur at the dog’s nape. “A year later, my ex went off her rocker, shot the guy and herself. Old Roger turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. This one and the other one.” He stared at Jess then, his gaze narrowing. “Why’re you here?”