A Deeper Grave. Debra Webb
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years he lived in the shadows,” Weller began, his voice low, his gaze distant. “I suppose I inspired his need to rid the world of my kind, one killer at a time.”
“It’s nice to know your perceptive powers are as keen as ever, Doctor.” She poured all the contempt she could summon into the words. The bastard murdered Nick’s mother and allowed him to believe she’d abandoned him. Damn straight his actions motivated Nick to become the hunter he was.
“Touché, Detective.”
She waited for him to continue when she should be back in Montgomery looking for a missing girl and interviewing persons of interest in a double homicide. Her gut twisted at the idea that a ten-year-old boy was now an orphan and his sister could very well be dead or dying. No matter that the job was all she had, sometimes she hated it. More than anything, she hated the sadistic killers like the one seated less than three feet away.
“Nick has always been particularly careful not to get involved on a personal level.” Weller sighed. “Until you. Now he has dug himself a deeper grave than even he knows.” He paused for effect. “Since I’m quite certain he won’t listen to me, I’m hoping he will listen to you.”
Bobbie considered his words for a moment. “Who do you believe has targeted him?” Despite her efforts to control her respiration, her heart beat faster and faster as she waited for his response. The list of questions she’d intended to ask had vanished. She could only think of how she might possibly help Nick.
“I doubt you’re aware of what I’m about to share, and I’m certain our fine friends at the FBI will be quite interested in hearing.” He glanced up at the camera in the far corner. “I’m certain they’re listening even now.”
Bobbie didn’t have to wonder. An inmate like Weller wasn’t allowed a private conversation except with his attorney. He was too smart not to know this. Whatever he had to say, he wanted those listening to hear.
“Like any other community, professional or personal,” he began, “there are communications between those who share, shall we say, an admiration for the art of death.”
“Like murdering your wife and burying her in the backyard?” Bobbie bit her lips together. The words had burst from her mouth before she could stop them. She knew better. She’d been a cop long enough to understand how this worked. Antagonizing the man wouldn’t help her gain any ground with him.
His gaze was razor sharp when he met hers. “There are things I’m not proud of, Bobbie, and the crude manner of her death is one of them. If I could do it over again, it would have been far more civilized.”
Jesus. What a twisted piece of shit. “I’m sure your son would appreciate the sentiment.” The barb was intentional this time.
Ignoring her remark, he went on, “There is a council of sorts. An esteemed group of highly educated overachievers. The Consortium they call themselves.” The beginnings of a smile touched his lips. “At one time I was quite revered among its members. Sadly time changes all things.”
“A consortium of serial killers.” It wasn’t a question. She just wanted to make sure she heard him right considering her head had started to spin at the mere concept.
“Correct. They share the occasional weekend conference. Primarily to discuss territorial issues and the need to clear up a situation that might pose a threat to one or more of their members.”
“Like Nick.”
“Precisely. He’s taken several high-level killers out of the game in the past decade or so. The Consortium has reason to be concerned.”
“They want to stop him.”
“They will stop him,” Weller corrected with a succinct nod.
The certainty in his words sent a spear of ice deep into her chest. “How do you suggest I prevent that from happening?”
Delight or something on that order twinkled in his eyes. Bobbie was immensely grateful Nick had gotten his dark eyes from his mother. This man’s were utterly soulless and far too seeing.
“You would sacrifice yourself toward that end?” The idea seemed to amuse him.
“I’m a cop,” she returned, “it’s what I do.”
“I’m not quite sure you comprehend the scope and magnitude of what I’m conveying to you, my dear Bobbie.”
“Why don’t you break it down for me then?” A blast of fury had her clasping her hands in her lap. She would not permit him to see how easily he rattled her.
“The Consortium is made up of the world’s most cunning and manipulative minds. They haven’t been caught for a reason. They take great care in every move. They cultivate connections that contribute to their success. Absolutely nothing is left to chance. They cannot be stopped.”
Bobbie wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the conversation. She wanted to get up and walk out. Somehow, she couldn’t do either. How was she supposed to help Nick from a danger she couldn’t measure much less find?
“Then why bother telling me?”
“Nick needs to see that he cannot win. It is imperative that he give up this quest and disappear before they find him.”
Bobbie shook her head. “He’ll never do it.”
“Then you must help him see the error of his thinking.”
“I have no idea how to reach him.” She had the number he’d used to call her but she’d never attempted to contact him. She imagined he changed numbers frequently. “How am I supposed to get a message to him?”
“Now,” Weller said, smiling as if she were a child and had just said something completely foolish, “the answer to that question is one you already possess. The message was relayed to both you and my son this very morning in a rather unoriginal however gruesome manner.”
Now she understood. “Seppuku.”
“Well done, Bobbie,” he conceded with a nod. “The Seppuku Killer was the first Nick took out of play.”
“The Seppuku Killer committed suicide.” Even as she said the words, she understood the man staring at her was privy to something she was not.
“The FBI had been looking for him for years,” Weller countered. “An anonymous tip gave the authorities his location. He merely made the choice to take his life rather than face the consequences of his lifestyle.”
“If Nick provided the anonymous tip, why would he leave a killer armed?” The Seppuku Killer had been holding a samurai sword when the police arrived. Nick would never send the police into a trap.
“My son almost always gives his prey the option of taking their own lives or facing prosecution.”
Before she could respond, he added, “He has never taken a life. That’s why he left the military and never pursued a career in law enforcement.”
“He won’t risk taking a life under any circumstances for fear of becoming anything like you.” She hadn’t intended to say the words aloud, and judging by the look on Weller’s face she’d hit the nail on the head.
“He’ll come to you, Bobbie. He will want to protect you. The Consortium has waited a very long time to find a weakness it can manipulate to reach him. You are that weakness.”
Before she could summon a response, he added, “Understand that they will show no mercy. He will suffer greatly before he dies.”
Dread or uncertainty—maybe both—expanded in her chest, but she refused to let him see it. Instead, she tossed the ball back into his court. “What plan of action would you propose I take to stop them?”
“You cannot possibly. All you can do is stop him. He will listen to you. He will do whatever necessary to protect you.”
Bobbie