Her Dying Breath (33 page)

Brenda stopped by the station to research the senator and his son, avoiding her coworkers so she didn’t have to answer questions about the bruises on her face.

Jordan Jennings, the weather girl, poked her head into her office. “Good work this morning on the senator’s son’s murder. But why didn’t you push the senator and his wife to talk?”

“Because they deserved a few moments to recover from shock,” Brenda said.

“You get the best interviews when you catch people off guard.” Jordan shrugged. “If Stowe has something to hide, now’s the time to strike.”

Now the weather girl was giving her advice?

Still, Jordan’s comment triggered Brenda’s curiosity, and she turned back to the computer and began to dig into the Stowe family’s past.

The senator had been born in eastern Tennessee, had grown up under humble circumstances that won him favor with voters, and had worked his way through college as an office assistant for the town council. After graduation, the senator had served for eight years in the marines, where he worked on a tactical unit during the Cold War.

His wife had been raised in the lap of luxury by a blue-blooded family in Knoxville, had earned a business degree, and had been working at the mayor’s office, where she met Stan Stowe, when she was thirty-one.

Brenda kept looking, but she couldn’t find anything on the senator’s military career except that he had received several commendations for valor and been honorably discharged.

When he’d left the service, he returned to politics, first by running for town council in his hometown, where he met his wife. She utilized her degree to help organize fund-raisers for his first campaign as mayor of his town, and he’d risen up the chain from there.

His record looked pristine. No arrest or skeletons in his closet.

Next Brenda accessed files on the senator’s son, and found the same thing. Several photographs of him at graduation and at political events and parties, usually with an attractive woman on his arm.

But there was nothing incriminating or negative, nothing the senator wouldn’t want the press to find.

Which made her more suspicious. Everyone made mistakes. But Ron Stowe didn’t have so much as a parking fine or speeding ticket.

Something about the dates of the senator’s military stint tickled her mind, though. Determined to verify her suspicions, she pulled up the file she’d organized on Arthur Blackwood.

They had served in the marines at the same time.

Nick stared at the photo of the senator and his father that he’d found in the archives of fund-raisers. He hadn’t realized that his father knew the senator.

He needed to know more about that relationship. But after searching for more information for an hour, he came up empty.

Damn. He took Ron Stowe’s computer, left the condo, and drove to the TBI office in Nashville.

“I want you to analyze Stowe’s computer, especially his chat room conversations.” He explained about the limericks and his suspicions that the unsub had been one of the subjects in the Slaughter Creek experiments.

“Check for common word usage, inflection, a code, anything to connect Stowe with a specific woman.”

Nick knew it was a long shot, that Stowe could have easily picked up the woman in a bar. But they had to explore every possibility.

“Also analyze his phone and text records,” Nick said. “Send me a list of anything suspicious.”

The analyst agreed, and carried the computer back to the computer forensics lab.

Nick’s nerves were on edge as he left the TBI and drove toward Slaughter Creek. This unsub had been one step ahead of them since the first murder. She was smart, knew how to stay off the grid, knew how to clean up her crimes, and so far, she hadn’t left any evidence behind.

She had to make a mistake at some point.

Although, if Arthur Blackwood had trained her to be a soldier, she’d undoubtedly been taught everything she needed to survive and escape attention.

Still, there had to be some method to her madness. He thought he’d discovered it with the security company, but Stowe certainly hadn’t been employed at the company. And he hadn’t served in the military, as Logger and James had.

The one person who could explain her behavior was his father.

His phone buzzed as he swung his vehicle toward Riverbend State Pen, and he clicked to connect.

“Nick, it’s Brenda.”

The strained sound of her voice made his heart stutter. “Are you okay?”

A slight hesitation, then she said, “Yes. But I found something. I don’t know if it’s important, but I was researching the senator and saw that he served in the marines during the same period that your father did.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I checked the military databases. They even served in the same assault unit at one time.”

Nick took a moment to absorb the information. “That explains their connection. I found a photo of them together from years ago on Ron Stowe’s computer.”

“What if the senator knew about the project in Slaughter Creek? That might explain why Seven would target him. Maybe she wanted to punish the senator by killing his son.”

“That’s a possibility.” Nick swiped at a bead of perspiration trickling down the side of his cheek. “But I discovered something, too, Brenda. Ron Stowe was heavy into S & M. I found dozens of explicit sex tapes of him and other women on a second computer hidden in his desk. So he could have crossed with our unsub on a personal level before he was killed.”

Brenda’s gasp echoed over the line. “He certainly hid that side well.”

“Not so well that Seven didn’t know about it.” Nick hesitated. “Or if they had previously engaged in sex, he could have figured out she was the Strangler, and she killed him to keep him from talking.”

“So she left him at the sanitarium as a message that she’d been a patient there against her will,” Brenda finished.

Nick slowed, then flashed his ID to the prison security guard at the gate. “Listen, I’m going to question my father again. Someone tried to kill him yesterday, so maybe he’ll be more cooperative now.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Brenda asked.

Hope laced her voice. But he didn’t intend for her to ever go near his father again. Not after what had happened the last time.

“No, I’m pulling into the prison now. Just go home and rest.” He hesitated as he parked. “And be careful, Brenda. We don’t know what Seven will do next, or if the Commander ordered a hit on you. So watch your back.”

Brenda agreed, and he ended the call.

Jake was beeping in. “I’m at the prison now to talk to Dad,” Nick said after connecting.

“Good luck,” Jake said. “I questioned the cell mates surrounding him but got nowhere. One of the antipedophile prison gangs has it in for him, though, so I doubt this is the last attempt on his life.”

“Serves him right.”

“I can’t argue with you there. Oh, and I found Sergeant Mason’s house. There was a business card with Stark Security printed on it in the fireplace.”

“So that is the connection. What else did you find?”

“Not much. He wasn’t killed at his house either. I don’t know where Seven is killing her victims, but we need to find it.”

They agreed to keep each other posted, and Nick hung up, then slid from the car. Ten minutes later, he sat in an interrogation room, waiting on his father.

When he finally shuffled in, shackled and chained, the Commander looked ten years older than the last time Nick had seen him.

Dark bruises marred his face and arms, a knife’s slash mark ran from his temple to his chin across his right cheek, and he was limping. Prideful, though, the Commander lifted his chin with that evil, defiant tilt that made Nick want to jump across the table and cram his fist down his throat.

“I heard you were attacked,” Nick said.

His father shrugged. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about me, son.”

The word
son
sounded dirty coming from Nick’s father’s mouth, and resurrected memories Nick wanted to keep buried. “No. Sooner or later, you’ll get what you deserve. I just hope one of your subjects gets the pleasure of pulling the trigger.”

The Commander threw his head back and laughed.

Nick didn’t. He laid the file folder he’d brought on the table, then began to spread the pictures of the murdered men across it, lining them up in order.

“What are we doing now?” the Commander asked. “Playing a game?”

“That’s what our unsub calls it,” he said. “She wanted you to see what she’s done for you.”

The crazed look of a sociopath fell over his father’s face. “And?”

Nick tapped each man’s photo. “Jim Logger served in the military, as well as Darren James, who we think ran the security company where Logger worked. This victim, Sergeant Luther Mason, also worked there.” He pointed to the ashes of the compound and the dead woman’s charred body. “She was left handcuffed to a pipe to die in the blaze. We think that our unsub, who calls herself Seven, and another subject, escaped from this compound, and then Seven began her killing streak.”

The Commander showed no reaction.

“We also believe that you are responsible for the heinous acts that occurred at this compound, and we’ll be adding them to your list of charges.”

“You have no proof of any of this,” the Commander said.

“No, but when we catch Seven, I’ll convince her to testify against you and tell everyone what you did to her.”

The Commander shook his head. “She will never do that.”

“Why not? Because you think you still have control?” Nick slammed his finger on the photos one by one. “The sexual aspect of the crime, is that because you sexually abused her?” He jammed his face into his father’s, disgust seeping from his pores. “What did you do to her, Father? Rape her? Force her to have sex with dozens of men? Beat her until she had no choice, sodomize her, then choke her over and over?”

His father’s eyes met his. “These men obviously failed the test,” he said. “But she didn’t. That means you’ll never find her.”

“Oh, I will,” Nick said. “And when I do, I swear to God if she wants to kill you, I’ll give her my damn gun to do it.”

Brenda drove to her house, hoping Nick would stop by after he’d seen his father. But he appeared to be doing everything he could to avoid her.

Her phone jangled, and her father’s name popped up on the screen. A wave of nausea washed over her as she remembered the senator’s accusations, and her father’s condemning look.

She was tempted to let the call roll to voice mail, but if she did, he’d show up at her apartment, and that was the last thing she wanted tonight. Not another confrontation with the mayor.

She caught it on the third ring. “Hello, Dad.”

“Brenda, where are you?”

“Almost home. What do you need?”

“Do the sheriff or that federal agent have any leads as to who murdered Ron Stowe?”

“They’re working on it, but even if I did know something, Dad, I wouldn’t be allowed to discuss an ongoing investigation.”

“We’re talking about the senator and his wife. Friends of mine and your mother’s.”

“I’m well aware of who they are, and you have no idea how sorry I am about Ron. Jake and Nick are both doing everything possible to find out who murdered him.”

“The police should have already stopped this mad person,” her father said. “I had to meet with the town council today to calm everyone down. We’ve asked the sheriff to impose a curfew in town.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Brenda said, although she doubted it would help. Seven wasn’t targeting children or random people in Slaughter Creek. She obviously had a plan.

If only Brenda could figure out exactly what it was.

“I want you off this story,” her father said. “It’s too damn dangerous—”

“Dad, I’m not quitting my job. If anything, I intend to work harder to help Jake and Nick solve this case so Ron gets justice. Now, I’m home and I’m tired. I’ll talk to you later.”

She hung up before he could launch into another tirade. Exhausted from the day and worried that Seven might already be stalking her next victim, she parked and let herself in.

But as soon as she did, she sensed that something was wrong. A faint hint of something strong, like hospital soap, scented the air. And her curtain sheers had been pulled back.