two weeks.” R.B. grunted. “He rapes and tortures them for two weeks, then kills them.” He looked right at Bernie. “We’ve got two weeks, gal, to find this guy and stop him before he kills again.”
“Yes, sir, I know that.” Bernie’s cheeks flushed.
Jim had the craziest urge to step in between Bernie and her dad, to tell R.B. that Bernie was the sheriff, a very capable sheriff, and she didn’t need his badgering. But he kept quiet, knowing full well that neither Bernie nor R.B. would appreciate his interference in what was obviously a father/ daughter thing.
R.B. turned back to Charlie. “So what’s our next step?”
Charlie glanced at Bernie. “Well, since this isn’t officially an ABI case yet, the next step is up to the sheriff.”
Jim wanted to slap Charlie on the back, shake his hand and thank him for figuratively reinstating Bernie to her elected position, for finding a way of tactfully putting R.B. in his place.
R.B. grunted. “Ball’s in your court, gal.”
Bernie gripped her coffee cup with both hands. “Unless someone comes forward to say they know something, that they saw something, there is no point in searching for Thomasina, is there? We’d have no idea where to look.” Bernie sipped on her coffee, then placed the mug on Jim’s desk. “If we had a profile of this guy, something to give us an idea of what kind of man we’re looking for, of who might be a suspect—”
“I think I know somebody who could help us with that,” Jim said, remembering the former FBI profiler Griffin Powell had hired on the Quinn Cortez case. He glanced at Charlie. “Unless you can get—”
“I could put in a request, but with the backlog at the FBI, I have no idea how long it might take.” Charlie grimaced. “If you’ve got an ‘in’ with an independent profiler, then I say go with it.”
Jim checked with Bernie. “Sheriff, do I have your authorization to make some phone calls and ask for this profiler’s assistance?”
Bernie hesitated for a split second; then she and her father spoke at once, both saying yes. Jim glowered at R.B.
“Sorry, honey,” R.B. told his daughter. “I forget sometimes that I’m no longer the sheriff.”
Bernie forced a smile, then said, “Go ahead, Jim, make your phone calls.” Her gaze traveled around the room, settling momentarily on each man. “Why don’t we vacate Jim’s office so he can make those calls?”
The other three men nodded, mumbled agreement and cleared out of Jim’s office. Just before exiting, Bernie paused in the doorway. “I’m going to take Dad back to my office with me. I have a press conference to prepare for and he enjoys giving me pointers on how to handle the press.
“If I line up this profiler, I’ll give you a call. No, scratch that. I’ll come over to your office. As your chief deputy and the lead detective on this case, I should be there when you give the press conference.”
“Of course.”
Bernie closed the door behind herself. Jim stood there and watched her through the half glass as she walked up to her father, laced her arm through his and smiled at him with love and adoration in her eyes.
Shaking off an odd feeling, Jim sat down behind his desk, removed a small black notepad from his shirt pocket and looked up Griffin Powell’s private number. After memorizing the Knoxville number, he glanced into the outer office and saw that it was empty. Ron Hensley must have walked out with the others. He couldn’t help wondering about Bernie and her father. Didn’t R.B. have any idea that by constantly ‘helping’ his daughter, he was undermining her confidence? Probably not. Although she was a grown woman and the duly elected sheriff of Adams County, R.B. undoubtedly still saw her as his little girl. And what man wouldn’t want to help and protect his child?
Jim envied R.B. He wished his son loved and admired him half as much as Bernie did her father.
Jim cleared the stray cobwebs from his mind, lifted the telephone receiver and dialed Griff ’s number. His old college buddy was now a very wealthy man who owned a prestigious private security and investigation firm based in Knoxville, Tennessee. They had worked together on a high-profile case in Memphis not long ago, a case involving a serial killer.
Sanders, Griffin’s personal assistant, answered on the fourth ring. “Powell residence.”
“Sanders, this is Jim Norton. Is Griffin there?”
“Yes, sir, he’s here.”
“I need to talk to him. It’s important.”
“If you’ll wait, I’ll let him know you’re on the line, Lieutenant Norton.”
“Captain Norton,” Jim corrected in an offhand manner, not really thinking about what he’d said.
“Congratulations, sir, on your promotion.”
Jim chuckled. “Thanks.” No need to explain to Sanders that the so-called promotion had meant a job change, a move from one state to another and a demotion in pay.
“I’ll see if Mr. Powell can come to the phone,” Sanders said.
While Jim waited, he eyed the coffeemaker. Just as he rose from his chair, intending to get himself a cup of coffee, Griffin came on the line.
“Jim?”
“Yeah, Griff. I … uh … need a favor.”
“All right.”
“I left the Memphis PD recently.” He went on to explain about Mary Lee’s remarriage, his subsequent move to Adams Landing and his new job as chief deputy. “We have a possible serial killer on our hands here in Adams County. Two women have been kidnapped and murdered and, as of last night, a third has come up missing. We have very few clues and our only suspect in this latest case has an iron-tight alibi.”
“What can I do to help?”
“You can put me in touch with the profiler you used on the Quinn Cortez case.”
“Derek Lawrence doesn’t work cheap,” Griffin said.
“Yeah, I figured as much. I’m not sure the Adams County Sheriff’s Department can afford him, but we need him. Any chance you might intervene and see if he’ll give us a discount?”
Griffin laughed. “Is that a subtle way of asking me if I’ll pick up the tab?”
“I wouldn’t dream of asking you to—”
“Derek owes me a favor. I’ll call in his IOU. But if I do, that means you’ll owe me one.”
“Deal,” Jim said.”
“Derek will be in touch with you by noon today.”
“Thanks, Griff.”
The dial tone hummed in Jim’s ear.
There had been a time when he and Griffin Powell were best friends and teammates. They’d both had big dreams of turning pro after they graduated from UT. A couple of bad knees had ended any hopes of that pro career for Jim. But nobody knew what had happened to destroy Griffin’s plans. Shortly after graduation, he had disappeared off the face of the earth, then reappeared ten years later, a very rich man. A rich mystery man. Only Griffin could answer the questions of where he’d been and what had happened to him during those missing ten years. Griffin and possibly Sanders, the man who had returned with him from only God knew where.
Jim took his lunch break at eleven-thirty, exactly five minutes after Allen Clark phoned with the news that Mary Lee had come through the surgery just fine. When Jim pulled up in front of the Granger house, he sat inside his old pickup for several minutes, pulling his thoughts