Bleeding Through: A Rachel Goddard Mystery (Rachel Goddard Mysteries) (36 page)

“I’m not talking anymore without my lawyer,” Skeet said, regaining a little of his belligerence.

“Fine.” Tom had plenty of other things to do. “See you later.”

When he returned to his office he found a call-back message from Detective Fagan waiting. They had talked briefly an hour before and Tom had asked him to go to the home of Perry Nelson’s parents and find out whether their son was there. “Got some news” was all Fagan’s message said. Tom phoned him back.

“The father’s at work, and I had to go round and round with the mother.” Fagan’s voice sounded tight with anger. “But I finally got an answer out of her. Nelson’s not there. He got out of the hospital Friday morning, then he borrowed his mother’s car and said he was going to see a friend and took off. They haven’t seen him since.”

“God damn it. They didn’t report it to the hospital?”

“Oh, no, no, they don’t want to get their darling boy in trouble. The mother says he’s off somewhere with a close friend, having fun, and he’s entitled to a little freedom without the police harassing him. She doesn’t see any reason to help us track him down. I’ll tell you, I’ve never come so close to throttling a woman.”

“What friend?” Tom asked. “Did she mention somebody by name?”

“It’s some guy he met in the hospital, but she claims she doesn’t remember his name. I’m outside the house right now, but I’m going back in to see if I can get more information out of her. If she’ll let me back in. Look, I made some calls and put out a BOLO, but from what you told me, I don’t believe Nelson’s still in this area. Our department’s faxing you a picture of him, and I’ll e-mail you a description and the license number of the car he’s driving. Just to be on the safe side, you’d better start looking for him in your neck of the woods.”

***

She’d forgotten Michelle’s Darjeeling tea bags. At the front door, Rachel thrust the canvas tote bag filled with supplies for Michelle into Ben’s hands. “Here, take this to the car for me, and I’ll be right out.”

Her cell phone rang as she walked down the hallway to the kitchen. Tom. Finally.
Please, please, tell me Perry Nelson is safely locked up.

“I’m afraid it’s not good news,” Tom said when she answered. “Nelson’s on the loose. He’s been out since Friday morning, and his parents haven’t seen him since then.”

A blast of cold fear blew through Rachel. Stopping in the kitchen doorway, she grasped the door frame for support. “So I was right. He’s been doing all these things.”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” Tom said. “The hospital director told me Nelson was definitely in the hospital on all of the dates when the stalker got into Michelle’s office. He couldn’t have done it, Rachel.”

“But he’s here!” Rachel beat her palm against the door frame. “And he’s done things here. He called me less than an hour ago.” While she repeated her brief telephone exchange with Nelson, Rachel walked to the kitchen window and peered out into the gathering darkness. How close was Nelson right now?

“I’ve put out a bulletin with his picture and description,” Tom said, “so the State Police and our guys will all be looking for him. Fagan’s still talking to the mother. I want you to stay at the hospital with Michelle until I tell you it’s okay to leave. I’ll get Uncle Paul to come to the house and look after things there.”

“Okay.” Rachel restrained herself from peppering him with questions. She didn’t need to know everything he was planning, didn’t want to slow him down. “I’m leaving now with Ben. I won’t be able to use my cell phone in the hospital, but please get a message to me if you have any news.”

She fetched half a dozen tea bags for Michelle, then retraced her steps to the front door. Frank had already curled up and fallen asleep on a living room chair. Cicero had retreated to his big cage in the den and pulled the door shut behind him, ready to settle down for the night. Tom’s uncle, who had Billy Bob with him, would be there soon. Everything would be all right at the house. But that knowledge didn’t lift the crushing sense of dread that sat on Rachel’s chest, heavy as a boulder.

She switched on the front porch light, locked the door behind her and started toward Ben’s low-slung black Jaguar, crouched on the driveway as if it were about to pounce on her Land Rover’s back. She didn’t see Ben. Pausing on the walk from house to driveway, she scanned the yard and the fields beyond. Ben enjoyed the hour when the day ebbed away and night crept in, and she expected to see him standing somewhere, watching the sky fade from blue to black.

She didn’t spot him anywhere, and she wasn’t in the mood to go searching for him in near-darkness. “Ben?” she called. “Where are you? I’m ready to go.”

A faint sound made her spin around, back toward the car. “Ben?”

The sound came again, a low moan.

Rachel ran to the car, rounded its front end. She found Ben sprawled on the driveway, face down, arms splayed above his head as if he’d tried to break his fall. The canvas bag lay next to him, Michelle’s hairbrush and shampoo spilling out.

Rachel gasped and dropped to her knees. “Ben, can you hear me?”

With one hand she fumbled in her jacket pocket for her cell phone, with the other she touched the dark blotch on his neck. Her fingers came away wet. Blood.

A strong arm closed around her waist and yanked her upright. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound escaped before a hand clamped a reeking cloth over her face.

Chapter Thirty-eight

This time the state mental hospital director dug in his heels. “I can understand why you wanted information about Mr. Nelson’s whereabouts, but I have to draw the line at this. I can’t give you a list of patients who were released months ago. I see no justification for your request.”

“This information could help us locate Nelson,” Tom said. “He’s with a friend, somebody he met in the hospital.”

“Then I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I don’t know the details of all our patients’ interactions, who’s friendly with whom, but I do know that Mr. Nelson’s treatment team regarded the formation of a friendship as an excellent sign. He had finally reached out to someone, and that milestone was a long time in coming.”

“If you’ll just look at his records, or ask somebody on his treatment, and get me a name—”

“I’m sorry, but no, I can’t do that. I’ve told you too much already. You’re on the wrong track. Mr. Nelson is no longer a danger to anyone. Now it’s time I left for the day, so I really have to cut this short. Goodbye, Captain Bridger.”

When Tom dropped the receiver into its cradle on his desk, Dennis Murray turned from the window. “No luck?”

“No.” Tom leaned back in his desk chair and raked both hands through his hair. “Are the State Police cooperating?”

“Yeah.” Dennis took a chair in front of the desk. “I got a quick okay on road blocks, and they’re on it now. I faxed over Nelson’s picture. Anything else we ought to be doing?”

“We have to find out who that friend of his is. I’m starting to think he’s important in all this. But we’re not going to get a name from Nelson’s mother or the hospital. Nelson has used outside people before to send threatening letters to Rachel. Of course, his lawyer claimed he couldn’t have sent the letters because the mail he sends from the hospital is monitored by the staff. But the original prosecutor on the case proved that Nelson was giving letters to patients who were being discharged or going on leave, and paying them to drop the envelopes in the mail.”

“Breaking into Michelle’s office for Nelson is a lot different from mailing a letter for him,” Dennis said.

Tom nodded. “He’s been in a mental hospital for years. Sooner or later he had to come across somebody as twisted as he is. Or willing to do anything for money. If he’s got an accomplice, that could explain—” Tom broke off when Daniel Beecher appeared in the doorway.

In a barn jacket flecked with bits of straw and hay, Dan looked as if he’d come directly from work at the horse farm. Tom could smell the manure clinging to his boots.

Dennis stood and acknowledged Dan with a nod.

Before Tom could speak, Dan blurted, “When are you going to get around to charging Skeet Hadley for killing my daughter? What’s taking so damn long?”

Tom got to his feet before he answered. “I know you won’t like hearing this, but we don’t have any evidence that Skeet killed Shelley.”

Dan charged toward the desk so suddenly that Tom braced for an assault. Dennis raised a warning hand and said, “Whoa there.”

Dan stopped short, glaring at Tom. “How much evidence do you need, for god’s sake? He’s been threatening her since she started working on Vance Lankford’s case. Now I hear he tried to kill Jesse and Sonya Lankford. Why haven’t you—”

“I understand why you’re upset,” Tom said. “But we can’t talk about it unless you calm down a little.”

Dan stabbed a finger at Tom, and his voice rose to a shout. “Don’t you take that tone with me, Captain High-and-mighty. God damn it, does he have to murder somebody right in front of you before you’ll do something?”

“He’s in jail right now,” Tom said. “He’s being charged with the crimes against the Lankfords.”

“But you’re gonna turn him loose.”

“That’s not up to me. It’s up to the judge, and it depends on whether his family can raise the money for the bond.”

Dan snorted in disgust. “If Sheriff Willingham was still on the job, he wouldn’t be letting other people decide whether a killer goes loose. He wouldn’t let the Hadleys buy their boy’s way out of jail.”

“Sheriff Willingham would handle this situation exactly the same way I am. I’m recommending against release, and so is the prosecutor, but the final decision—”

“Well, you do that,” Dan said, “you
recommend against
it. Just remember, everybody’s watching you. You screw this up and you can forget about being elected sheriff.”

Although the office door hadn’t been closed before, Dan slammed it on his way out.

“Gotta feel for the guy,” Dennis said.

“I do. Believe me, I do.” Tom dropped heavily into his chair and swiveled around to glance out the window to the parking lot. He’d expected the news crews to drift away as the days passed, but instead their numbers had swelled, and now he counted two dozen reporters and camera operators out there, clustered around their vehicles. The TV trucks had satellite dishes on their roofs to provide live reports.

Swinging back around to his desk, Tom confronted a stack of callback memos impaled on a spike. Some from reporters, some from county supervisors. All boiled down to the same complaint: after almost a week, Tom hadn’t caught Shelley’s killer yet.

He yanked the message slips off the spike and dropped them into the plastic recycling bin next to his desk.

“Can’t say I blame you.” Grinning, Dennis took his seat again.

“They ought to try their luck catching this guy if they think it’s so damned easy,” Tom said.

“To get back to Rachel and Michelle’s stalker,” Dennis said, “I think we…”

Dennis continued speaking, but Tom wasn’t listening. He stared at the expanse of his desktop, now bare except for a head and shoulders photo of the deceptively boyish and innocent-looking Perry Nelson. A scenario was taking shape in Tom’s head as bits and pieces of information came together.

“Tom?” Dennis said. “What is it?”

It was crazy. Tom couldn’t see any obvious connections.

But maybe that was the point. No obvious connections meant no suspicions.

Yet it made sense. In the warped brains of psychopaths and killers, it would make perfect sense.

He was about to try his theory on Dennis when the phone rang. He was startled to learn that Rita Jankowski’s mother was on the line. “What can I do for you?”

She broke into sobs. Tom had to wait for her to calm down a little and draw a gulping breath. “I can’t find my daughter. She won’t answer her phone. She promised to be home by this time. Nobody answers the phone at the locksmith shop. But I know she’s with him. He’s got her.”

“Look,” Tom said, “Rita and Jordy are two adults. They have a right to—”

“You don’t understand!” she yelled. “He’s gonna hurt her, I know he is.”

Tom’s own suspicions about Jordy made him hesitate. This woman knew something Tom needed to hear. She’d been on the verge of telling him earlier. “I’ll make a bargain with you,” he said. “Tell me what you’re hiding, what you wanted to tell me when I was at your house, and I’ll go find Rita and bring her home.”

She keened as if she faced a choice between the devil and an abyss. “You’ll put Rita in jail,” she cried.

By this time, Tom wasn’t surprised at what he was hearing. “If you really believe Jordy might hurt her, I don’t think this is the time to worry about jail. Do you want me to find her or not?”

She stalled a little more, sobbed and snuffled. Then she blurted, “He came over here that night after the concert, came lookin’ for Rita. Woke us up in the middle of the night, beggin’ her to help him. And she did, like she always does. I saw them down in the basement. They didn’t know I was on the steps. watchin’ and listenin’. Rita was washin’ blood off that tire iron and tellin’ Jordy what he had to do with it so he wouldn’t get caught.”

***