The Dying Game (14 page)
“Yes, very much. Thank you.”
“Is there a problem with your having Shaughnessy acting as your bodyguard just for today?”
She shook her head. “He seems like a very nice man.”
“If you want or need anything, all you have to do is ask.”
“Sanders mentioned that you were making arrangements for Gale Ann’s funeral. Is that correct?” She looked at him then, a thousand questions in her misty eyes.
“I took the liberty of contacting a funeral home in Williamstown,” Griff told her. “Your sister’s body won’t be released until after the autopsy, which hopefully will be fairly soon, so there is no real rush. Whatever decisions you wish to make, you may certainly do so. And anything you’d like for me to handle, I will.”
“Thank you. It was difficult enough when Gale Ann and I had to take care of everything when each of our parents died, but I never thought I’d have to—” A sob caught in her throat. “I’m the older sister, so naturally I thought I’d die first.”
Griff reached out, engulfed Barbara Jean’s trembling hands in his steady grasp and said, “Please spare no expense in the funeral arrangements. Judd and I will pay for whatever you want.”
“You and Mr. Walker? I—I don’t understand.”
Judd had not paid for the funeral of any other victim, but Griff intended to make him help foot the bill for Gale Ann’s. One more way to help bring his old friend back to the land of the living.
“Judd and I are both very wealthy men,” Griff explained. “Your sister’s funeral will be only one of several we have paid for.” A small white lie. He had paid for ten funerals. This would be the first for Judd.
“But why would you—?”
“In memory of Judd’s wife, Jennifer, who was also my friend.”
And because I have more money than I could spend
in ten lifetimes. Blood money
.
“That’s very kind of you … and of Mr. Walker.” She searched Griff’s face, as if suspecting he had a hidden agenda, some dark secret reason he would make such a generous offer.
Griff squeezed her hands, then released his hold. “There are no strings attached.”
“I’m so sorry if I gave you the impression I didn’t trust you. You’ve been more than kind and generous and … I can’t identify that man. Really, I can’t. I barely saw him and—”
“And we won’t mention it again. Not unless you remember something else. No one here at Griffin’s Rest will pressure you, Barbara Jean. You’re here to rest and recuperate from a harrowing experience. And when you’re ready to go to work, just say the word.”
She took a deep breath, then released it quickly. A heavy sigh of relief. “I’ll go crazy without something to do. Whenever you’re ready to put me to work, I’m ready.”
“You don’t want to rush yourself. Take all the time you need to deal with what happened to Gale Ann.”
“Working will help me cope. Please, I’d like to start first thing tomorrow.”
Griff nodded. “All right. Then first thing tomorrow, you can begin Sanders’s instructions.”
Leaning her head to one side in an inquisitive manner, she looked directly at Griff. “You’ve hired me to instruct Mr. Sanders in what way?”
“On the computer. He’s totally computer-illiterate.”
“Oh, I see.”
“No, you don’t. Not really.”
Her gaze widened.
“Sanders is not a servant in my home. He is my right arm. I need a man in his position to be computer savvy. He has resisted going near a computer for years now, but I’ve finally persuaded him that in order to assist me even more than he does now, it is necessary.”
“Well, since my job with Honeywell was as a computer programmer, I don’t think I’ll have any trouble teaching Sanders the basics rather quickly. He seems to be a highly intelligent man.”
“Sanders is a brilliant man,” Griff assured her. “Just a bit old-fashioned and set in his ways.”
“It would be my pleasure to be his teacher.”
“Good. Good.” Griff stood. “I’ll turn you over to Shaughnessy. You’re welcome to go anywhere at Griffin’s Rest, as long as your bodyguard is with you.” Griff walked to the door, opened it, and motioned for Shaughnessy Hood, who stood waiting at the end of the hallway. “If you need anything, anything at all, just let us know.”
As she wheeled herself through the doorway, she said, “Thank you, Griffin. You’ve been very kind to me.”
Griff watched as she maneuvered her chair down the hall toward the solarium, Shaughnessy following several feet behind her. Once they were out of sight, he sought out Sanders, whom he found at one of the three computers in Griff’s fully-equipped home office.
When Sanders started to rise from the swivel chair, Griff motioned him down. “Don’t get up.”
“You’ve spoken to Ms. Hughes?” Sanders inquired.
“Yes, I have.”
“And?”
“And you start computer lessons first thing tomorrow, so do your best to act like you don’t know the first thing about computers.”
“Of all things for you to have hired her to do—why teach me how to do something that I know how to do?”
“Because I needed to offer her a job and since there are none available at the agency or here at home, the only thing I could think of was something in her field.”
“I shall try not to give myself away,” Sanders said.
“I have every confidence in you.”
“As I do in you.”
Griff nodded. “We have three wounded souls under our roof. I’d like to think we can somehow help all three of them.”
“I leave Mr. Walker to you,” Sanders said. “I find his treatment of Lindsay unforgivable. And as for our Lindsay … she must heal herself by accepting Mr. Walker for who he is and not the man she wants him to be.”
“What about Barbara Jean?”
“It would be my honor to do all I can to help her through the next few weeks. I believe beneath all that innate shyness and the sadness caused by her recent tragedy, there is a special lady.”
Griff eyed his friend speculatively. “You like her.”
“She is a likable person.”
Griff smiled. In all the years since he had returned to the United States and brought Sanders with him, this was the first time he’d ever seen his friend show any special interest in a lady, other than Lindsay. But Lindsay was like a daughter to Sanders and it was apparent his interest in Barbara Jean was not fatherly.
Divided into three separate areas, Griffin’s home office rivaled any modern, well-equipped office space. Boasting every conceivable state-of-the-art device and furnished with the best money could buy, the impressive setup reflected the man him self. Although Judd had admired Griff Powell, the star UT quarterback, as had the entire state of Tennessee, Judd hadn’t known the young Griff. They hadn’t met until eight years ago at a social function of some type, only a few months following Griff’s reappearance after a mysterious absence of ten years. Rumors had flown like debris in a hurricane; rumors about where Griff had been and how he had acquired an amazing fortune that matched or exceeded some of the wealthiest men in the country, if not the world. Over a period of a couple of years, Judd and Griff had discovered they had a great deal in common, the least of which was the fact they were considered the two most eligible bachelors in the state. A genuine friendship had formed gradually and eventually reached the point where Judd had considered Griff one of his best friends.
Sometimes, on a clear, bright day when he took long walks in the woods around the family’s hunting lodge, his mind would wander back to those good old days when he and Griff and Cam Hendrix had raised high-class hell. They had often gone after the same woman, sometimes just to see who would be the first to win a date with the lady. Jennifer Mobley had been one of those women. God, she’d been so beautiful. She had known just how gorgeous she was and had used that knowledge to her advantage. He wasn’t sure why she’d accepted a date with Griff first. Judd had never been jealous of either of his buddies—not until Jenny entered their lives. Oddly enough, she had dated Cam second, which only whetted Judd’s appetite for her all the more. He didn’t know if she’d had sex with either of his friends. Didn’t want to know. Had never asked them or Jennifer. But she hadn’t gone to bed with him until their fifth date. By that time, he was half out of his mind, so hungry for her that he would have walked over hot coals to get to her.
“Everybody come on in and take a seat.” Griffin Powell’s instructions brought Judd back to the present moment, to the here and now.
A large rectangular table took center stage in front of a wall lined with shelving that contained two plasma televisions, a DVD player, a CD player, and neatly organized books and magazines. Lindsay and Rick Carson sat across from each other in two of the plush, leather swivel chairs surrounding the table. Griff took a seat at the head of the table. Judd walked toward the empty chair beside Lindsay, but paused, noted the disapproving expression on Griff’s face, and backtracked a few steps. He pulled out the chair at the other end of the table. Griff nodded approval. Judd sat.
Griff lifted a small stack of file folders from where they had been placed on the table, probably by Sanders, who had a knack for not only being one step ahead of everyone else, but seeming to know in advance exactly what Griff would want or need.
“These files contain the most pertinent facts about the Beauty Queen Killer case that the Powell Agency has compiled during the past three and a half, nearly four, years.”
Griff placed all except one of the folders back on the table, then opened the file in his hand, pulled out several crime scene photos and passed them around, one by one. Lindsay shoved the pictures across the table to Judd, who in turn, sent them on to Rick Carson with little more than passing glances. Each showed a different redheaded victim. One with her throat slit, another missing her feet and legs up to her knees, a third with her tongue cut out and a knife embedded in the center of her chest. Each woman had been savagely mutilated and left to bleed to death.
“These women were worth twenty points to our BQ Killer,” Griff said. “Gale Ann Cain, the latest victim, was able to tell us that she had been worth twenty points to him because she had red hair.” Griff glanced around the table, from Lindsay to Judd to Rick. “What does that bit of info tell us?”
“That this guy is using a points system,” Rick said.
“That if redheads are worth twenty points, that means blondes and brunettes are worth certain points, too.” Lindsay shook her head. “This man is playing some kind of sick, perverted game.”
“How does this information help us catch him?” Judd asked.
Griff’s gaze locked with Judd’s. “I don’t know that it will.”
“But it makes sense that the more we find out about him, the better our chances of finding out who he is,” Lindsay said.
Judd harrumphed.
“Do you have something else to say?” Griff looked point-blank at Judd.
“Nothing new,” Judd said. “It’s just that after three and a half years, neither the Powell Agency nor the FBI is any closer to catching this guy than they were when this psycho killed Jennifer.”
“That’s not necessarily true.” Griff glanced at the photos lying on the table, neatly arranged by Rick before he placed them between him and Griff. “Do we know the man’s name? No, we don’t. Do we know where to find him? No, we don’t. But we do know a great deal about him, and Derek Lawrence, the former FBI profiler who works for my agency, has updated his profile of our BQ Killer.”
“For all the good that will do.” Judd blurted out his opinion, then thought better of being so negative. “Sorry.” He looked from Griff to Lindsay, who didn’t even glance his way. “It’s just that you—” he focused sharply on Griff “—have a woman right here at Griffin’s Rest who can probably identify this man.”
“Barbara Jean Hughes may or may not be able to identify the man she saw leaving Gale Ann’s apartment,” Griff said. “First of all, we can’t be a hundred percent sure he’s our guy. And secondly, it’s possible that Barbara Jean will never be able to tell us more than she already has. A medium size, medium height man, wearing a hat, a coat, and sunglasses, maybe with brown hair, was leaving the building where her sister lived just as she arrived.”
“Crap,” Judd said. “Okay, I’m sorry. Again. I’ll behave myself, but you can’t expect me not to question your decisions.”
“Left alone and allowed to feel safe and secure here at Griffin’s Rest, Barbara Jean may well begin to recall more details about this man.” Griff gathered up the photos of the redheaded victims and placed them back in the file folder.
“Just how long do we wait for this woman to remember?” Judd asked.
“As long as it takes.”
“And in the meantime, while you’re coddling her, the BQ Killer is out there choosing his next victim.”
“More than likely,” Griff said.
“Too bad we can’t figure out how he chooses his victims,” Rick Carson said. “I mean other than the fact that they’ve all been former beauty contest winners and are still under the age of forty and have retained their good looks.”
“Before the information Gale Ann gave us, we were looking for a reason he’s chosen only former beauty queens,” Lindsay said. “We had wondered if there was a connection in his past to someone who had been a beauty queen, and, of course, that’s still a possibility. But we now know that he has concocted some sort of game that involves using a points system according to the woman’s hair color.”
“One question comes to mind about his game-playing.” Griff scanned the room, pausing briefly on each of the other occupants, and when no one made a comment, he asked, “Is he the only player in this deadly game?”
Silence.
Nerve-racking silence.
For the first time since they had entered the office, Lindsay looked right at Judd. “My God, do you think—?”
“So far, there’s been no evidence that we’re dealing with more than one person,” Rick reminded them.
“Maybe he’s got a split personality, and he’s playing against his other self,” Judd suggested sarcastically.
“Or he could be playing the odds, pitting his skill and cunning against the FBI,” Rick said. “Some games don’t require two players: Solitaire, Russian roulette, many video games.”