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EIGHTY-FOUR
CROOKED CREEK POLICE STATION
Ellie tugged at the neck of her T-shirt, desperate for relief from the humidity. “I thought Radcliff was in isolation. How did he escape?”
“Someone had to have helped him,” Sheriff Waters cut in.
Derrick repocketed his phone. “The warden is looking into that. Prison is on lockdown. Guards and staff being questioned and detained. Security cameras being analyzed.” He heaved a breath. “It all started when he was shanked and went to medical.”
“How seriously was he injured?” Ellie asked.
“According to the warden, he was stabbed in the thigh. Prison doc started to stitch him up but Radcliff turned on him and sliced his throat. Doc didn’t make it.”
“Ahh, geesh,” Ellie murmured. “Now we have a convicted serial killer on the loose.”
“A dangerous one,” Derrick agreed. “But the most urgent question is, where is Radcliff going?”
“To revisit the graves of the two women he claimed he didn’t kill,” Ellie suggested.
“Possibly,” Derrick said, then glanced at the whiteboard.
“Or, if he was connected to our persons of interest, he could be headed to Widow Lake to meet them.”
Derrick nodded. “The FBI has already issued alerts nationwide, circulating the word to bus and train sections along with airports and border patrols.” He addressed the sheriff. “You should alert your deputies in the county and beef up security around town.”
Waters stood reaching for his phone. “Of course.”
As he left the room, Ellie studied the information on the whiteboard again, in an attempt to connect all the dots.
Ellie’s phone buzzed and she connected. “Yes, Shondra?” A pause as she listened. “I’ll be right there.”
She hung up with a weary sigh. “Sarah Turner’s friend thinks Sarah is missing from Lake Haven Apartments.”
The timing struck Ellie like a fist in her gut. Sarah planned to file a complaint against Coolidge. She adjusted her weapon and she and Derrick headed from the conference room. Was Coolidge behind Sarah’s disappearance?
Or had Radcliff already struck again?
EIGHTY-FIVE
WIDOW LAKE
He stared up at the window where the girl liked to sit and look out over the lake. He’d seen the longing in her eyes when she’d climbed onto the tree branch. He’d willed her to come down and join the boy and the little girl Betsy.
He’d wanted to find a way to separate her from the other kids. But her father had forced her inside.
Now the windows were black. She couldn’t see out and he couldn’t watch her.
Anger churned in his gut. Frank—who called himself Dwight now—had stolen his pleasure. Had betrayed them all. Had forgotten that he owed them.
But he would teach him a lesson.
The little girl, Betsy, sang “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” while she danced around with the kitty. But it was Lorna Bea he really wanted. He had his reasons.
Laughter mounted inside him as he devised a plan. Get Frank out of the house. Then the girl would be vulnerable.
Though the old lady usually stayed home. But she couldn’t weigh more than ninety pounds. She wouldn’t be a problem.
And if she was, he’d take care of her. Fast and quick. He didn’t get off on making old ladies suffer. They were too close to death already for it to be fun.
