Sunrise was just moments away when Holly’s cell phone rang again. She’d fallen asleep with it in her hand and was trying to answer it before her eyes were fully opened.
Please, God, let this be good news,
she thought, then answered the call. “Hello? Bud?”
“Yes, it’s me, honey. It’s good news. Just let me get Savannah on the phone, too.”
Holly sank back against the pillows and said a quiet prayer of thanksgiving as she waited for Bud. Seconds later, they were both on the phone.
“Talk to me,” Holly begged.
“The cop called again. Maria woke up. He said she’s going to be okay.”
“Thank you, Jesus,” Holly whispered, knowing last night’s prayers had been answered.
“Amen,” Savannah said, then added, “How bad is she hurt? Was she burned? I didn’t think to ask last night.”
“No. No burns. She was far enough away when it went off to escape the worst of that. She’ll heal, and that’s all that matters. And it was even clearer this morning Bodie Scott, that detective I told you about, has fallen for your sister.”
“That’s so great!” Savannah cried.
“I know,” Bud said. “Can’t say whether she feels the same or not, but here’s hoping.”
“That’s amazing,” Holly said. “I’m so happy for her. That’s what we all want, right, Savannah?”
“Absolutely,” her sister said.
Bud’s heart dropped. He couldn’t imagine the thought of Holly falling for someone and having to watch her live out her life with another man.
“So we still don’t go see her?” Holly said.
“I can’t tell you flat out not to, but I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Bud said.
“We can call her, though, right?” Savannah asked.
“Sure, but not just yet. I don’t think she would even remember it, let alone be able to talk. She’s not even sitting up in bed. She woke up long enough to hear that she was going to recover, and then she was out again. I’d give it a couple of days, at least.”
“Okay,” Holly said. “But if you talk to her before we do, make sure she knows you told us and that we send our love.”
“I will. Are you both being careful?”
“Yes,” they promised in unison.
Holly didn’t want to think about what she’d done. She’d already admitted to herself that it had been a stupid move. All she could do was hope it didn’t come back to haunt her.
“Sleep well, ladies. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Holly set the phone aside, then got out of bed. This news had reinforced her decision. Today was the day she went to the police.
Harold was a hunter, but he freely admitted that he wasn’t much of a detective. It had taken him a while to find out that Holly Slade’s car was still in the underground garage. After that, he found a parking place close by and settled in to wait. A short while later, her car cruised past with a parking valet behind the wheel, so he quickly started his own car and drove out of the garage just in time to see her getting into hers. He waited until a couple of cars had followed her out, then fell in behind them. He wasn’t thinking so much about where she was going as just hoping to get a chance to get a good view of her face when she got there.
When she finally turned into a parking lot, he was so focused on getting a look at her that he paid no attention to her destination. He followed a few moments behind her and wheeled into an empty space, but once again all he got was a glimpse of her profile before she walked up the sidewalk and into a building.
When he realized where he was—in the visitors’ lot of the St. Louis Police Department—he started to sweat.
The day had started off warm and sunny. Holly was wishing she’d thought to bring her sunglasses as she made her way through the city traffic. The St. Louis Police Department was on Clark Avenue. She found it with little trouble, but once she’d parked, she suddenly felt hesitant about going inside. This was absolutely going to change her life, but after what had just happened to Maria, she had to be careful that it didn’t also end it.
She checked to make sure she had her journal, as well as the photos Ida Pacino had given her, then got out and went inside. After asking to speak to a detective who handled cold cases, she was escorted to the desk of Detective Whit Carver.
Whitman Carver was a third-generation cop. He lived and breathed the job to such a degree that after his third wife had divorced him seven years earlier, he hadn’t bothered trying to replace her. He was fifty-seven years old, about thirty pounds overweight, with a full head of steel-gray hair and a smoking habit he was trying to quit. Today was his first day back at work after a three-day bout with the flu, and he was nursing his second cup of coffee as he shuffled through the paperwork that had piled up on his desk.
When he saw an officer come in with a young woman and head toward his desk, he guessed his day was about to get busier.
“Detective Carver, this lady has asked to speak to a cold-case detective.”
“I qualify,” Whit said and waved toward the chair beside his desk. “Detective Whitman Carver, ma’am. How can I help you?”
Holly smiled nervously. “My name is Holly Slade. I have an unusual situation and wasn’t really sure who to talk to.”
Whit frowned. “So what’s your unusual situation?”
“It’s about murder and a false missing persons report, and one is tied to the other, though maybe not entirely the way you’d expect.”
Whit watched her pull some papers and photos out of her bag, then put them on his desk, and frowned.
This oughta be good.
“So who went missing?”
“According to Harold Mackey, who filed the false report, that would be me and my mother.”
Whit started taking notes. “Who’s Harold Mackey?”
“He’s my birth father…the man who raised me for the first five years of my life. I told you my name was Holly Slade, and up until last week, I thought that was the truth and that a man named Andrew Slade was my father. But at the reading of Andrew’s will, I found out I wasn’t really his child and my sisters weren’t really my sisters. My real parents were Harold and Twila Mackey, from right here in St. Louis.”
Whit shifted in his seat. “That sounds like a tough thing to hear, but what does it have to do with this murder you have yet to mention. Who died?”
“I’m getting to that,” Holly said. “Twenty years ago, my mother left me in the care of a preacher from Montana by the name of Andrew Slade, with the intention of turning in her husband Harold, my father, to the police, then taking me back and starting over.”
“So far this sounds like a plain old marital dispute. Is that why she was going to turn in your father to the police? Was he abusing her?”
Holly took a slow, calming breath. “She didn’t say anything about being abused to Andrew Slade. She was going to report Harold Mackey to the police for an entirely different reason, only I know she never got a chance to make that report. Instead, my mother went missing and I think he had something to do with it. I think he filed that missing persons report to cover his own guilt.”
Holly leaned forward. “Until Andrew died, I had no memory of any of this. After coming back to St. Louis, I’ve begun to remember bits and pieces, but I believe the reason I was sent away was because I saw something bad and my mother found out. She sent me away to protect me. And I think my birth father, Harold Mackey, did something to her. That’s why she never showed up.”
Whit put down his pen and kicked back in his chair.
“Miss, that wouldn’t be a cold case. Even if your mother went missing, as you put it and your father claimed, there’s no proof that anything happened to her. Have you ever considered the possibility that after she dumped you off on the preacher, she went one way while you went the other, and that this Mackey fellow you claim is your birth father didn’t know where either of you went, thus his reason for filing the missing persons report?”
“No. That scenario never crossed my mind.”
“Why not? It’s the most logical one I can think of.”
“How long have you been on the police force?” Holly asked.
“A long damn time,” Whit snapped. “Long enough to know my business. If you have nothing more to add, we’re through here.”
Seven
H
is sudden anger surprised her, then made her panic as she realized he’d misunderstood her question.
“Oh, no…I apologize. I wasn’t disputing you, Detective Carver. I asked because I was wondering if you’d remember a particular cold case from twenty years ago.”
“I’ve lived in St. Louis all my life, ma’am. If you would quit beating around the bush and just come right out and explain what you’re getting at, we might save both of us some time.”
“Sorry. Twenty years ago a lot of women were murdered here by a serial killer the media named the Hunter, right?”
The hair rose on the back of Whit’s neck.
“Yes, but what’s—”
“My mother believed my father was the Hunter. I don’t know why, but that’s what she told Andrew Slade. She told him that as soon as she went to the police and they arrested my father, she would come get me. But like I said before, she never came. And one other thing. I know for a fact that my father is still alive and living in St. Louis.”
Whit couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Even after twenty years, this case was a boil on the butt of the entire St. Louis Police Department. During the three years that the Hunter had been active, they’d never gotten a single lead that panned out. Now this young woman had walked into the department and basically handed them their first real lead on a platter? Was this too good to be true?
Holly kept waiting for him to comment, but all he did was stare at her.
“Well?” she finally asked.
He jerked. “I’m sorry. That’s one hell of a story.”
Holly frowned. “Story? You think that was just a story? It’s not a story, it’s a tragedy. I lost my mother and twenty years of my life because of some thing I can’t remember, and you call it a story? I don’t know why, but for some reason I expected a little more interest than that from the police.”
Whit shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, Miss Slade. You misunderstand me. This is shock, not disbelief.”
“Oh.”
Whit nodded. “
Oh,
indeed. Sit tight. I need to make a couple of calls. There are some other people who need to hear what you have to say.”
She watched as he began making calls. From what she could overhear, he called his lieutenant, his captain and someone he referred to as Chief. As soon as he hung up the phone, he stood.
“When they get here, they’ll want to hear all of this, so I’m afraid you’ll have to go through it again. Can I get you anything while you wait? Coffee? A cold drink?”
“Maybe some water.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and darted off.
Holly began to get nervous. She’d wanted results and this was better than she’d hoped for, but it was also so…irrevocable.
Within half an hour three somber-faced men arrived. Holly was escorted into an interview room and introduced to Whit’s superiors— Lieutenant Samuels, Captain Rouse and Chief Hollis. At Whit’s urging, she repeated her story, watching the shock spread across their faces. When she was through, they all began to speak at once.
It was the chief who held up his hand for silence.
“Miss Slade, we’ll need a copy of your journal and any papers that your mother left with Andrew Slade, as well as copies of the photos you were given.” He pointed to Whit. “See to that, and put in a request for all the files pertaining to the Hunter case.” His gaze slid to the other two policemen. “Lieutenant, I want you to form a task force. See that Detective Carver has all the help he needs. Coordinate with Captain Rouse to make this happen. We don’t have enough detectives working cold cases to go through the backlog of information on this. Assign as many detectives as you can spare from other departments. This killer is an animal. What he did to those women was barbaric, and he needs to be put down.”
Holly felt sick as the shame of what he’d said began to sink in. This killer—the man they referred to as an animal—was her father. So what did that make her?
Hollis shifted his attention to Holly.
“We appreciate what it took for you to come forward, and we’ll do what we can to put this information to good use. Given the twenty-year gap, it’s not going to be easy finding old witnesses. But at least we should be able to discover your father’s whereabouts pretty easily. Is there anything you can tell us on that score.”
“I don’t know where he’s living now, but he works for Riverfront Wholesale, driving a delivery truck.”
Hollis’s reaction was short and loud. “Holy sh—” He stopped in midsentence as a flush spread up his neck and face. “I’m sorry, Miss Slade. I apologize for my language.”
Still rattled by how fast this was happening, Holly sank back into her chair. “So what do you need me to do?”
“You’ve done enough,” Hollis said. “I’m correct in understanding that he doesn’t know you’re in the city, right?”
She hesitated, then nodded, omitting the fact that she
had
spied on him, since he hadn’t known she was there.
“Good. We don’t want you to go anywhere near him, much less talk to him. If your claims are correct, the mere sight of you might spook him.”
“I don’t think he’d recognize me. We haven’t seen each other in twenty years. However, I have no desire to be around him, and if what I suspect is true, he not only murdered all those women, he also murdered my mother. I want justice for all of them.”
“We understand. And if you remember anything else in the meantime, don’t hesitate to call Detective Carver.”
“Yes, of course,” Holly said.
Hollis eyed the men in the room and spoke, his voice sharp, his words pointed. “I don’t want to open a newspaper and see that the media has picked up on the fact that the Hunter case has been reopened, or anything else that might give Mackey a reason to run, especially if he
is
our man.”
Captain Rouse spoke up, “Serial killers are a unique breed. A lot of them have a God complex. They think they’re smarter and wilier than the police, and that they can’t be caught. Part of the high of what they do is eluding authority. And very few of them ever stop unless they get too old, get sent to jail for something else, or die. To our knowledge, there hasn’t been another murder connected to this case in almost twenty years, which is very unusual if your father is the killer and has been walking around free that whole time. And if he finds out that the case has been reopened, then he might assume there’s new evidence, which could lead him to leave the area before we have enough evidence for an arrest. Or, even worse, amp up and kill again.”