Epiphany (Legacy of Payne) (7 page)

I skidded to a stop and beat my fists on her door. “Six! Open up!” A glance through the gap in her curtains revealed nothing but dark, empty space. I was starting to accept she wasn’t home when the newspapers under my bare feet caught my attention. I bent down and picked them up—two of them. The morning’s headline was as dismal as the sky:

Boise Hangman linked to Sanders’ case.

Police are investigating a possible connection between the Sanders' case and the killer believed to be responsible for a string of murders in Idaho. The Watcher’s Point Herald received an anonymous letter signed by the “Boise Hangman” in which the perpetrator claims responsibility for the murder of Chloe Sanders.

A spokesperson for the sheriff’s department said the letter has produced new leads, and they are doing all they can to find the person responsible for Sanders’ murder. Authorities would not comment when asked about the possibility of a copycat. Anyone with information is asked to contact the sheriff’s department . . .

The paper slid from my frozen fingers. Now was not the time for Six to go missing. I was 
wrong
. The nightmare hadn’t meant anything. We’d laugh about this in a couple of days—right after I chewed her out for scaring the life out of me.

I rushed into my apartment and dialed her cell, but it went straight to voicemail. After leaving a frantic message, I keyed in Mike’s number and wedged sockless feet into my sneakers as we exchanged a few words. He hadn’t seen her since Halloween. A call to Tony produced the same results. I even tried Christie, but all that got me was a barked “haven’t seen her,” followed by dead air after she hung up on me.

Filing a report with the police seemed the next step. The sun’s rays had brightened the gray by the time I walked into the sheriff’s office. Of course, the only available deputy happened to be Judd. He looked up from the morning newspaper, and his mouth twisted into a scowl as he set the front page aside, knocking over his cardboard cup of java in the process.

“Shit!” He pushed his chair back and used the newspaper to sop up the spill. “You again, huh? What can I do for you this time?”

“I need to report someone missing.”

He settled into his chair with a sigh. “Well, don’t stand there all day. Have a seat.” He nodded toward the only chair facing his desk. I sat and wrung my hands in my lap.

“Who’s missing?” he asked.

“Six.”

“Six is missing?”

I nodded. “She’s not answering her cell. I called around and no one else has heard from her either.”

Judd sat forward and rested his elbows on the desk. I took in the abandoned soft drink cups, burger wrappers, and scattered paperwork. A teenager’s bedroom could compete with that mess. He followed my gaze, viewing the clutter with an air of nonchalance that told me he couldn’t care less about the state of his workspace.

“Sorry, my cleaning lady’s on vacation.” He smirked from across the desk-turned-wasteland. “So when was the last time you saw her?”

“The night of Halloween.”

He ran slender fingers through his wavy, brown hair. “Sorry to tell you this, but we can’t file a report until forty-eight hours has gone by—not without reasonable cause.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Judd shook his head. “It’s policy. I don’t make the rules.”

“I don’t care about your policies. All I care about is Six.” A vivid image broke through of Six, her face pale and terrified, her wrists and ankles bound as she squirmed in the back of a moving vehicle. There was no mistaking those fiery locks, singed at the ends from the flame of a lighter. She never gave her tormentor the satisfaction of begging; she’d unleashed a litany of profanities right up until the rope tightened around her throat. Six was in trouble—the kind I couldn’t stand to think about.

“What is your definition of ‘reasonable cause’?” I asked through gritted teeth.

He shrugged. “Signs of foul play.” He reached for his coffee cup but then pulled his hand back with a grimace.

“I want to talk to the sheriff.”

“He’ll be in later this morning. The old man’s up to his ears dealing with the press since the story about the Hangman broke. You’re free to try back later.”

“Don’t you find Six’s disappearance alarming, considering the headline this morning?” I bit my tongue before I said something I might regret, or not, depending on how one looked at it. Damn cop was acting like a buffoon.

He grabbed a pad of paper from underneath the sodden mess. “Okay,” he said grudgingly. “Where was she last seen?”

“As far as I know, the Pour House.”

Judd asked a few more questions, all the while scribbling unintelligible notes. “I’ll see what I can do. Can’t be too careful, I suppose, especially with the media frenzy going on right now.” He paused long enough to set the pad down on the desk again. “She’s probably recovering somewhere from a couple days of heavy partying. Seen it happen plenty of times. She’ll turn up.”

“And what if she doesn’t? What then?”

Judd scooted his chair back and stood. “Look, I understand your worry, but our department is overloaded right now. We’ll do what we can. If you haven’t heard from her by tomorrow, come back and we’ll file the report.” He crossed the room and opened the door. It seemed to me the only thing overloading him was an inability to use a trashcan.

I brushed past him. “Your concern is touching, deputy.”

“I’m sure she’s okay. If you know Six, you know she’s a wild one.”

I nodded. “Sure, like Chloe Sanders was?” I didn’t stop to see if my point hit the mark. Judd’s unspoken message came through loud and clear: he was only placating me. He didn’t believe Six was in trouble. Guess I was on my own in finding her.

* * *
 

As soon as I returned home, I went straight to my laptop and typed in two words:
Boise Hangman
.

The search results were overwhelming. On the first page alone, I found links to Wikipedia, several true crime sites, and a dozen or more articles written by various members of Boise’s local media, the most popular of which was the
 Idaho Statesman
. I wasn’t sure where to begin—the information was massive. I would need a considerable amount of caffeine for this. I poured a strong-brewed cup of coffee and returned to my computer, mug in hand, and began digging.

The Boise Hangman had surfaced three years ago, named for the city he terrorized and his method of killing. His first victim had been a bartender named Colette James. She’d been in her mid-twenties and a native of Boise. They found her body two days after Valentine’s Day. A month after Colette’s murder police discovered a second victim, Desiree Hammond, who had been an exotic dancer. Several more women were found, and a steady pattern was established.

But then the killing had stopped about eight months ago. Until now.

Taking a sip of coffee that had gone tepid, I leaned back in my chair and processed what I’d learned. The killer had taunted the media, and one name had come up the most. A.J. Payne, a reporter for the 
Idaho Statesman
, had written the majority of press concerning the Hangman. The bodies had piled high as law enforcement continued their efforts in bringing a killer to justice and calming the rising panic taking hold of Boise.

I swallowed hard as I thought of the victims—a list so long, I couldn’t stomach the idea of branding my mind with so many names. They’d been found within a twenty-five mile radius of the city, and they’d all been brutally raped and hanged. I shuddered. To think Six could suffer the same fate, that maybe she already had, was too horrible to imagine.

What I couldn’t reconcile was 
why
 a notorious serial killer would choose a tiny town like Watcher’s Point to terrorize. He’d disappeared off the radar for months, and then suddenly he was killing again in another town and sending more taunting notes to the media?

What had motivated him to cross state lines?

The computer screen blurred before my eyes as I tried to come up with a valid explanation, though none was forthcoming. Exhaustion skewed my ability to think logically. I got up and stretched the stiffness from my muscles. I wouldn’t sleep. Not yet. Not until Six was home safe.

I grabbed my library card and headed next door, grateful that my flighty friend never slowed long enough to lock the deadbolt. After a few swipes of the card, the door clicked open. I began my search in her living room, though I had no idea what I expected to find. Maybe some clue to her whereabouts? A flashing neon arrow pointing me in the right direction?

Snorting at the thought, I headed for her computer. Password protected. Damn. After several failed attempts, I gave up and went to search the desk drawers. A stack of mail, mostly bills, and the normal office stuff I’d expect to find. I stumbled onto a letter from her mother but couldn’t find a phone number. At least the return address would be useful in tracking her down.

I moved on to Six’s sleeping area, noticing on the way how her jacket hung over the arm of the couch. I almost tripped over a shoe; the other lay abandoned a few feet away. I felt completely out of my element as I rounded the tall bookshelves that separated her bed from the living room. I wasn’t a detective. The police were supposed to do the clue-gathering. Unfortunately for Six, I was all she had right now, and I was a sorry excuse for a search and rescue effort.

Her bed appeared untouched, as if she hadn’t been back since the night of Halloween, though I knew she had. I remembered those shoes on her living room floor—they’d completed her costume to perfection two nights ago. Other than the shoes and jacket, nothing else seemed out of place. The decorative pillows on her bed hadn’t been moved, and the candles on her dresser still sat in a layer of dust. Everything was as it should be . . . everything but Six. She should be there sleeping in her bed, gearing up for another shift at the Pour House. Her absence filled the space so completely that I almost gave in and cried.

Something caught my eye—something that reminded me of Six’s hair, only brighter. It poked out from underneath the bed.

No, not hair. It was 
Elmo.

The head of the Sesame Street character grinned in an unsettling way, its eyeholes now void where a blue-eyed gaze had danced at me on the night of Halloween. I resisted the urge to touch it. Never mess with evidence—that much I knew. Instead, I pulled out my cell and started snapping pictures.

A draft suddenly hit my skin, and gooseflesh erupted just as the floorboards creaked. I whirled around and found myself face to face with Aidan.

For the longest time we communicated with our eyes, neither of us saying a word as Aidan blocked the path to the living room.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, clutching my cell phone hard enough to whiten my knuckles.

“I could ask you the same question.” He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, never taking his gaze off me.

“Six lives here,” I answered, as if that explained everything. “And I asked you first.” I imitated his stance.

“I saw you break in. Call me curious.”

“You 
saw
 me?”

His attention landed on my cell. “What were you taking pictures of?”

The question brought me back to my reason for being there. Six gone, and Elmo leaving his imprint on her floor. “Six is missing.”

Aidan uncrossed his arms and leaned toward me. “What do you mean missing? Since when?”

“Since Halloween. She’s in trouble, Aidan.” Would he believe me? God, he had to. I needed someone’s help. Relief at not being in this alone seeped from my noodle-like limbs, and I sat down on the bed before my legs gave out.

He crouched in front of me. “Did you go to the police?”

I let out a disgusted snort. “They think she partied hard and is passed out somewhere. They won’t file a missing persons report until tomorrow morning.” I blinked back tears. “I saw today’s paper. I’m worried he has her.”

“The Hangman?” His careful tone didn’t match his eyes; something formidable festered in them.

Wringing my hands, I nodded, and in the back of my mind I questioned why I wasn’t more alarmed at his sudden presence.

“Did you contact her family? Friends?” he asked.

“No one from work has heard from her, and I couldn’t find her mom’s phone number.”

He covered my hand with his. “Don’t think the worst yet.”

I wet my suddenly dry lips. “It’s hard not to.” The idea of divulging my dreams terrified me, but how else could I get across how serious the situation was?

Wait . . . Elmo. My only tangible clue. I got up and pointed to the floor. “I found this.”

“What is it?” I sensed him staring at the red fur from over my shoulder.

“Part of an Elmo costume. There was a guy at the Pour House wearing one just like this on Halloween.” I tilted my head and found Aidan’s face inches from mine, radiating heat.

“This is what you were snapping pictures of?”

“Yeah.”

“And you have no idea who he was?”

“No.” I took a discreet step away, putting a few more inches between us. “I don’t know,” I amended, “it’s possible I’ve seen him. He had blue eyes, but other than that . . .” I sighed. “What bothers me is that I saw Six flirting with him before I took off to—” I abruptly stopped, stricken by what I was about to say. “Well, before I left.”

The way he studied me, brows slightly raised, told me he was aware of what I hadn’t said. I let out a small breath of relief when he didn’t pursue it.

“So the natural assumption is she brought this Elmo guy home.”

“That’s what I’m thinking. I also found her jacket and the shoes she was wearing that night. They’re out there,” I said, pointing in the direction of Six’s living room.

“Let’s take a look.” He gestured for me to go first. The tight space made it impossible not to touch him. The contact, however, shouldn’t have made me so dizzy. I sank onto the sofa and put my head in my hands, closing my eyes to the spinning room.

“What’s wrong?” He sat next to me.

“I have no idea. I just got so lightheaded . . .”

“Hey, look at me.” I raised my head and found him watching me carefully. “When was the last time you slept? Or ate, for that matter?”