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“You ask a lot of questions, law lady.” He chuckled. “I ’magine he’s familiar in some kind of way. His comin’ in and out of the holler wouldn’t raise suspicion. That cave isn’t on any website or tourist brochure. Someone knew it. Knew how far back it went and that those girls could scream all day long and not a soul would hear. Yeah, I’m putting my money on a familiar face.”
But not necessarily someone who lived in the holler. Possibly in town or in the county, or someone who used to live here and returned on occasion to visit. Violet wanted a list of the addresses for the homes Atta cleaned. Hopefully, she kept records and was on the up and up, not cash under the table, but Violet didn’t have a good feeling about that.
“How sure are you that the other two bodies are Tillie LeBeau and Darla Boone?”
“Two months ago, Tillie LeBeau went missing, and one month ago Darla Boone up and disappeared. No reason to leave. No talk of it, and nothin’ packed up and removed from their homes. I’d say I’m pretty certain.” He backed into the hall. “Well, good night, agent. You sleep tight, now.”
Violet closed the door behind him and rubbed her aching back and kicked off her shoes. The team had been sent everything related to the case as digital files, and she opened her laptop and collapsed on the bed.
Who was Atta Atwater? Why did this Blind Eye Killer choose her? What made her an easy target? Was it someone she cleaned for? Atta would have entered the homes of people she knew and of people she didn’t. That was the risk anyone took when their occupation brought them inside homes.
They needed identification on the other two women immediately.
She closed her laptop and unzipped her suitcase, pulling out toiletries, pajama bottoms and a top in simple gray. She padded into the small private bathroom with ivory wallpaper dotted with rosebuds. Before she stepped into the shower, that same chilling foreboding prickled her skin like an unwanted touch.
Snagging the fluffy white towel, she covered herself and raked over the bathroom. No windows. The shades in the bedroom had been drawn, but something was here, lurking. The sense was palpable.
Scalp prickling and throat tightening, she reluctantly turned on the hot water then stepped behind the curtain. She did not like this house. She did not like this case.
Or maybe she’d seen one too many Hitchcock films. They hadn’t actually seen Aunt Hossie. She might be facing the cellar wall, rotting in a chair.
Tuesday, October 17
8:45 a.m.
Rubbing the back of his neck, John listened in quietly as the SCU team discussed the case and created boards, tacking up photos of the victims, and Owen Barkley worked on a map, pushing blue pins into the location of the cave but also working on some software on his computer and mumbling about the coffee. Atta’s home was in red, but he hadn’t gotten much further.
After the call John had received yesterday, he was distracted. He’d recognized the voice instantly though he hadn’t heard it in three years.
Greg Bigsby.
His wife’s old DEA partner. After his threat, he set up a time to meet with John. Today at one o’clock. To talk him out of sticking around. It appeared their murder investigation might bleed into the case the DEA was building to take down a guy who went by the name Whiskey and ran a serious methamphetamine ring through the Appalachian hills, reaching all of the eastern Kentucky counties. Callie had been under a few months when she’d been murdered. Greg had been in much longer. Several years. Callie hadn’t revealed much to John about the case other than she’d been going in as Greg’s girl with hopes to become a Whiskey Girl.
Whiskey chose women to make drop swaps, and they were known as Whiskey Girls. According to Callie, women were less likely to skim the product or the cash and could be more easily corralled and managed than men. But not just any woman was hired. It took trust on Whiskey’s part, and John hated what Callie might have had to do to prove loyalty and trust. She’d never cross lines, and Greg’s stamp of approval would go far, but John knew she’d had to play a part, one he probably wouldn’t have wanted to witness.
John not only hated the danger, especially when they’d only recently had Stella, but mostly he hated that Callie wasn’t content being or doing anything else. He’d encouraged her to go back to work, but if she couldn’t go back undercover, she didn’t want to do it. She’d been a daredevil from the start. Their first date had been skydiving.
“John, you have an opinion? You’re pretty quiet,” Asa said, standing in front of a whiteboard with a dry-erase marker in hand.
He pawed his face. “Sorry, just taking it all in.”
Violet cocked her head, and he met her eyes. She didn’t buy it, but she didn’t call him on it.
“Fair enough,” Asa said. “Violet, what have you found out since breakfast about Atta Atwater?”
Violet strode to the board. “Not much. We know from Sheriff Modine she cleaned houses and so did Tillie LeBeau and Darla Boone. ERT didn’t find a laptop or any device except a phone. No digital record of the addresses or names for houses Atta cleaned. I’m waiting on a positive ID before looking into Tillie and Darla, but the housecleaning is a link.”
“Cash business?” Asa asked.
“Selah found no records of taxes being paid in the past few years by any of the women. Which means most likely. Not surprising given where we are, and the fact tons of people work for cash off the books. Even servers don’t input the exact tip dollar amount. That doesn’t concern me. What’s odd is Atta didn’t have any social media accounts. What twenty-something woman doesn’t have a social media presence of some kind? Selah’s digging up any scrap she can find. I’d like to go through Atta’s place, talk to her brother—in person. And once we have official identifications on the others do the same.”
“Okay.”
“Detective Owsley said the preacher man is out of town until Sunday. An annual week-long fishing trip. Alone.” Violet frowned. “However, I did talk to him briefly on the phone early this morning. Reception was shoddy. He had no guesses to who might have killed his sister, but since she was gone, he was going to take the time in the woods to grieve alone. Seems weird, but people grieve in many ways.”
“When was the last time he saw her?” Asa asked.
“Thursday morning when he paid a visit to Mother.”
