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He shrugged. “I kept thinking about Pam and I wanted to feel that way again. Wanted to hear her scream. Watch as she struggled for another breath and another then… then the shock on her face when she realized she was dying.”
“You left her the same way, naked and exposed. But you left Pam that way because she thought she was better than you. What about Kari? Did she think that?”
“They all think that,” Radcliff said. “All the sorority types do.”
“You had a vendetta against sorority girls?” the prosecutor pressed.
“They’re all stuck up.” He chuckled. “Besides she wanted to be a crime reporter. So I gave her that. Her dead body told the story.”
Another pause before the prosecutor moved on. “Jordie Nixon was not in a sorority,” the prosecutor pointed out.
Radcliff’s body jiggled up and down, his eyes darting sideways. “Maybe not. But she was an actress, a liar.” He leaned forward with a grin. “And she wanted it.”
The prosecutor waited a beat. “Did she tell you she wanted to die?”
He gave the prosecutor a cold look. “I heard her talking to another girl, saying she was going to try out for a show being filmed in Atlanta. Some kind of paranormal suspense flick.” Another shrug followed by a menacing laugh. “So I let her star in my thriller. I even set a mirror in front of her so she could watch herself perform the victim role as she died.”
Nervous tension rattled in the air as the jury shifted and glanced at the photos of the victims on display.
The prosecutor gestured to the last two photographs. “We also found cars belonging to these two women abandoned with tires slashed. The first is Haley Worth, the second Judy Zane. Did you also murder them, Mr. Radcliff?”
The bastard simply shrugged. “No. But I think about them all the time.”
Morehead’s pulse pounded as the tape ended. Radcliff was toying with the police. And him. Enjoying the game.
Per prison rules, Morehead left his computer and phone in the car, although he’d gotten clearance to bring a mini recorder with him. He stepped from his vehicle, walked up to the guard gate and went through three checkpoints before being allowed inside. After another security screening, he was escorted to a private room for the interview. Seconds later, he was seated.
The door creaked open and a guard escorted Radcliff inside. The shackles and chains rattled as he shuffled to the chair which was bolted to the floor. His head was shaved, his body muscular, and a tribal tattoo trailed from the neck of his prison shirt up the side of his face.
Morehead gestured to the guard that he could step outside and the guard left the room. The metal door clanked, the clicking of the lock echoing in the hollow room.
“Hello,” Morehead said quietly.
Radcliff dropped into the chair, a sinister smile tilting the corner of his mouth as their gazes met. “Hello, Leon,” the inmate said quietly. “I’ve been expecting you.”
FIFTY-FIVE
WIDOW LAKE INN
Odessa claimed a seat in one of the wing chairs in the lobby of the Widow Lake Inn, her gaze searching the faces of each guest as they arrived. Signs advertising the reunion detailed times and dates of organized events.
Tonight started with a cocktail party and appetizers. People milled around, dressed to party. No doubt, the frat boys hadn’t changed, although they’d probably switched from hooch punch and cheap beer to bourbon and specialty beers. The women would come decked out in jewels and designer clothing, hair, nails and makeup as perfect as they were ten years ago with the addition of Botox to smooth the crows’ feet that had already started around the eyes.
Deciding the brothers probably wouldn’t check in early, or they might not even be staying at the inn, she walked across campus. She stopped and sat on the bench facing Justice Hall where Dr. Dansen had drawn her into the world of violent and abhorrent behavior.
She’d been mesmerized by the images of bloody murders and mutilations. The brothers had somehow found each other in that class and she’d trailed them around campus, eavesdropping on their conversations like a groupie following a rock star.
Theyhadbeen her rockstars. Had introduced her to the cunning, methodical planning of a murderer’s brilliant mind.
“Midnight meeting,” Frank had said one day in a hushed tone.
Odessa had straightened. Where was the meeting?
Then came the interesting part. “I found a site on the dark web and managed to buy the knife used by the Mutilator in those Charleston killings.”
“I fantasize about mutilation,” Reuben Waycross said. “I’ve been practicing on myself. But when I make my first kill, I might completely dismember her. Like Dahmer, I’ll keep some of her body parts. The rest, I’ll scatter in the lake.”
The air grew charged with anticipation as each of the brothers described dark fantasies.
