All the Pretty Faces (21 page)

He hung up, his heart pounding. He could see himself stabbing the girl, the blood spurting. Her scream of terror taunted him.

He jammed the knife into her chest again.

She hadn’t loved him; she’d rejected him like everyone else.

She’d had to die.

Josie contemplated Dr. Grimley’s reaction as she and Dane drove back to Graveyard Falls. For a successful plastic surgeon, he had appeared to be awfully on edge. Not confident, as she would have expected.

He was handsome, though, neatly dressed, articulate, so women would trust him, especially if they were going to discuss a consult about cosmetic work.

His nervousness bothered her, though. He’d obviously suffered as a child. He’d also seemed sincere in his devotion to his job.

But he had been shaken when Dane questioned him about the murders. He’d even reacted oddly at Dane’s name. He had hidden those papers from her, too. Although they could have been patient files.

“Did you see anything suspicious in the bathroom?” Dane asked.

Josie shook her head. “Just the usual toiletries. No bag of scalpels or dolls or broken mirror. What did you think about the plastic surgeon?”

“He’s hiding something,” Dane said. “I don’t know what, but I intend to find out.”

Neesie sipped a cup of tea as she studied herself in the mirror. She’d heard other girls bustling around leaving for the center, but she was waiting to hear from the casting director.

She couldn’t get what Josie and that agent said out of her mind. McCray was weird, but so far, he’d left her alone.

Eddie Easton was a different story—the photo session at the falls had unnerved her, but Eddie hadn’t hurt her. Although for a moment, she’d thought he was going to choke her with that garter.

But he had offered to help her. Eddie had said he’d talk to the plastic surgeon for her, that he was coming to Graveyard Falls this week and he’d set up a consult.

Her phone dinged, and she clicked to read the incoming text.

Callback for part of Josie DuKane. Meet me and we’ll discuss the audition. Olive Turnstyle, casting director.

Excitement bubbled in her chest. Playing Josie would be a dream come true, especially now that she knew and liked the woman.

Josie would probably help her, too!

She checked her watch, then phoned Gil Baines, hoping he could do her makeup before she met with Olive. Not that Josie wore a lot of makeup. She was more of a natural beauty.

Gil Baines could make her look natural and wholesome like Josie. He’d probably have wardrobe suggestions, too.

He answered immediately and told her he’d work her in.

Psyched, she showered and dressed, then rushed outside to her car. The parking lot at the inn was empty, as everyone was at the community center, although a couple of older women were power walking on the sidewalk, and a tall man was walking his Yorkie.

A little girl and her mother strolled past, a doll clutched in the child’s arms. A memory pricked at Neesie’s consciousness as she fumbled with her keys. Hadn’t Josie mentioned something about those Mitzi dolls?

Neesie had seen one in that closet.

She punched Josie’s number to tell her but received her voice mail, so she left a message. “I saw one of those dolls you were talking about at the community center. Call me.”

The wind picked up, blowing leaves across the back parking lot. Dark thunderstorms crawled across the sky adding a gloomy gray cast over the area. Somewhere a cat screeched, startling her. She looked up and saw it scramble into the bushes, a trash can lid clanging against the asphalt.

A shadow fell over her face, and she pivoted, but the sharp sting of a needle stabbed her neck.

She tried to scream but her tongue wouldn’t work, and when she reached for her car to steady herself, the world spiraled out of control.

She hit the ground, her body convulsing. Fear choked her as she tried to see who’d attacked her.

Instead a dark void swallowed her into its abyss.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Josie checked her phone as she and Dane drove toward Graveyard Falls. A message from Neesie.

“Dane, Neesie called. She saw one of those dolls at the community center.”

“Where was it?”

Josie’s heartbeat accelerated. This might be the lead they needed. “I don’t know. She didn’t say. I’ll call her and find out.”

She punched Neesie’s number, but her voice mail kicked in. “Neesie, it’s Josie. Please call me. I need to know where you saw the doll. It’s important.”

She ended the call, her mind racing. “I’m worried, Dane. I should have told Neesie why we were asking about the doll.”

“Corbin Michaels already did that,” Dane pointed out.

Josie rubbed her temple with two fingers. That was true. “What if whoever has the doll knows that Neesie saw it? She could be in danger.”

Dane pressed the accelerator. “I’ll call Sheriff Kimball and ask him to find her.”

Josie twisted her hands together. The thought of Neesie falling prey to this butcher terrified her.

Dane swerved onto the highway. That doll could lead them to the unsub.

His phone buzzed. Peyton, not Neesie.

“Dane, I’m sending you a link to Dr. Grimley’s latest blog. These entries are even more disturbing. One was just added that sounds like a description of the murders. The claw marks on the face are man-made instead of being caused by the vulture.”

He considered turning around and running surveillance on Grimley. But Grimley was too smart to take another girl right now.

Or was he? Maybe he was so bold he thought he could get away with anything.

“I’m on the road, but I’ll look at it as soon as I get back to Graveyard Falls.”

“There’s something else,” Peyton said. “I dug around for more information on Easton. Apparently he dated a girl named Sherry when he was in photography school. She was murdered shortly after they broke up.”

Dane tensed. Easton had also attended UT when Betsy had visited. And his girlfriend had been murdered.

Another coincidence that couldn’t be ignored. “How did the girl die?”

“She was stabbed.”

The hair on the back of Dane’s neck stood on end. “Who initiated the breakup?”

“According to the girl’s friends, she did. She claimed that Easton had gotten weird. He wanted her to pose in ways that mimicked horror movies.”

Dane sped around a curve. That’s how the damn man made his career. “Were charges filed against him?”

“No, although he was a person of interest. His alibi was shaky, but the cops never could make the case.”

Just like they hadn’t been able to with Betsy.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter. God, could he really be close to finding Betsy’s killer and locking him up?

He needed details. “Where was the girl’s body found?”

“By the river. According to Sherry’s girlfriend, that’s where Sherry and Easton used to meet. Unfortunately, there were no witnesses. No weapon was ever found. No DNA.”

“Did she have any unusual markings on her body?”

“No, nothing distinguishable.”

Dammit. They needed some concrete physical evidence to bring Easton in, not just suppositions.

The working theory fit the MO, though. The photographer had also volunteered at that nature preserve and knew Silas Grimley. He could have heard Grimley’s story of being attacked by the birds and added that to his signature.

Or hell, what if Easton and Grimley were partners?

Both were troubled. They could have bonded as adolescents at that nature center and remained friends, even offering alibis to help each other get away with murder. He hissed.

He hadn’t considered a team before. Having a partner was rare with serial killers, but it happened.

Was he actually looking at two different killers working together?

Dane’s face looked strained as he hung up.

“What’s wrong?” Josie asked.

“A girl Easton dated in photography school died under suspicious circumstances after they broke up. She was stabbed to death.”

Josie’s lungs tightened. “You think that Easton is the Butcher?”

“I don’t know,” Dane said. “Things are pointing to both him and Dr. Grimley. Each of them had troubled childhoods and worked at the same nature preserve with the raptors. They could have bonded and formed a team.”

A chill slithered up Josie’s spine. “You know that’s unusual. Although sometimes couples have murdered together, and so have a few men. Usually one is the more dominant and convinces the submissive one to help lure the victims.”

“Easton could be the submissive, enticing the girls through photo shoots and then turning them over to Grimley. Grimley’s childhood abuse and his disfigurement fit with the MO,” Dane said. “They could also alibi each other.”

“True.” Josie mentally pieced together the scenario, trying to make it gel with the men she’d met and their personalities. “Although Grimley seems more the submissive type to me. He was really nervous when you questioned him.”

“He
should
be nervous.” Dane retrieved his tablet from the seat. “Take a look at Grimley’s latest blog and see what you think, Josie. He takes the talon carvings to a new level. We might be able to use it to build a case against him.”

Josie clicked on the link and skimmed a few of the earlier entries to get a feel for Grimley’s style. She searched for a pattern, details he might have inserted that only the killer would know.

The Bird Diaries

By Silas Grimley

The daddy led him outside to the cages. A loud squawking erupted, and the trapped animals screamed for release.

They flapped their wings and flew from one side of the cage to the other, their cries to escape piercing his ears.

“Become one with the birds,” his daddy said. “Tame them and you will find your inner strength.”

“No, Daddy,” he pleaded as his father pushed him toward the cage. “I’m scared.”

Daddy jerked him to a halt, grabbed both his arms, and forced him to look at him. “Fear is your enemy.” Daddy’s eyes stabbed at him like needles. “Conquer it and the world is yours.”

Tears burned the backs of his eyelids, but he blinked them back. Crying made Daddy mad. He didn’t like it when Daddy got mad.

Especially when he punished him.

“Remember what I showed you.” Daddy tugged gloves on the boy’s hands, long gloves that went halfway up his arms.

“Go in with me,” the boy whispered. “Show me again.”

Daddy shook his head. “It’s time you became a man.”

The boy had no choice. His daddy opened the cage just enough for him to slip inside. He dug his heels in, but his daddy gave him a shove and he stumbled forward, hit the ground, and tasted dirt.

The door to the cage snapped shut, and he stared in terror at the birds as they flapped their wings, dipped their beaks, and watched him through beady eyes.

Some of them were sick. He heard their terrible screeching. Saw them attack each other. Others were starving, his father’s doing.

He went stone still, his breath barely puffing out. If he made a sudden move, they might perceive him as the enemy.

Josie shuddered as she imagined the little boy being attacked by the sharp talons.

She skimmed several more blog entries, more stories about the child. The details of the attacks, of the birds as they fed on the boy, made her stomach feel more nauseous.

Why hadn’t someone intervened and removed him from that home?

A good doctor or teacher should have recognized signs of abuse.

She scrolled down to a more recent story.

The boy was an adolescent now. He bore the scars of his work with the birds. He loved them. He hated them.

They had dug so deeply into his skin with their knife-like claws that they were a part of him now.

His blood carried the scent of the carrion they had torn apart with their jagged talons before turning on him.

Even though he tried to hide them, someone had seen the scars.

His father hadn’t meant for it to happen. Neither had he. He’d hidden them with long-sleeve shirts and jackets and never complained.

Then one day the girl had noticed. She had told.

The next week that haughty biddy with the ugly black hat from the state had come to visit. She’d taken him from the cages and his birds and made him live in that other home. That was where he met the older woman.

She’d tried to chase his nightmares away with sweet bedtime stories and cookies and milk.

It was too late to change the past. Cookies and milk were for babies.

He wasn’t a kid anymore.

He had to live with the monsters. They came for him at night like the devil rising from the grave.

The housemother sensed his bond with the falcons. She’d known they were part of him. So she’d let him work at the nature preserve where he could be close to the birds.

Then one day it happened. He made a friend. An older boy who took him under his wing. A boy who liked the raptors and carved them out of wood.

Then the girl came, too. She was older than him. So nice.

He liked her pretty smile and the way she looked at him as if he mattered. As if she didn’t see the mangled flesh on his face that he tried so hard to hide.

All the other girls cared about was styling their hair and covering their faces with makeup. They were obsessed with their stupid dolls. That Mitzi doll with nail polish and eye shadow and fancy clothes and shoes.

It had all started with that silly show. Mad About Mitzi—all the girls wanted to look like the teenager who played Mitzi.

They were so shallow.

Except for her.

The sweet girl with the musical voice and kind eyes.

She was different.

At least he’d thought she was.

Then he’d seen the doll in her room. She had one just like the others.

“No!” he screamed.

His screaming did no good.

Besides, he loved her anyway.

He had to work up the nerve to tell her. She wouldn’t smile at him like that if she didn’t love him, too.

Dane cleared his throat, drawing her back from the reading. “What do you think?”

“I’m not finished, but these definitely could be autobiographical. He mentions a boy he befriended and a girl he was in love with.”

Dane’s sharp intake of breath startled her. “Does he name the girl?”

“No.” Josie turned the pages to see if he called her by name later on, but didn’t find it.

“The boy was probably Easton,” Dane said, his voice dark. “They met at that nature preserve.”

“What about the girl?” Josie asked, although she sensed she knew the answer.

“I can’t be sure, but my sister volunteered at a nature center. She could have met them both there.”

Compassion for Dane rose inside her along with hope. Maybe he would finally get closure.

Had Easton and Grimley bonded to the point of staying lifelong friends—and killing together?

She skipped to the last entry, the one Peyton thought pointed to Grimley as a killer. The first part described the Mitzi doll and how he’d carved its face.

The last few paragraphs made chill bumps skate up Josie’s spine.

He had suffered from the vultures’ vicious claws.

Now it was her turn to suffer.

He picked up his scalpel and held it above her pretty face. Her eyes widened in terror. She tried to scream, but he covered her mouth and jabbed the blade into her cheek until it connected with bone. Blood oozed from the cut, making his heart race.

She kicked and clawed at him with her nails, but he sank the knife deeper into her cheek, marking her as the birds had marked him.

Tears rolled down her face and mingled with the blood, painting a red river down her face.

He lifted the scalpel and tasted her fear as her blood wet his tongue.