Hard Truth (16 page)

“It all sounds so . . . rural.”

Lorna laughed.

“So tell me what the police and the FBI are doing to find this killer who’s on the loose.”

“For one thing, no one knows if the killer is still in the area. There haven’t been any recent victims found—at least none that we know of. They’re still trying to identify the victims found this past week. Mitch—Mitch Peyton, he’s the FBI agent assigned to the case—is working on that.” Lorna paused, then asked, “Did I tell you I hired a private investigator to help determine if Billie Eagan killed her son?”

Bonnie placed her fork on the side of her plate, then looked up. “Why, no, you hadn’t mentioned that. How do you know Billie Eagan? And where did you find a private investigator?”

Lorna related the entire story. When she concluded, Bonnie shook her head and said, “And here I thought you were languishing down there in Nowheresville, and instead, you’re cavorting with possible murderers, FBI agents, an internationally known true crime writer, and a private eye.”

Bonnie paused, then asked, “Is he cute?”

“Is who cute?”

“The PI.”

“Very. Tall, blond, built. Drives a little sports car.”

“You’re making this up.”

Lorna laughed. “No, actually, I’m not.”

“Well, I suppose we might as well party tonight, because with all that going on in Bumfuck, I don’t see you hurrying to move back to Woodboro anytime soon.”

“I’ll be back. I just need to resolve a few things.”

“A few things like multiple murders and the sale of a very large property.” Bonnie shook her head. “Girl, we won’t be seeing you for another six months. Fortunately, you can take your business with you. All the joys of self-employment, and all the excitement of a juicy murder investigation and a hunky PI. Some girls have all the luck.”

“Hey, you’re welcome to come on out and join in the fun.”

“Well, if the case against Billie Eagan starts moving into dangerous waters, and you need a top-notch criminal defense lawyer, you know where to find me.” Bonnie tapped Lorna on the arm. “Scout around for another hunky PI and we’ll talk reduced fee.”

“Oh, right. I forgot how much trouble you have finding male companionship,” Lorna deadpanned. Bonnie’s great looks and personality, combined with her success, ensured she never had to be alone on a Saturday night unless she chose to be.

“There are lots of men around, but no one all that interesting. Most nights I’d rather be working.” She resumed eating. “At least with a criminal case, you can be assured that some of the reading will be good. As a matter of fact, a few of the statements I’ve read lately rival some of the best fiction on the market.”

“You need a vacation, Bonnie.”

“I just had a vacation.”

“You need another one,” Lorna told her. “Why not come for a visit sometime soon. Stay Friday through Sunday.”

“You’re planning on staying there, aren’t you?” Bonnie asked over the rim of her glass.

“For a while.”

“I bet you don’t come back.”

“I’ll be back. I just have to take care of some business there. It might take awhile, but I’ll be back.”

Bonnie took a twenty-dollar bill from her wallet and laid it on the table.

“Twenty says you stay in Bumfuck.”

Lorna matched the bill.

“My twenty says you’re wrong.”

Bonnie grinned. “You know, I never bet on anything less than a sure thing, Ms. Stiles. I say a year from now, we’ll be sending your mail to the farm.”

“The only way I see that happening is if they’re still digging up bodies. And if that’s the case, you can pretty much bank that twenty, because I’ll never be able to sell the place.”

“Maybe not such a bad idea, if you get to keep the PI.”

“Ha. Fat chance.” Lorna shook her head. “I don’t think I’m his type.”

“What do you think is his type?”

“The hot convertible sports car type,” Lorna told her. “Like you. You’re more his type. Sophisticated. Accomplished. Gorgeous.”

“Oh, please. Sophistication is a state of mind, and who needs it, really? And may I remind you which of us started a successful business on her own? How much more accomplished do you need to be?” Bonnie waved off Lorna’s attempt at protest. “And as far as looks are concerned, well, let’s put it this way: Jack always brags he’s never dated less than a ‘ten.’ What’s that tell you?”

“It tells me that my taste in men had dropped to a disturbing all-time low two years ago.” Lorna grimaced. “It also tells me I’m better off concentrating on work than on my social life, if that’s the best Woodboro has to offer.”

“Well, you can work wherever you are, and right now, the farm seems like the place to be. Frankly, I don’t know about you, but I always wanted to be Nancy Drew. You know, solve the mystery. Catch the bad guy. Adventure. Intrigue.” Bonnie sighed. “If I were you, I’d be in no hurry to come back here and leave that all behind.”

“I did want to be Nancy Drew,” Lorna admitted.

“Well, here’s your chance, if only for a little while. Besides, you never know what other secrets are still hidden on that farm of yours.”

F
ifteen

“Is this powwow invitation only, or can anyone sit in?” Lorna asked from the doorway of her dining room. Mitch, Regan, and T.J. were seated around the table, obviously in the midst of a discussion.

“Hey, it’s your table.” Mitch waved her in.

T.J. pulled out the chair next to his, and she draped the strap of her shoulder bag over it.

“Sorry I didn’t make it back last night,” Lorna said to Regan. “I had dinner with a friend, and by the time we were finished . . .”

“No apology necessary. I told you when you called that I didn’t mind, and I thought you should stay there. A five-hour drive after a night out would have been too much. And besides,” Regan smiled, “you needed a night out to have fun. Things have been too intense around here practically since the day you arrived. I didn’t mind staying here by myself. And I wasn’t really alone, you know.”

Lorna glanced sideways at Mitch, wondering if perhaps he’d kept Regan company while Lorna was in Woodboro. It was obvious there was something between them.

Regan caught the quick glimpse and sidestepped it. “Your Uncle Will.”

“I hope he behaved himself.”

“He was a perfect gentleman,” Regan assured her.

“Uncle Will is the ghost?” T.J. looked from one woman to the other.

Lorna nodded. “Right.”

“And you saw him?” he asked Regan.

She shook her head. “No. I only heard him.”

“What did you hear? What did it sound like?” Mitch asked.

“It sounded like someone was pounding first on the wall, then the window, in the back bedroom.”

“Are you sure someone
wasn’t
pounding on the windows?” Mitch rose, alarmed. “Jesus, Regan, they’ve been digging up bodies right and left around here. And you hear someone pounding at night and you think it’s a ghost? You think this is Great Adventure?”

“I know when someone is trying to break in, Mitch.” Regan’s eyes narrowed. “I can tell the difference.”

“Let’s go take a look.” Mitch pushed back his chair. “Which bedroom is it?”

“The last one at the end of the hall on the right,” Lorna told him, amused.

“You coming, PI?” Mitch called over his shoulder to T.J.

“Sure. Why not?” T.J. followed him out the door and up the steps.

“I don’t believe in ghosts, Regan,” Mitch called down from the second floor, his footsteps echoing overhead.

“You haven’t met my uncle Will,” Lorna called back.

There was the sound of a window banging closed several times. A few minutes later, the two men returned.

“There’s no sign of the window being jimmied, and the lock seems real secure,” Mitch told them. He turned to Regan and added, “Maybe you were dreaming.”

“Maybe you ought to sleep in Uncle Will’s room one night,” she smiled sweetly, “and we’ll see who’s dreaming.”

He smiled in return. “Anytime.”

“Okay, so we’ve established that Mitch is a nonbeliever and Regan and Lorna believe. Truthfully, I’m still on the fence,” T.J. announced. “Let’s move on, shall we?”

“Where were we?” Regan shuffled the notebook pages that lay on the table in front of her.

“We were talking about the responses we’ve gotten to our request for information on missing persons—specifically young men—over the past thirty years,” Mitch said.

“From this area?” Lorna asked.

“Right. Southern New Jersey, the entire state of Delaware because it’s small, northeastern Maryland, and southeastern Pennsylvania, from Harrisburg to Philadelphia, including the southernmost area from Lancaster straight on over to the Delaware River.” Mitch held up a sheet of paper. “Guess how many responses so far?”

“I have no idea.” Lorna shook her head. “Three?”

“Nine.”

“Nine!” she exclaimed.

“Which tells me what the police have found is only the tip of the iceberg.”

“But they wouldn’t necessarily all be buried on my property, right?”

“Not necessarily, but I think there’s a damned good chance there may be more out there. He’d have felt confident here, he’d met with success here. He’d never been discovered here.” Mitch turned to T.J. “Which in itself should tell us something about him, right?”

“It tells me he’s probably local. Probably grew up here, may still be living here.”

“Why would he still be here?” Lorna asked. “Wouldn’t he be afraid that the remains would be found and he’d be caught?”

“No one’s come close to catching him. For twenty-five years, no one even caught on that the crimes were committed. He’s obviously in his comfort zone. He’s killed here, he’s buried his prey here, and he’s gotten away with it for a very long time. And as Mitch just pointed out, he feels secure here. I don’t see him having ever left. It probably gives him great comfort to have his kills close by.”

“Well, if we assume you’re right, and he’s still living around here, what do you suppose he’s thinking now?” Lorna asked.

“That’s absolutely the question to be asking.” T.J. turned to her. “And it’s the one question no one else has asked.”

Lorna felt her cheeks tinge pink. Nancy Drew, indeed.

“I think if he hasn’t already begun to panic over the last few days, he’s going to start very soon. I think he was okay when Jason’s body was found. Okay, maybe a little tense, watch and wait, but in the end, the police blamed Billie for that. So I doubt he had much of a reaction other than maybe to feel the loss, that something has been taken from him. But it wouldn’t really have affected him, I don’t think, because he knew there were others, and he probably thought they were safe.”

“But then the others were found,” Regan pointed out. “Maybe not all of them, as Mitch noted, but enough to turn the national spotlight on the farm.”

T.J. nodded. “Right. I think every day this week, things have gotten more and more tense for him. We don’t know how many bodies were buried here, so we don’t know if he’s anticipating more discoveries—hoping, I’m certain, that no more are found. He’s already upset, I believe, that four have been taken from him. He wants them here, nearby, needs to know they’re there, under the ground, right where he left them. It has to be a torment for him to watch them exposed and removed.”

“So what do you think he’s going to do?” Lorna asked.

“I think he’s going to be looking for replacements,” T.J. told her.

The four fell silent for a moment, then Lorna asked, “So unless you find him, he’ll start killing again?”

“If he’s ever stopped—and we don’t know for certain that he has—yes, I expect him to look for victims here. Remember that he could well have been killing elsewhere, but I think he needs to keep his victims close to him.”

“That would involve a lot of travel on his part, though, wouldn’t it? As large an area you’ve already canvassed for victims, and found nine, wouldn’t he go beyond that to find future victims?” Regan asked.

“Possibly. Of course, there’s always the chance that he stopped. The last victim we identified was reported missing in 1995.”

“Ten years ago.” Lorna looked pensive. “That means he was actively killing and burying his victims here for at least fifteen years.”

“Fifteen years that we know of. As I said earlier, don’t be surprised if there are still some surprises out there,” Mitch told her.

“God, I hope not.” Lorna shivered. “I’ve had enough surprises for one week.”

“So, what’s our game plan for today?” Regan stacked her notes neatly in front of her.

“
Our
game plan?” Mitch raised an eyebrow.

“Surely you don’t expect to exclude me.”

“Surely you don’t expect to tag along while I visit with the families of some of the victims.”

“The Bureau permitted me access to interviews on previous cases, as a consultant,” Regan reminded him.

“You had already shared information from your father’s files on a similar case,” he countered, “and you were permitted to accompany me to look over police files to see if you could spot similarities.”

“Well, you don’t know that I might not have some insights into this one as well.”

“I don’t know how welcome a civilian is going to be to a family whose long-missing son has just been identified.”

“How ’bout we let John decide?” Regan smiled. John had been a big fan of her father’s true crime series, and had authorized her involvement in cases in the past. She opened her bag and took out her cell phone. “That number again, Agent Peyton?”

Mitch recited the number and she dialed it, then got up and walked to the window.

“What’s on your agenda for today?” Mitch asked T.J.

“I’m going to meet Danielle Porter at three,” T.J. replied.

Lorna stood and collected the empty coffee cups.

“I was wondering if you’d come along, Lorna,” he said. “I think you could be helpful, maybe get her to talk a little more than she might to a stranger.”

“I’m pretty much a stranger, too, remember.”

“Yes, but you’re a local. And a woman. She might feel a little more comfortable talking to you.”

“Where is she living now” Lorna called from the kitchen, where she was rinsing the cups.

“She gave me the address, let me get it.” T.J. went through his briefcase and located the slip of paper on which he’d written the number and address. He took it into the kitchen to show Lorna.

“Hmm, 724 Old Anderson Road.” Lorna nodded. “That’s off State Road, about two, three miles past Callen. There’s no town there, per se, just a bunch of farms. I know the area. It should only take us about ten minutes to get there.”

She looked at the kitchen clock, the face of which was set into the body of a black cat, a relic from her grandmother’s day that Mary Beth had loved. It was just a little after one-thirty.

“Well, then, it looks as if we all have our work planned for us this afternoon.” Mitch stood in the doorway. “Regan’s been given the green light to come along with me—as a consultant,” he emphasized, apparently for Regan’s benefit. “And since we have appointments with three families today, I think we need to get going.”

“I’m ready whenever you are,” Regan told him from the dining room, where she was sliding her reading glasses into their case and hunting for her sunglasses.

“How about if we regroup later this afternoon?” T.J. suggested. “Lorna, do you mind if we use your home for our unofficial headquarters?”

“Not at all. I was going to suggest that Mitch feel free to use the dining room if he needs a place to work. If the weather cools off, we can clear some space from the table in the living room’s front window to give you a bit of privacy, Mitch.”

“Privacy’s not much of an issue right now,” he told her. “But thanks.”

“All set?” Regan touched Mitch on the arm as she came into the room.

“Yes.” He nodded. “We’ll catch up with you later,” he said to T.J. and Lorna.

“Good luck with Danielle,” Regan called over her shoulder.

“Thanks.” Lorna waved from the kitchen doorway.

After Mitch closed the door behind them, she turned to T.J. and said, “We have at least an hour before we have to leave. Is there anything else you need to do before we meet with Danielle?”

He shook his head. “No. Do you?”

“I have to check my computer, see if any of my clients have emailed me. Once I take care of that, though, I’m clear for the day.” She had finished rinsing the cups and dried her hands on a red-and-white towel, which she folded and placed on the counter.

“You go ahead, then. If you don’t mind, I’ll step outside and walk around for a while.”

“Just don’t wander too close to the yellow crime scene tape on the other side of the field and get yourself arrested.”

“I’ll try to behave myself.”

Lorna turned on her computer and pulled up that morning’s emails. She had questions from one client on some account payables, and an email from another client who wanted to arrange a meeting before the end of the month. She responded to both and turned off the laptop, then went outside and looked around for T.J. He was nowhere in sight.

She walked past the barn and stood on the edge of the field, one hand shielding her eyes from the bright early-afternoon sun. No T.J.

She called to him, but there was no response.

Lorna turned to go back to the house to search for her cell phone—she could always call and ask where he was—when she noticed the barn door was open. She went inside and called his name.

“Down here.” The voice was faint and far away.

“Down where?” She frowned, looking around. Then she remembered. “Are you in the wine cellar?”

“Yes. Come on down.”

“What are you doing down there?” she asked as she found the door to the steps ajar, and started down.

“Just looking around. Is it all right?”

“Sure. I don’t mind. It’s just a little creepy and dim.”

“It wouldn’t be if you replaced the lightbulbs once in a while,” he teased, pointing to the electric lamps set into the wall on either side of the long narrow room. “A few still have a little life in them. How long has it been since anyone was down here?”

“Melinda and I used to play here,” she told him. “The small room back there”—she pointed past him—“used to be our secret place. We would go there to get away from her brother and his friends. Sometimes she hid in here from her mother. Gran said Uncle Will had planned to use that as the tasting room for his winery, but of course he never got that far.”

She was following T.J. through the cavernous room, with its stone walls and low ceiling, past the empty oak barrels Uncle Will brought from France in anticipation of the first vintage. T.J.’s shadow disappeared through an arched doorway into the darkened room beyond.

“Is there a light in there?” she asked.

“I’m looking. Give me a second.”

A long minute later, a faint light began to glow. In the dim light a round table with four tall chairs were visible in the center of the room.

“I found a candle and some matches,” he told her. “I’d expect that the electric lines ran back here as well.”

“They did. But we used to prefer the candles.”

He turned to look back at her and she shrugged.

“Like I said, this used to be our secret place, mine and Melinda’s. Like a secret clubhouse. We came down here a lot. We’d talk or hide out, sometimes we’d bring snacks and spend a whole day. It was so nice and private. We always felt we could say anything down here.” She folded her arms across her chest and wandered into the room. When she got to the back corner, she stopped and knelt.