Terri nodded.
“Is that what this is all about? You’re afraid Dad will try to get in here to see you?”
Terri patted her chest again.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.”
She lifted her right hand, pulled back three fingers, and using her thumb and index finger, formed the shape of a gun. She pointed directly at her head. “U…Ra-so…hup.”
Tyler stared at his mother, a stunned expression on his beautiful face. “You can’t be saying what I think you’re saying.” He laughed nervously. “You want me to protect you from my father. That’s it, isn’t it?”
Lila barely managed not to gasp aloud. She stepped back away from the door and closed it quietly. Why did Mr. Tyler think his mother was afraid of Mr. Ransom? Lila had never seen any indication that his visits upset her or that she was in the least bit afraid of him.
What to do, what to do! Should she call Mr. Ransom and tell him what she had overheard? The man had a right to defend himself, didn’t he? Besides, if Terri was beginning to form words that could be understood, it would be only a matter of time before she told Mr. Tyler that Mr. Ransom had been visiting her on a regular basis. And then, the shit sure enough would hit the fan.
Lila hurried up the hall, went into the nurses’ lounge, and when she saw that it was empty, she removed her cell phone from her pocket and dialed the phone number Mr. Ransom had given her when he’d called her that morning.
Carrying a newspaper under his arm and with the straps of a midsize backpack hanging over one shoulder, Casey Lloyd got off the bus at the Greyhound terminal on Wedington Drive in Fayetteville Saturday morning. Unfortunately, he’d already missed his SAA meeting, but it couldn’t be helped.
After each trip, he felt like celebrating because he knew he was coming closer and closer to achieving his ultimate goal. But what did a guy who had sworn off liquor, drugs, and addictive sex do in order to celebrate? He had a little money left in his wallet, enough to buy himself a steak for lunch, and then afterward, maybe he’d go see a movie. But first, he needed to run by his friend Jason’s house and leave his backpack. He kept his personal items stored at Jason’s for safekeeping. He trusted his friend not to break open the locked case containing these items and pilfer the contents.
When he passed a garbage can, he stopped and tossed away the newspaper. While away from Fayetteville, he had kept up with the news, so he knew the whole nation was abuzz about the Midnight Killer’s latest murder.
Casey remembered Jean Goins with affection, mostly because Jean had despised Laura Lou with a passion and had often called her a hack who couldn’t write her way out of a paper bag.
Poor Jean. Destined to die along with her
Midnight Masquerade
costars. There were only four of them still alive: Sonny Deguzman, Charlene Strickland, Terri Owens, and Lorie Hammonds. He hoped the final four were living it up these days, enjoying life to the fullest. It was only a matter of time before the Midnight Killer executed each of them.
And who knew, maybe when the great executioner, the righter of wrongs, finished with the actors, he might get rid of the producer and the head writer. Casey knew one thing for sure—the world would be a better place without Travis Dillard and Laura Lou Roberts.
Derek Lawrence kicked back on the sofa and placed his feet on the overstuffed leather ottoman in Griffin Powell’s study. Sanders served iced tea and then quietly left the room. Derek sipped on the sweet raspberry-flavored tea as he gazed casually about the room, concentrating on the people and not the décor. Griff and Nic were seated in the large armchairs flanking the fireplace and Maleah sat on the opposite end of the sofa. He’d been staying with the Powells for the past few days, and Maleah had driven in from Knoxville that morning. The gruesome murders of Jean and Jeff Misner and their two bodyguards had been front-page news the past two days. And as Powell’s gathered more and more information, Derek had been working on a new updated profile of the Midnight Killer.
“I think it’s obvious that whoever the killer is, Jean and Jeff Misner not only knew him, but trusted him,” Derek said.
“I think we all agree with you on that.” Griff downed a hefty sip of tea.
“The LAPD says there was no forced entry.” Derek flipped open his notepad. “Both bodyguards were shot to death in the living room, as were the Misners, so the killer didn’t enter the house and immediately start shooting. The cook had prepared a meal for the Misners and a guest. Drink glasses were found in the living room, indicating that the Misners had entertained their dinner guest after the meal. So far, all the fingerprints found belonged to the Misners and their bodyguards. Apparently, our killer was very careful not to leave behind any evidence.”
“I assume the cook left before the guest arrived?” Maleah asked. “Otherwise, he would have killed her, too, since she’d have been able to identify him.”
“That’s right,” Griff said. “And when questioned about if either of the Misners had mentioned their guest’s name, she said she didn’t recall his name being mentioned. She thought Jean Misner had referred to him by a pet name, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember what it was.”
Nic entered the conversation. “She did remember that Jean Misner said their guest was staying overnight and that they hadn’t seen him in years.”
“It was a rather simple plan and practically foolproof,” Derek theorized. “An old acquaintance from out of town phoned the Misners and finagled an invitation to stay with them, at least for one night. They never suspected that he intended to kill them. Why would they have trusted him so implicitly, knowing the person who murdered Jean’s costars might well be someone connected to
Midnight Masquerade
?”
“What if he wasn’t directly connected to the making of the movie?” Maleah suggested.
“Y’all ruled out any crazed fans, specifically those obsessed with
Midnight Masquerade,
” Griff said. “So who does that leave? The most likely suspects are those who were involved in the making of that particular movie.”
“You both could be right.” A couple of ideas had occurred to Derek yesterday after he’d thoroughly gone over all the information Powell’s had accumulated. He had worked on two profiles for a hypothetical killer. “Let’s say that the killer is not directly connected to the movie but is someone all the actors knew.”
“Like who for instance?” Nic asked.
“A boyfriend, a husband, a father, a son.” Derek paused to allow the others time to absorb his theory. “This person’s life was in some way adversely affected by their girlfriend, wife, daughter, mother, or father being involved in the porno business, and for some reason they focused all their rage on the actors in
Midnight Masquerade
. Something happened shortly before the first of this year that triggered all his pent-up rage and sent him off on a killing spree.”
“The movie was rereleased on Blu-ray DVD,” Maleah said. “Could something like that have been the trigger?”
“Yes, it could have,” Derek replied.
Silence fell over the room.
Finally, Griff said, “As scenarios go, it’s not a bad one.”
Derek grinned. “If you like that one, I have another almost as good.”
“I’ll just bet you do.” Maleah rolled her eyes. “Let’s hear it.”
“The killer either is or was in the business. He just wasn’t an actor. He was the writer or director or producer or even one of the cameramen. He associates a turning point in his life with that particular movie, and something occurred six months ago that freed the demons inside him, demons he had been able to control up until then. Possibly the rerelease of the movie triggered his murder spree.”
“We’ve ruled out Travis Dillard, unless he hired someone to do the killing for him,” Maleah said. “He’s too old and sick to be our guy. Kyle Richey hasn’t left Mexico since we interviewed him, so that rules out one of the cameramen. And Jeff Misner was the other one. Who does that leave? Grant Leroy and Casey Lloyd.”
“From the files I’ve read on those two, I’d pick Casey Lloyd over Grant Leroy,” Griff said. “Leroy’s life is better now than it’s ever been. If anything, his past in the porno business has helped him more than it’s hurt him. He uses himself as an example of how even the wickedest sinner can be redeemed. But Casey Lloyd, on the other hand, has hit rock bottom. He could blame the porno business and the actors from
Midnight Masquerade
in particular for his failures.”
“If I had to choose between those two, I agree that it would be Casey,” Derek said. “So, let’s say he’s one of our major suspects.”
“But we also have your other scenario,” Maleah reminded him.
“So we do.” Derek grinned. “Want to name those suspects and rule out any of them?”
He could see that she had taken his request as a challenge. So like Maleah. She was a prickly pear, her sharp needles always on the defensive.
“I’d pretty much rule out boyfriends right off the bat. At the time the movie was made, most of the actors were dating one another or at the very least sleeping with one another. I don’t recall that we found any evidence that anyone was in a long-term relationship with someone outside the business.” Maleah thought for a moment. “Do we happen to know how many fathers are still alive?”
“Actually, I did my research,” Derek said. “Of all the actors and Starlight Productions personnel who worked on the movie, only three have a father living now—Lorie Hammonds, whose father hasn’t left the state of Alabama in three years; Casey Lloyd, whose father was injured in a car wreck a few years back and is confined to a wheelchair; and Charlene Strickland, whose dad retired from the army and has been living in Hawaii for the past eight years.”
“Okay, we’ve ruled out boyfriends and fathers,” Maleah said. “That leaves husbands and sons. In the husband category, I’d put Ransom Owens at the top of the list. That guy is strange. And sons…hmmm…Heath Leroy and Tyler Owens, although I hate to think of anyone as gorgeous as Tyler Owens being a murderer.”
Derek snorted. “Pretty boys can be deadly. Despite your finding him oh so attractive, he’s still a suspect. That gives us four—Casey Lloyd, Ransom Owens, Tyler Owens, and Heath Leroy.”
“Then those are the four we should keep close tabs on starting immediately,” Nic said.
“Have we been able to get any info on their comings and goings the past few months, and do we know their whereabouts right now?” Maleah looked from Derek to Griff.
“Nailing down specifics is difficult when you’re playing catch-up,” Nic said. “Hicks Wainwright has shared bits and pieces of information with us, but he may well know things we don’t. On the other hand, we’ve shared everything we know with him. Phone records, airline records, and credit card records are not impossible for us to get, but it takes time. And although the FBI could access all of that for each of our suspects, they can’t do it without some type of evidence against the suspects, which they don’t have. And neither do we.”
“What are the odds that all four men just happened to be out of town and unaccounted for when the Misners were murdered? Reports have been coming in the past few days with updates on their conspicuous absences from home.” Derek tapped his notebook. “Casey Lloyd disappeared several days ago and just showed back up in Fayetteville today. We have no idea where he’s been.”
“We believed he was penniless, but it seems we were wrong. Some deep digging resulted in our discovering, only yesterday, that Laura Lou Roberts has been wiring money to an account in Fayetteville to a Mr. William Geisman,” Nic said. “From the description the bank tellers gave our agent, we’re pretty sure Mr. Geisman is Casey Lloyd.”
“Both Ransom Owens and his son Tyler left home shortly before the Misners were murdered. According to his wife, Tyler Owens is off somewhere on a fishing trip. And the elder Mr. Owens’s housekeeper said he had gone off, in her words, on another one of his digging-up-bones research trips.”
“What about Heath Leroy?” Maleah asked.
“According to his secretary, Heath has been in LaRue County, Kentucky, inspecting some acreage that the Redeemer Church recently purchased,” Nic said.
“Damn,” Maleah cursed under her breath. “It’s taken us too long to narrow down the suspects. We should have had tails on these four men long before now. If we had, maybe at the very least Jean Misner and Shontee Thomas would still be alive.”
“Powell’s has been on this case less than six weeks,” Griff reminded her. “We started out with nothing except three unsolved murders that we—the Powell Agency—figured out were connected. If not for us, the FBI probably wouldn’t have gotten involved as soon as they did. We’re not miracle workers. We’re just investigators.”
“Sorry. I’m frustrated and worried sick about Lorie Hammonds. Until the Misners were murdered, we thought we would have a month between kills, but now…” She glared at Derek. “Don’t say it. I know you told us that it was a possibility that the killer would deviate from his MO, which could mean killing more than one person per month.”
“We’re all frustrated,” Griff said. “But from here on out, our four suspects will be under constant surveillance.” He turned to Nic. “Call Wainwright and let him know what we’re going to do. We don’t want our agents getting in the Bureau’s way during their investigation. It won’t help if we’re working at cross-purposes.”
He didn’t want to kill her. But he had known all along that it was inevitable. If she were the only one left alive, it was possible that those stupid FBI agents would wonder why she hadn’t been killed and actually would put two and two together. His original plan had been to save her until last. Killing her would be difficult for him because he loved her. She didn’t deserve his love; she never had. If only…
The past couldn’t be altered no matter how much a person wished it could be. Her unforgivable actions had colored every aspect of his life. He had never been able to recover from her desertion. Had she ever loved him? If she had, how could she have left him?
He had spent most of the day considering his options. He didn’t dare risk waiting another day. If he didn’t act immediately, it was only a matter of time before his identity would be revealed.
At this time of night, the Green Willows Rehabilitation and Convalescence Center was eerily quiet, with only an occasional cry from a restless patient or laughter coming from the nurses’ lounge. The front door was locked precisely at eleven every night and not reopened until six the next morning. The night-shift nurses didn’t make rounds except when they first arrived at eight and then again at six the following day. For the most part, they spent their time in the lounge, checking on their charges only if a patient buzzed for assistance. The night watchman was responsible for the overall security of the building, but only the restricted area of the center had its own private guard, who worked eight-hour shifts.
Timing was crucial to his success. He knew he had no more than ten minutes to get in, kill her, and get out. It had to be done during the time one guard left his post at ten o’clock and the other settled into his comfy seat at the entrance of the center’s deluxe suites. Officially, there was supposed to be a guard on duty at all times, but he knew for a fact that at shift change, the incoming guard usually took his time storing items in his locker, using the bathroom, chatting with the nurses, and getting himself a cup of coffee or a Coke from the machine in the lounge.
Terri’s death had to appear totally unrelated to the murders of the other
Midnight Masquerade
actors. He couldn’t risk being found out, especially not before he had killed the remaining three. If only one was left alive, it would have all been for naught. In order to free himself from his never-ending torment, they all had to die.