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John listened to his GPS tell him which turns to take as they headed for D.J. Lanslow’s home. Violet hadn’t said much more about the passageways or the peeper. She had a point. If they ambushed him in the tunnels and it was the Blind Eye Killer, they could close out this case and he could, hopefully, find out if he’d killed Callie too.
While he’d rested earlier, he hadn’t actually done much resting. He’d prayed and did a fair amount of tear shedding and called Stella to hear her sweet voice. Callie had cheated on him. For how long? Prior to going undercover? Was that why Greg had asked her to join the team—they’d worked together before. He’d concluded those answers didn’t matter.
What mattered was finding who killed her. And moving on.
“I saw my half-sister today. While you were in your room.”
John had a feeling she’d attempt to see Ruby. “And how did that go?”
Violet dug inside her pocket and pulled out a roll of Mentos. She offered him one, and he held out his hand. “Beneficial but not in the way I wanted personally. But she’s a holler girl. And she might run drugs for Whiskey, though she never said either directly. All this time I’ve been wishing for her life, thinking how it must have been to grow up being loved by her mom and grandmother. Only she gets roped into prostitution by Whiskey and pressured to do a run for him. One I’m guessing Nadine was supposed to do before she was murdered.”
“Do you think her family knows?”
“No. I think she’s trying to protect them. The less they know the safer they are. But they might. No one can stand up to him. And those who could, won’t.” Violet shook her head. “I want to help her, John. I sense she’s lost.”
Pot meet kettle, but he refrained from voicing it aloud. “What about you?” They hadn’t talked about the breakdown at the Swallow where she’d emptied herself out in tears.
In one hundred feet, turn right onto Juniper Lane. John turned on his blinker.
Violet let out a long breath. “I prayed. For Ruby’s protection. That’s the closest I’ve gotten to God in a long time. I don’t know.”
“You know what I think?” He slowed as the GPS instructed him to take the next left onto Golden Lane. “I think God brought you here for more than a case. I think He’s showing you, Violet, that He is real. He hears your cries and knows your heart. That’s what I call providence.”
“God had to use a serial killer to get me here? How ’bout a way that didn’t include a bunch of brutally murdered girls? How about save them and get me here another way? Seems kinda cruel.” Violet popped another Mentos.
“I don’t think He orchestrated these murders, Violet. But I do think He uses things meant for evil to bring about His redemptive purposes.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. This place. It feels different than any place I’ve been.”
Maybe it was because she was now on the cusp of change, of turning her life completely around. He couldn’t be sure. But something was stirring inside her, or she’d have never uttered a prayer, and the fact that it wasn’t even for her but for her sister revealed selflessness. One who wanted to save lives, not take them. Violet was willing to risk her own life to help someone she barely knew, but she was blood—kin—and she would fight. That was no serial killer.
That heart at the root was a warrior. A rescuer.
“When this is all over, I’ll help you get her the aid she needs.”
She half smiled as the GPS let them know they’d arrived at their destination on the left. “Thank you.”
Dr. Lanslow’s home was a modest ranch style in a small middle-class neighborhood with mature trees and tidy lawns. They exited the car and approached the house. The shades were pulled, but a hint of light flickering from a TV revealed he was here at around six thirty in the evening. “If this goes well, let’s get food after, and also if it doesn’t.”
“You mean if it turns out he’s not the killer, and we don’t have a shoot-out or have to book him?” Violet asked and retrieved her FBI credentials then rang the doorbell.
“Something like that. But either way, I’m hungry.”
“Don’t worry. It won’t come to that. I only need one bullet to end it,” she said as the door opened and he studied her cool, stoic face. He believed that wholeheartedly.
Dr. D.J. Lanslow opened the door wearing sweats, a wrinkled T-shirt and a forlorn expression. He had bedhead and a five-o’clock shadow. Didn’t appear he’d been to work today. “Doctor Lanslow, we need to talk to you. Can we come in?” John asked.
“Sure,” he mumbled and opened the glass door. They stepped into a clean home, no clutter in sight. His violin case was propped against the entryway wall. He led them into the small living area. A fire blazed over gas logs, and the TV was on the news station. “Have a seat.”
They chose the brown leather couch, and he slumped in his recliner. Four empty beer cans were crumpled on the table next to him. Violet motioned with her chin for John to take the lead.
“We wanted to go back over everyone’s alibis. You were with Ray Smith, camping at Pine Mountain when Atta Atwater went missing, yes?” John asked.
He raked a hand over his face, and John noticed his bloodshot eyes. “Yeah.”
“Right. See we know that’s not true. Well, half of it is. Ray was in his cabin all weekend but with a woman named Carlotta, and they say you were never there. Let’s try this again, shall we? Where were you the weekend Atta Atwater went missing?”
Violet caught his eye then looked away, and he followed her gaze to the Ten Commandments hanging on the wall with a leather cross next to it. Looked like one from Alpha and Omega.
