No One Left to Tell (61 page)

‘Eight women,’ she whispered. ‘All dead. Six with the same drug.’

The other two had died of natural causes. One of cancer and one in a fatal car crash when she was fifteen, several years before Crystal’s death. The barbiturate deaths started with Crystal Jones’s murder.

‘And we still have eight years to cover,’ he said.

‘Seven, actually. We already know Crystal Jones is dead. Why didn’t anyone see this?’ she demanded, anger bubbling. ‘Make the damn connection?’

‘They’re stretched over the last five years, honey. All over the state.’

‘And two in other states. So?’

‘They were MAC kids when they were twelve years old. I was a Boy Scout when I was twelve. Nobody would connect me with kids in my troupe if something like this were to happen. And it doesn’t look like these kids even knew each other back then. That they’d connect with each other as adults . . . It was a perfect setup.’

‘We need to finish this,’ she said forcefully. ‘Find the others.’

‘Not here.’ He looked around them. ‘We can’t sit out in the open like this. Let’s get inside. You can finish searching and I’ll call Lucy Trask and ask for the autopsy reports.’

Paige swung her backpack over one shoulder. ‘Grayson, Rex McCloud may have been at the estate the night Crystal was killed, but he wasn’t even born when the MAC program started. Whatever happened to these girls, Rex wasn’t involved.’

‘I know. I don’t know what to think about Rex anymore. We’ll worry about it inside.’

She got out, snapped Peabody’s leash to his collar, then frowned at the darkened house. ‘It looks like no one’s home. We are early. Maybe Stevie isn’t back yet.’

Grayson stopped, suddenly tensing. ‘Stevie’s car is here and so is the minivan, so Izzy’s still here, too. I want to check around the house before we go in.’

‘Fine. I’ll go around right, you take the left.’

He looked like he wanted to argue, but she didn’t give him a chance. She set out with Peabody, leaving Grayson to follow or go the other way. He went the other way.

There was a motorcycle parked at the back of the house. The engine wasn’t cold.

Grayson came around the other side and she pointed to the motorcycle. He shook his head. ‘Not hers,’ he mouthed. He pointed to the back door. A pane of glass was broken. Paige sidled up to the kitchen window.

Shit
. Stevie sat at the table, her face deathly pale, her hands flat on the tablecloth. Another pair of woman’s flattened hands could be seen at the end of the table. And barely visible to the left was a man’s large shoe on a foot that bobbed nervously.

Paige backed up against the house. ‘Silas,’ she mouthed.

Grayson peered in the window from his side, then briefly closed his eyes. ‘He has Cordelia,’ he mouthed back. He pulled out his phone and began to text.

I’ll take front and call 911
, Paige read.
Only confront if tries to leave. Yes?

She met his eyes. Nodded. Texted back.
Don’t die
.

One side of his mouth lifted grimly as he read it. Then he was gone and she and Peabody stood alone. Paige let the backpack slide silently to the ground, then reached behind her back for her .357, flicked off the safety. And waited.

Thursday, April 7, 5.30
P.M
.

Silas glanced at Stevie’s phone, willing Smith to answer. He’d texted the prosecutor over an hour ago. Why wasn’t Smith answering? He’d texted the right number. It had come from Stevie’s contact list and was the same number he’d called the night before.

He checked Stevie’s call log and frowned. There had been no calls to Grayson all day. With everything that had happened, that wasn’t likely. It hit him and he snarled.

‘He got a new phone. A new number.’ He lurched to his feet, dragging Cordelia with him. ‘Didn’t he?’ Stevie flinched, giving Silas his answer. ‘Goddammit. You lied to me.’

He ran to the front, tightening his grip on Cordelia. He grabbed car keys from the table, opened the door. And stopped in his tracks.

Grayson Smith stood in his path, the barrel of his gun pointed straight at Silas’s head. ‘Let her go, Silas. Or I’ll blow your head off.’

Silas lifted the child, then realized she wasn’t big enough to shield him.

A knife cut into his neck. ‘Let her go,’ Stevie said, her voice cold and deadly.

Silas tossed Cordelia at Smith, then spun, grabbing Stevie’s wrist. He’d known her eyes would follow her child and not him, giving him the opportunity he needed. He squeezed hard, bending her wrist back until the knife fell to the floor.

Silas shoved his gun into her temple, clamped his arm across her throat. Cordelia was screaming. Grayson swept her into his arms, turning so that he protected the child with his body. He backed down the steps, his eyes fixed on the gun in Silas’s hand.

‘Run,’ Stevie gritted out. ‘Dammit, get her out of here.’

Grayson took off at a sprint, disappearing around the house and too late Silas realized what he’d done.
It was my chance. I could have shot him. I missed my chance
.

But reflex had taken over and he’d done the unforgivable.
I protected my own skin
.

It wasn’t too late. It couldn’t be too late.
Go. Move. Find him. Finish this
.

Grayson held Cordelia close to his body as he ran away from the house. She was hysterical, clutching and clawing at him. ‘Sshh, it’s all right. You’re all right.’ No, she wasn’t. Stevie’s child might never be all right again.

Izzy appeared, stumbling around the corner. She’d escaped through the back door.

Paige
. Where was she?
In the house
. Without a doubt Paige was in that house.

Izzy was crying. ‘He’s got her. Stevie’s still in there.’

‘Go to the neighbor’s. I called 911.’ Grayson peeled the child’s arms from around his neck. ‘Go with Aunt Izzy. I’ll take care of your mommy. Run, Izzy.’

Izzy took Cordelia and ran next door, banged on the door and was pulled inside.

Grayson drew a breath, getting his bearings. He could hear sirens in the distance. He ran to the front, gun in his hand. Silas was pushing Stevie toward the front door, his arm pressed across Stevie’s throat, his gun still to her head.

When Stevie saw Grayson, her body sagged, her eyes filling with tears. ‘Cordelia?’

‘She’s okay, Stevie,’ Grayson said, approaching slowly. ‘She’s not hurt.’

‘Drop the gun, Grayson, or I’ll kill her,’ Silas said quietly. ‘I have nothing to lose.’

For a moment Grayson stood there breathing hard, considering what to do.

‘You’re a good shot,’ Silas said. ‘I’m faster. You know that. I don’t want to hurt her.’

Grayson crouched, placing the gun on Stevie’s front step.

‘Back away,’ Silas said. ‘Now.’

Grayson took a step back, saw the change in Silas’s eyes a second before the man moved. Silas shoved Stevie away so hard she fell and went still. He raised his gun.

To my head
. Grayson raised his hands. ‘Don’t shoot me, Silas. Let me help you.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Silas said. ‘I’m truly sorry.’

Then Silas pitched forward, his gun dropping harmlessly to the floor. Paige stood behind him, holding his hand firmly in her grip, staring expressionlessly at the agony on his face. She shoved him to the floor face-down, bending his arm behind him, falling so that her knee gouged his kidney.

Silas struggled wildly. ‘Let me go.’ He bucked viciously, throwing Paige off him. Paige hit the wall and slid to the floor, dazed.

Grayson leaped, pinning Silas to the floor when he tried to rise, holding him down. ‘Silas, stop this. It’s over. You can’t get your daughter back this way.’

But Silas didn’t listen, kept fighting like a wild animal.
Where are the fucking cops?

Silas twisted, grabbing Grayson’s throat, digging his fingers into his windpipe. Gagging, Grayson swung, his fist connecting solidly with Silas’s jaw, but the man didn’t even flinch. Grayson hit him again and the man’s fingers loosened, followed by a cry of pain.

Peabody’s teeth were sunk deep in Silas’s thigh. Grayson twisted Silas’s arms behind him, forcing his knee into the man’s back. Glancing from the corner of his eye, Grayson spied his own gun, still on the front porch, out of reach.

‘Peabody, hold,’ Paige said calmly from behind them. ‘I’ve got a gun pointed at your head, Silas,’ she added and Grayson let out a harsh breath. ‘I will use it.’

Silas stilled. ‘Call off the dog,’ he demanded hoarsely.

‘Not yet,’ Paige said. ‘Stevie, you okay over there?’

‘Yeah,’ Stevie answered, breathless. She approached, pausing to pick up the gun Silas had dropped, unhooking the cuffs from her belt. ‘Release the dog, Paige.’

‘Peabody, release,’ Paige said. Peabody obeyed, sitting at Paige’s side, alert. Paige didn’t move a muscle, her gun still trained on Silas’s head.

Grayson held Silas’s wrists with one hand, the back of his neck with the other.

Stevie snapped the cuffs on Silas’s left wrist, none too gently. ‘Who has Violet?’

Outside, cars screeched to a halt, doors opening. At least three cars. Maybe more.

It was one of those moments that Grayson could see coming and couldn’t stop. Stevie’s brief glance from the corner of her eye toward the door. His own momentary distraction. And the sudden, subtle tensing of Silas’s muscles.

‘Stev—’ Grayson got out half her name when Silas sprang with the force of a bull, surging to his knees. Grayson threw his body forward, his fist slamming into Silas’s jaw a third time. Silas fell to his back, absorbing the blow, then rolled to his feet.

And Grayson froze. Silas leaned, his weight on his uninjured leg. From his left wrist dangled Stevie’s cuffs. In his right hand he held a small, snub-nosed revolver.

Once again Grayson found himself staring into the barrel of Silas’s gun, watching as Silas pulled the trigger. Then shots cracked the air. Plaster rained down on his head.

And Silas crumpled to the floor. His shirt bloomed red and there was a hole in his forehead. The eerie silence that followed was broken with, ‘Police! Drop your weapons.’

Paige lowered her gun, staring in horror at the hole in Silas’s head.
I shot his wrist. I swear to God I only shot his wrist
.

Grayson
. He was okay. Stark relief bubbled up from her throat in a muted cry that had him turning to her. He met her eyes, his numb with shock.

‘Oh my God,’ Stevie whispered. Her gun was still extended, still aimed at where Silas had stood. ‘I killed him.’

‘I said,’ a female voice snarled, ‘drop your weapons.’

The words came from the doorway, where Detectives Morton and Bashears stood in full tactical gear, their weapons drawn and pointed at them.

Paige slowly crouched, putting her gun on the floor.

‘You too, Stevie,’ Morton snapped.

Stevie didn’t move. She was frozen in place on her knees. Staring at Silas.

‘Stevie,’ Grayson said quietly, calmly. He reached for her gun, placing it on the floor. Holding her hands. But she didn’t look at him. Didn’t look at any of them. She couldn’t take her eyes off her dead ex-partner.

‘He was going to kill you,’ Stevie whispered. ‘He wasn’t going to give up.’

‘I know,’ Grayson murmured. ‘But he didn’t kill me.’

‘He was going to kill Cordelia. And Izzy, too.’ Her face ashen, Stevie scrambled to her feet. ‘I have to find Cordelia.’

‘Where’s the child?’ Bashears asked tensely.

‘Next door,’ Grayson said, rising also. ‘With Stevie’s sister. We got them out.’

Stevie rushed to the front door, but Bashears caught her, holding her by the shoulders. ‘Stevie, wait,’ he said. He and Morton moved into the room followed by four uniformed officers and Peabody came to all four feet, a low growl in his throat.

‘Restrain your dog,’ Morton snapped. ‘Or I’ll shoot him.’

And you’d be next
, Paige thought viciously but bit her tongue. ‘Peabody, down,’ she said and Peabody obeyed. ‘His leash is in the kitchen.’

‘Get it for her,’ Bashears said to one of the uniforms. ‘Paige, stay where you are.’ But his tone was not unkind, so she complied.

Morton knelt by Silas, pressed her fingers to his throat. ‘Dead.’

Bashears began checking Stevie for injuries. ‘Are you hurt anywhere?’

‘Her wrist,’ Paige said. ‘Silas twisted it hard to disarm her.’ She pointed at the butcher knife on the floor. ‘He had her daughter.’

‘Tried to use both of them as human shields,’ Grayson added with contempt.

Bashears cast a dirty look at Silas’s body. ‘Medics are outside. Anyone else hurt?’

‘Just Silas,’ Grayson muttered. ‘Thank God.’

The officer returned with Peabody’s leash and Paige clipped it into place. Having acceptably restrained Peabody, she turned her eyes back to Silas Dandridge. There was blood on his arm, darkest at his wrist.
Where I shot him
. Relief had her shuddering out a harsh breath.
I didn’t kill him
. More blood spread on his white shirt.

Silas had been shot in the torso too.
I shot once. Stevie shot once. Silas’s shot went wild, hitting the ceiling, and Grayson didn’t have time to get his gun. So who shot him in the head?
‘Three shots,’ Paige said to Bashears. ‘Torso, wrist, head.’

Stevie seemed to refocus. She looked at Silas’s body. ‘I shot his chest.’

‘I shot his wrist. Who shot the third bullet?’ Paige asked. ‘The head shot?’

‘I did,’ Morton said. ‘We’re clearing the room. This is a crime scene.’

Paige’s stomach rolled queasily. Morton should have aimed to stop Silas, not kill him. She must have seen Silas waving his gun and made a quick decision.

Quick, but permanent. Silas was dead and only he knew who had Violet.

Silas had framed Ramon. Hadn’t he? But Morton had been primary on Ramon’s murder investigation. She glanced at Grayson, saw him watching Morton as well.

Why would Morton deliberately kill Silas?

Just because Silas was guilty doesn’t mean Morton isn’t
.