The Dying Game (24 page)

“I didn’t see him close up, just through the window over there.” Janice nodded to the living room’s double windows that faced the street. “I don’t know about his eyes or his hair. He wore a cap of some kind and a jogging suit, but he had fair skin. His face was pink, maybe chapped from the wind, but he definitely had plump, rosy cheeks.”

“If you saw him again, would you recognize him?” Judd asked, his voice calm.

“I’m not sure. Maybe. If he was wearing the same getup.”

Lindsay rose from the sofa. “Thank you, Mrs. Nix. I appreciate your taking the time to tell us about this man.”

Judd got up quietly, kept his composure, and acted like a normal, rational human being. She wasn’t accustomed to seeing him act in a logical manner.

Janice came up out of her easy chair. “Do you think he might have been the man who killed Sonya?”

“We don’t know,” Lindsay replied. “It’s possible.”

As Janice walked them to the front door, Judd asked, “Did you tell the police about this man?”

“I haven’t. Not yet. No one from the police department has asked me anything, but some FBI agent knocked on my door first thing this morning. Real nice lady named Baxter. She was as interested in hearing what I had to say as you two were.”

Lindsay and Judd exchanged glances. Neither were surprised that Nic had gotten here first.

Five minutes later, when they were heading out of Pine Crest Estates, resting comfortably in the back of the limo, Lindsay sent a text message to Griff.

Stranger jogging on Sonya’s street day of murder. Neighbor’s
description similar to one BJH gave you. Nic knows
.

“Contacting Griff?” Judd asked.

“Uh-huh.” She closed her cell phone and turned to Judd. “The description Janice Nix gave us of the jogger is similar to the one Barbara Jean gave Griff of the man she saw leaving her sister’s apartment.”

“And just as worthless.” Judd grimaced. “An average-looking white male, medium size and height. That really narrows it down for us, doesn’t it?”

“It’s more than we’ve had in the past.”

“But not enough to help us catch this monster.”

Lindsay wanted to reach over and take Judd’s hand in hers. She wanted to promise him that eventually they would catch Jennifer’s killer and bring him to justice. But in the end, would it really make a difference? Once Jennifer’s murderer was behind bars, would Judd be free from the past? Could he ever recover from losing his wife?

“You were good with Mrs. Nix,” Lindsay said.

Judd huffed. “You mean you’re thankful I didn’t lose control, shake her until her teeth rattled, and demand she give us an exact description.”

Lindsay managed a weak smile. “I wish she could have given us a more detailed description, just in case the jogger was our murderer, but a witness can only tell us what he or she remembers.”

“What about Barbara Jean—do you think she really can’t remember any more about the man or do you think she’s blocked it out of her mind because she’s afraid he’ll come after her?”

“I have no idea. But I feel certain that if she’ll allow Dr. Meng to work with her, she’ll eventually remember if she knows anything else.”

“You have a high opinion of Dr. Meng, don’t you?”

What was Judd really asking her? “She’s good at her job. And she’s a kind, understanding person.”

“She helped you, didn’t she? After …” Judd frowned, his expression filled with pain. “I’m a real bastard. What I did was unforgivable.”

“Do you want forgiveness?”

“What?”

“I asked if you wanted my forgiveness.”

He glanced away quickly, terminating their connected gazes. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”

“Forgiveness is earned,” she told him.

He nodded.

Griff drove his rental car into the parking lot of the Wingate at three-forty-two. Just as he killed the engine and reached to open the door, his cell phone rang. From the caller ID, he knew Sanders was contacting him.

Griff flipped open his phone. “Yeah?”

“We received notification from the Williamstown PD that Gale Ann Cain’s body will be released tomorrow,” Sanders said. “Everything has been arranged for the funeral. All I need is a day and time to let the funeral director know when to plan the service.”

“What are Barbara Jean’s wishes?”

“I believe she would prefer to have the funeral as soon as possible.”

“Day after tomorrow?” Griff asked.

“Yes, I think that would be suitable.”

“How is she?”

“As well as can be expected.”

“Is Yvette with her now?”

“Yes, they’ve taken an afternoon walk, with Angie, of course.”

“Does Barbara Jean have any idea that I’ve revealed to the press that she is an eyewitness, that she saw her sister’s killer?”

“No. We have done as you requested and made sure that she hasn’t seen any news reports on television, the radio, or in the paper.”

Griff heard a hint of disapproval in Sanders’s voice.

“She’s safe there at Griffin’s Rest,” he assured Sanders. “You must know that I would do nothing to put her in danger.”

“I know that is what you believe.”

“If there is the slightest chance we can lure the killer—”

“I have the information you requested on Special Agent Baxter’s husband.” Sanders cut him off, abruptly changing the subject.

Griff knew better than to press the matter about Barbara Jean or to try to placate his old friend in any way.

“Okay. Let’s hear it.”

“To begin with, Nicole Baxter’s husband is dead.”

Chapter 16

Pilkerton Funeral Home in Williamstown, Kentucky, provided their most expensive and elaborate service for Gale Ann Cain. Money had not been an object since Griffin Powell and Judd Walker were picking up the tab. A local Baptist church choir had provided the music in the chapel for the main service and a soloist and violinist had accompanied the large crowd of mourners to the graveside. Lindsay wondered how many of the several hundred onlookers were local and national reporters and curiosity-seekers and how many had actually known Gale Ann.

While Griff and Sanders sat on either side of Barbara Jean and Angie Sterling stood directly behind her, five other Powell agents mixed in with the crowd. Lindsay stood on a rise above the burial site, near an ancient cypress tree that shot a good thirty feet into the sky. From this vantage point she not only had a perfect view of the service, but also of the mourners and a large section of the small cemetery.

Judd stood beside her, stiff as a poker, his gaze riveted to Gale Ann’s pale pink, metallic casket.

Jennifer Walker’s casket had been white, with pink satin
lining
.

Lindsay had been startled when Judd asked to accompany them here for the funeral. In the past, he had never attended a victim’s funeral, not once since he had buried his wife. Lindsay would never forget Jennifer Mobley Walker’s funeral, attended by the Who’s Who of Tennessee society. It had been a lavish affair, which she later learned had been planned and orchestrated by Camden Hendrix. Cam was Judd’s friend, and he, like she and Griff, had gone that extra mile for Judd these past few years. But eventually, Cam had had enough and called it quits. Judd had pushed Cam away, as he had his other friends, as he’d tried to push her and Griff away.

The wind howled mercilessly, and although the sun kept peeking out from behind the clouds, rain threatened. Lindsay glimpsed at Judd, not wanting him to catch her doing it because he’d realize she was concerned about him. Although he was shaving every day now, he still needed a haircut. But at least this morning he had combed his thick, jaw-length mane of honey brown hair back out of his face and behind his ears. He wore dark slacks and a tan turtleneck sweater under his leather coat. Just looking at him, no one would ever believe that he was one of the richest men in the South.

Lindsay saw the pain in Judd’s golden eyes, noted the tightness in his features, and knew he was remembering Jenny’s funeral. Why had he come here with them today? Why put himself through this torment?

The heart-rending strains of the violin music rose up and away on the winter wind, the tune one she remembered from her own mother’s funeral: “In the Sweet By-and-By.” The soprano’s voice carried through the cemetery, a mournful promise that loved ones would be together again in the distant, heavenly future.

Tears sprang instantly to Lindsay’s eyes. Damn it, why that song, of all songs? Swallowing hard, she blinked away her tears and took a deep breath. Suddenly, unexpectedly, Judd grasped her hand and squeezed. Startled by his actions, she whipped her head around and stared at him. Dry-eyed and somber, he looked at her as he squeezed her hand again. Unaccustomed to any kindness from him, she didn’t know what to think or how to feel. Telling herself not to overreact, she glanced away, back at the scene below. But she clung to his hand as they stood there and watched while the song ended and the minister quoted the Twenty-third Psalm.

Griff hated funerals. In the past few years, he had been to far too many, almost all of them for victims of the Beauty Queen Killer. He always wondered if the murderer was there at the service, mixing and mingling with the mourners. Pretending to be someone he wasn’t. Keeping a low profile. As he glanced across the closed casket and past the minister, Griff saw Nic Baxter standing in the second row of the crowd on the other side from the canopied tent where he sat with Barbara Jean.

What was Nic thinking right now? Was she remembering her husband’s funeral six years ago? Remembering how he’d died? Feeling guilty, possibly blaming herself? Or was she thinking as he was that maybe the killer was here today, getting some kind of perverse pleasure out of attending the funeral of the woman he had hacked to death.

Barbara Jean wept softly, her slender shoulders trembling. She held Sanders’s hand discreetly between their side-by-side thighs, their shoulders and hips almost touching. It had been a long time since he had seen Sanders show deep feelings of any kind. Griff understood. A man does what he must do to survive, in order not to lose his mind. The closest Sanders had come to expressing emotions in recent years had been his concern for Lindsay’s welfare. But Griff suspected that his old friend was beginning to care about the soft-spoken, gentle Barbara Jean. Of all the women in the world, why this one? But then again, why not? Griff was not an expert on love. Far from it. He’d thought himself in love a couple of times when he’d been much younger, back in college. But both relationships, based mainly on sex, had fizzled out rather quickly.

Was Sanders worried about Barbara Jean’s safety? Probably. The man was a worrier. A silent worrier, one who kept his concerns mostly to himself.

If the murderer was somewhere in the crowd of mourners —at least a hundred and fifty or more—Griff doubted that the man was stupid enough to try to kill Barbara Jean here and now. A man smart enough to commit nearly thirty murders and not get caught wasn’t the kind of man to take foolish chances. But then again, after so many successful kills, he might be getting cocky, might be feeling a little too self-assured.

If the killer was here and if he tried anything, he’d be surrounded within seconds. Not only were there five extra Powell agents, other than Angie and Lindsay, in attendance, but there were a number of police officers and FBI agents here, too. Nic hadn’t shared that information with him, but he didn’t need her input to know what was going on.

Scanning the cemetery beyond where he sat, Griff surveyed the crowd, then looked up toward the knoll where Lindsay and Judd stood, at least a dozen other people near them, including Chief of Police Mahoney.

What was it like for Judd being here today? Griff had been as surprised as Lindsay when Judd had asked to come to Kentucky with them to attend the funeral. The more he thought about Judd’s request, the more he wondered if this was a good sign, maybe a healthy sign of recovery. It couldn’t be easy for him. He had to be thinking about Jenny. Remembering her funeral.

Griff thought about Judd’s wife every time he attended a victim’s funeral. And with each new murder he questioned the existence of a God who would allow such a thing to happen. Twenty years ago, as a recent UT graduate, he had believed in the Almighty, had been thankful for the blessings he had received in his life. It had been easy to have faith back then when every day, every week, every year, his life had gotten better and better. His mother had been a devout Christian and dragged him to church and Sunday school when he was growing up in the little town of Dayton, Tennessee.

His father had been killed in a logging accident when he was ten, and his mother had died—some said of a broken heart—when Griff had gone missing when he was twenty-two.

I’m so sorry, Mama. If I could have gotten word to you
that I was alive, I would have
.

But if she had known where he was and what was happening to him, would she have been any better off? If there is a God and if there is a heaven, he knew his mother was there, behind the pearly gates, walking on streets paved with gold, listening to the heavenly choir. If anyone ever deserved eternal peace and happiness, it was his mama.

After the minister ended the graveside service with a prayer, the soloist and violinist joined for a final song. Sanders stood and took charge, wheeling Barbara Jean from underneath the canopy and away from the grave. Angie stayed at her side. The minister came over and offered Barbara Jean his deepest sympathy, as did several of the bystanders, those who had known Gale Ann or knew Barbara Jean. Most of the crowd began to disperse, a few nodding and speaking to one another, others heading directly for their vehicles.

Griff had noticed several people snapping photos and suspected quite a few were local and national reporters who had slipped in. He figured that the local morning newspaper would display a photo of the grieving sister.

Griff spoke quietly to Sanders. “Wait here for a few minutes until I contact the others and have them join us, then you can take Barbara Jean to the car. I’ll follow with Lindsay and Judd in a few minutes.”