Beverly Barton 3 Book Bundle

County coroner, Morris Claunch, confirmed what Jim and Bernie already suspected—Thomasina Hardy had been raped, tortured and ultimately murdered. The killer’s MO seemed identical to Stephanie Preston’s murderer. No surprise there.

Bernie had called in six deputies to protect the crime scene and keep onlookers at bay. Word had spread quickly in Adams County, and by the time the ABI Crime Scene Response Unit arrived, Bernie estimated that the crowd on and around the bridge crossing Sunflower Creek had grown from half a dozen when she and Jim had arrived to probably forty people now. After this, there would be no way to keep the general public from knowing that there was a serial killer loose in northeast Alabama.

Charlie Patterson drove up around eight-forty and officially took over the investigation. R.B. Granger showed up around nine.

“You’ve got a real circus on your hands, gal,” her dad told her. “You might ought to call in a few more deputies for crowd control.”

“I will, if I think we need them. But right now, we have everything under control.”

“Just making a suggestion.” R.B. turned from her and shook hands with Agent Patterson. “We’ve been seeing way too much of you lately, Charlie.”

Charlie grimaced. “Yeah, it’s bad, R.B. No way we can deny the facts. We’ve got ourselves a psychopath on our hands.”

Bernie suddenly felt insignificant, as if she were nothing more than R.B.’s kid and he was still the sheriff. Her father didn’t mean to undermine her authority, or by his mere presence here at the crime scene imply to everyone that his daughter couldn’t handle the situation without his help. He thought he was helping, that he was being supportive. After all, why shouldn’t she appreciate him sharing his vast knowledge and years of experience with her on a major case such as this?

“Sheriff,” Deputy Dennison called.

“Yeah?” R.B. and Bernie responded simultaneously.

“Over here.” Bernie motioned to the deputy who was bouncing his gaze back and forth between her and her dad.

“Sorry.” R.B. chuckled. “I keep forgetting my kid’s now the sheriff.”

Deputy Dennison smiled and nodded at R.B., then made his way straight to where Bernie and Jim stood with Ron Hensley, the three of them watching the ABI Crime Unit at work.

“What’s up?” Bernie asked.

“There’s a reporter and a photographer here from the Daily Reporter and crews from two Huntsville TV stations have shown up. How are we supposed to handle them? What do you want us to do?”

“Great, just great,” Bernie mumbled under her breath. “Don’t let any of them get beyond the barricade, and do not answer any questions.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Deputy Dennison stood there fidgeting, apparently not knowing whether to stay or go.

“And tell them that the sheriff’s department will make a statement at”—she glanced at her watch—“I’ll brief the press no later than eleven o’clock, before then if possible.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s all, Deputy.”

Dennison all but clicked his heels as he turned and headed toward the barricade up above the creek near the roadside. Bernie groaned silently when she looked at the crowd again.

“They’ll be coming in by the busloads if we don’t do something,” she said.

“Why don’t you order roadblocks half a mile in each direction?” Jim suggested.

“Good idea.” Bernie looked at Ron. “Go up there and announce to all those concerned citizens that we’re blocking off a one-mile section of County Road One-fifty-seven immediately, and if anyone doesn’t want to get delayed leaving later, they’d better go now.”

“Sure thing,” Ron said. Then just as he walked off, he stopped dead still and cursed. He turned around and came back over to Bernie and Jim. “Thomasina Hardy’s sister and brother-in-law are up there in that crowd. I just saw her sister.” Ron gritted his teeth tightly and took a couple of deep breaths. “When I dated Thomasina, I got to know the family pretty well. They’re good folks.”

“Look, why don’t I handle explaining to the crowd about the roadblocks while you make arrangements to get them set up,” Jim said to Bernie. “And since Ron knows Thomasina’s family, let him talk to her sister and brother-in-law.”

Bernie nodded, then as Jim turned to leave, she called, “Wait just a minute, Jim.” She looked at Ron. “If the sister wants to speak to me personally, let me know and we’ll work out something. We’ll need someone to ID the body. See if the brother-in-law will do that.”

“I dread talking to her sister. Amanda and Thomasina were really close.” Ron cleared his throat. “Thomasina deserved better than this. She was a nice person. Too good for me, that’s for sure.”

Bernie patted Ron on the shoulder. As soon as he headed up the embankment toward the bridge, she turned to Jim.

“I have to decide what to tell the press. How much information do I release to the public? Where do I draw the line between what the public needs to know and what I need to keep under wraps?”

“Good question.” Jim glanced over at R.B., who was dogging every step Charlie Patterson made, then looked at Bernie. “You’re second-guessing yourself because your father is here. Stop doing that. You don’t need his opinion or his approval to make a decision. Trust your own gut instincts.”

“Can I do that—trust my own instincts?”

“I trust your instincts,” Jim told her. “I trust you.”

The power behind his statement overwhelmed her. She didn’t know how to respond. Get a grip. He didn’t say I loveyou. He said I trust you. But she knew, deep in her soul, that trust between two people was the second most powerful emotion. You could love someone, but if you didn’t trust them, you had nothing.

Tears threatened the false calm she tried so hard to project, not just to Jim, but to everyone here tonight. “Thanks.”

Jim looked at her as if he wanted to touch her, as if he’d like to hold her, comfort her, reassure her. And oddly enough, she felt his caress—the tender touch that he expressed through his gaze.

“I won’t share any specific details,” Bernie said. “I’ll say that we suspect a link in the murders of Jacque Reeves in Jackson County and the murders of Stephanie Preston and Thomasina Hardy. I’ll try to avoid the use of the term serialkiller. I don’t think the fact that all three were young, attractive brunettes is a secret, so I’ll mention that.”

“Reiterate that the ABI is in charge of this investigation.”

“Right. And I’ll stress that there is no need for panic, but everyone should err on the side of caution.”

“They’re going to want to know about suspects.”

“Of course they are.” Bernie felt the beginning of a stress headache. “And all I can tell them is that although we interviewed several people of interest in the Stephanie Preston case, we do not at this time have a suspect and it’s too early in this new case to make any other comments.”

“I believe you’ve got it down pat.”

“Oh, God …” Bernie’s stomach churned. She felt like she was going to vomit.

“What’s the matter? You look green.” Jim held out his hand, as if to grab her arm.

She jerked away. “I’ll be okay. I’m just sick to my stomach and I’ve got a headache coming on, but I don’t want to announce to the world that the sheriff is so emotionally wrung out that she can’t handle the job she was elected to do. I’ll give female law enforcement officers a bad name.”

“You’re only human,” Jim told her. “You haven’t eaten since lunch, have you? That’s part of what’s wrong. And just a little while ago, you had to take a look at a pretty young woman who was brutalized and murdered. The second woman in your county this month. There’s a serial killer out there, probably getting ready to strike again, and we don’t have a clue who he is or how to stop him. And I said we. Both Charlie Patterson and I have had experience with serial killers before, but neither of us can come up with a suspect.”

When she tasted the salty bile that rose up her esophagus, she forced it down and read herself the riot act. You’re notgoing to get sick. You’re not going to cry. You’re not going toact like an emotional female. Remember, you are the sheriff.You’re strong and tough and in control.

A hundred tiny drummers beat a fast-paced tune inside her head.

“I’m okay,” she said. “You go up there and handle the crowd while I get the roadblocks set up.”

He gave her another one of those tender, concerned looks that made her feel as if he’d wrapped his arms around her. She turned and all but ran from him, knowing that if she didn’t get away from Jim Norton, she was liable to fall smack-dab into his big, strong arms.