All the Pretty Faces (15 page)

“You think the killer is part of the film crew?” Sheriff Kimball asked.

Dane shrugged. “Could be, but we can’t discount a local either.”

“I can’t stop thinking about Billy Linder and his mama holed up in those mountains,” Kimball said. “A few years ago, a prison was flooded. Some folks think that not all of the prisoners died, that some are still hiding out in the hills.”

“If so, why start killing now?” Dane asked.

“I don’t know. He could have been biding his time, lying low, then all the hype from the Bride Killer and this movie stirred up his desire to kill again.” Kimball jammed his hands in his pockets. “I thought I’d look at the list of prisoners and see if any have an MO similar to this.”

Maybe the sheriff was onto something. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to explore every angle. “Good thinking. If you find anything, let me know.”

Kimball agreed, and Dane went to find Josie. She was talking to one of the investigators who’d been searching the interior of the building.

“We have an ID.” Lieutenant Ward indicated an album of photographs. “We found this in that photography studio. It contains pictures of all the women who modeled for Easton.”

Ward flipped through the pages, stopping at a picture of their latest victim. “Patty Waxton is her name. She’s from Jackson, Mississippi.”

“She came all this way to try out for a part.” Josie’s voice broke. “She died because of it.”

“I’ll find her next of kin and copy you on the information,” Lieutenant Ward said.

Dane thanked him. “We’ll question everyone at this place tomorrow. Someone has to have seen something.” He paused. “Did you find a schedule for Easton in his studio?”

Lieutenant Ward shook his head no. “He may keep it on his phone.”

“I’ll question him. Maybe I’ll catch him disposing of the murder weapon or he’ll slip up and confess.”

“What about Porter McCray?” Josie asked.

“Let’s pay a surprise visit to him, too.”

He studied the headshot Easton had taken of the victim—she looked picture-perfect. Smooth complexion, makeup in place, a sultry look in her eyes as if she was playing to the camera. She was downright beautiful.

Yet the unsub had destroyed that beauty by not only stripping her of makeup but also brutally carving her face until she was almost beyond recognition.

He wanted to make sure that even if she’d lived and used makeup, she couldn’t hide the disfigurement.

Why? Because someone had exposed his own?

Ellie cried out as the birds flapped their wings and attacked the boy again. He screamed and covered his face and head with his hands. It did no good, though. They pecked and tore at his hair and hands and the back of his head.

Blood trickled from the wounds, dampening his hair to a sticky mess. His screams for help reverberated off the mountain ridges, ripping at her soul.

She lurched awake, sat up, and stared into the darkness, the world a blur as it had been for years.

Except that blood was as vivid as if she was watching it spill from the boy’s arms and face—just as it had that night.

A sound, low and pained, echoed from down the hall. A woman crying. Softly, but so full of anguish that Ellie went completely still.

She closed her eyes and felt the woman’s pain just as she had so many times this last week. She’d tried to obey the nurses and let the woman be, but once she felt the draw toward a hurting soul, she couldn’t resist going to them.

Her connection to this woman was especially strong.

Why
, she didn’t understand.

Because they were both in this nursing home, age eating at them, bodies and minds disintegrating like dust in a storm? Both alone? Both full of regrets and suffering?

She pushed aside the blanket and reached for her cane. Gripping it with one hand, she steadied herself, then pulled on her robe over her thin cotton gown. Her bones creaked as she hobbled her way across the room and through the door.

Step by step, she followed the sound of the crying, the screech of the wind wailing outside mingling with the woman’s agonized moaning. Ellie passed one room, then a second, the sobs growing louder as she neared. When she reached the door to the room, she knocked softly.

Quiet followed. No one came or invited her to come in.

She hesitated. Would she be intruding? Maybe she should go back to her room. Let the woman grieve and deal with her pain in private.

Another image flashed behind her eyes.

This time, a beautiful image. A pretty young girl. She was bent over a group of boys helping them with their homework. Long silky hair framed her slender, youthful face. Freckles dotted her nose, and her front teeth were slightly crooked, but in an endearing way. A scar marred her forehead, but the girl didn’t seem self-conscious about it.

She laughed at something the boys said. Then the image disappeared, and the girl was lying in a coffin, the smile gone, her face battered and bruised.

Ellie’s lungs strained for air.

No, it was more than bruised. Ugly talon marks pierced the girl’s skin, leaving tracks on her cheek, almost identical to the scars on the boy’s face.

Ellie choked back a moan. Was the woman crying inside that room connected to the dead girl?

Grief overwhelmed Ellie, and she brushed at the tears trickling down her cheeks as she shuffled toward the woman’s bed. In Ellie’s room, a chair was in the corner. She found one in the corner of this room as well.

She dragged it over by the woman’s bed. The sound of her soul-filled sobs vibrated through the room, tearing Ellie up inside.

Slowly Ellie reached out her hand and laid it over the woman’s. For a moment the woman went very still, and Ellie thought she might push her away or scream at her to leave.

She didn’t. Instead, she squeezed Ellie’s hand.

A moment later, the woman’s cries quieted and her breathing softened into sleep.

He traced a finger over the Mitzi doll’s face, admiring the beauty in the plastic doll.

The perfectly shaped face, dainty sloped nose, rosy lips—all fake.

Just like the women who smiled at him and pretended to like him when they were only attracted to what they saw on the outside.

When all they wanted was to know what he could do for them.

When they would run if they knew the truth.

He wiped the heavy makeup from his face, his skin stinging as the light penetrated the outer layer. The scar ran deep, the skin jagged and puckered, the bones beneath slightly crooked.

His face wasn’t the only part of his body that was scarred. Ruined.

He would never be the same. Never be the person he was meant to be.

For that, all of the others had to pay.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Dane addressed the sheriff. “Tell me what Easton has been up to today.” Hopefully Kimball had seen something suspicious, maybe a reason to bring Easton in, even get a warrant to search his room and studio.

Sheriff Kimball jammed his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “He was inside, had appointments all afternoon. I did rounds, went to calm down the crowd still picketing the film, then came back here. By then he was gone.”

Dane silently cursed. “So you don’t know where he was this evening?”

“Someone said he left with a woman, that he was going to do a personal shoot with her at Graveyard Falls. I guess this chick really wanted the part bad.”

“Did you go to the falls to look for him?” Dane asked.

“Yes, but I didn’t see anyone. I drove back to the cabins. His cabin is near that McCray character’s, but Easton wasn’t there.”

Had Easton given the sheriff the slip because he knew they suspected him? “Stake out his cabin. When he returns, find out where he was and what he was doing.”

“Copy that.”

“How about the woman Easton did the shoot with? Do you know her name?”

Sheriff Kimball consulted his notepad. “Neesie Netherington.”

“I’ll call the inn and see if she came back there.” Josie stepped aside to make the call.

“On the way here, I talked to my deputy,” Sheriff Kimball continued. “He said Baines went to a big party this evening.”

Dane shook his head in distaste. Another party. Another easy picking ground for a predator. He wanted to go after Easton and Baines himself, but he had to find out more about this victim.

With multiple suspects now—Yonkers, Baines, Easton, and McCray—he had to delegate. “Tell your deputy to talk to everyone at the party,” Dane said. “Make sure Baines didn’t slip out and then come back. He could have lured our victim outside, killed her, returned to the party, then later dropped her body back at the center. I also want to know if Doyle Yonkers and McCray were there.”

“I’m on it.” Kimball left to follow up on Easton and Baines.

Dane conferred with the lieutenant for Patty Waxton’s next of kin information, then he found Josie and they walked to his SUV together.

Josie got in the passenger side. Dread tightened his gut as he phoned Patty Waxton’s brother.

Three rings later, and a woman’s voice answered. “Hello.”

“This is Special Agent Dane Hamrick. I’m looking for Heath Waxton.”

“He ain’t here. Then again, if you’re really the law, you know that.”

“Excuse me?”

“He’s been locked up for three years,” the woman said. “So whatever you want to pin on him, he didn’t do it.”

Dane cleared his throat, wondering about the family dynamics and what the man was in prison for. “I’m not trying to pin anything on him. It’s important I talk to him about his sister, Patty.”

“Patty? What’s going on? He hasn’t heard from her since he was locked up.”

“She hasn’t visited him in prison?” Dane asked.

“No, they had a falling out before he was arrested. She was pissed cause he tried to use her as an alibi, and she refused to lie for him.”

Dane pulled his hand down his chin. At least Patty had some morals. Which made her death even more tragic. “What prison is he in?”

“Mississippi State Pen.”

“Thanks. I’ll get in touch with him there.” He hung up, then phoned the prison and explained the situation to the warden.

“Has he had any visitors or communication with his sister during the last few months?” Maybe she’d met Easton or one of the other suspects before and told someone.

“I’ll check.”

The warden came back quickly. “Agent Hamrick, according to the visitor log the only person who has visited Waxton is his girlfriend. Same with his mail.”

“All right.” Dane wiped his clammy hands on his jeans. The guy might be a criminal, but hearing about his sister’s murder would have to hurt. “Will you notify him about his sister’s death?”

“Of course. If I can help in any other way, let me know.”

Making that notification was more helpful than the warden knew. Dane ended the call, then joined Josie in the SUV.

“Patty and her brother were estranged. He’s doing time, but according to the man’s wife, he and Patty hadn’t talked in a while.”

“Poor Patty.” Josie worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “I couldn’t reach Neesie, so I left a message. Dane, she was from Mississippi, too. I wonder if she and Patty had met.”

“If so, maybe she knows something about who Patty was with.”

The problem was—where was Neesie Netherington?

Josie couldn’t help but worry about Neesie and the other young women in town as Dane drove toward the cabins on the river. Actresses had flocked to Graveyard Falls with big dreams—only now two of them were dead.

Her phone buzzed.

The number read as an unknown. Could it be the killer?

He’d texted before—was he finally going to talk to her in person?

She punched Connect. “Hello.”

“Miss DuKane?”

A woman’s voice. “Neesie?”

“No, this is Bailey,” the girl said in a voice laced with tears.

Josie’s heart melted. “Bailey, honey, what can I do for you?”

“I don’t know,” Bailey cried. “I miss Charity. Do you and that detective know who killed her yet?”

Josie massaged her temple and glanced at Dane. He arched a brow in question, and she mouthed that it was Bailey. “I’m afraid not yet, honey, but we’re working on it.”

Bailey gulped. “Some reporter named Michaels is bugging me for an interview about Charity’s death,” Bailey said. “I didn’t know what to tell him.”

Of course the reporters would swarm. When they discovered there was a second body, they would run with it and everyone would panic.

“You don’t have to tell him anything,” Josie said.

Dane’s expression darkened. “Tell her not to talk to any reporters.”

Josie gestured that she understood. “Agent Hamrick said not to talk to the press. He’s trying to protect you and the investigation.”

Bailey sniffled. “I appreciate that. I want to talk about Charity, but I don’t want just anyone writing about her. They might make her out to be something she’s not.”

“I understand. She’s your sister and you loved her,” Josie said sympathetically. “She deserves to be remembered for the special person she was.”

“That’s it,” Bailey said. “I knew you’d understand, Miss DuKane. That’s one reason I called. I want you to write about Charity.” Her voice grew bolder. “If you do, people will see what a good person she was.”

“Of course, I’d be honored.” The girl’s trust touched her deeply. “We’ll get together when you’re feeling better and make some notes.”

“Thanks,” Bailey said. “I just took a sleeping pill so I could sleep tonight. Last night I . . . Well, I had terrible nightmares.”

Josie’s breath rasped out as Billy’s face flashed behind her eyes. Bailey’s words sank in. “I can relate to your nightmares, Bailey. You will be okay, won’t you? I mean, you aren’t drinking and mixing pills—”

“No. I’m not going to do anything stupid,” Bailey said with conviction. “I’m determined to land a part in this movie for Charity. She would want that.”

Relief made Josie sag. “Yes, she would. I’m proud of you.”

Bailey sniffled. “I figured if you can face this town after what happened to you, I can be tough, too.”

Tears welled in Josie’s eyes. She wanted to be an example for other young women, but she didn’t deserve this girl’s admiration. Not when she carried the weight of Charity’s death on her shoulders.

“Anyway, thanks, Josie,” Bailey said. “You have no idea what it means to be able to talk to you.”

Josie wiped at her eyes. “Of course. Call me anytime day or night that you need me, and I’ll be there.”

She ended the call, desperately trying to gather her composure. The thought of speaking for another dead girl weighed on her shoulders. She wanted justice for Charity and her sister, though.

“Is she all right?” Dane asked.

Josie shook her head. “No, but she will be. That reporter is bothering her. She wants me to write Charity’s story.”

Dane’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “I really wish you weren’t involved. Maybe if you left town—”

“I’m not running from this, Dane. You should know that by now,” she said, annoyed.

“I do, but a man can hope.” Worry underscored his voice, softening his sarcastic tone.

She jammed her phone into her purse, ignoring his grim look. “Where to next?”

He checked his watch. “To check on McCray. The sheriff is looking for Easton.”

The Billy Linder lookalike made Josie’s skin prickle. If he’d killed Charity and Patty Waxton, she’d gladly help lock him away.

They lapsed into silence, the night sounds of the forest reverberating in the wind rolling off the mountains. Last year at this time, snow still dotted the ridges and the temperature was frigid.

The dark clouds above obliterated the moon and the stars, making the area look desolate and eerie as they drove into the heart of the mountains to the river.

Dane pointed to the corner cabin set against the forest. Shrouded by thick oaks and pines, it was more isolated than the others—a good place to hide. If a woman screamed for help, no one would even hear her.

A low light burned inside, but otherwise things seemed quiet.

Dane parked and checked his weapon. “Stay here.”

“No.” She reached for the door handle. “I want to see his reaction when you question him. Besides, he’s been wanting to talk to me. Maybe he’ll open up if I’m there.”

Dane hesitated, then nodded in resignation and they got out.

A coyote howled, storm clouds rumbling. Dane ushered Josie behind him as they approached.

“He’s not going to shoot at us or come out in the open and attack us,” Josie said. “He likes this cat and mouse game too much.”

Dane gripped his Glock by his side, planting himself in between her and the door as he knocked.

Dane kept his senses honed in case McCray was combative or tried to escape out the back. He hoped to hell some incriminating evidence was on the man or inside his cabin. Seeing another woman’s face butchered had made his stomach sour.

Footsteps shuffled inside, and he braced himself to guard Josie. He shouldn’t have agreed to let her come here. Not with the killer taunting her, and McCray’s resemblance to Linder. He could have easily sent her the message with the doll to entice her to play his game.

The wind shook the trees again, tossing twigs onto the porch and pummeling the roof. The damn wind roared like a freight train through the sharp ridges. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked, and an owl hooted—the wildlife a reminder of how deeply the town was buried in the Smoky Mountains.

The door opened, and Porter McCray stood on the other side.

Dane quickly scrutinized him—he wore jeans and a wrinkled plaid shirt. His hair stuck out in tufts as if he’d either run his hands through it or he’d been sleeping. No visible blood on his shirt or hands.

McCray squinted up at him with a scowl. As soon as he noticed Josie, he straightened, his eyes twitching Billy Linder–style. “What can I do for you now?” McCray asked.

“We need to talk,” Dane said bluntly.

McCray lifted one eyebrow. “It’s late. I have a callback for another audition tomorrow.” He slanted a sinister smile toward Josie. “I appreciate you putting in a good word for me.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” Josie said, her tone indicating she was in no mood to entertain his sick fantasies.

“Yes, you did. You wrote a killer book.” A dark chuckle rumbled from him at his own wordplay.

Josie glared at him.

Dane fought the urge to wring the man’s neck and jammed one foot into the doorway. “Are you going to let us in, or do we need to take this chat to the sheriff’s office?”

McCray rubbed his fingers down his neck, then gestured for them to enter. “I suppose I don’t have a choice.”

Dane surveyed the front room of the cabin. Wood floors, den and kitchen combination. Acting magazines and scripts scattered on the coffee table.

A stuffed coyote on the mantel. A raccoon on the desk. Linder’s work?

“Are those yours or did they come with the cabin?” Dane asked pointedly.