8 Scream for Me by Karen Rose
“Could be a copycat,” Daniel said, and Bell shook his head.
“You don’t think so,” he said again. “Look. I know your sister was killed, Miss Fallon, and I’m sorry, but Gary’s lost thirteen years of his life.”
Daniel sighed. “When this is over, we’ll meet with the state’s attorney.”
Bell nodded briskly. “That’s fair.”
Atlanta, Wednesday, January 31, 5:30 p.m.
They were close to Atlanta when Daniel finally spoke. “Are you all right?”
She was staring at her hands, a frown puckering her brow. “I don’t know.”
“When he said Alicia ‘fell out’ of the blanket, it was like you went into a trance.”
“I did?” Abruptly she turned to look at him. “Meredith wants to try hypnosis.”
He agreed with Meredith, but in his experience the person undergoing hypnosis had to be open. He wasn’t sure Alex was open right now. “What do you want?”
“To make this all go away.” She whispered it fiercely.
He reached for her hand. “I’ll go with you.”
“Thank you. Daniel . . . I . . . I didn’t expect to feel that way when I finally saw him. I wanted to kill him myself.”
Daniel frowned. “You mean you’d never seen Fulmore?”
“No. I was in Ohio the whole time of the trial. Aunt Kim and Uncle Steve wanted to protect me. They were good to me.”
“Then you’re lucky.” The words came out more bitterly than he’d expected. He kept his eyes on the road, but he could feel her eyes studying his profile.
“Your parents weren’t good to you.”
It was such a simple statement, he almost laughed. “No.”
Her brows lifted. “What about your sister, Susannah? Are you two close?”
Suze. Daniel sighed. “No. I’d like to be, but we’re not.”
“She’s hurting. You’ve both lost your parents and even though they died a few months ago, for you, it was really just last week.”
Daniel huffed a mirthless laugh. “Our parents were dead to us a long time before Simon killed them. We were what you’d call a dysfunctional family.”
“Does Susannah know about the pictures?”
“Yeah. She was there when I turned them over to Ciccotelli up in Philly.” Suze knew a lot about Simon, more than she’d told him, of that Daniel was certain.
“And?”
He looked at her. “What do you mean?”
“You look like you want to say more.”
“I can’t. I’m not sure I could even if I knew.” He thought about his sister, working long hours as a New York City assistant DA, living alone, with only her dog for company. He thought about the pictures and the pain on Gretchen French’s face.
It was the same pain he’d seen on Susannah’s when he’d asked her what Simon had done to her. She hadn’t been able to tell him, but Daniel was terrified that he already knew. He cleared his throat and focused on the matter at hand. “I’m thinking Gary Fulmore did not kill your sister.”
Alex regarded him levelly, no surprise on her face. “Why do you think that?”
“First, I believed his story. You said yourself, he’s serving a life sentence, so at this point how can we hurt him any more? What does he gain from lying now?”
“He’s hoping for a new trial.”
He heard the thread of panic in her voice and made his response as gentle as he could. “Alex, honey, I think he might deserve one. Listen to me. He said he hit her face, repeatedly. Try to think past the fact that this was Alicia and think about what you know. Be a nurse for me now. If Alicia had been alive, or even if he’d just killed her, and he’d hit her that viciously and repeatedly . . .”
“There would have been a lot of blood,” she murmured. “He would have been covered in her blood.”
“But he wasn’t. Wanda at the sheriff’s office told me there was blood on the cuffs of his pants. Alicia had been dead for a while by the time he hit her.”
“Maybe Wanda was wrong.” Her voice was desperate, and he realized Alex wanted Fulmore to be guilty. And he wondered why it was so important to her.
“I’ll never know,” he replied carefully. “All of the evidence is gone. The blanket, Fulmore’s clothes, the tire iron . . . all gone. I have to assume Wanda is right, until I can prove otherwise, and if Wanda is right, Alicia was already dead when Fulmore hit her.”
She moistened her lips. “He still could have killed her, waited, then come back to hit her face later.” But there was no conviction in her words. “But that doesn’t make sense, does it? If he killed her, he’d probably run, not come back, beat her, then wander into an autobody shop. What else is bothering you about his story?”
“Plenty. If her arm flopped like that—” Daniel stopped when he sensed a stillness come over her. “Alex, what is it?”
She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. “I don’t remember.”
“But it makes the screams come, right?” She nodded tightly and he brought her hand to his lips. “I’m sorry to make you go through this.”
“There was thunder,” she said unexpectedly. “That night. Thunder and lightning.”
It was bright again, all the time, Fulmore had said. It must have stormed before. He’d have to check. “It was April,” he said quietly. “Storms are common then.”
“I know. It was hot outside that day. It was hot that night.”
Daniel glanced at her, then back at the road where traffic was starting to snarl. “But you slept through the night that night,” he said very softly. “From the time you got home from school until the next morning when your mother woke you up. You were sick.”
Her mouth opened, then closed. When she spoke, her voice was cool. “If Alicia’s body was limp, rigor hadn’t set in. If he’s telling the truth, Alicia hadn’t been dead more than a few hours by that point.”
“You still think he’s lying.”
“Maybe. But if he didn’t kill her . . . Gary Fulmore’s been in prison a long time.”
“I know.” He tapped his steering wheel as traffic came to a complete halt, with him stuck in the far left lane. His meeting started in less than twenty minutes. He was going to be late again. He turned his mind from the traffic back to Gary Fulmore. “Fulmore has a damn good memory of that night for someone who was flying high on PCP.”
“Maybe he’s made that whole story up in his mind,” Alex said, her chin lifting. Then her shoulders slumped. “Or maybe he wasn’t on PCP at all.”
Which was one of the things that was bothering him the most. Frank Loomis had made that arrest, and too many things weren’t adding up. “Randy Mansfield said it took three men to take him down. That sounds like somebody on PCP.”
“But that was hours later. After they’d found Alicia.”
“Alex, what happened after they found Alicia? At your house? Among your family?”
She shuddered. “My mother had been calling everyone in town, all morning after she found Alicia’s bed empty.”
“Empty or un-slept-in?”
“Un-slept-in. They figured she’d snuck out some time the night before.”
“Did you share a room?”
Alex shook her head. “Not at that point. Alicia was still mad about the tattoo. She’d moved out of our room into Bailey’s room. I was getting the silent treatment.”
“How long had it been since your birthday, when you all got the tattoos?”
“A week. She’d been sixteen for only a week.”
So had you, baby. “Do you think Bailey knew she’d left the house that night?”
She moved her shoulders, not quite a shrug. “Bailey insisted she didn’t. But Bailey was wild then. She was good at lying on the fly to get out of trouble. So I don’t know. I remember still feeling sick, kind of . . .” She stilled again. “Kind of hung over.”
“Like you’d been drugged?”
“Maybe. But nobody ever asked me about it, because of what happened . . . later that nigh
When she’d overdosed on tranquilizers prescribed for her hysterical mother. “I know. How did you learn Alicia’s body had been found?”
“The Porter boys found her body and went running to Mrs. Monroe’s house for help. Mrs. Monroe knew Mama had been looking for Alicia, so she called her. My mother got there before the police.”
Daniel grimaced. “Your mother found her like that?”
Her swallow was audible. “Yes. Later they went to the morgue to . . . to identify her.”
“They?”
She nodded. “My mother.” She turned her face to look out the car window at the stopped traffic, her body tensing, her face ashen once more. “And Craig. When they came home, my mother was hysterical, crying, screaming . . . He gave her some pills.”
“Craig?”
“Yes. Then he went to work.”
“He went to work? After that? He left you all alone?”
“Yeah,” Alex said bitterly. “He was a real prince.”
“So he gave your mother some pills. Then what happened?”
“Mama was crying, so I climbed into bed with her and she went to sleep.” She was pale and trembling again. Traffic hadn’t moved an inch, so Daniel put the car in park and leaned over the gearshift to pull her close.
“And then what, honey?”
“Then I woke up and she wasn’t there. I heard her screaming and came down the stairs . . .” Abruptly she lunged from the seat and bolted from the car.
“Alex.” Daniel jumped from the car as she darted to the side of the road, where she fell to her knees, heaving. He knelt beside her, rubbing her back as she shuddered.
Motorists were watching, intrigued by the sudden excitement. One man rolled down his window. “Do you need help? I can call 911.”
Daniel knew that as soon as anyone recognized Alex, the cell phone cameras would come out, so he made his smile rueful. “Thanks, but no. Just a little morning sickness a little late in the day.” He leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Can you stand?”
She nodded, her face clammy. “I’m sorry.”
“Sshh. Hush.” He put his arm around her waist and physically lifted her to her feet. “Come on. We’re getting out of here.” He looked up the road. “The nearest exit is three miles up the road. I could use my lights, but that’ll draw attention to us.”
“I think I just did draw attention to us,” she murmured.
“You drew attention to a pregnant couple. Just keep your head down and we can keep it that way.” Gently he led her back to the car and put her in, pushing her head between her knees. “Head down.” He slid behind the wheel and pulled his car onto the left shoulder, ignoring the glares of the motorists he passed.
“You’re going to get a ticket,” Alex muttered, and he smiled, then reached over to stroke the back of her neck and felt her muscles begin to soften.
“You pregnant women get testy,” he said, and she chuckled once. He turned into the first emergency access he came to, then pulled into the opposite bound lanes where traffic was moving more smoothly. He put on his lights and traffic parted like the Red Sea. “We’ll use the back roads for now. You want me to stop and get you some water?”
A little color had returned to her cheeks. “That’d be good. Thank you, Daniel.”
He frowned, wishing she’d stop thanking him. Wishing she’d stop having occasion to do so. Wishing he could see inside her head to understand exactly what it was that was causing that visceral, very physical response. Her cousin was right. They needed to get to the bottom of this and hypnosis might be the best way.
Wednesday, January 31, 6:15 p.m.
Well, that took them long enough, he thought, looking at the TV screen. The news anchor had flashed a picture of the boy, saying he was wanted for questioning by the police. He wasn’t such a bright kid, but he’d done everything he’d been asked to do.
Shame he’d have to die now, but . . . so it goes. The kid had grown up with all the luxuries money could buy. Now it was time to pay the piper, or at a minimum, pay for the sins of his father. In the kid’s case, his grandfather.
Who knew a kid that rich would be lonely? But he had been. He’d been excited to have a friend, and eager to help in any way he could. He’d make it painless for the kid. One bullet, right through the head. The boy would be dead before he hit the ground.
Chapter Seventeen
Atlanta, Wednesday, January 31, 6:45 p.m.
Chase was waiting at the team table when they arrived. “Are you okay, Alex?”
“Just a little morning sickness a little late in the day,” Alex murmured ruefully.
Chase’s eyes widened. “You’re pregnant?”
He said it so loudly Daniel winced. “No. Hush.” Daniel pulled a chair out for Alex and gently pushed her into it. “Alex got a little sick on the highway and I didn’t want to call any more attention to us. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”
Daniel began massaging Alex’s neck and shoulders. By now he knew where she liked to be touched. Well, maybe not all the places. He’d rushed this morning. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. When he got her in a proper bed, he’d take his time and seek out every one of those places. It paid to be thorough, after all.
Chase cleared his throat. “I’m so glad you kept a clear head,” he dryly.
Daniel flushed at the knowing look that accompanied Chase’s double-barbed jab. “Where is everyone? We’re late.”
“Everyone was running late. I pushed the meeting to seven.”
“Where is Hope?” Alex asked. “Did Dr. McCrady get anywhere today?”
“A little.” Chase leaned against the team table, his arms crossed. “We know the ‘magic wand’ is a flute. Mary McCrady put one on the table and the little girl started to hum the tune. The forensic artist mocked some pictures of your stepfather, Miss Fallon. He aged Crighton and gave him a beard, then he mixed up the mock-up with a half-dozen other pictures of old men and Hope picked Crighton right out.”
Alex clenched her jaw and swallowed hard, but she kept her eyes open and her focus on Chase. “Did Agent Hatton find him at Woodruff Park?”
“No. From what Hatton could learn, Crighton’s got a terrible temper and gets into a lot of brawls. Most of the other winos were terrified to even talk about him.”
“Has he ever been picked up?” Daniel asked.
“No record that I could find.” Chase aimed a hesitant look at Alex. “One of the winos said he saw Crighton arguing with a nun late yesterday evening.”
Beneath his hands, Alex’s shoulders sagged. “Oh God. Craig beat Sister Anne?”
“I’m sorry,” Chase said gently. “I think Crighton does not want to be found.”
She shook her head wearily. “I keep thinking it can’t get worse and it does. Where are Hope and Meredith?”
“Having supper in the cafeteria,” Chase said. “When they’re done, I have two female agents waiting to take them to their safe house. One of the agents will stay with them there and the other will meet you at your house in Dutton to get their things.”
“Thank you. You all have work to do. I’ll go sit with Meredith and Hope.”
Daniel watched her go, wishing he could make her sorrow and fear go away and a little guilty that he couldn’t quite get the picture of her in a proper bed out of his mind. He turned back to find Chase looking at him with scornful disbelief.
“You just couldn’t stay on that sofa, could you?”
Daniel couldn’t stop the grin that seemed to take over his face. “Actually, I did.”
Chase rolled his eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake, Daniel. On the sofa?”
Daniel shrugged. “It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”
“What did?” Ed said, coming through the door, a folder in one hand.
Chase’s lips twitched. “Never mind.”
“Then it was good,” Talia grumbled, following Ed in. “I passed Drs. McCrady and B
In five minutes they were all seated around the table. Mary McCrady sat at the far end, working on other cases until they needed her, and Daniel noticed Felicity had seated herself next to Koenig, as far away from Daniel as she could get and still be seated with the group. It made him a little sad, but he wasn’t sure what he could do about it, so he focused on the work. “Koenig, you go first.”
“The gunman in the pizza parlor last night was Lester Jackson. Sheet as long as your arm. Assault with a deadly, B&E, armed robbery. Been in jail more than he’s been out. That cop from the Underground said he was about 75 percent sure it was the guy that tried to run Alex down. He was surer about the car itself.”
“Do we know how Jackson ended up in Dutton last night?” Chase asked.
“We found a cell phone in his car,” Ed said. “Log showed he got three incoming calls from the same number yesterday and one outgoing to that same number.”
“So what exactly happened there?” Chase asked.
“I took Deputy Mansfield’s statement this morning,” Koenig said. “He said that they were notified the alarm at the pizza parlor had been triggered. Mansfield said he ordered the first responder to wait for backup before going in. Officer Cowell didn’t. Mansfield heard the shots as he drove up. He ran inside just as Lester Jackson shot Cowell. When Jackson pointed the gun at Mansfield, Mansfield shot him.” Koenig lifted his brows. “But Mansfield’s story doesn’t play. That’s why Felicity is here.”
“CSU recovered four weapons,” Felicity said. “Jackson’s .38, Sheila’s .45, and the two nine-millimeters belonging to Deputies Cowell and Mansfield. Deputy Cowell had been hit twice by Jackson’s .38. Either one would have killed him instantly. In fact, the first one did. The first one hit him in the throat, from about ten feet away.”
“The distance from where Jackson stood behind the counter to where Deputy Cowell fell,” Daniel said. “What about the second bullet?”
“He was dead when it entered his heart,” Felicity said, “from very close range.”
“So Jackson was standing at the cash register, shot Cowell the first time, then came around, stood over him, and shot him again.” Daniel shook his head. “Cold bastard.”