A Deeper Grave. Debra Webb
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not to mention that the routine was in all probability a smart move considering he hunted serial killers using methods that skirted the law more often than not. “Where’re we going?”
He slid behind the wheel. “No place in particular.”
As he pulled away from the hospital’s rear parking she studied his profile. Nick Shade was an attractive man and...as damaged as she was. He, too, had survived a ruthless serial killer—his own father. She doubted either of them would ever have a normal life. At least she had experienced a glimpse of what a real life was supposed to be. She would cherish those memories the rest of her days.
Would Nick ever allow himself to have that?
“You look good.”
His deep voice drew her back to the present. “Thanks.” It had taken her a long while to be able to accept a compliment. “You, too.”
Silence settled between them as he drove. Back in August they’d spent a lot of time exactly like this, driving and hoping they would find a lead that would break the Storyteller case. Nick had been there for her during those shattering days before and after her partner’s death. God she missed Newt.
As if he’d read her mind, Nick asked, “How’s Carlene?”
He did a lot of that, too. Read her mind. “She’s okay. She sold the house and moved to Nashville to be near their oldest daughter who just found out she’s pregnant. Carlene’s really excited about being a grandmother.” Newt would be so happy. Bobbie swallowed at the lump in her throat.
“Tell me about this new case. The Seppuku copycat.”
So that was why he was here. His father’s warning echoed in her ears. She should tell him...in a minute. She wasn’t sure how he would react when she announced that she had visited Weller. They hadn’t discussed the connection between him and Weller. Instead of dropping that bomb, she gave him the details of the double homicide on her plate. “We have a survivor, the son. And hopefully the sister. She’s still missing.”
“This case is why you went to see him?”
So he knew. She didn’t know why she was surprised. Nick Shade missed nothing. “No—at least not that I was aware. His attorney called and insisted that I come.”
Nick braked for a light. He turned to her. “You know who he is.”
His statement was not a reference to Randolph Weller’s infamous reputation as one of the most prolific serial killers alive today. “I do.”
He stared at her for five endless seconds. “Why did Weller want to see you?”
Bobbie braced herself against the stony look in his eyes. From the moment she discovered his father’s identity she instinctively understood that there would be no love lost between the two, and for good reason. “He wanted me to warn you.”
The light changed and Nick looked away, moving forward with the flow of traffic. “Why didn’t he have his lawyer call me?”
“He said you wouldn’t listen to him.” Bobbie took a deep breath and gave him the rest of the details. “I stared at my phone for hours last night.” When she should have been sleeping, she kept to herself. “I planned to try and contact you today.”
“You have my number,” he said without looking at her. “What stopped you?”
Was he angry or disappointed that she’d done what she thought she had to do? Instead of responding to his question, she said, “He suggested the murders were a message to you. That these organized serial killers—he called them the Consortium—are coming for you. He’s concerned they’ll try using me as a way to get to you.” She stared out the window and said the rest. “That’s why I hesitated before calling. I didn’t want you to come to Montgomery.”
I knew you’d come.
He pulled into the parking lot of a convenience store. “You couldn’t hope to stop me.”
Bobbie stared out the windshield at nothing at all. “Weller could be manipulating us.” She’d come to a number of conclusions last night and that was one of them. Anything was better than the idea that a group of serial killers working together had decided to take Nick out. “He’s desperate to be a part of your life.”
“You give him too much credit,” Nick argued. “He’s far too cold and controlled to feel desperation.”
“Maybe.” Could a psychopathic serial killer love anyone but himself enough to feel desperation? Bobbie wasn’t sure.
“I’ll look into it.”
“You’ll look into it?” She wanted to shake him. “There are people out there plotting your death and all you can say is that you’ll look into it?” Frustration and no small amount of exhaustion made her voice sharper than she’d intended.
His glare turned fierce. “This has nothing to do with you, Bobbie. It would be best if you stayed out of it.”
She opened her mouth to set him straight when her cell phone interrupted. She snapped it free of her belt. “Gentry.”
“We have a serious lead,” Devine said, his tone eager. He hesitated, then asked, “You okay?”
“What lead?” she demanded, ignoring his question. She glowered at the man next to her. Who the hell did he think he was?
“I just picked up the coroner’s preliminary report,” Devine explained.
Bobbie started to demand why the hell she hadn’t been informed that the report was ready when Devine went on. “The knife used on the vics is consistent with a double-edged blade six to ten inches long. Judging by the striation marks, the blade has a distinct pattern Dr. Carroll is trying to track down.”
Bobbie reached for calm. “I’ll meet you at the office in half an hour.”
“Ah...you might want to come now,” Devine argued. “I have the name and address of one of Parker’s enemies—one he cheated out of a couple million bucks.”
Bobbie was about to remind him there were several of those when he added, “This guy collects rare Japanese swords and daggers. And he’s suddenly planning a trip out of the country, as in he’s booked on a flight out of Birmingham this afternoon.”
Anticipation shoved the frustration and exhaustion aside. “I’ll be right there.”
Greystone Place
9:00 a.m.
Bobbie surveyed the spacious den that was actually a gallery. Three of the four walls were lined with glass cases containing hundreds of knives and swords. Some of the instruments were longer than others, some sported ornate handles and sheaths. Each was labeled with the era and style of weapon.
If Mark Hanover wanted to conceal his proclivity for instruments of death potentially similar to the one used in the Parker murders, his housekeeper hadn’t gotten the memo. She’d answered the door, listened carefully through Bobbie’s introduction and then led them directly to this room to wait. Strange, to say the least.
Speaking of strange, Bobbie had wanted to ask Nick how he’d found out she visited Weller. Someone at the prison was likely keeping him informed. Nick avoided her question about whether he was in Montgomery for a few days or only passing through. She wanted the opportunity to tell him how much she appreciated what he’d done for her. What he did for so many others. When he was here before there hadn’t been time and she hadn’t been in the right place emotionally to adequately convey her appreciation.
“I’ve never seen a collection this extensive, not even in a museum.”
Bobbie turned to her partner. There was a lot she didn’t know about him, particularly when it came to personal tastes.