Don't Cry (19 page)

“Try me.”

“Okay. What if the killer is a member of one of the Baby Blue toddlers' families?”

She stared at him, her expression telling him plainly that she wasn't certain she'd heard him correctly, and if she had, she didn't quite grasp his insinuation.

“Each little boy had a mother and a father. Some of them had siblings. They had aunts and uncles and cousins,” J.D. said. “Let's say that this guy named Corey Bennett had nothing to do with the murders; then our description of him is meaningless as far as a description of our killer goes.”

“You think a relative of one of the Baby Blue victims is our killer?”

“It's worth looking into.” J.D. leaned forward and gazed straight into Tam's big brown eyes. “Actually, I've gone over the list of close relatives for each boy, and I've narrowed the list down to the most likely.”

“How did you narrow the list down? What criteria did you use?”

“Personal histories. I looked closely at members of each immediate family. A few people stood out, people with personal issues that tagged them as mentally or emotionally unstable.”

J.D. noted the slight tremble in Tam's hand as she lifted the Coke to her mouth, and he didn't miss the way her jaw tensed after she swallowed.

When she didn't speak, J.D. said, “Jeremy Arden heads the list, of course. Devin Kelly's father, Steve Kelly, hasn't been able to hold down a steady job since his son disappeared. He has a drinking problem. He's been arrested numerous times for disorderly conduct. He's been married and divorced—”

“None of those personal problems make Mr. Kelly a serial killer,” Tam said in the man's defense.

“I agree. No more than the fact that Sergeant Garth Hudson has a reputation as a hard-drinking womanizer who has been married and divorced four times and—”

“Stop right there. That sounds too much like an accusation against my partner.”

“I'm not accusing anyone of anything,” J.D. told her. “I'm just naming relatives who, for one reason or another, have lived problematic lives. Jeremy Arden, Steve Kelly, Garth Hudson, and his nephew, Hart Roberts.” When J.D. noticed Tam's eyes widen and her mouth form a shocked oval, he quickly added, “Arden heads my list, but Hart Roberts runs a close second.”

“You don't know what you're talking about.” Tam jumped to her feet, her angry gaze damning J.D. for his opinion. “Hart is one of the gentlest souls you'll ever meet. The very idea that he might be a killer is the most idiotic thing I've ever heard. And whatever you do, don't you dare mention this to Garth.”

“I realize Hart Roberts is Garth's nephew and Audrey Sherrod's stepbrother, but neither fact rules him out as a possible suspect.”

“I refuse to listen to another word.”

“I'm sorry.” J.D. rose to his feet. “I thought it was our job to go over every possibility. If you can't simply look at the facts and accept that—”

“Damn it, you might as well accuse Wayne or even Audrey. You're talking about people I know, people who are no more capable of cold-blooded murder than I am.”

“Look, I really am sorry. I should have taken your personal relationship with the family into consideration before shooting off my mouth. Besides, that scenario is just one of several. Take your pick from the others and let's pursue these one at a time. How does that sound?”

Tam drew in and then released a deep breath. “Okay.” She nodded. “When Garth comes in, we'll talk to him, but you will not mention Hart's name. Understand? We'll start with Jeremy Arden and Corey Bennett and see where that investigation leads us.” She glared at J.D. “Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

 

Breaking a nail was no big deal. But when Audrey pried open an uncooperative file drawer and jammed her index finger in the process, it was the final straw. From the time she awoke that morning—after another of those nightmarish dreams about the day Blake disappeared—one thing after another had gone wrong. She had burned her toast, accidentally dropped her toothbrush into the toilet, spent fifteen wasted minutes looking for her misplaced keychain, and had, in her rush to leave the house, bumped her hip against the antique mahogany commode in the entrance hall.

The French-manicured acrylic nail on her right index finger broke off to the quick. Cursing as pain radiated from her severed nail up her finger and into her hand, Audrey grabbed a Kleenex from the box on her desk and managed to stop the bleeding quickly. She rushed into the bathroom, ran cool water over her entire hand, and with her left hand reached in the cabinet above the sink and removed a bottle of peroxide and a box of Band-Aids. Once she had cleaned the wound and stuck a Band-Aid over the end of her finger, she returned to her office.

Since she had strong-armed Hart into meeting her for lunch today, she would have to wait until after work to get her nail repaired.

Damn! She couldn't go after work because she was picking up Zoe for dinner at her house so that they could begin work on her science project. She had an hour and a half between appointments today. If her manicurist could see her immediately, she could still have lunch with Hart, but only if they changed restaurants and ate somewhere near the spa.

She phoned Jessica Smith and explained the situation. “Of course, Dr. Sherrod,” Jessica said. “No problem. It won't take long to put on a new nail.”

She dialed Hart's cell number and got his voice mail. “Hart, it's Audrey. Change of plans. Meet me at the Beauty and Rest Day Spa. I have a fingernail emergency.” She laughed. “We can grab a bite at the Sandwich Shoppe next door to the spa.”

On the short drive from her office to the spa, Audrey noticed a silver Lotus similar to Porter's in the heavy traffic behind her. But it probably wasn't Porter. He usually ate lunch downtown. Dismissing him from her thoughts, she fixated on her less-than-stellar morning. Adding to the other minor catastrophes, Donna had taken the day off for a root canal, one patient had canceled at the last minute, and Mrs. Fredericks had gone into one of her hysterical crying jags and thrown up on the floor, barely missing Audrey's black-and-white Manolo Blahnik slingback pumps.

God in heaven, Audrey!
Emergency nail appointments to fix a broken acrylic nail. Concern about a pair of shoes, albeit an expensive pair that just happened to be one of her favorites. She certainly sounded like a pampered piece of fluff, didn't she?

Okay, so sue me, I'm a woman who likes to look good and appreciates fine things.

She needed to concentrate on what she was going to say to Hart. Since she'd learned the identity of the toddler skeletons found with the two murder victims, Audrey had seen her uncle Garth and they had discussed the situation. She had also spoken to her father on the phone, a succinct conversation that had been difficult for both of them. But Hart had not returned her phone calls, and Garth had told her that he was spending most of his time in his room.

“I've tried to talk to him, but he's dealing with this by pulling back and keeping to himself,” Garth had said.

And then, like a minor miracle, Hart had phoned her yesterday. “I'm sorry I've been avoiding you. I just wasn't ready to talk to you or anybody else, not even Uncle Garth. But I know you won't believe I'm okay unless you see me in person, so, how about lunch tomorrow?”

Audrey pulled into the strip mall parking lot, three spaces down from the spa and directly in front of the sandwich shop. When she entered Beauty and Rest Day Spa, the receptionist welcomed her warmly.

Within minutes, she was seated in front of Jessica, who carefully removed the Band-Aid and frowned when she saw the ripped nail. “You know putting on a new nail will make it look good, but the pain won't go away completely until the skin heals.”

“I know, but I'm vain enough to want the nail to look great and I'll just suffer the pain.” Audrey smiled. “I really appreciate your working me in so quickly. Are you missing your lunch break because of this?”

“I'll grab a bite later,” Jessica assured her. “Besides, you're going to give me a big tip, one that will cover the price of my lunch.”

They looked at each other and smiled.

Jessica was a pretty young woman with brown eyes and a thick mane of long, dark hair that she kept confined to a ponytail while she worked. Audrey had never seen her wearing anything except jeans and a Beauty and Rest Day Spa T-shirt, the jeans revealing slender legs and hips and the T-shirt accentuating her high, full breasts.

Working quickly, Jessica put on the new nail and had just begun the paint job when Audrey glanced at the open doorway as a man entered the room.

“Hart?”

“Hi, sis.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I thought I'd take a look at where you women get beautified,” he said as his gaze settled on Jessica. “Hi there. I'm Hart Roberts, Audrey's brother.”

He flashed his million-dollar smile and Jessica melted right before their eyes. “Oh. Hi, Hart.” Jessica's cheeks flushed.

Merciful Lord! Jessica was smitten. Audrey had seen it happen too many times. Her stepbrother could be lethally charming, and few women could resist his blond good looks.

Please, don't hit on her,
Audrey wanted to shout.
Leave her alone. She's young and sweet and innocent and you're no good for her.

As if sensing Audrey's disapproval, Hart glanced away from Jessica and said, “Want me to go on over to the Sandwich Shoppe and order for us?”

“That would be great, thanks.”

“What do you want?”

“Half a club sandwich and a cup of whatever their soup of the day is. And iced tea.” When he hesitated, giving Jessica a complete once-over, Audrey cleared her throat. “I'll be there in five minutes, tops.”

Hart grinned, winked at Jessica, and sauntered casually toward the door.

When he was out of earshot, Jessica said, “Your brother is gorgeous. He's not married, is he?”

For half a second, Audrey considered lying. “No, he's not married, but…”

“But?”

“Nothing. It's just that Hart's thirty-three, so he's a little old for you. If I remember correctly, you're twenty-two, right?”

“I'll be twenty-two next month,” Jessica admitted. “I guess he is a little too old for me.”

Hart didn't mean to break hearts right and left, but he did. He changed girlfriends as often as Audrey changed the sheets on her bed. Liking women wasn't a crime, but using them, as he used drugs and booze, to ease the deep ache inside him was a crime. A moral crime.

Audrey left Jessica a big tip and a word of advice. “If my brother asks you out, say no.”

As she exited the spa and turned to her right, she caught a glimpse of a familiar car in her peripheral vision. Another silver Lotus Exige identical to Porter Bryant's cherished sports car. Of course, it couldn't be Porter's car. It was probably the same car she'd seen in her rearview mirror on the drive from her office to the spa. She couldn't think of any reason Porter would be parked at this strip mall.

Bracing herself for lunch with her brother, telling herself that she would not warn him about flirting with young girls, Audrey was caught off guard when someone came up behind her and grabbed her arm.

She whirled around, uncertain and slightly alarmed, and then heaved with relief when she saw the man's face. “Porter!”

“I thought that was you,” he said. “Meeting someone for lunch in an out-of-the-way place? It wouldn't happen to be J.D. Cass, would it?”

A cautious knot formed in the pit of Audrey's stomach when she noticed the strangely accusatory look in Porter's eyes and felt his hand on her arm tighten painfully.

She jerked loose from his tenacious hold. “I'm having lunch with Hart, if it's any of your business.”

Porter's smile sent off alarm bells inside Audrey.

My God, you're being silly. Porter Bryant is not dangerous.

“I'm glad to hear that,” he told her. “I'd hate to see you get mixed up with a man like Cass.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I can assure you that I'm not involved with Special Agent Cass. However, if I were, I'm quite capable of taking care of myself.”

“I apologize if I overstepped with my concern.” Porter looked at her longingly. “It's just that I care a great deal and wouldn't want you to get hurt.”

Sensing the sincerity of his apology, Audrey leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Apology accepted. Take care, Porter. I'm sorry, but I have to run. Hart's waiting for me at the Sandwich Shoppe.”

“Yes, of course. Go.”

Audrey didn't glance back as she entered the restaurant. When she saw Hart at a window-side table, she hurried toward him and did her best to ignore the slightly uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Surely, Porter Bryant wasn't stalking her.

“Was that Porter Bryant you were talking to?” Hart asked when Audrey sat down at the table in the Sandwich Shoppe.

“Yes, it was Porter.”

Hart examined her face closely. “What's wrong? Did Porter say something that upset you?”

Her stepbrother knew her too well and had apparently noted some nuance in her expression that hinted she was slightly unnerved. “No, not really. It's just he showed up out of nowhere and startled me.”

“Do you think he followed you here?”

Audrey shook her head. “No, I don't think so. But…We've agreed not to see each other anymore. Our last date was supposed to have been this past Friday night, but something came up and I had to cancel.”

“Another man?” The corners of Hart's mouth curved in a barely discernable smile.

“No. Certainly not.”

“Maybe Porter isn't ready to end things. Could be he thinks there is another man and he followed you today to see who you were meeting.”

Audrey released an agitated breath. “He did ask who I was meeting for lunch. For some reason, he thought my lunch date was with Special Agent Cass and he warned me not to become involved with J.D.”

“He warned you? I don't like the sound of that.” Hart rose halfway as he said, “I think maybe I'd better have a talk with Porter.”

“No, you will not.” Audrey laid her hand on Hart's arm and motioned for him to sit back down. He looked her in the eyes and saw that she meant what she'd said. “I can handle Porter. I don't need my brother socking him in the nose.”

They both laughed, which eased the tension that had coiled tighter and tighter inside Audrey since the moment Porter had grabbed her arm outside the restaurant.

“Let's order, if you haven't already,” Audrey suggested. “And forget all about Porter Bryant.”

Hart motioned to the waitress, an attractive young blond who giggled the entire time she was taking their order. The girl looked to be about twenty, but that didn't stop Hart from flirting outrageously with her the moment he realized she couldn't take her eyes off him. As soon as she left to place their order with the cook, Hart watched her walk away, obviously appreciating the view of her slim hips and small, inverted heart–shaped derrière.

Audrey snapped her fingers and Hart turned to face her, his slightly wicked grin telling her that he knew she didn't approve of his interest in the waitress.

“You're shameless,” she told him. “First Jessica and now our waitress, who is just barely legal. She could be eighteen, certainly not a day over twenty.”

“Ah, come on, sis. All I was doing was flirting a little.” When he noted that she was still frowning, he added, “I flirt a little, but most of the time, that's all. If I ask a woman out, I don't lead her on. I tell her, up front, that I'm not into anything serious, that I'm a recovering alcoholic and addict, and for her not to get any ideas about being the one who's going to save me from myself.”

“Oh, Hart.” Audrey reached across the table and laid her hand over his.

“I'm not a complete asshole, you know. But I do like the ladies. I always have.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “You didn't want to see me to discuss my love life.”

The waitress brought their glasses of sweet iced tea, but when Hart didn't pay any attention to her, she didn't tarry.

“I thought we should talk about the DNA results, about the Baby Blue toddlers…about Blake.”
About the fact that I'm having nightmares again and I'm sure you are, too.

“What's there to talk about?” Hart asked.

“The fact that after all these years, two of the toddlers have been found.”

“Yeah, both of them dead.”

“If the Rocking Chair Killer murders Whitney Poole before the police can find her, then there's a good possibility that another toddler skeleton will show up. What if…?” She paused, her thoughts almost unbearable.

“What if the next corpse is Blake's?” Hart finished for her.

“For years, I've hoped and prayed for a miracle, that somehow Blake was still alive, that he wasn't one of Regina Bennett's victims,” Audrey said. “I know how illogical that sounds.”

“Don't you think that Dad has held on to the hope that Blake's alive? And God knows that I'd give anything…” Hart swallowed. “And Uncle Garth…We'd all like for Blake to be alive and well and for him to come home to us, but it's not going to happen. You have to know that Blake's dead. He's been dead for twenty-five years.”

Biting down on her bottom lip, Audrey nodded. “I know. In my mind, I know.” She laid her hand in the center of her chest. “But in my heart…If, God forbid, another toddler corpse shows up and it turns out to be Blake, it could bring closure for all of us. But I don't know how Dad will react. I have absolutely no idea what my father thinks or feels or…God, Hart, I don't know my own father. I don't think I ever did.”

The waitress returned with their lunch order—sandwiches, soup, chips, pickles, and a fruit cup for Audrey and a slice of apple pie for Hart.

Suddenly the very thought of eating tightened Audrey's throat. She wasn't sure she could swallow a bite. Hart bit off a huge chunk of his steak and cheese sandwich, apparently not having a problem eating.

Audrey took a sip of tea. “I've been having nightmares again.”

He lifted his head and stared at her. “Since when?”

“Since the first Rocking Chair Murder.”

“I thought…I mean, it's been years, hasn't it, since you dreamed about Blake, about that day?”

“You'd think that after all these years, the dreams wouldn't still be so vivid, as if it had all happened only yesterday.”

“Are the dreams just like they used to be?”

“Pretty much. Parts of the dreams are exactly the way I remember that day, but other parts are all mixed up and don't make a lot of sense. But that's the way dreams are. Dreams and nightmares.” She forced out her question quickly. “Do you still have nightmares, too?”

Hart stopped eating. He became very still and very quiet. Then he inhaled a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“Hell, sis, my whole life is a freaking nightmare. Awake or asleep, Blake haunts me. Inside my head, I've relived that day over and over again. If only, huh?” He picked up his sandwich and began eating again.

“It wasn't your fault,” she told him. “And it wasn't my fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. We were a couple of kids who shouldn't have been given the responsibility of looking after our baby brother. It wasn't Enid's fault because she was sick or my dad's fault because he was at work. Or Uncle Garth's fault because he couldn't find Blake.”

Hart didn't respond. Audrey understood. After all, what else was there to say?

 

J.D. spent most of the day with Tam and Garth, who were still in charge of the Rocking Chair Killer cases. They had gone over the basic facts again, reread the eyewitness accounts, and discussed the forensic reports on the evidence found at each dump site. And now that they had irrefutable proof that the murder cases were somehow connected to the old Baby Blue kidnapping cases, even Garth reluctantly agreed that one of J.D.'s hypotheses about the killer's identity could be valid.

“If we could just figure out which, if any, of your scenarios is the right one,” Tam said. “We could bring Jeremy Arden in for questioning, but unless he chooses to talk to us, we have nothing that we can use to hold him.”

“Yeah, and if he's our guy, bringing him in would alert him to the fact that we're suspicious,” Garth said. “Why not tail him first, see where he goes, who he spends time with, what he does?”

“Putting Arden under surveillance is a good idea,” J.D. agreed. “But not just Arden.”

Garth snorted. “Humph. You want to put a tail on me and Wayne and Hart and Steve Kelly, too? Do you honest to God think one of us is the Rocking Chair Killer?”

J.D. glared at Tam. Obviously Officer Lovelady had shared his comments about how any one of them, under certain circumstances, could be a suspect.

“Shit!” J.D. mumbled under his breath. “No, I don't actually think you or Wayne Sherrod is the killer. Steve Kelly is another matter. He's probably not our guy, but I wouldn't rule him out completely. And your nephew…I know you don't even want to consider the possibility that he—”

“Damn right I don't,” Garth said. “Hart's a little screwed up, but he's not crazy. And there's no way he's a serial killer.”

“Yeah, that's what Tam said.” J.D. appraised the way Garth and his partner shared quick, cryptic glances and then deliberately avoided eye contact. Despite their vehement denials that Hart Roberts shouldn't even be considered as a suspect, did Tam and Garth actually have some doubts? Did they know something about Hart that they weren't sharing, something that could incriminate him?

When the silence dragged on for several minutes, those minutes seeming much longer than they actually were, Garth cleared his throat and tossed out a comment.

“You know, there's one possibility that we haven't considered.”

“What's that?” J.D. asked.

“Maybe there isn't a connection between the Baby Blue cases and the Rocking Chair cases,” Garth said.

J.D. could tell by Tam's puzzled expression that she was as surprised by her partner's remark as J.D. was.

“There's a connection,” Tam said. “We have the DNA results and we've compared photos of the three kidnapped women to photos of Regina Bennett, and the resemblance is obvious.”

“Yeah, all three women fit the same general profile. Young, attractive, long dark hair and brown eyes,” Garth said. “I agree that our guy is abducting women who resemble one another, that he's targeting a specific type. But the fact that, years ago, Regina Bennett fit that profile doesn't mean that there's a connection between our victims and Regina.”

“Are you forgetting about the toddler skeletons? About the DNA tests that prove they belong to two of the Baby Blue toddlers?” J.D. asked.

“No, I haven't forgotten,” Garth assured him. “But what if our killer somehow came across where Regina Bennett or somebody else had hidden the bodies? What if there's another explanation for why he put those toddlers in his victims' arms?”

“You're not making any sense,” Tam told him. “What you're suggesting is too far-fetched to be believable. Why are you trying so hard to come up with another—?” She stopped midsentence as if suddenly understanding the reason behind Garth's absurd explanation.

Tam turned and walked toward the door. “I need a break. I'm going to take a walk.”

Garth dropped down into the chair behind his desk. Then he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck.

J.D. rested his open palms on top of Garth's desk and leaned forward to look the other man right in the eye. “If you're so sure that there is no way your nephew could be our killer, then why make up some outlandish story about how the two cases might not be connected when you know damn well that they are?”

Garth Hudson glared at J.D. “Go fuck yourself, Cass. You're way out of line.”

 

Audrey had purposefully not mentioned Dawson Cummings and had instead waited for Zoe to bring up the subject of the young man she had been bound and determined to date despite her father's objections.

“I think maybe J.D. was right about Dawson,” Zoe said while sharing dinner with Audrey Thursday evening.

Without so much as batting an eyelash, Audrey asked, “How's that?”

“Well, he hasn't called me or tried to get in touch since he was arrested. And he hasn't answered any of my calls or text messages.”

“And how does that make you feel?” Audrey asked.

Zoe laughed. “You sounded like a therapist just then and not a big sister.”

“Sorry. Force of habit.”

“It makes me feel stupid for ever thinking he cared about me,” Zoe admitted. “And it makes me not care if I ever see him again.”

“Hmm…” Audrey thought it best to be noncommittal about the subject of Dawson Cummings. Zoe was a smart girl who had made a good decision all on her own. “Ice cream for dessert? I have Turtle Tracks and plain vanilla.”

“None for me, thanks.”

“Maybe later, when we finish with your science project.”

“Sounds good. Maybe J.D. can join us when he picks me up. Would you believe vanilla is his favorite?”

“Is it?”

She couldn't be Zoe's big sister without a certain amount of contact with J.D., but she could keep that contact to a minimum. She didn't have to invite him for dinner or even for coffee—or ice cream—when he dropped Zoe off and picked her up. As a matter of fact, in the future, she would probably rearrange her schedule so that she could pick Zoe up at school and then drive her home later and thus avoid even seeing J.D. on most occasions.

Providing Zoe with a pleasant domestic atmosphere, teaching her how to cook, and helping her realize her own potential as a young woman did not require Audrey and J.D. to interact on a personal level.

“Do you like my father?” Zoe asked.

The question took Audrey off guard. “What?”

“I don't mean do you have a thing for him. I just meant you don't dislike him, do you? Sometimes, I'm not sure about you two.”

“I barely know your father,” Audrey said. No way was she going to admit to Zoe that there were moments when she detested J.D. and other times when she liked him a little too much. “And no, of course, I don't dislike him.”

“J.D.'s not a ladies' man,” Zoe said. “Oh, he likes women and he…well…he has sex and all that.” Zoe giggled. “Don't look at me that way. I'm fourteen, not four. I know when J.D. goes over to Holly Johnston's apartment, they do a lot more than hold hands.”

“I'm not sure your father's love life is an appropriate subject for us to discuss.”