when she was five, her mother had been killed in a car wreck when a drunk driver swerved into oncoming traffic. Then her baby brother Blake—her father’s pride and joy—had mysteriously disappeared. And a few months later, her distraught stepmother had committed suicide.
Just as Audrey opened the blinds to let in the morning light, the kettle whistled and the phone rang. On her way to take the kettle off the stove, she grabbed the portable phone and hit the On button without checking caller ID. It was barely six o’clock, so odds were that the caller had bad news.
“Hello.” Audrey tipped the kettle and poured boiling hot water into her tea cup.
“Audrey, this is Don Hardy.”
Why is the mayor calling me? “Good morning, Mayor Hardy.” She set the kettle on the counter and dunked her tea bag down into the steaming water.
“My wife is going to need you this morning,” he said. “Can you come to our house as soon as possible?”
“Yes, sir, but I don’t understand. Why does—?”
“I just got off the phone with Sergeant Hudson. He thinks they’ve found my wife’s cousin, Debra.”
Audrey swallowed. Instinctively she knew without asking that the police had not found Debra Gregory alive.
“I see. It’s not good news.”
“No.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Our worst fears have been confirmed,” Don Hardy said. “Sergeant Hudson was on the scene when he called me. A passerby on his way to work just happened to see something he thought was odd and called the police. The officers first on the scene found a dead woman sitting in an old, broken rocking chair at an illegal dump site out in Soddy-Daisy.”
“And Garth believes the woman is your wife’s cousin?”
“Yes. She fits the general description, and your uncle said that she looks exactly like the photo the police have of Debra. If it is Debra, and I’m pretty sure it is, Janice is going to fall apart. They were very close. Debra was like a kid sister to my wife.”
“Do you want me to come to your home or—?” Audrey asked.
“Yes, please, as soon as possible. I…uh…I haven’t told Janice yet, but I can’t put it off much longer. I’ll have to leave her to go ID the body. Janice is Debra’s closest relative here in Chattanooga.”
“If you’ll give me your address and directions, I’ll be there within the hour.”
“Thank you.” He hurriedly rattled off the street address and then went over the driving directions with her twice.
Audrey laid the portable phone on the counter, picked up her cup, took two quick sips, and then dumped the tea into the sink before heading straight back to her bedroom. There was no time for breakfast or even a leisurely cup of morning tea.
J.D. had left Zoe a note stuck to the refrigerator with an orange and white UT emblem magnet. They had pretty much fallen into a routine during the past year, each giving the other plenty of space, neither able to truly connect with the other. Most weekday mornings, they ate breakfast together and he dropped her off at Baylor—the outrageously expensive private school she attended—on his way to the office. But whenever he was called out before breakfast—weekdays or weekends—he’d leave her a note as he had done this morning. Since it was Sunday, he wouldn’t have to make arrangements for someone to take her to school, and at fourteen, she was old enough to be left alone without adult supervision during the day.
After several come-to-Jesus talks with Zoe, he pretty much trusted her to do what she was told. She didn’t like it, but that’s just the way it was. She was a kid. He was her father. He made the rules. She followed them or else.
Or else what?
Damn it, sometimes he had no idea how to handle her.
She had pushed him to the limit more than once. He had grounded her, taken away certain privileges, and tried to talk sense to her. Only once had he threatened to send her packing. The fear he had seen in her eyes that day was something he never wanted to see again. As much as she hated living with him, as often as she grumbled and complained about how much she disliked him and what a piss-poor excuse for a father he was, Zoe knew he was the only game in town. Nobody else wanted her. If not for him, she would be living in foster care.
The thought unnerved him more than a little. He had heard the horror stories. He’d run across more than one juvenile delinquent who had come out of the system the worse for wear, neglected, and occasionally abused. If Carrie hadn’t gotten in touch with him before she died, if she hadn’t told him he had a daughter…
Pushing aside thoughts of how bad he sucked at being a father, J.D. took the Soddy-Daisy/Hixson Pike exit off US-27 North and followed Garth Hudson’s directions to the illegal dump site in Soddy-Daisy. After taking TN-319 and following Tsati Terrace, he veered off onto what appeared to be little more than a winding, narrow paved lane. Within minutes, he saw the row of emergency vehicles lined up along the roadside and the swarm of personnel already on site. He carefully parked his ’68 Dodge Charger at the end of the line, got out, and then walked a good two hundred yards before reaching the edge of the crime scene. Ordinarily, he didn’t use his dad’s old car as a daily driver, but his ’07 Chevy Camaro convertible was in the body shop. Some goofball had rear-ended him last week.
In a semiwooded area, less than twelve feet from the road, a band of investigators milled around a fifteen-by-fifteen-foot pile of discarded items. An old refrigerator. A ratty, seen-better-days love seat. A twin-size mattress. Empty paint cans. Several overflowing plastic garbage bags. And one old, broken rocking chair, the floral cushions faded with age and stained from exposure to the weather.
Tam Lovelady turned just as J.D. flashed his badge to the officer guarding the entrance to the cordoned-off area. She threw up her hand and motioned to him. As he approached Officer Lovelady and Sergeant Hudson, his gaze focused on the woman in the rocking chair. Her body sat upright, rigid, as if made of stone. Her pretty face was unblemished, her long, dark hair had been draped about her shoulders, and a small skeleton, wrapped in a blue baby blanket, lay nestled in her lap.
“Looks familiar, doesn’t it?” Tam said.
“Yeah,” J.D. replied. “This is too similar to the scene at the Lookout Valley Cracker Barrel to be a coincidence.”
“You think?” Garth Hudson said sarcastically.
J.D. grunted. “So, are you sure she’s Debra Gregory?”
“Ninety-nine percent sure,” Garth replied. “Mayor Hardy will ID the body. But for now, we’re working under the assumption that whoever killed Jill Scott killed Debra Gregory. Two abductions. Two murders. The skeletal remains of two babies left with the murder victims. It’s the same MO.”
J.D. took a step closer to the body and paused beside ME Peter Tipton. Pete watched while the photographer, working under his supervision, snapped shot after shot of the body and the skeleton.
“Asphyxiation,” Pete said.
“Huh?”
“Cause of death. She was probably smothered. Just like Jill Scott.”
J.D. pointed to the bundle in the victim’s lap. “Not a doll this time, either.”
“No, not a doll. Another child. About the same size. Probably about the same age.”
“So far, we don’t have any idea who the first child was, only that it was a male about two years old,” J.D. said. “Once we get the DNA results back…Hell, we haven’t identified the first child, and now we have another one.”
Pete glanced away from the body in the rocking chair and looked at J.D. “I hate to say it, but it appears we may have a really bizarre serial killer on our hands. A little profiling hoodoo”—Pete gestured with his hands—“might be in order about