The Dying Game (16 page)

“Are you coming in?” he called to her.

“Sure.” Garnering up her courage, she walked into the boathouse, then paused several feet past the entrance.

Soft afternoon sunlight shot through the numerous cracks in the loose wooden walls and crumbling cedar shingles on the roof. Lindsay inspected the empty interior, noting the galaxy of shimmering cobwebs and taking in the damp, musty scent that permeated the air.

“It doesn’t look like anybody’s been inside for years,” Judd said.

“It’s kind of creepy, don’t you think?” Feeling oddly chilled, Lindsay crisscrossed her arms and hugged herself.

Judd turned around and stared at her. “Is it the place that’s rattled you or is it being alone like this with me?”

“I’m not afraid to be alone with you.”

When he came toward her, it took every ounce of her willpower not to back away from him. Instead, she stood her ground, and when he stopped less than a foot from her, she tilted up her chin and looked him right in the eyes.

Judd laughed. “You remind me of a little Chihuahua who thinks she’s a Rottweiler.”

Lindsay bristled. “Don’t make the mistake of letting my size fool you.”

Judd closed the minuscule gap between them, coming so close that they were almost touching.

Steady, girl
, Lindsay warned herself.

He lowered his head until his breath fanned her mouth and mingled with her breath. “I swear that I will never again do anything intentionally to hurt you.” He lifted his head and took a step back.

Lindsay released the chest-aching breath she’d been holding. Forcing back the tears that threatened to dispel the tough image she was trying to project, she swallowed hard and nodded. It was all she could manage at the moment.

“I’m a rotten bastard, and I don’t deserve friends like you and Griff.”

Answer him, damn it!
“You’re right, you don’t. But you need us.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Griff talked to you, didn’t he? Was the apology his idea?” she asked. “Did Griff make it one of the stipulations of your being allowed to stay here at Griffin’s Rest and take part in the investigation?”

Before she realized his intentions so that she could sidestep his move, Judd reached out and ran the back of his hand across her cheek. “The apology was sincere.” He eased his hand away from her face. “But don’t read too much into it. It was only an apology, not a declaration of love.”

Just when she thought nothing he said or did could hurt her, he proved her wrong. But this time, the wound had been inflicted unintentionally.

“I understand,” she told him. “The apology was more than I expected.”

Chapter 10

The next day, Judd sat in on another meeting. This time, he tried to act as if he was paying attention, as if he thought going over the same old information might actually prove useful. It wasn’t Griff’s fault that the Beauty Queen Killer hadn’t been apprehended. God knew the Powell Agency had used every resource available—legal and slightly illegal—to track down the man who had killed Jenny. Neither Powell nor the FBI had been able to pick up the madman’s trail, although both had extensive profiles that narrowed down suspects. But that was the problem—they didn’t have any suspects.

In the past three and a half years, Judd had learned more about serial killers than he’d ever wanted to know. He could easily recite the rhetoric. Memorized facts and figures. Eighty-five percent of American serial killers are male, eighty-two percent are white, eighty-seven percent are loners, and most range in age from twenty-two to fifty.

While Judd did his best to stay focused on the conversation taking place, Griff explained how he had three Powell agents in Williamstown, Kentucky, right now, keeping track of everything that the local law enforcement and the FBI were doing. “These men have built a professional rapport with the police department, and the chief has been very cooperative, despite Nic Baxter’s disapproval.”

“Does anybody involved in Gale Ann Cain’s murder case have even one tiny lead?” Judd asked. “Other than Barbara Jean, who either cannot or will not give a detailed description of the possible killer.”

“We’ve been here before,” Griff said. “Our guy is nomadic. Once he kills, he leaves town. He either moves often or he travels a lot. And because this type of killer isn’t stationary, doesn’t kill in just one area, he’s more difficult to catch than one who stays close to home.”

“And until now, he’s been invisible,” Lindsay said. “He manages to kill and disappear without anyone seeing him. Except this time, Barbara Jean saw him.”

“We believe she saw him,” Griff corrected. “We can’t be certain the man she saw is our killer.”

Propping one elbow on the desk, Judd leaned forward. “Okay, let’s say she can ID him and finally agrees to work with a sketch artist. What happens then?”

“We share the sketch with the FBI,” Griff said. “And that sketch will be sent to every local law enforcement agency in the country. Sooner or later, somebody will see the sketch and recognize our guy.”

“Then for God’s sake, use your powers of persuasion on Barbara Jean.” Judd’s gaze collided with Griff’s. “While you’re giving her time to come around on her own, this guy is out there plotting another murder. Tell her that her fear and uncertainty could very well cost another woman her life.”

He hated cheap motel rooms, but staying in an inexpensive place where he could pay cash and the clerk probably wouldn’t remember him the next day made sense. It would be foolish to flash his money around, to say or do anything that might make him stand out and cause someone to remember him. Keep a low profile was the number one rule in this game. Victories were not for public celebration. They were to be savored privately.

Early this morning, long before daylight, while Sonya had entertained her boyfriend, he had taken the opportunity to check out the houses on either side of and across from hers. He had inspected her backyard. No fence. No large shrubbery. Exposed on all four sides to the prying eyes of neighbors. His best course of action was to enter her home late tonight, when there was less chance of anyone being awake and peeking out the window. He didn’t think she had a security system. There were no signs posted and ninety-five percent of people with private security posted warning signs. And quite a few people without security systems stuck stickers on their doors or signs in their yards as a deterrent to thieves.

Of course, the one thing that would make entering Sonya’s house as easy as taking candy from a baby was the fact that she, like a lot of other idiots, kept a key “hidden” under a fake rock in her front yard. He’d taken that key around one this morning, while he’d been examining the layout of her house and yard.

He clutched the brass key in his hand and smiled as he drove into downtown Tupelo to look for a decent restaurant, preferably a crowded establishment. He would eat a good supper, go back to the motel, and think about the night that lay ahead, a night of horrible pain for Sonya and unforgettable pleasure for him.

Sometimes he found a suitable weapon in the woman’s home, but he never left anything to chance. He always went prepared. He had a bright, shiny new axe that he had bought at a Wal-Mart in Monroe, Louisiana, lying under a plastic painter’s tarp in the trunk of his rental car.

* * * 

Judd paced back and forth in the two-story living room that spanned the width of the house. A wall of floor-to-ceiling windows and three sets of French doors dominated the back wall; the doors opened onto a deck that overlooked the lake.

Although when Griffin was at home, dinner was usually served at seven, it was five past seven and Griffin hadn’t shown up nor had Sanders announced dinner. After the end of their afternoon meeting, Lindsay had stayed on in Griff’s home office and gone over the most recent reports from the agents in Williamstown. She hadn’t seen or talked to Griff since then, and until they had met in the living room ten minutes ago, she hadn’t seen Judd either.

Judd moved around the room like a caged animal searching for an escape route. Whenever he paused, he stuck his hands in his jacket pockets and stared out into the darkness; then as if jolted by an electrical prod, he would start moving again. Edgy. Unsettled. Nervous energy.

Lindsay knew the signs. She had seen them all too often. Judd was restless. He had little patience, expected immediate action, and was the type who snapped his fingers and thought everyone should jump. Perhaps, in part, that came from having been reared in the lap of luxury, accustomed to issuing orders and having them instantly obeyed.

With each murder case, Griff and the FBI had gathered information. Sometimes, it was nothing more than an insignificant tidbit that didn’t further the investigation one iota. Other times, it was info that helped them add to, build on, or alter the profile of the Beauty Queen Killer. But it all seemed meaningless to Judd because compiling information and building a profile had not produced results. While the Powell Agency, local law enforcement agencies in various cities, and the FBI investigated, the man who had murdered Jennifer Walker continued killing. Woman after woman after woman.

“Want to play cards or chess or watch a movie after dinner?” Lindsay rattled off a list of possible temporary cures for Judd’s restlessness.

“You don’t have to babysit me,” he told her. “I’m not going to do anything stupid, like drown myself in the lake … or corner Barbara Jean.”

“You gave Griff your word about not pressuring Barbara Jean, didn’t you? That’s good enough for me.”

Judd harrumphed. “You shouldn’t be too trusting. There was a time when I was a man of my word. That man doesn’t exist anymore.”

Before she had a chance to think of an appropriate response, Griffin entered the living room; but he was not alone. He escorted an exotic woman with luminous black eyes and blue-black hair cut in a shoulder-length pageboy style. She wore cream white slacks and an oversized matching sweater. Diamond and gold hoops dangled from her small ears.

“Dr. Meng.” Lindsay walked across the room to greet their guest, an old and dear friend of Griff’s. “How wonderful to see you again.” Lindsay shook hands with the woman Griff had first brought into her life six months ago. She had no idea how old Dr. Meng was, but if she were to guess, she would say late thirties, although she looked younger.

“How are you, Lindsay?” Dr. Meng asked. “Quite well?”

“Yes, quite well, thank you.”

Judd approached them, but kept his distance, a leery glint in his eyes, as if he suspected Dr. Meng was his enemy.

“Judd, come over and meet Yvette Meng,” Griff said.

Judd took several tentative steps forward, but didn’t come close enough to shake hands with Dr. Meng.

“Yvette, this is Judd Walker,” Griff told her. “Lindsay and I have mentioned him to you on several occasions.”

“Mr. Walker.” Yvette nodded cordially, but respected Judd’s wariness and made no move to approach him.

“Almost perfect English, which means you were probably not born and raised here,” Judd said. “Yvette Meng.” He examined her as if she were a specimen under a microscope. “Eurasian?” he asked.

“Yes, very astute of you, Mr. Walker. My father was Chinese, my mother French.”

Judd eyed Griff suspiciously. “Is Dr. Meng’s visit merely social or have you brought her here in her professional capacity?” Judd immediately focused on Yvette. “Do you have a medical degree or simply a PhD?”

“A medical degree,” she replied in a voice that dripped with honey. Delicate and sweet.

As Lindsay knew—personally—that sweet voice was deceptive. Yvette Meng might look like a geisha doll, delicate and subservient, but the woman possessed the heart of a tiger and the courage of a lioness.

“Somebody here sick?” Judd asked sardonically.

But Griff didn’t get a chance to reply. Sanders appeared and announced dinner was ready. Yvette took Griff’s arm, and he led her toward the dining room.

Judd looked at Lindsay and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

When she took his arm, he paused and asked, “Did Griff bring her here for me?”

“If he did, would you talk to her?”

Chuckling derisively, Judd glowered at Lindsay. “No way in hell.”

Taking in and releasing a deep breath, Lindsay replied, “I’m sure Griff brought her here to talk to Barbara Jean. It’s quite possible that she’s suffering from some form of traumatic stress syndrome, an area in which Dr. Meng has specialized.”

“Hmm … I have to hand it to Griff. He’s gone above and beyond the call of duty to try to find Jenny’s killer. And he’s still doing everything he can.”

“Maybe you should tell him that.” Lindsay tugged on Judd’s arm.

He didn’t budge. “You’ve met Dr. Meng before. When?”

Just tell him the truth. There’s no reason why he shouldn’t
know. So what if it makes him uncomfortable at dinner this
evening, realizing that Dr. Meng knows all about him
.

“Griff brought her here to help me through a rough patch … about six months ago.”

She released his arm and walked away whilst Judd thought about what had happened six months before.

Sonya walked Paul to the door, kissed him, and reluctantly said good night. She didn’t think either of them were quite ready for the next step in their strong and steady relationship— marriage. Here in Tupelo, there was no way they would ever get away with living together without the bonds of matrimony. Not with them both employed by the school system. So, for now, they would have to settle for him occasionally staying the night. Not too often or people would talk.

“See you tomorrow,” he told her just before he kissed her one final time.

She stood in the open doorway and, despite the frigid night air, watched him until he got in his car and drove away. Sighing dreamily as she recalled the great sex they’d just had, she closed and locked the door.

Since she had to get up at six in the morning because it was a school day, she should take a shower and go to bed. But she wasn’t sleepy. Paul had stayed overnight last night and they had slept late this morning, skipping both Sunday school and church, wicked sinners that they were.