Silent Killer Part 13

Felicity, still wearing her black jeans and dark purple T-s.h.i.+rt, eased the earphones connected to her iPod down to hang around her neck. "I can't sleep. I'm worried."

"What are you worried about? Afraid Seth Cantrell likes Missy better than he does you?"

"What a hateful thing to say. Besides, Seth can like whoever he wants to like. It's not as if I own him or anything." Felicity glowered at her sister. "And for your information, I'm worried about Daddy."

"Why would you be worried about Daddy?"

"Because of what happened today. You know, they found that priest's body in the park, and he was burned alive just like Seth's father was."

"What has that got to do with Daddy?"

"Somebody has murdered three preachers-well, two preachers and a priest. Daddy's a preacher. What if that person tries to kill Daddy?"

"n.o.body is going to hurt Daddy. He's a good man. There's no reason why anyone would want to harm him."

"Everybody thought Seth's father was a good man." Felicity laid a pillow against the headboard and sat up straight. "And I'm sure everybody believes that those other two men were good, too."

"Maybe they weren't as good as everyone thought they were," Charity said. "You never know about people."

"Do you think whoever murdered them did it because he thought they had done something wrong?"

Charity groaned. "How should I know? I just said that to get you to shut up and go to sleep. I have to get up at six in the morning. I start my summer job tomorrow."

"It would make more sense, wouldn't it, if they'd all done something terrible, something that made the killer think they deserved being punished."

"Oh, shut up, will you, and go to sleep. You're talking nonsense anyway."

Felicity stuck out her tongue at her sister.

Charity just rolled her eyes and shook her head, then reached out, turned off her bedside lamp and closed her eyes.

Sometimes Felicity wondered how she and Charity could be sisters. They were so different. But when she'd mentioned this to her father, he'd smiled indulgently and told her that Charity took after Mama and that she took after him.

"I was quite the rebel in my day," he'd told her, a statement she found difficult to believe. But his comparing her to him when he'd been a teenager had made her feel better about herself.

She wished she were prettier and smarter and a nicer person. And she wished Seth Cantrell liked her as more than just a friend. Charity had been right-she was jealous of Missy. If she possessed special powers like the heroines of the books she read and movies she watched, she'd make Missy vanish and put a spell on Seth to make him love her and only her.

Felicity laid her iPod and earphones on her nightstand, then turned off her lamp and scooted down in her bed. She closed her eyes and thought about how she could stop Missy from stealing Seth away from her.

Mike Birkett, barefoot and wearing only a pair of well-worn gray sweat pants, opened his front door, took one look at Jack and asked, "Do you know what time it is?"

"I know it's late, but I need to talk to you."

Mike stepped aside. "Come on in, but be quiet, will you? M.J. and Hannah are asleep."

"I'm sorry about stopping by at this time of night."

"Is it something to do with the new murder case?"

"Not really," Jack said as he followed Mike into the kitchen. "Maybe indirectly."

"Sit down." Mike pointed to a kitchen chair. "I was fixing to get myself a gla.s.s of milk, but if you'd like I can put on some coffee or get you a beer."

"Nothing for me, thanks." Jack pulled out a chair from the table and sat.

Mike turned a chair backward, straddled the seat and rested his crossed arms over the back. "I'm listening."

Jack fidgeted. "I took Cathy out to dinner tonight. We went to the Catfish Shack."

Mike didn't respond verbally. He just sat there staring at Jack.

"Say something, will you."

"What do you want me to say?" Mike asked.

"Chew my a.s.s out. Tell me again to stay away from Cathy. Remind me that I'm not good for her. Just handling my own baggage is a full-time job without having to deal with hers."

"What did you do, go over to Lorie's and ask Cathy out?"

"Nope. We just happened to meet up."

"Is that right? How did you two just happen to meet up?"

"I was on my way home, and I took a detour by Lorie's," Jack said. "I don't know why. I didn't plan on stopping or anything. I had Cathy on my mind and wondered how she was taking the news about the burned body found in the park this morning. And lo and behold, there Cathy was walking down the sidewalk about half a block from Lorie's."

"Let me guess-you stopped, asked her for a date and she said yes." Mike shook his head. "She never could resist you, could she?"

"She needed to get away, to escape and not think about what happened to her husband and the possibility that he was the first victim of some lunatic running around killing clergymen."

Mike nodded. "I see. You were playing white knight, huh?"

Jack shoved back the chair and shot to his feet. "d.a.m.n it, Mike, I don't want to hurt her. I swear to G.o.d, I don't. But I'm not sure I can keep my distance. She'll be helping me with the house renovations, so we'll see each other quite a bit. If something develops between us...I know I'm a screwed-up mess and not fit company for any woman. But as crazy as it sounds, I think maybe Cathy and I might be good for each other."

"Kind of like the blind leading the blind."

"I trust you, Mike. I trust you to be honest with me, to tell it like it is."

Mike looked up at Jack. "You can't go back. You can't be the two people you once were. Believe me, I know. Usually you get one grab for the bra.s.s ring, and if you miss it, that's it. You've always been a pretty tough son of a b.i.t.c.h, but it still hurt like h.e.l.l when you found out she'd married Mark Cantrell. And don't try to tell me it didn't."

"Okay, I won't."

"I think you'd be taking a big risk for yourself and for Cathy. Don't forget that she has a son to think about. It wouldn't be just her life you'd be messing with, but Seth's, too."

"Is that the reason you won't give Lorie a second chance-because of your kids?"

Mike frowned. "I'm not discussing Lorie with you. But as for you and Cathy...You're both consenting adults. I'd just hate to see either of you get hurt."

When Cathy came out of the bathroom, makeup removed, teeth brushed and pajamas on, she came face-to-face with Lorie.

"I thought you'd gone to bed," Cathy said.

"No. I thought you might need to talk."

"About Jack?"

Lorie's mouth curved into a strained smile.

"It just happened," Cathy told her. "Neither of us planned it. He happened to be driving by and saw me. He stopped. We talked. I told him I wanted to run away, and he invited me to run away with him."

"And you did."

"Uh-huh. And I'll be honest with you-it felt good to be with him. It felt good to go someplace with loud music and laughter all around us, to eat greasy, fattening food and to dance and forget about everything else."

"But with Jackson Perdue, of all people."

"Why not with Jack?"

"Good Lord, do I have to remind you of how your first love affair with him ended?"

"I'm not a naive seventeen-year-old girl."

"Oh, honey, you're still halfway in love with him, aren't you?"

She started to staunchly deny it, but the words died on her lips. "I don't know. Maybe just a little bit. Don't they say that you never forget your first love?"

"I guess you know what a risk you'd be taking getting involved with him. J.B. and Mona aren't likely to approve. And heaven help you when your mother finds out."

"Mother isn't running my life anymore, and neither are my in-laws. I plan to make all my own decisions for the rest of my life. If I want to date Jack, I'll date Jack."

"I'm the last person in this world to argue against rekindling an old romance," Lorie said. "G.o.d knows, I'd like nothing better than to get a second chance with Mike. But there's more to consider than what you want or how your mother and in-laws will react."

"You're talking about Seth."

"Yes, I am. If his reaction tonight is any indication, he's not going to be happy about your dating anybody. And if by some miracle he gets to know and like Jack, how are you going to deal with that?" Lorie gently grasped Cathy's shoulders. "Jack is no fool, you know. Sooner or later, he'll figure it out."

Chapter Eleven

Jack folded the morning newspapers-the Dunmore Daily, Dunmore Daily, the the Huntsville Times Huntsville Times and the and the Decatur Daily Decatur Daily-and dumped them into the wastebasket. Four days ago, after Father Brian's charred body had been found at the park, a hotshot Huntsville Times Huntsville Times reporter named Grant Sharpe had given the killer a particularly appropriate label, dubbing him the Fire and Brimstone Killer. The local and regional press had picked up on the t.i.tle, and now even the folks at the sheriff's department were using the phrase. So here they were, ninety-six hours after the priest's horrific murder, without even one suspect, a fact that the press pointed out in bold headlines. Sharpe's coverage of the case stated that the task force, comprised of members from both local and state law-enforcement agencies, had a serial killer on their hands and apparently weren't equipped to deal with that type of case. The reporter had all but referred to the task-force members as a bunch of redneck yokels who couldn't stick their finger up their a.s.s with both hands. reporter named Grant Sharpe had given the killer a particularly appropriate label, dubbing him the Fire and Brimstone Killer. The local and regional press had picked up on the t.i.tle, and now even the folks at the sheriff's department were using the phrase. So here they were, ninety-six hours after the priest's horrific murder, without even one suspect, a fact that the press pointed out in bold headlines. Sharpe's coverage of the case stated that the task force, comprised of members from both local and state law-enforcement agencies, had a serial killer on their hands and apparently weren't equipped to deal with that type of case. The reporter had all but referred to the task-force members as a bunch of redneck yokels who couldn't stick their finger up their a.s.s with both hands.

The autopsy results weren't in yet, but no one expected the findings to reveal anything more than the initial report had told them. Brian Myers had been doused with gasoline and set on fire. Possibly, the severe third-degree burns over most of his body hadn't killed him. Not instantly. Shock had probably set in, and without immediate medical attention, the priest's body had shut down. But even if he had been discovered quickly and rushed to the hospital, his odds wouldn't have been good. After all, Mark Cantrell and Charles Randolph hadn't survived.

Jack gathered up the crime-scene photos spread out before him and opened the file folder to replace them, but when he heard someone say his name, he laid everything down on his gray, metal desk. Glancing around the open office area-his desk was located on the left, near the windows-he saw one of his fellow officers talking to a stranger and pointing his way. The tall, lanky guy, dressed in casual yet obviously expensive slacks, s.h.i.+rt and jacket, smiled at the officer, thanked him and walked straight toward Jack. As he approached, Jack sized him up: mid-to-late thirties; about six-two; wavy, black hair in need of cutting; intelligent dark eyes; and an easy smile that projected self-confidence.

"Jackson Perdue?" the man asked.

"Yeah, that's me."

"I'm Derek Lawrence." The former FBI profiler offered his hand.

Jack shook hands with the guy. "I didn't expect you to show up. I thought you'd just call or e-mail."

"That was the original plan when Maleah first asked me to come in on this case. But once I received the information and went over it, I realized that I'd never seen a situation quite like this before. Your killer fascinates me."

Jack looked Derek right in the eye. "Does he? Why is that?"

"He-or she-has chosen unlikely victims-clergymen. And his method is not only cruel and painfully violent, it sends a message, one that our killer wants the world to hear."

Jack nodded. "Have a seat. I want to hear your theory." Jack hitched his thumb in the general direction of the coffeemaker. "Would you like some coffee?"

"No, thanks. I'm fine."

Jack pulled up an empty chair and placed it in front of his desk. The two men settled into their seats, the desk separating them, and then Jack asked, "What message is our killer sending?"

"You've probably already figured it out. Our killer is saying-no, he or she is screaming, 'I hate you. I'm punis.h.i.+ng you, and I want you to burn for your sins, for what you did to me.'" 'I hate you. I'm punis.h.i.+ng you, and I want you to burn for your sins, for what you did to me.'"

Jack grunted. "So we're dealing with a person who at some point in his or her life was somehow wronged by a clergyman, and now he's killing that minister or priest over and over again?"

"That's pretty much it in a nutsh.e.l.l."

"Like you said, we figured that our killer hates preachers, but I don't see how knowing this helps us catch the guy."

"It doesn't," Derek said. "I've gone through ViCAP-the FBI's Violent Criminal Apprehension Program data base-and come up with similar crimes, but none that are actual matches to your three Fire and Brimstone murders. Setting people on fire isn't something new. And clergymen have been killed before. What we have to concentrate on is what makes these three crimes different and what links them together."

"You're the expert. You tell me."

"Your killer doesn't fall completely into either the organized or disorganized offender category, but that's not unusual. An offender doesn't always reflect all the crime-scene characteristics or personal characteristics of one or the other."

"Look, you're going to have to speak plain English to me," Jack admitted. "I'm new at this. I'm an ex-soldier. My experience is limited. I've been with the sheriff's department for only a few weeks."

Derek eyed Jack speculatively. "I'm surprised the sheriff chose you to work on the task force."

"The sheriff a.s.signed the department's cold cases to me, sort of a way to break me in, I guess. The Cantrell murder was one of those cases."