The Coldest Fear

Bobbie stared out the windshield at the headstones of the famous cemetery standing tall beneath the moss-draped oaks. “I’m a cop. We see things.” She turned to him. “The Storyteller’s dead, but what happened with him drew another serial killer’s attention my way.”

And Nick’s. He was the primary reason she had survived.

“Weller?”

She nodded. “In addition to more than forty murders in the past, he orchestrated several murders in Montgomery during the past eight days. I believe Weller is attempting to lure me into some twisted game he’s determined to play out in your backyard. If I’m right, then he may have been responsible for the murders of your two newest victims. I don’t know about the children. None of this is his usual MO but I’ve learned recently that isn’t always relevant.” She took a breath. “I’m not sure I could possibly find the right words to convey to you the depth of Weller’s knowledge and insights into other killers—or the depraved acts he’s capable of carrying out.”

“I read the report on him that hit the wires Tuesday night.” He shook his head. “That’s the first I’d heard of him.”

“Do you know if he ever consulted on any cases in Savannah? Before your time, maybe? Prior to being outed as a serial killer himself, he often consulted with the police and the FBI on difficult cases.”

“I have no idea.” Durham blew out a disgusted breath. “I left Savannah right after high school. I only returned three years ago. I’m still catching up on the past sixteen years. Hell, I got the call about the Sanderses just after midnight. A noise disturbance was reported around eleven-thirty. When uniforms showed up the front door was open and the television was blaring. If one of my uniforms hadn’t needed to take a piss and literally stumbled over one of the damaged statues with bones falling out of it, we probably wouldn’t have noticed the remains until daylight. By four this morning I was digging out this damned cold case file. Sometime around my tenth cup of coffee I found the reference to you. My head has been spinning ever since.”

“Was the 911 caller male or female?”

“Male.” He rubbed at his temple. “One of the neighbors. He’s been interviewed, but he didn’t see anything. The noise woke him up and he called it in.”

Bobbie digested the information for a moment. “I wish I could give you more. What I’ve told you is my best assessment based on what you have so far.”

She decided not to mention Nick or the woman LeDoux told her about. Durham seemed like a nice guy, but right now it was best not to be too trusting even with kind strangers who were cops. She’d trusted Steven Devine. After a decade in Birmingham PD, he’d transferred to Montgomery PD a month ago to replace her partner. Fury tightened her gut.

“If someone in my department added your name to the case file,” Durham said, drawing her attention back to him, “I need to figure out who the hell he or she is. I’ll get the Records Section working on that ASAP.” He stared out over the cemetery. “If this Weller character is the one who wants you involved in this case, there must be a reason. You think your department will have a problem with your sticking around in an advisory capacity for a few days?”

Bobbie laughed. “That’s another complicated story, but the abbreviated answer is no. I’ll bring my chief and my lieutenant up to speed as soon as I have a better handle on what’s going on.”

Durham shifted back into Drive. “Well, let’s get started then. The sooner we figure out this mess, the sooner we can stop it.”

Five dead children.

Bobbie closed her eyes as they headed back to the crime scene.

What the hell are you trying to show me, Weller?

He’d warned her that every ounce of courage and tenacity she possessed would be required to survive what was coming.

Bobbie glanced at the man behind the wheel. If Weller had started this, Durham had no idea just how bad things were going to get.

Nine (#u9250d181-6640-59b3-b03f-0eabb94640a1)

East River Street

2:30 p.m.

“How’re you today, Ms. Balfour?” Amelia Potter smiled as her oldest client settled at the table. The elderly woman refused to allow anyone to assist her into or out of a chair. She contended that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

“I’m just peachy.” Ninety-four-year-old Camille Balfour propped her umbrella against her chair and then loosened her scarf to let it drop from her head to her shoulders. “Every morning I wake up is a blessing.”

“A blessing, indeed.” Amelia had already washed her hands so she picked up her deck. The worn cards felt like an extension of her. She’d found this deck twenty-five years ago and she’d used it since. A good deck of tarot cards was like an old, dependable friend. Part of the magic was in the relationship. “I hear those great-grandchildren came to see you this past weekend.”

Camille’s smile chased away the ravages of age, lifted her sagging jowls and brightened her eyes. “You better believe it. Lauren graduated from medical school back in May and Gwyneth will graduate next spring. She’s going to be an attorney. Two smart girls.”

“Just like their great-grandma.”

Camille reached across the table with one hand gnarled by the progression of rheumatoid arthritis and clasped Amelia’s. “I’m having visions again.” She exhaled a shaky breath. “I’ve been worrying about you all week.”

Camille had never been a reader of the tarot. She’d never traded her knowing for money the way Amelia did, but not all were blessed with family money. The truth was until Camille had confided in Amelia that she felt things, she’d never before confessed aloud her abilities for fear of reprisal from her late husband, from his family and the community. She had held firm to her station in life and never permitted the slightest impropriety. It was the way of things with her generation.

Amelia set her cards aside and patted the dear woman’s hand. “Why in the world would you be worrying about me?”

Camille chuckled. “You know I’ve always had a soft spot for you, Mia.”

No one called her Mia except Camille. Amelia’s parents had kicked her out of their home outside Atlanta when she was sixteen. She didn’t hold it against them. She’d allowed herself to get involved with drugs and the wrong people. Three years of dealing with her issues had worn down her parents. It was a miracle she had survived her own recklessness. A sad smile tugged at her lips. If she hadn’t come to Savannah and ended up pregnant, she might have lost her life to those damned drugs.

Her little boy had saved her. Her heart squeezed painfully. If only...

Cold fingers tightened on her hand. “Mia, someone is coming and whoever it is she won’t let me sleep. I keep seeing her running through the woods with you. The trouble is right behind the two of you and I...” She shook her head, her rheumy eyes shining with emotion. “I’m terrified for you, Mia.”

Amelia smiled at her old friend. “For thirty-seven years you’ve helped me. Whether it was a safe bed to sleep in or a hot meal in my belly, you watched out for me until I could watch out for myself.” She didn’t mention how Camille had ensured Amelia was accepted at one of the best private rehab facilities in Georgia all those years ago or how she’d cosigned with her at the bank when she purchased this shop. Her friend was well aware of all she’d done. “It’s time for me to watch out for you. You don’t need to worry about me anymore. I’m doing just fine.”