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Derrick continued, “The smiling lips mimic the Southside Slasher’s signature, although Radcliff painted his victims’ lips instead of drawing the smile on a mirror. He’s also currently in prison.”
A restless energy flooded the room as the implications sank in.
“A copycat?” Shonda asked.
“Quite possible,” Ellie said.
“Or Radcliff has a follower,” Derrick said. “The details about the bloody lips were never released, so this perpetrator may know Radcliff. Using the mirror could be his way of either distinguishing himself or he got rushed.”
“It was a warning,” Ellie suggested.
“Or it was meant to throw us off,” Derrick said.
“What if he worked on the case or was privy to the police reports?” Ellie pointed out. “That opens up a world of prospects, everything from crime scene clean-up crews to court reporters to inmates who’ve served with Radcliff.”
“All avenues to pursue,” Derrick agreed.
Ellie added Beverly’s name and the incident to the board. “Beverly mentioned a group of guys at college who were into weird dark stuff. They attended a criminology class taught by a professor named Dansen that focused on the study of serial predators, famous killers and the psychology of deviant minds. Beverly suspects one of them might have been the intruder.” She scribbled a big question mark on the board.
Derrick cut in, “Amy Dean’s employers described it as a cult and so did Beverly and Janie. Although, I didn’t find police reports of an investigation into a cult or cult-like activity.”
Ellie sighed. “Our victim from the car, Reuben Waycross, belonged to this group. We’ll talk to Waycross’s father, then Dr. Dansen and see if she can give us the names of the other young men.” She turned to Bryce. “Have your people look into renters from ten years ago. If one of these guys terrorized Darla Loben, stalked Amy Dean or broke into Beverly’s house, maybe someone will recall helpful details.”
“I’ll get my deputies right on it,” Bryce agreed.
Ellie had half expected a protest from him, but maybe the fact that Bryce had a daughter had mellowed him. Didn’t matter what his reason for cooperating was. She’d take it.
Cord stood, glaring at Bryce, and Ellie wondered again what the hell was going on. But she had a case to work.
The bodies were getting colder by the minute. And they might have another serial killer on the loose.
FIFTY-ONE
DAWSONVILLE
Although the tall mountains looked ominous, the rays of sunlight shimmering off the peaks as Ellie drove through the mountains were stunning. Fall hadn’t arrived yet, but the scorching heat had blistered the greenery and pockets of the landscape were turning brown, grass dying, wildflowers wilting.
The air conditioner worked overtime to cool the car as they passed signs for the tourist sights in Dawsonville, where Reuben Waycross’s father lived.
Praying Paisley had survived, she had to cover all the bases. “Let’s search for children placed in foster care or adopted around the time of Amy’s disappearance.”
Derrick pulled his laptop. “Good idea. I’m on it. Paisley was what—two?”
Ellie nodded.
“This will take time,” he said. “Many adoptions are private and not in public records. The foster care system can be a mess, too.” He made a phone call to his partner Bennett and explained what he needed regarding Radcliff’s case, then about the missing child. “It would have been 2013. If someone found the little girl or took her from her mother, they may have dropped her at a church or hospital.” He paused, listening to his partner. “Yes. Run it through police reports. Also look for adoption rings around that time involving stolen children and send me a list if you find anything.”
That might be like finding a needle in a haystack. But it was worth it if Paisley turned up in the system. Derrick thanked Bennett, then hung up as Ellie maneuvered the road into town.
Dawsonville was home to the southern terminus of the Appalachian Trail, which started at Springer Mountain, and accessible to Amicalola Falls, one of the most popular tourist spots in North Georgia.
Ellie parked at The Pig, a barbecue place at the edge of the state park. The heavenly scent of smoked pulled pork, brisket and baked beans swirled around them as they entered. Outside picnic tables held diners, offering a view of the creek, but it was so damn hot today she craved the air conditioning.
The waitress kept the iced tea coming and they finished off with fried peach pies, then drove to City Hall.
“Why would a man not report his son missing all this time?” Ellie said as they parked.
“Guess we’ll find out.”
