Forgotten (21 page)

“Which is?”

“As you know, Woods raped his victims, then when he’d finished with them, he killed them.”

“Right. We’ve talked about that before. He’s a classic pedophile.”

“The victim of the second killer was not sexually assaulted. There was no rape.”

Annie frowned. “And this was the victim that was found in the grave that Sheldon Woods gave you directions to?”

Portia nodded.

“You’d think if he was mimicking Woods, he’d have played out the entire script.” Annie was still frowning. “So why didn’t he?”

“I was hoping you’d have some insight into that.”

“He strangled his victim? Like Woods did? That much was the same?”

“Yes.”

“But he didn’t sexually abuse him.”

Portia crunched a chip, which seemed to echo, the house was suddenly so quiet.

“One kill doesn’t tell us much. But the fact that he left his victim in a grave Woods dug for one of his tells me he’s sending Woods a message.”

“We thought so, too, but we didn’t know what it was.”

“Maybe he’s saying ‘I can do what you did—abduct and kill—but I’m not like you. I don’t rape little boys, and that makes me better than you.’” She helped herself to another mound of hummus and a few more chips. “It’s a way of putting Woods down, maybe. And it’s probably a bid for attention.”

“From…?”

“Woods. The press, the media. Maybe even you.” Annie topped off their wineglasses. “He’s someone who’s had access to Woods, obviously.”

“The other day I went to see a guy named Neal Harper. He’s visited Woods more than anyone else has over the past few years. He says he’s writing a book about Woods, that he wants an answer to the question of why Woods did it.”

“And Woods is telling him?”

Portia nodded. “Harper says he did.”

“So there’s one strong possibility. What was your impression of him?”

“That he’s one creepy guy. But a killer?” She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. He’s shorter than me and soft, no discernible muscle tone. He didn’t strike me as very strong physically.”

“How strong do you have to be to overpower and kill a small child?”

“Strangulation actually takes some effort, and you have to figure that the kid is struggling. Then again, he really seems to be fascinated by Woods.”

“If Woods has told all to him, he’d know where the bodies were hidden,” Annie reminded her.

“Tomorrow I’m going to ask John to see if we can get a warrant for his notes. Anything that pertains to his dealings with Woods. Then we’ll have an idea of what Woods told him or if he’s just blowing smoke. He could just be bragging.”

“Also a possibility. Anyone else with an abnormal interest in him?”

“A guy named Keith Patterson—we don’t really know anything about this guy except that he’s shown up at the prison to see Woods on several occasions. And a woman who apparently has a thing for Woods.”

“Oh, spare me,” Annie grumbled. “These women who get into these jailhouse romances make me crazy. I’m assuming you’re going to talk to these people?”

“They’re on the list. The killer is fascinated by Woods, and both of them seem to be fascinated, too. I’m also trying to track down the other visitors that Woods has had over the past year, particularly those who saw him around the time I was going to see him. Woods had to have told someone that he was giving up some of his victims in exchange for favors. He had to have told someone the exact location of the grave in Lancaster in order for the killer to have gotten there just hours before I did.”

“He wanted to show you what he could do. Maybe it
is
your attention he’s after.”

“I don’t even want to consider that.” Portia shivered.

“I don’t think he’s doing it solely for you, but I think it’s playing into his motive somehow.”

“Ugh. The very idea makes me sick.”

“Then find him. Stop him.” She put down her glass. “What have you learned so far?”

“Sheldon Woods has some really screwed-up relatives.” Portia told Annie about meeting with Douglas Nicholson and Rhona Naylor.

“Now this is interesting stuff.” Annie’s eyes lit up. “Mama’s got issues, doesn’t she? Multiple husbands, never without a man in her life.”

“She refers to her sons as her ‘little men.’ Icky.”

Annie’s eyes narrowed.

“What?” Portia said.

“She denied that Sheldon was abused?”

“Totally. Tossed my ass right on out. Second time in a week that someone did that to me.”

“Who was the first?”

“Neal Harper.”

“What did you do to piss him off?”

“I’m not sure. I think maybe he thought I was trying to trick him into admitting something. He actually lawyered up.”

“So back to the mother. In denial. Maybe because she knew it was happening and she didn’t make any effort to bring it to an end because she didn’t want the man to leave?”

“They all left her anyway. Or maybe it was she who left them.”

“Track down the ex-husbands. One of them could be the abuser, or could know who was. Could be someone might be able to shed some light on what went on in that house. I’m betting any one of them would have a whole lot to say.”

“And then there’s the issue of this third son.

Teddy. Funny thing. Neither Sheldon nor Douglas mentioned another brother.”

“Odd. How does he fit into all this?”

“I don’t know. Rhona said they’d lost him when he was a child but she didn’t say what happened. I’m assuming he’s dead, but maybe she meant literally lost. I asked but she changed the subject to what an angel Sheldon was as a small boy, and then I asked about the abuse, and she showed me the door.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Annie murmured. “When are you going to ask John to give you some help? The stage is starting to get pretty damned crowded. No way you’re going to be able to track down and interview everyone—the ones who’ve been hanging on Woods, all the ex-stepfathers—before this guy strikes again.”

“I hate to ask for help. I haven’t been back for very long. He’ll think I can’t handle anything on my own.”

“He’ll think you’re smart enough to know when you’re outnumbered. Right now, you are.”

It was quiet in the kitchen, so when Portia’s cell rang, they both flinched.

“Speak of the devil,” she said when she answered.

“Portia,” John’s voice was both weary and tense, “there’s been another one.”

“Where?”

“Outside of Frederick, Maryland. Another small body found partially sticking out of the ground in a picnic area.”

He read off the directions he’d been given by the police department reporting the find.

“I’m on my way.” Portia looked under the table for the shoes she’d kicked off earlier.

Annie already had her car keys in her hand when Portia got off the phone.

“How far from the last one?” she asked. “That was Lancaster, right?”

“About thirty miles,” Portia replied.

“And the one before that?” Annie gathered her things and stood and stretched.

“Maybe forty or so in the opposite direction.”

“You might want to map it,” Annie suggested. “Killers often like to stay in their comfort zone. You might be able to narrow down the field a little.”

Portia rinsed the wineglasses and left them in the sink.

“True enough. We’ll see if we can find his…” She reached for her bag, then stopped. She’d mentally drawn a map and recognized the territory. “It’s the prison. All three sites—the one in Lancaster, this one near Frederick, and the one where we found Christopher Williams—they’re all within about fifty miles of the prison.”

“Which doesn’t really help at all. You already know that several of your suspects have made repeated visits to the prison.” Annie shook her head. “If the killer is trying to get Woods’s attention, what better way than to leave the victims right under Sheldon’s nose?”

TWENTY-THREE

P
ortia knelt to one side of a pile of soft earth that had already been removed from the shallow grave. The child lay on his side, his eyes closed, a thin layer of brown dirt on his blond hair and his blue-and-white cotton shirt.

“Dig around him.” She caught the eye of one of the crime techs. “Dig very carefully, a few feet down in each direction.”

“What are we looking for?” the tech asked.

“The remains of another child.” She stood and brushed her hands on her thighs. “Old remains. But be very careful with him. I’m going to need DNA on the other remains I think you’re going to find. Tell the ME to pull a tooth and send it directly to Larisse Jordan at the FBI lab.”

“You sure there’s another body?” All the techs stopped what they were doing to stare at Portia.

“I’d bet my life on it.” She turned to the officer who was in charge of the crime scene and handed him one of her cards. “Make sure they check for sexual assault when they do the autopsy. I want to know as soon as they know. And I’m going to need DNA on this one as well, but tell the ME for God’s sake, don’t get them mixed up…”

S
he drove in a fury to the prison, so eager to get to Sheldon Woods she almost cried with the frustration of knowing she couldn’t lay a hand on him. She handed over her belongings—her bag with her gun—to the guard and stormed down to the small interview room where she paced like a caged animal until she heard the door unlock. She saw Woods start into the room accompanied by CO DeLuca, who smiled at Portia from the doorway.

DeLuca,
she thought.
He’d know who Woods talks to.

“Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise,” Woods said. “You’re certainly the early bird, aren’t you? It’s barely…”

“Who would it be, do you think?” she interrupted him, not the least bit interested in his banter. “Who would want to be you, but better?”

She watched him shuffle to the chair and sit awkwardly.

“The profiler thinks that by not assaulting the boys, he’s telling you that he’s a better person than you, a better man. One who does not rape little boys.”

“What would be the point of that?” he said idly.

“So who do you think it would be, Woods? Give me your best guess. Harper? Patterson?”

“Who?”

“Keith Patterson.”

He shrugs.

“How about your girlfriend?”

“My girlfriend?” He laughed. “What girlfriend?”

“Eloise.”

He snorted. “Eloise is a very odd not-so-young woman. She’s a virgin, did you know?” He leaned across the table and whispered, “She’s saving her self for me.”

“Does she know you’re never getting out of here?”

“She’s hoping for conjugal visits,” he said, still whispering.

“Dear God,” she muttered.

“My thoughts exactly, if you want to know.” He giggled as if they were conspirators, and she grimaced, recalling how he’d once thought the same of John Mancini.

“So Sheldon,” she said, her face tightening. “About Teddy.”

His face blanched.

“What about him?” he asked.

“Why didn’t you ever mention him?”

Woods shrugged.

“I paid a visit to Douglas, by the way. He says he doesn’t know who abused you and wasn’t aware that you’d ever been abused.” She smiled sweetly. “He thinks you made that up.”

“Does he, now?” Woods’s face set in the mask she’d seen before. No emotion, his eyes and voice flat.

“Yes, he does. He didn’t mention Teddy, either. And you know, I find that so odd, that neither of you ever mentioned that you’d had a younger brother.”

Woods shrugged nonchalantly. “Dougie was long gone by the time Teddy came along. He never knew him.”

“So what happened to him, Sheldon? What happened to your little brother?”

Her questions were met with silence. “Did he die?” She watched his face but it remained immobile. “Your mother gave me the impression that he did.”

His eyes flashed fire but he did not respond.

“Okay, then, where was he born? What was his last name?”

Nothing. She stood, angry, and pushed back her chair.

“Was that Teddy in the grave with Christopher Williams? Did you kill your own brother, Sheldon?”

Woods sat still as a stone.

“Did you rape him, too, before you killed him?” She shoved the chair and it slammed into the table, but Woods never moved.

“Of course you did. Otherwise, as you said, what would have been the point?”

P
ortia stopped to retrieve her belongings at the desk.

“You look overheated, Agent Cahill,” noted the morning guard, a middle-aged woman with soft brown curly hair and a pleasant smile. “Can I get you a bottle of water?”

“That really would be appreciated, thank you. As long as it isn’t any trouble.” Portia was still fighting to get control of her emotions. A cool drink might help.

“No trouble at all. I have a small fridge back here, so I don’t have to leave my post.” The woman turned in her seat and leaned down. When she sat back up again, she had two bottles of spring water in her hands. “Here you go.”

She passed a bottle over the counter to Portia.

“Thanks so much.” Portia twisted off the cap and took a long drink. “God, I really needed that.”

“It’s a hot one out there today. Every time someone opens that door, I feel that hot rush even with the air-conditioning on.”

“I heard it’s going up to ninety-five or better,” Portia said as she took another drink before putting the cap back on. “It’s a good day to stay inside and keep cool. Thanks for the water.”

“Anytime, Agent Cahill. You have a good day.”

Portia went through the sliding doors and felt the heat the second she stepped outside.

“It’s a scorcher, isn’t it?”

Portia turned to the man who stood smoking a cigarette at the side of the building.

“Oh, Officer DeLuca. I was hoping to have a few minutes to talk with you. And here you are.”

“Morning break,” he told her. “We can’t smoke inside anymore, so I have to come out here to grab a smoke on my fifteen minutes a couple times a day.”

“Officer DeLuca, how long have you worked here at Arrowhead?”

“Oh, it’s going on twenty-two years. If I can hold out three more, I get to retire.” He laughed self-consciously and added, “Actually, that’s what I’m holding out for. They got a real nice retirement package.”

“You’re here almost every day, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Five days out of every seven, but they vary as to which days. There are three shifts each day so my days and hours vary from week to week.”

“Do you always work Sheldon Woods’s block?”

“Yeah, that’s my block. That and one other one.”

“So you know who comes to see him, what they talk about?”

“Pretty much, sure. On the days when I’m here, he don’t see anyone I don’t see.”

“Has Neal Harper ever come in on your days?”

“That the guy who says he’s writing a book about Woods?”

Portia nodded.

“Yeah, he’s in a lot. He and Woods sit in that room with their heads together. Mostly Woods just talks and Harper writes it down. Hangs on to every word, too.”

“What do they talk about, you ever overhear?”

“Sometimes just a little. I try not to listen. It’s pretty sick stuff, you know?”

“What kind of stuff?”

“You know, the stuff Woods did to those little kids. I don’t want to hear about it, but it doesn’t seem to bother Mr. Harper. He just writes it all down. Thinks he’s going to sell that book, sell the story to the movies, make a fortune.”

“Who else does Woods talk to?”

“There’s this woman who comes in, sometimes twice a month. She has a thing for Woods.”

“You mean Eloise Gorman?”

“I think that’s her name. Woods calls her ‘Weesie’ when she’s here. The other names he calls her, behind her back, aren’t fit to be repeated to you.” The officer smirked. “She thinks they’re in this big romance, but he laughs at her behind her back. I guess it’s really kind of sad, for her.”

“Does he talk to her about his victims, about what he did?”

“Oh, yeah.” He took a long drag from his cigarette. “She’s one of these religious nuts, you know? Talking all the time about how confession is good for the soul. She’s always telling Woods to talk it out, get all the poison out of his soul. She pretends to be real pious, but when he’s talking about what he did to those kids, she gets this look on her face…”

He shook his head. “I probably shouldn’t have said that. Forget that part. I’m probably wrong about that anyway.”

“You’re just giving an opinion, Officer DeLuca. You’re entitled to that.”

“I guess. Well, anyway, before she leaves, she gets him to pray with her. She holds his hands and closes her eyes—she thinks his eyes are closed, too, but I see him watching her—and she prays for his soul. She’s always talking about how they have this totally pure relationship and how it’s so spiritual and stuff like that. Weird, if you ask me.”

“Anyone else come to mind?”

“Over the years, there’s been some others, can’t remember all their names. Some I never knew who they were. For a while there, it seemed like everyone wanted to interview him, do a story on him, write a book.” He flicked his cigarette to the ground and stepped on it.

“How about Keith Patterson?”

“He comes around sometimes, yeah. Another strange one, if you ask me.”

“How so?”

“He comes in to tell his dreams to Woods.” DeLuca picked up the cigarette butt with two fingers and tossed it into a nearby trash can.

“What kind of dreams?”

“You can imagine, probably. Same sort of stuff Woods likes to do.” He shook his head. “I guess creeps attract creeps, you know?”

P
ortia turned the car’s air-conditioning up high as she passed through the gate, pausing to hand over her visitor’s badge and exchange some brief pleasantries with the guard. She’d been distracted almost to the point of rudeness when she’d arrived that morning and wanted to make it up to the young man who was always so nice to her and greeted her by name.

As soon as she hit the road, she dialed John’s private line to bring him up to date.

“So I’m going to need a warrant for Harper’s notes, his computers, anything he has pertaining to Woods and his interviews with him.”

“I’ll have it taken care of,” John assured her. “Anything else?”

“I need someone to track down as many of Rhona Naylor’s ex-husbands as possible. And while they’re at it, see if they can get anything on Teddy…” She blew out a breath in frustration. “I don’t even know his last name.” She tried to recall the order of Rhona’s husbands and lovers. “Maybe Lewis. Maybe Davey. Just guessing here. It could have been anyone after Aaron Woods. Or it could have been someone she never married.”

“Got it. What else?”

“I need someone to find this guy Keith Patterson. I had a nice chat with one of the regular guards on Woods’s cellblock, and he tells me that Patterson likes to come in to see Sheldon and share his dreams.”

“I’ll put Will on it. No one’s better than he is at finding people who don’t want to be found.” There was a pause, then John said, “I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“For you to tell me you could use another hand out there in the field.” Before she could respond, he said, “Livy Bach just got back from Dallas a few days ago and turned in the rest of her reports.

I haven’t given her anything new yet. I’ll have her give you a call, see what she can help you out with.”

“That would be so appreciated.”

“It’s okay to ask when you need help, Cahill.

That’s what we’re here for.”

She started to thank him, and realized he’d already hung up. She was just thinking how lucky she was when her phone rang again.

“I’m getting teeth right and left here,” Larisse Jordan said. “What the hell’s up with all these damned teeth?”

“They’re all from different sets of remains. I’m sorry, I should have called you to let you know I’ve been giving out your name all over the place.”

“Apparently. So what am I looking for?”

“You’re looking to match the DNA to profiles you already have. I’m looking to see if there’s a match to any of the victims from Woods’s house.”

“The old profiles we have? From like, ninety-eight, ninety-nine?”

“Yes.”

Larisse sighed. “All right. Anything else while I’m at it?”

“Well, now that you’ve asked, yes.”

“I should learn to keep my big mouth shut,” Larisse grumbled—but only halfheartedly. Larisse knew how important Portia’s work was.

“The DNA I sent you last week, from the first boy I found…see if anything matches up to Woods.”

“You think they’re related?”

“I think they’re brothers.”