A Deeper Grave

If Clinton was surprised by her question he kept the reaction to himself. “In nearly fifteen years his son has been here only once and that was about two months ago.” The guard eyed her for a moment before unlocking the next door. “Are you working on a case that involves Dr. Weller somehow?”

Under normal circumstances visitors for a serial killer like Weller would be strictly controlled. Based on the attorney’s call Weller was evidently allowed some amount of leeway for his ongoing cooperation with the FBI. Bobbie wondered what other privileges the monster had managed to negotiate. As much as the idea sickened her, every cop understood the value of a good source.

Under the circumstances she saw no point in concealing her reason for the visit. “His attorney, Mr. Zacharias, called and asked me to come. Apparently Weller has a message for me.”

Clinton’s gaze narrowed. “You are aware that Weller is a psychopath who murdered forty-two victims, including his own wife?”

“I’m aware of his crimes,” Bobbie assured him.

“Before being incarcerated he was a highly respected psychiatrist,” the guard went on. “Let me be frank with you, Detective, you cannot trust him in any capacity.”

“Don’t worry. I learned that lesson the hard way.” Sometimes she didn’t even trust herself. Like now. Her hands shook when she had no reason to be afraid or even nervous for that matter. She squeezed them into fists.

Apparently satisfied with her answer, Clinton opened the door and waited for her to go ahead of him. As he’d said, a guard was stationed on either side of the interview room door. Bobbie thanked him and before she entered the room where Weller waited she took a breath. Once she opened the door and walked in, she didn’t hesitate.

“I’m Detective Bobbie Gentry.” She paused a few feet away from the chair on her side of the table standing in the center of the room. “You requested a meeting with me.”

Randolph Weller’s arms were manacled to the belly shackle at his waist. Beneath the table his ankles were chained together, and then to the floor. The table was long and narrow. A chair sat on either side. Four other chairs waited at the south end of the reasonably large room. There were no windows. Only the unforgiving glare of fluorescent lights illuminated the space.

Bobbie didn’t wait for Weller to speak as he seemed satisfied to study her for the moment. She took the final few steps, pulled out her chair and sat down directly across from him. She had Googled Weller and read all she could find on the investigation that took place fifteen years ago after his own son turned him in. Weller’s gray hair had receded with age. Unflattering lines carved across his forehead and creased his mouth. His skin was ashen from the lack of sunlight, but it was his eyes that disturbed her the most. Deep, dull hazel that looked more gray than hazel, like the headstones in the old cemeteries back home. Those eyes hadn’t stopped analyzing her since she entered the room.

“Please accept my sincerest apologies for staring,” he said, his voice deeper than she’d expected and oddly soothing. “You are a remarkably beautiful woman.”

Bobbie barked a stiff laugh. “I’m sure you didn’t ask for this meeting to flatter me. What is it you have to tell me?”

“I can see why my son became so obsessed with you.”

Bobbie kept her jaw locked tight, opting not to respond in word or expression. If he wanted information about her and Nick’s relationship, he could ask his son.

Who are you kidding, Bobbie? The two of you barely know each other.

Images of Nick’s hands on her skin flickered one after the other through her mind, making her pulse react.

Weller smiled as if he’d read her mind. “Your eyes are simply incredible, Bobbie. May I call you Bobbie?”

Her heart abruptly stumbled. Another serial killer had been fascinated with her eyes... I couldn’t resist you. “I’m not here to make small talk with you, Weller. You said Nick is in danger. Explain your concerns and I’ll do what I can to help.”

Weller stared at her for long enough to have her wanting to shift in her seat. She refused to let him see that he unsettled her the slightest bit. The man was far too perceptive and decidedly different than she’d anticipated. His voice wasn’t merely deep it was elegant, like dark, rich silk. His brilliance was as well-known as his heinousness and yet even the way he sat, despite being shackled in that generic chair, gave him an air of sophistication. There was something about the set of his mouth that reminded her of Nick and she loathed the idea that anything about this psychopath did so.

“Bobbie Gentry.” He seemed to savor her name as if tasting a new wine. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. Your father had a crush on the lovely country music singer with that same name? You have the trademark long dark hair and the exquisite high cheekbones.”

Evidently he intended to get around to what he wanted to tell her about Nick in his own time. Considering his only visitors were FBI agents who wanted to pick his brain, she imagined he hoped to indulge in the rare opportunity to socialize. She could waste time fighting him or just play along.

“Actually, Gentry is my married name. My husband and I used to laugh about the irony since I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.”

“Your dead husband.”

Bobbie flinched. He knew damned well her husband was deceased. “I’m confident you’re aware he was murdered by Gaylon Perry.”

“Your mother died when you were such a tender age,” Weller went on without responding to her comment. “Is that why you spent more time at work than at home with your own child? Did you want to protect him from the kind of pain you suffered when you lost your mother?”

Fury ignited so fast inside her she barely stayed in the damned chair. “I won’t play head games with you, Weller. Say what you have to say or I’m gone.” Bastard. Snippets of her life before a monster just like this one had stolen it sifted through her mind.

“Now, now, Detective. Surely you can do me the courtesy of showing respect. After all, you’re the reason my son will likely die sooner than later.”

Her traitorous heart did another of those stuttering stumbles. “You keep talking about how much danger he’s in yet you’re not telling me anything. I can’t help Nick unless I understand the potential danger.”

“For years he lived in the shadows,” Weller began, his voice low, his gaze distant. “I suppose I inspired his need to rid the world of my kind, one killer at a time.”

“It’s nice to know your perceptive powers are as keen as ever, Doctor.” She poured all the contempt she could summon into the words. The bastard murdered Nick’s mother and allowed him to believe she’d abandoned him. Damn straight his actions motivated Nick to become the hunter he was.

“Touché, Detective.”

She waited for him to continue when she should be back in Montgomery looking for a missing girl and interviewing persons of interest in a double homicide. Her gut twisted at the idea that a ten-year-old boy was now an orphan and his sister could very well be dead or dying. No matter that the job was all she had, sometimes she hated it. More than anything, she hated the sadistic killers like the one seated less than three feet away.

“Nick has always been particularly careful not to get involved on a personal level.” Weller sighed. “Until you. Now he has dug himself a deeper grave than even he knows.” He paused for effect. “Since I’m quite certain he won’t listen to me, I’m hoping he will listen to you.”

Bobbie considered his words for a moment. “Who do you believe has targeted him?” Despite her efforts to control her respiration, her heart beat faster and faster as she waited for his response. The list of questions she’d intended to ask had vanished. She could only think of how she might possibly help Nick.

“I doubt you’re aware of what I’m about to share, and I’m certain our fine friends at the FBI will be quite interested in hearing.” He glanced up at the camera in the far corner. “I’m certain they’re listening even now.”

Bobbie didn’t have to wonder. An inmate like Weller wasn’t allowed a private conversation except with his attorney. He was too smart not to know this. Whatever he had to say, he wanted those listening to hear.

“Like any other community, professional or personal,” he began, “there are communications between those who share, shall we say, an admiration for the art of death.”

“Like murdering your wife and burying her in the backyard?” Bobbie bit her lips together. The words had burst from her mouth before she could stop them. She knew better. She’d been a cop long enough to understand how this worked. Antagonizing the man wouldn’t help her gain any ground with him.

His gaze was razor sharp when he met hers. “There are things I’m not proud of, Bobbie, and the crude manner of her death is one of them. If I could do it over again, it would have been far more civilized.”

Jesus. What a twisted piece of shit. “I’m sure your son would appreciate the sentiment.” The barb was intentional this time.

Ignoring her remark, he went on, “There is a council of sorts. An esteemed group of highly educated overachievers. The Consortium they call themselves.” The beginnings of a smile touched his lips. “At one time I was quite revered among its members. Sadly time changes all things.”

“A consortium of serial killers.” It wasn’t a question. She just wanted to make sure she heard him right considering her head had started to spin at the mere concept.

“Correct. They share the occasional weekend conference. Primarily to discuss territorial issues and the need to clear up a situation that might pose a threat to one or more of their members.”

“Like Nick.”

“Precisely. He’s taken several high-level killers out of the game in the past decade or so. The Consortium has reason to be concerned.”

“They want to stop him.”

“They will stop him,” Weller corrected with a succinct nod.

The certainty in his words sent a spear of ice deep into her chest. “How do you suggest I prevent that from happening?”

Delight or something on that order twinkled in his eyes. Bobbie was immensely grateful Nick had gotten his dark eyes from his mother. This man’s were utterly soulless and far too seeing.