Fear for Me (6 page)

The judge stood just a few feet away from the door. His black robe billowed around him. His face, pale and haggard, reflected his fear.

“What took you both so damn long?” Pierce Hamilton waved his hands, motioning to hurry inside. “What the hell is going on? How did Walker get out?” He marched around to sit behind his big, antique mahogany desk.

Lauren eased into the lush leather chair across from the judge. Anthony didn’t bother sitting. “He stabbed himself with a shiv, got taken to the infirmary at Angola, then he managed to kill a guard and the doctor on duty.”

Hamilton flinched but his gaze didn’t waver. “Did he have help? Is the bastard working alone?”

Now this was the dicey part. “We haven’t found any connection to anyone else…yet.” But Anthony’s instincts were in overdrive. The guy had gotten away from the prison too quickly. Had transportation been waiting? An old friend—or even a new one—who’d been willing to help the Bayou Butcher? Anthony had someone searching through all the visitor records at the prison. If there was a link to anyone who could possibly have assisted Walker, then he
would
find that link.

Fuck, the last thing they needed was to discover that Walker had an accomplice out there. Someone to help the sick freak with his crimes.

“We’re going to talk to all of Walker’s acquaintances next,” Lauren said, her voice the smooth cream that lulled jurors into believing every word she said. “If he’s working with someone, we’ll find out.”

But her voice didn’t seem to be lulling Hamilton.

“I’m going to hunt Walker based on what we already know about him.” Anthony could see the judge wanted reassurance that
Walker would be caught. Well, he’d do his fucking best. “Walker was always at home in the swamps. He knows that area like the back of his hand. We’re going to search there, because the swamps would be the perfect hiding spot for him. Isolated, secure. He would feel in control there.”

“And Walker was always about control,” Lauren murmured.

Yes, he had been.

“His cabin,” Hamilton said, frowning, “that damn place where he kept all of his trophies—”

Anthony saw Lauren swallow. He didn’t like remembering that place, either. “We’re going to search it. Trust me, judge, I know how to do my damn job.”

Hamilton didn’t look reassured. He looked like he was about to break apart. “We’re off the record here,” Hamilton said as he ran a hand through his graying hair. “So far off.”

Lauren glanced over at Anthony, then nodded. “All right.”

“I was sleeping with Karen.” His fingers flattened on the table as his gaze cut to Lauren. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

It was sure news to Anthony. Karen Royce had been an investigator at the DA’s office. He’d met her a few times before, back when they’d all been working the Butcher case.

Hamilton was a married man, tied to old southern money. Had his wife known about the affair?

“That’s why you and Lauren fought at the courthouse, isn’t it?” Hamilton continued. “You think I didn’t hear about that? Hell, gossip travels like wildfire here. You found out about us…”

“I knew,” Lauren said softly.

Hamilton’s hands slapped against the desk. “And you didn’t call to tell me about her murder? A murder that happened right in your own damn home?” Anger ripped through his words. “I had to find out about it on the news. I had to—”

“Right after her body was discovered, I was taken to the precinct, surrounded by cops and reporters. Did you really think that if I stopped to call you
then
, it wouldn’t be noted?”

The judge’s eyes glittered, but he didn’t speak.

“Karen told me you two had broken things off. She told me that I didn’t need to worry about her because it was
over
with you.”

“We would have worked it out. We would have—”

“You’re married.” Her voice was flat. “Karen told me she didn’t want to be involved with you anymore. She was done—she hated that she’d been with you. Hated that she’d let you
use
her.” Anger flashed across Lauren’s face. “Dammit, Hamilton, you have a ring on your finger. It’s supposed to mean something.”

The ring gleamed dully. The judge’s eyes narrowed. “My wife knew about Karen. She didn’t care—”

“Maybe Karen deserved better than to be your dirty little secret.”

He surged to his feet. “Maybe she deserved better than to die in your place!”

Fuck that. Anthony jumped between them. “Judge, you need to calm the hell down.”

The judge sucked in a deep breath. “He went after Lauren, didn’t he? Her house, her bedroom. Karen was just in the wrong place. I called her—told her I was coming over to her house…” His words tumbled out. “I wanted to talk. I was willing to do
anything
to get her back.” His body trembled. “She told me she wouldn’t be home. Karen left—went to
her
place, and she died in
her
—”

“If it was Walker, then he knew exactly who Karen Royce was,” Anthony cut in before the judge could say anything else. “If he was the one who killed her, then it was deliberate. Maybe he was trying to send a message with her death.”

The judge suddenly looked much older as the lines on his face appeared to deepen. “What message?”

Payback.

As he stared at the other man, Anthony saw that the judge understood. The knowledge was in his eyes.

“The DA’s getting protection,” Anthony said without glancing back at Lauren. “We’ll work with the police and make sure you have a guard, too.”

“Are you sure that’s necessary?” Then Hamilton gave a rough laugh. “Do you know how many killers have told me they were coming after me? How many threats I’ve received over the years?”

“Walker won’t just threaten. He’ll slice you apart.”

Hamilton shook his head. “Only women. That’s his target. That’s what all the shrinks and profilers said on the stand. He only targeted women because of need for control and fixation on the female form and—”

“The prison guard was male. He’s just as dead as the others.”

The judge shut up.

“You’re getting protection.” The last thing Anthony wanted was another body turning up.

If they didn’t find Walker soon, that was exactly what would happen.

The judge was nervous when he walked into the courtroom. His steps were too fast, his movements too abrupt.

Good. The bastard should be nervous. He should be shaking. Running.

Dying.

He would be dying, soon enough.

The judge slammed down his gavel. Called everyone to order. The lawyers stood and started preening for the jury.

The judge’s eyes were darkened with fear as they swept around the courtroom.

Looking for a killer he wouldn’t find. Disguises were always easy enough to manage. Most folks saw only what they
wanted
to see.

The guy had no clue.

He’d been in this courtroom before. So many times. Waiting. Watching.

He’d lost something very important in this same room. He
would
be getting it back.

As for the judge—as for the self-righteous jurors and the slick lawyers—maybe it was time for them to see what it felt like to lose.

To lose everything, including their lives.

He stood and made his way to the back of the courtroom. This wasn’t the place, but the time was close. So very close. The next target waited.

He had a list, and he’d be crossing the names off.

One by one.

He paused at the door and glanced back at the judge. The oblivious fool.

I’ll be seeing you.

Maybe he’d let the bastard die with the robe still on. Seemed fitting. The robe—the job—would be what killed him.

The SUV braked just outside of the small cabin that sat on the edge of the swamp. Lauren climbed out of the vehicle, and her heels immediately sank into the mud.

Gritting her teeth, she trudged forward, or, rather, she went as far forward as Anthony would allow. He threw up his hand, blocking her, while the two other marshals he’d introduced her to earlier, Jim O’Keith and Matt Meadows, made their way toward the cabin.

“It looks abandoned,” she whispered. It looked that way because it was. Once upon a time, the cabin had belonged to Jon Walker. After his arrest, the place had been left to rot…and rot it had. The wood was falling down and the windows were smashed in.

The word
BUTCHER
had been spray painted across the front door—a door that swung open. She could see bricks and rocks strewn across the sagging front porch.

Folks in the area hadn’t exactly taken kindly to finding out that a serial killer had been using their swamp. Right after Walker’s arrest, the place had even been set on fire. The wood in the back and near the roof was charred, and maybe it was her imagination, but she could almost swear she still smelled ash.

Jim and Matt slid inside the open door.

Her gaze darted to the left. To the right. Trees twisted and concealed, hiding the murky green water that she knew wasn’t very far away.

“No sign of any other vehicles, at least, not since the rain,” she murmured as her gaze slid over the muddy stretch that passed for a dirt road. The only tire tracks she saw were from the marshals’ SUVs.

So Walker hadn’t returned to his little home away from home.

I’m surprised someone didn’t come back and finish burning this place to the ground.

The victims’ families had sure been angry enough to do it.

And the little cabin—the dark husk that remained of it—was eerie. Dark.

Dangerous.

“Clear!” Jim’s voice came from inside, and Anthony finally stepped back so that they could head toward the cabin.

Jim met them on the porch. “There’s no sign of anyone inside.” He was young, probably in his midtwenties, with dark-blond hair and eyes that seemed a bit nervous.

Behind him, Matt Meadows was still doing a sweep of the area. She’d met Matt a time or two over the years. Quiet, intense, the African American marshal seemed the exact opposite of Jim. There wasn’t anything nervous about Matt—the guy was too controlled for nerves.

“We’ll start a sweep of the perimeter,” Matt said as he turned toward the bald cypress trees that dipped toward the murky water. Heavy moss hung from the trees, drooping toward the dank earth.

Anthony nodded. “I’ll finish the search in here.”

The others slid past them.

There wasn’t much to search in the charred remains. Two rooms. No furniture. Dirt. Mold. Decay.

“This is where it started,” Lauren whispered as she crept carefully around the cabin. This place. With its wooden walls and small rooms. They’d found Walker’s tools in this cabin. The sharpened knives.

The trophies.

Walker had kept trophies from his kills.

Her gaze lit on a heavy chunk of wood that had fallen near the left wall.

“No,” Anthony said, “it didn’t start here.”

The certainty in Anthony’s voice had her glancing over at him.

“This is just where it ended. Where it
should
have ended.” His eyes narrowed, but his gaze wasn’t on her. It was on the wood near her feet. “Where did that come from?”

“It must have fallen—” But she broke off because she’d just looked up and realized that there weren’t any missing roof slats from above them, and the wall beside her was charred, but not broken. The wood was broken to the left, way across on the other wall, not in that spot.

His hand closed around her arm and Anthony pulled her back. Then he bent and carefully slid the wood, maneuvering it so he could see underneath it.

She peered over his shoulder.

Something gold glinted in the light.

Gold…

“We’re gonna need Detective Voyt and his men out here,” Anthony said as his fingers tightened around the wood.

“A necklace.” She could see it clearly now. Thin, delicate. A woman’s necklace.

“Maybe it’s nothing, just something left by some kid, but—”

“It’s not.” Her voice was sad and certain. She could see the locket on the end. A locket with a rose in the center. Karen’s locket. “It’s hers.”

His head whipped up, his eyes blazing. “Karen’s?”

A nod.

“You’re sure about that?”

Dead sure. “She was wearing it the last time I saw her alive.”