Eleven (41 page)

My eyes flashed open, enlarged, and a surge of pain attacked my forehead.

The coffin! No!

I screamed loud enough the world should have heard it, but it only ricocheted inside my head.

She yanked on me, hoisting me slowly and methodically until I was inside. I blinked tears. My fear being realized, and yet I was powerless to fight against it.

“You must sleep.” I barely felt the brush of her hand on my arm, even though I saw the hazy silhouette of her reaching toward me. “When this has passed, you will be resurrected.”

I lost the fight, and my eyes shut. I felt the faint caress of a hand across my forehead and heard the words, “Ssh, don’t cry.”

CHAPTER 40

Jack flicked the cigarette butt out the opened driver window. He and Zachery had rented a Hummer H3, the only vehicle left in the lot. Accounting would be on them about it when they got back. People had the illusion the government’s budget was extensive, but it had limits like everyone’s and sometimes even more so. A requisition form was nearly required for pens.

The Knowles kid had checked out and they were headed over to the Catholic Church. Jack’s cell chimed with notification of a new text message. As he pulled it out to check the message, it rang. Caller identity announced it as Nadia. He pushed the button to answer. “You’re on speaker.”

“I have something you’re going to want to hear. I have all the backgrounds on the guards from Kentucky Correctional. None of them stood out except for this one. The guy is a nephew to Keith Knowles. It’s his sister’s kid. And that’s not all. The guard’s name is Sean Atwood, and he’s normally posted to Bingham’s wing of the prison.”

“Hmm.”

“Boss?”

“Gotta make a call.” Jack hung up and dialed.

“Clarence Moore here.” The prison warden answered on the third ring.

“Special Agent Jack Harper—”

“There still hasn’t been any mail for—”

“Is Sean Atwood working today?”

“Yes?” There was a question contained in the single word. He was curious why they cared. “He works regular day shifts Monday thru Friday, and every other Saturday.”

“I need you to pull him, detain him. I’ll call Sheriff Harris and take care of the rest.”

“Agent?”

“This isn’t an option.”

“Okay, but what am I supposed to tell him?”

“Make something up. Bring him to your office. Make him think he’s done something great to deserve praise. Don’t make him feel threatened, or like he’s done something wrong. Understand that?”

“Yeah.” Moore remained quiet for a few seconds. “Is he dangerous?”

“Just do as I’ve asked.”

“O-okay.”

Jack hung up the call and lit another cigarette. “We’re thousands of miles away while our unsub could be back where we started.”

Bingham lay on the mattress, staring at the ceiling. There wasn’t much else to do in prison except for track time in your mind as you waited for release. But time wasn’t what went through his thoughts. He relived his kills, every one of them. He remembered the way they smelled, how they presented themselves righteous to the world yet sinned in their souls.

Everything had been perfect until now. Anger tainted the recollections.

His follower had been stupid, leading the FBI right to their doorway. They had always been too elevated in mind to think they were vulnerable. For a quality that was potentially great, it could be a weakness to exploit. He feared this would be theirs, but what he cared about more was if they went down so could he.

The truth wouldn’t continue. People would sin without consequence.

Bingham heard the voices in the hallway and recognized the man speaking as the prison warden himself. They were a few cells down. Bingham listened carefully.

 “You’re doing a great job here. I need to speak with you about it. Jamie’s going to take the post for a bit.”

“Okay.”   

The man agreeing to leave was Sean. Bingham balled his hands into fists. This wasn’t a good thing.

Jack pulled the Hummer over to the curb and dialed the Sheriff. He explained the importance of bringing in backup to go after Atwood. As the profile indicated, he would be extremely intelligent and dominant-natured. When he hung up, he checked the text message that came in. “Did that kid fall and hit his head?” He held the phone out for Zachery to read.

“We’re with Amanda at…what does that even say?
XJUCRJ
.”

“Your guess is good as mine, but you’re the genius. I need you to figure it out.”

Zachery kept looking at the text. “He added at…but at what? The next word is just gobbly-gook.”

“Love it when you talk technical.”

“So they left the college with Amanda. But why the change to garble?” Zachery depressed the speed dial for Brandon’s phone. It rang through to voicemail. “There’s no answer.”

“Try again.”

Ten more rings. No answer.

“Try Paige’s.”

“It went straight to voicemail.”

“Shit! What the hell is going on?”

“I’ll try Brandon’s again.” A one second pause. “It’s straight to voicemail now. Someone has shut it off.”

Both men spoke at the same time. “Amanda.”

Jack continued. “Our evidence lends itself to a male unsub.”

“You were the one who mentioned just this morning this case was outside the norm. Look at Bingham’s killings. For a serial he gets close to his victims first.”

“Shit!” Jack pounded the wheel. “Atwood isn’t our unsub. He’s Bingham’s connection to Amanda.”

“Oh no.” Zachery maneuvered his body in the seat to face Jack.

“Share it now.”

“When Paige and I visited the family of the girl, Sally Windermere, her fiancé’s parents remembered her coming to the house a few times with a new friend. Sally had said it was a girl she met at church, but the parents never remembered her from there. They couldn’t remember the girl’s name, but said they thought it started with the letter A.”

Jack dialed Nadia. “The unsub has now been identified as Amanda Knowles. Paige and the kid are with her. We have a text from the kid’s phone, and I need you to triangulate and find out where the text message was sent from.”

“Just a sec.” Nadia clicked some keys. “I’m not showing it on.”

“The message just came in.”

“I’m not sure what to say, but the phone’s not on.”

“Both Brandon’s and Paige’s did ring straight to voicemail,” Zachery said.

“What about the kid’s personal phone? Track that.”

“On it.” Seconds later. “It’s not on.”

Zachery gave Jack the look that said,
since you don’t allow personal calls that would make sense
. Jack wasn’t being pulled into the guilt trip. “What about Amanda Knowles? Does she have a cell registered to her?”

“One second.” Nadia dragged out the word
second
. “Yes, she does and…it’s not on either.”

“Shit! So you’re telling me there’s nothing you can do, and that our two agents are out there on their own? Is that what you’re telling me?”

Nadia spoke quietly. “I’m sorry, boss.”

“Don’t be sorry. Find them.”

Nadia held the phone to her ear for a bit after Jack hung up. What was she supposed to do?

Nadia, think.

And then it struck her. The photographs she had from Royster’s home computer. She hadn’t had much time to go through them. Maybe they would lend a clue as to another location. Maybe something would stand out among them.

She studied the screen and the picture of the two work boots that were side-by-side. She enlarged it. There was a logo embossed on the side of the beige rubber. She brought up the website for the company to get the ratio of the logo on the full boot and returned to the photo. She made the calculations and she had the proof. The foot on the left was a size eleven, the same as Earl Royster, but the foot on the right was significantly smaller. She dialed Jack.

“You know where they are?”

“I can tell you that the unsub we’re looking for is definitely female. The picture of the work boots, the one on the right is a size nine, so unless the man had unusually small feet, this is a common size for a woman.”

“Shit!”

“Boss?”

“I let them walk right in there.”

Zachery said, “They didn’t have to go along with her.”

“Go along with her?” Nadia asked.

“They were going to just ask her a few questions about Bingham, what she thought of him, whatever, it doesn’t matter now. They went somewhere with her. We don’t know where, and now we can’t reach them. I don’t believe in coincidences,” Jack said.

“What alerted you in the first place?”

“The text message, but it’s jumbled up.”

“Send it to me. I’ll see what I can—” Nadia’s screen flashed up with a new email. It was marked urgent, confidential, and highly sensitive. The subject was Sally
Windermere, victim number ten, Forensic evidence
.