Going Once (Forces of Nature) (6 page)

“The son of a bitch,” he said softly.

“What’s wrong?” Wade asked as he walked up behind him.

“The Stormchaser just sent me a text. He knows we’re here, which means
he
must be, too.”

“Well, hell,” Wade muttered. “What did he say?”

Tate read the message aloud. “‘I’ve been having all this fun without you. What took you so long?’”

“The bastard,” Wade said.

“Who’s a bastard?” Cameron asked as he walked up and handed Tate a coffee.

Tate handed him the phone, letting Cameron read the message for himself. Cameron’s thoughts were the same as his.

“If he’s here, why the hell can’t we recognize him? We’ve been at every kill site from the second one on, and we know he’s been there watching us. We have crowd shots and film footage from every press conference we’ve held, and there are no repeat faces in the crowd. What is he, a chameleon?”

Tate blinked. “Actually, that’s something we haven’t thought about.”

“What do you mean?” Cameron asked.

“A man of a thousand faces? Makeup. Disguises. Nola said he was wearing a parish police uniform, remember? That’s information we never had before, that he shows up prepared to pass as someone else. And she said he was middle-aged, with salt-and-pepper hair and a mustache. All of that could be a disguise to go with the clothes he was wearing. Go ask Beaudry if he ever ran that info down about a missing uniform. If our killer’s turning up with a good ID and a new face at every scene, that explains why we never see a familiar face.”

“On another note and speaking of press conferences, who’s going to handle the one this morning?” Wade asked.

Cameron pointed at Tate. “He needs to. He’s the profiler. We just need to figure out what to say that can force the bastard to get careless.”

“Or we’ll only make him kill again just to prove he can,” Tate muttered. “I need to think.”

Cameron left to talk to Beaudry, and came back a few minutes later.

“The chief says the local cleaners reported a robbery just after the river went over its banks. The only thing missing was a uniform belonging to a local cop.”

“I don’t suppose they dusted the scene for fingerprints?” Wade asked.

Cameron shrugged. “Nothing was destroyed, and the uniform was the only thing missing, so no. They didn’t even know it was a crime scene.”

“Then how did they know it happened?” Tate asked.

“The cop came in to pick up his dry cleaning, and when they realized his uniform was gone, he did a little investigating, found scratches on the door plate where the lock had been picked and went from there. It was too late to bother looking for prints, though.”

Tate frowned. “How did our killer even know there might be uniforms there? He has to be coming on scene far earlier than we imagined, using the weather reports to lead him to likely disaster scenes. So where would he stay? How would a total stranger blend into the scenery without sticking out like a sore thumb?”

All of a sudden Tate stood up.

“What?” Wade asked.

“Travel trailers, motor homes. Laura Doyle mentioned it earlier. There are volunteers from around the state who come to help out at disasters. Sometimes they bring their own accommodations. This is the first site he’s struck that was so small. All the others were in larger cities and we assumed he was moving from motel to motel. But that isn’t possible here, so he could be traveling in a motor home or with a camper. Could have been doing that all along, and we just didn’t know it.”

“Is there a trailer park here?”

“Yes,” Tate said. “A pretty large one, actually. It’s cheaper to pay a mortgage on a trailer home than a regular house. So why don’t we find out how many volunteers showed up early and see if something pops?”

“You’re working on the press conference. I’ll do it,” Wade said. “Does the owner live on site?”

“He used to. It would be a big white double-wide with a front porch along the front. His name is Jonesy.”

“I’ll go talk to him and be back later,” Wade said. “I’ve got the SUV. Call if you need me.”

Six

B
y the time the press conference began, a half-dozen news crews from across the country had gathered in front of the police station. Some were airing clips of interviews they’d done with friends and relatives of the seven victims, while others were doing live, on-the-spot feeds.

Hershel was in the crowd of people waiting for news, visiting with strangers and Red Cross workers alike. He saw Leon Mooney lurking at the edge of the crowd and turned away. He didn’t want to be bothered with Leon today. It gave Hershel a high to know this news conference was because of him, and he wanted to savor it alone. He liked causing grief to the people in power, just as they’d caused his despair. Then he heard someone call out his name and turned around. It was Laura Doyle.

“Hey,” she said as she walked up behind him.

He frowned. He didn’t want to have to go back to work right now.

“What’s going on?” he said.

“Nothing, really. I’m here for the same reason you are, I guess. I want to hear what they have to say. But, since I’m seeing you now, I’ll let you know that there’s a truck coming in around ten o’clock tonight with donations. Will you be available to help us unload?”

Relieved that they didn’t want him now, he happily agreed.

“Sure. No problem.”

“Great. Oh, I think they’re about to start. I’ll see you later,” she said.

Hershel turned toward the bank of microphones, and moments later Chief Beaudry came out, followed by two of the FBI agents. They looked very solemn—a good look when you’re the law and you can’t catch a killer for beans. He resisted the urge to smile.

* * *

Beaudry opened the news conference by introducing himself and then telling the media that Special Agent Tate Benton from the FBI would be taking the podium.

Tate was watching faces as Beaudry spoke, and was surprised to see his father standing at the back of the crowd. It was strange, but now that the dreaded confrontation was over, he felt nothing. The man no longer had the power to hurt him. When he saw Laura Doyle in the crowd, he spent a couple of frantic moments making sure Nola wasn’t there, as well. When Beaudry said his name, Tate forced himself to focus and stepped up to the podium.

“Good morning. As you already know, the Stormchaser has struck here in Queens Crossing. To date, we have seven new victims. All seven have been identified, and their families have been notified. A list of names is available on the website of the local paper. I will take a few questions, but we will not comment on the progress of the case.”

“Agent Benton! Agent Benton! Can you tell us if you’re any closer to identifying the killer than you were before?”

Tate eyed the reporter, recognizing him from Natchez and Omaha.

“Hello, Avery. I see Channel 25 is still keeping you employed.”

A few chuckles rolled through the crowd as the reporter stood firm.

“Agent Benton, I repeat, are you making any headway?”

“I just answered this question, but for you, I’ll answer it again. We will not comment in any way on the progress of this case, because if I tell you, then you’ll put it in the paper, and then the Stormchaser will know what we know and that’s obviously self-defeating.”

Another reporter shouted out. Tate recognized him from a national news crew.

“Agent Benton, is there any connection between the victims here?”

“Other than the fact that they are all locals, no,” Tate said.

Another reporter chimed in. “What about the method of death? Are they all gunshot victims?”

“Still the same,” Tate said.

“We already know that the Stormchaser sends your team texts. Have you heard from him here?”

“No comment.”

The reporter persisted. “Does that mean you have?”

Tate smiled. “Just because you don’t like the answer, it doesn’t mean you’ll get a different answer if you ask the question again.”

Again laughter rippled through the crowd.

Hershel was furious. Instead of focusing on him and his skill, Benton had them laughing like he was a stand-up comedian. This wasn’t a laughing matter, damn it! He would give them something to laugh about.

All of a sudden there was a commotion at the back of the crowd. Everyone turned to look as another news crew pulled up. A reporter got out on the run, pushing his way through the crowd until he was all the way up front.

“We’ve just learned from a reliable source that you have a witness to several of the most recent murders. Who is it? Is it a local? Can you give us a name?”

Tate didn’t blink. He had only seconds for damage control. If they knew this much, it wouldn’t be long before Nola’s name leaked, too.

Hershel was in shock. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing! They were wrong. There was no way they had a witness. Every one of his kills had been out in the flood zone, and he’d killed everyone in sight.

“That’s certainly very interesting. What’s your name?” Tate asked.

“I’m Jason Arnold, Channel 12 News. What do you have to say in light of this new information?”

Tate smiled. “That I miss days when the media had to verify facts before they said anything to the public,” Tate drawled.

More laughter rolled out from the crowd. Hershel’s fingers curled into fists.

“I repeat, what do you have to say to this?” Arnold asked

“That you don’t have your story straight,” Tate said.

“So you’re saying there was no witness?”

“There is no one—let me stress that again,
no one—
who saw the killer’s face. There is no one who can identify him.”

“What about the woman the National Guard pulled out of a tree near where three victims were killed?”

Tate swallowed the bile that surged up his throat.

Damn it to hell.

Tate kept his expression emotionless. “Are you talking about the woman who was sick when she crawled up a tree, tied herself to the trunk and passed out?”

Arnold frowned. “I guess.”

“Well, that would be the same woman who was still out of her head after they brought her in, talking about everything from aliens to aardvarks, so there is no witness to aid us in any way. Let’s hope you haven’t already filed that report with your news desk, or you’re going to have egg on your face.”

This time Hershel laughed along with everyone else, but
he
was laughing out of sheer relief.

The news conference died a natural death after the air went out of Jason Arnold’s bombshell. The moment things were over, Tate and Cameron went back inside to find Wade at his laptop running names through a database.

“Did you get any names from the trailer park?” Tate asked.

Wade nodded. “About ten.”

Tate frowned. “That many?”

Wade nodded. “Beaudry also ran down the owner of that boat the killer was in. He’s a local. He said the boat came loose from his dock when the river flooded and he assumed it was lost, so that lead didn’t go anywhere.”

Once again what had seemed like a quick fix was turning into another muddle. Tate was frustrated, not to mention worried about Nola.

“I’m going back to the gym. Nola has to be warned about what’s happening. If her name comes up, those parasites will come looking for her.”

“She needs to be anywhere but here. Doesn’t she have any family in the area?” Wade asked.

Tate shook his head. “Not since her mother died.”

“What about friends?”

He frowned. “We can’t foist her off on innocent people and take the chance of getting them killed. The downside of this whole thing is that she did see the murders, but without an ID on the killer, we’re helpless. And she’s a target simply because he would want to tie up loose ends.”

Tate started to leave, and then stopped.

“Wait. Did we get anything back on the info I gave you about that guy named Judd Allen? The one I ran into last night at the door?”

Wade dug through the faxes that had come in. “Nothing yet.”

“Something’s up with him, even if he’s not our guy,” Tate said.

Cameron stood up. “I arranged for film footage of the crowd, so I’ll go get that. Never can tell when we’ll see a familiar face from another location pop up, although at this point, there’s no way to tell a good Samaritan from the killer.”

Tate’s phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and frowned. “I have to take this. Hang on a minute.”

He tossed a couple of files onto the table and then sat down on the corner of it to talk.

“Hello? Yes, speaking. She did? Good. Is she conscious? Yes, okay. Thank you for letting me know.”

He disconnected, then dropped the phone in his pocket.

“Was that about your mom?” Cameron asked.

“Yes. She made it through the surgery, although she’s not conscious. I don’t know whether to be relieved, or sorry.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “Either way, it’s a hell of a way to feel.”

Wade thumped him on the shoulder. “I’m really sorry, man.”

“I know. Thanks. Okay, I’m going to find Nola,” Tate said. “When you come back, bring burgers, and get one for her with mayo and no onions.”

They both grinned at him. “When are you going to admit you still love her?” Cameron asked.

Tate shrugged. “I don’t deny that, and it was never the issue.”

The smiles slipped. “Then what the hell, buddy?” Wade asked.

Tate just shook his head. “I’m taking the SUV. If you want a ride later, give me a call.”

“We’ll be fine. Go take care of your girl,” Cameron said.

* * *

Hershel watched as Tate came out the door. He’d been lingering to see where Benton went when he finally emerged. Hershel was of the opinion that if there was more to that witness story than the Feds were willing to admit, Benton might lead him to her. When he saw the man heading for his government SUV, he got in his own truck and followed from a safe distance. He was disappointed to realize that Benton was only going back to the gym. He stayed back, waiting in his truck to make sure Benton was inside, before he pulled up and parked. The less eye contact he had with any of them, the easier it would be to stay under their radar.

* * *

The first thing Tate did when he got inside was look for Nola. It was almost noon, and when he didn’t see her lying down resting or visiting with any of the other people, he headed for the kitchen.

She was there. He paused for a moment, breathing easy that for the moment she was safe and most likely unaware that her poorly guarded secret was out. He stood, watching her laughing and talking, and remembered she’d once been that free and happy with him.

Then she turned her head and caught a glimpse of him in the doorway, and with a single nod of his head, he told her he wanted her to follow him.

He went out a side door without looking back, and the moment she exited, he pulled her around behind the gym, just like he used to do to sneak a kiss before her mama came to take her home. The trees were bigger now than they had been when they were in school, the shrubbery thicker, concealing their presence from anyone who might be passing by.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

He put a finger to his lips, indicating quiet, and then lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Someone leaked the news about a witness. One of the reporters threw it out at the press conference. I did what I could to squash the information, but it’s only a matter of time before they come up with a name.”

Nola felt all the blood suddenly rushing from her head. Tate’s face was getting blurry as her legs suddenly went out from under her. She grabbed hold of his jacket, struggling to stay upright as he caught her, holding her close against his chest.

“Breathe, honey, breathe. We won’t let anything happen to you,” he said.

“You can’t stop him,” she whispered. “You don’t even know what he looks like.”

Tate was as frustrated as she was afraid.

“I told them the person they think was a witness was actually just a sick woman who was feverish and hallucinating when she was rescued. I said the woman was out of her head, and there was no witness to the killer’s identity.”

“Do you think they believed you?”

“You know how some of the media are these days. If they don’t have a story, they’ll make one up.”

She groaned. “What do I do?”

“Don’t put yourself out there, for sure. I’m not going anywhere. Go about your normal routine inside. Don’t behave as if you’re spooked, or someone will put two and two together, especially when they see us keeping tabs on you.”

She was silent, her mind scrambling to find a quick solution. And then it hit her.

“The locals know we used to be a couple, right?”

“Yes. So?”

“Well, one excuse for us being in each other’s pockets would be that we’re resuming our relationship. Unless that messes you up as a federal agent or something. I don’t know how all that works.”

Tate was silent. She actually had a good point. It would allay suspicions and leave everyone to assume they were just renewing their relationship.

He tilted her chin until their gazes were locked. Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears, and he could see her pulse throbbing at the base of her throat. Her mouth was slightly parted, like there was something more she was about to say, but he didn’t give her a chance.

He lowered his head, and when their lips connected, he heard a sigh and then her eyes went shut. He didn’t know how she felt, but for him it was like coming home.

When he finally pulled back, she stifled a groan, her eyelashes fluttering as she finally looked up.

“Why did you do that?”

“If we’re going to convince people we’re a couple again, that is bound to happen. I had to make sure you wouldn’t slap my face.”

Nola frowned. “After the week I’ve had, I’m way past slapping faces. I’m just happy to be here, Tate. I’ll follow your lead. Whatever you do or say about us as a couple, I’ll back you. That way I won’t overstep your government bounds, okay?”

Tate smiled wryly. “We’re federal agents, not priests. We’re allowed personal lives.”

“Even on the job?”

His expression hardened. “I’ll handle it. Just stay where I can see you.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him.