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Monday, October 16
3:20 p.m.
Violet slumped against the window in the back seat of the black Suburban the team had rented at the regional airport. On the drive to Slate County, they’d stopped for greasy fast food, and she’d choked down a grilled chicken sandwich with a wilted piece of romaine and too much mayo.
Asa drove and his ex-wife, Fiona—who he was now dating again—sat shotgun. Weird to date a former spouse, but it was working for them. Asa had been less grouchy and Fiona wasn’t quite as hardcore. Softness had smoothed her edges since they’d caught the Nursery Rhyme Killer. Fiona had closure to her past. Something Violet craved like water to a parched throat in August heat. Closure and answers.
Next to her, the team’s religious-behavioral analyst played on his phone, groaning when he lost. Tiberius Granger grated Violet’s nerves about eight hours a day, but he was one of the smartest men she’d ever met, which he downplayed by behaving like an overgrown child with a smart mouth and no filter. At least he smelled nice.
“You’d think I’d be a pro at this game by now. I’ve only been playing since I was twenty.” Frustration and disgust laced his tone.
“That’s sad.” Violet curled her lip.
“It helps me think.”
“That’s sadder.”
Ty waved her off and went back to his game.
Sprawled out behind them was Owen Barkley—their criminal pattern theory expert; he hummed along to music with heavy bass thumping through his AirPods. Owen was a paradox. A gentlemanly rake who she was fairly certain had a secret romance going with their computer analyst, Selah Jones. She’d remained at the Memphis field office with their admin assistant, Cami. They were short an agent, but Asa couldn’t seem to find the right person to fit the SCU bill.
“How much longer?” Ty asked. “I’m about to pop. One too many Monsters.”
Violet swallowed hard to relieve the pressure in her ears as they wove up the east Kentucky mountains flanking the narrow highway. A blue cloudless sky met the October foliage dressed in gold, crimson, rust and orange. And somewhere nestled deep within the glittering colors, three women had died in a gruesome, cruel fashion.
Nothing pretty or glittering about that.
“Crow’s Creek is twelve minutes away according to GPS, but the holler where the crime scene is located is further in the hills,” Asa said. “Hold it.”
“You sound like my mom.”
Violet stared out the window, ignoring the banter.
“What do you think, Violet?” Ty asked.
She scrunched her nose. “I think you shouldn’t drink so many energy drinks. You definitely don’t need them.”
“About the case. I don’t care what you think about my thirst-quenching habits.” He winked and handed her an iPad with the preliminary report and photos the Louisville FBI had sent them. She scanned the photographs but refrained from wincing.
The most recent victim was crumpled in a heap near a pile of rocks, her eyeless sockets exposed, sutures hanging from her eyelids. She must have ripped them out. Her mouth gaped in horror. Her long dark hair was matted and in disarray. Bruising from several rough blows to her face revealed she’d been beaten prior to death, and the marks around her neck indicated strangulation by bare hands; finger impressions had formed a ring along the sides of her neck. She couldn’t be sure what kind of marks were hidden beneath her filthy rumpled clothing. They didn’t have a coroner’s report yet. Violet could only speculate based on the crime photos. What she did know was Atta Atwater had been twenty-four. Born and raised in the hollow—or holler, whatever.
The other two victims had been in the cave longer than Atta, and due to time, wild animals and the damp environment, they hadn’t been able to identify them yet. But two women had been reported missing in the past three months. If the missing women were the victims in the cave, they had a three-month timeline to work out from.
“I can’t say until I see their bodies, study the crime scene and hear the official cause of death. Right now, it’s simply tragic.” Violet handed Ty back the iPad.
Fiona shifted in the passenger seat, her hair a tad longer than her usual short cut. After catching the Nursery Rhyme Killer, Fiona had talked Violet into unlocking her guest room and letting her inside.
I know what’s behind here. I had a room like this once too. Never let anyone in. It was all about me and Rhyme. It nearly destroyed me. It did destroy my marriage. Let me help you, Violet. Let me in.
And Violet had. Fiona was the first person to see the work she’d done behind-the-scenes to track Adam. Violet didn’t cultivate relationships. She had her reasons. But their working in tandem and talking about topics personal to Violet had developed something akin to friendship. Unfortunately, it hadn’t brought anything new with Adam.
Fiona’s right eye drooped, a little lazy but not too noticeable unless she was tired. And already they were all tired. Traveling often took it out of them.
“Cami texted,” Fiona said. “The closest hotel is in Pikeville, but that’s a little over an hour away from Crow’s Creek, so she found a place in town. We can be on site easier and not have to make a drive late at night when we’re spent. Below our lodging budget too. Bureau will love our frugality.” She nudged Asa’s arm.
“I did the research, and Crow’s Creek is less than three thousand people,” Owen said. “What kind of accommodations are we talking?”
“An old boarding house?” Fiona’s tone sounded more questioning than confident and didn’t reassure Violet that their lodging was going to be on the up and up.
