Three

      Atlanta Federal Prison

      5:30 p.m.

      Bobbie had left for Atlanta as soon as she and Devine had found the missing boy. Ten-year-old Sage Parker had been hiding in the attic. The closet in his parents’ bedroom had a full-size access door that opened onto additional floored space over the back porch. He claimed he hid there a lot lately and last night he’d fallen asleep in the dusty, too warm space. Last month when the shit hit the fan in the news and his parents started screaming at each other all the time he’d found solitude in the attic among the boxes of stored Christmas ornaments and toys he and his sister once played with together.

      Finding the boy alive and well was the only good news they had so far. Sage had no idea where his sister was. None of her few friends had seen her and, according to those same friends, she currently had no boyfriend. Fern Parker had vanished. Bobbie hoped she had taken off as teenagers will sometimes do when angry with their parents. The alternative didn’t leave much hope for her survival.

      Other than being hungry and a little dehydrated from spending twelve hours hidden in the heat of the attic, Sage was unharmed. He insisted he hadn’t heard or seen anything. Bobbie wasn’t so sure the kid was being completely honest. She’d pushed as hard as she felt comfortable and he’d stuck with his story. After dinner his parents had begun their usual routine of screaming profanities at each other and his sister had gone into her room, slamming the door in his face. Eventually his parents had taken their screaming match back downstairs and Sage had sneaked into their bedroom and through the closet to the attic. The child admitted he hadn’t wanted to go to his friend’s house because he worried about his parents and sister, but he couldn’t bear the screaming so he hid. He’d fallen asleep and hadn’t awakened until he heard the sirens, then he’d been too afraid to come out of hiding.

      Bobbie had ridden in the ambulance with him to the ER. The physician on call had suggested Sage stay twenty-four hours for observation just to ensure he was okay. His mother’s sister who lived in Nashville had been called. She’d arrived before Bobbie left for Atlanta. Bobbie hadn’t told Sage his parents were dead. She’d left that painful business to his aunt. To ensure the boy’s safety, a uniform had been assigned to his room. The FBI was sending one of its agents to serve as part of his security detail as well.

      Poor kid had no idea what lay ahead of him. His entire world had been shattered. There was no way to save him from the hurt of learning to live without his parents. At the moment though, the most pressing concerns were keeping the boy safe and finding his sister. If the killer learned a possible witness had survived his killing spree he would want to rectify that oversight.

      After the boy and his aunt were settled into a room at Baptist Medical, Bobbie had hit the road. She’d arrived at the prison nearly forty minutes ago and had been pacing this small waiting room since. Her patience was quickly running out. She should be back in Montgomery looking for Fern Parker and whoever killed her and Sage’s parents.

      Bobbie stopped her pacing and shivered as if a cold wind had passed through her. Not so long ago she’d been in the precarious position the Parker children were in. The serial killer she had survived had wanted to finish what he’d started. She clenched her teeth and dropped into the nearest chair. No one was going to get to that little boy or his sister—assuming they could find her and the bastard didn’t have her already—as long as Bobbie was breathing.

      Devine had conducted face-to-face interviews with the teenagers on the short contacts list in Fern’s cell phone. According to those few, there was a long list of newly unfriended teenagers on Facebook and Instagram who should be interviewed as well. The feds had already pushed their way into the homicide investigation and were interviewing potential suspects who had been wronged by either Nigel Parker or his wife. The FBI’s involvement was understandable since the Parker fraud case had been theirs. If Fern had been abducted they would be lead on that aspect of the case. Special Agent Michael Hadden from the Montgomery field office would work as a liaison between the MPD and the agent in charge, Ronald Vincent, of the Parker case. Hadden promised to provide any names of persons of interest the MPD didn’t have in an effort to ensure all bases were covered.

      Bobbie had tasked Devine as liaison with Hadden. Chief Peterson had made it clear that his detectives and the Montgomery Police Department would remain lead on the investigation until the homicide aspect of the case was solved. According to the chief, Special Agent Vincent, who’d come all the way from New York, hadn’t been too happy about it but he’d let it go quickly enough. As much as Bobbie wanted to focus solely on who had decided to use a dead serial killer’s MO, her top priority was to find Fern.

      The possible motives for the murders were easy enough to deduce. Both Nigel Parker and his wife had made serious enemies. Nigel by stealing from his clients; Heather by having affairs with at least four of those married clients and arranging secret lovers for many more of her husband’s friends. Fern was the big question mark in Bobbie’s mind. If the killer was levying vengeance, what had the girl done to deserve to be taken? What was her shame? Or was she simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, ending up collateral damage? Until she was found all they had was speculation.

      “Detective Gentry.”

      Bobbie pushed aside the troubling thoughts and focused on the tall man dressed in a guard’s uniform who had entered the waiting room. When she’d arrived she had gone through the usual routine of signing in and then turning over her handbag, badge, weapon and all other personal items the same as any other visitor. Eventually she had been sequestered to this small private room.

      “That’s me.” She stood, smoothed a hand over her jacket. She felt more than a little naked without her department issue Glock at her waist and the backup piece she kept strapped to her right ankle. She’d left her backup piece as well as the knife she carried in the trunk of her car. Leaving her Glock in the car was out of the question.

      “I’m Malcolm Clinton. I apologize for your wait. The warden had to approve your visit and he was in a meeting when you first arrived,” the guard explained. “Apparently Mr. Zacharias failed to mention that you’re a detective.”

      “No problem. Can I see Weller now?” Another zing of anticipation rushed through her. The two-and-a-half-hour drive from Montgomery had given her plenty