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He took a deep breath, then another, then another, forcing himself to calm. He would gain nothing by being angry.
And he wasn’t angry. He needed to acknowledge that. He wasn’t angry, he was afraid. The police were getting closer, and he was afraid of getting caught, afraid most of all that one of his targets would be freed.
They didn’t deserve to live. He had given them a chance, but they weren’t supposed to take it. They weren’t supposed to find the way out. They were supposed to die, and while they were dying, they were supposed to think about the fact that they had never even given his sister the slightest chance.
He supposed that made him a murderer. Before now, he had thought of himself as an angel of justice, but he supposed that since he wanted so badly for the hammer of justice to fall his way, he might as well admit that justice wasn’t what he wanted but vengeance.
Well, so be it. They had taken his sister from him. They deserved what was coming.
With that admission came a decision.
This time, there would be no bell. There would be no message either. He would bury his target alive, but there wouldn’t be even the slightest inkling of hope. She would die, and she would spend the last hours of her life knowing she was dying, and there would be no one to save her.
He would buy a headstone too. Just a cheap plastic knockoff like people used for Halloween decorations. It wouldn’t disguise the grave forever, but it would at least give him a chance to get the job done without risking losing his target.
He still hated that they were being exhumed. Death was supposed to be a release from sin, an absolution. While these people were alive, they were targets, but once they were dead, they deserved their peace.
Maybe his last target would be lucky. Maybe not.
He took a deep breath and stood, then headed to his room to dress. This time, he wouldn’t wait until nightfall. He would take advantage of the opportunity fate had presented him, and he would finish the job he had started three weeks ago.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jeremiah Hunt lived in the Sunny Acres Trailer Park. Faith wondered idly how many trailer parks had such hilariously upbeat names as Sunny Acres and how many of the residents actually felt cheerful being there.
The residents of Sunny Acres surely didn’t feel the hope the name suggested. The park itself was dirty and poorly maintained, the roads full of potholes, and the only green parts of the grass were the weeds that grew waist high amid patches of brown and gray. The homes were as dilapidated as the park, and many looked like they were only awaiting the next hurricane to be blown away.
They made their way to Jeremiah’s unit and knocked on the door. Turk stood in between the two of them, calm and alert, his tail switching back and forth like a cat’s.
Faith heard a shuffling noise inside and a gravelly voice called, “One second.”
A moment later, the door opened and Jeremiah Hunt answered the door. For a man his age, sixty-eight according to the file, Hunt was in phenomenal shape.
From the waist up, that is. His arms bulged with firm muscle, and his chest was equally impressive through his T-shirt.
His legs, however, were rail-thin and seemed to swim in the sweatpants he wore. He looked up at the agents from his wheelchair and asked, “How can I help you?”
Faith and Michael shared a look, and Faith could see in Michael’s face the same disappointment she felt. She held out a slim hope that there could be some kind of mistake here, but her hope was waning.
“Good evening, Mr. Hunt,” she said, “I’m Special Agent Faith Bold and this is Special Agent Michael Prince with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. This is my K9 unit, Turk. We’re investigating the murders of Barbara Ames, William Hucksley, and Marvin Prescott.”
His eyes widened at the mention of the names, and a flash of fear crossed his face. His eyes flicked to the left and he said, “Well, I don’t know anything about that.”
Faith’s hope rekindled slightly. She gestured inside and said, “You mind if we talk to you for a few minutes?”
He didn’t answer right away. She and Michael kept their expressions neutral, and finally, Hunt said, somewhat defensively, “Yes, ma’am. I have nothing to hide.”
Faith nodded and smiled. “Perfect. We’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”
She waited for Hunt to invite them inside, which he did with some reluctance after a few moments.
The inside of his house was somewhat cleaner and more well-organized than the rest of the park. Faith noted that the high shelves carried some dust and that most of the belongings other than decorative pieces occupied lower shelves and cabinets. That was a sign that his disability was legitimate, but it didn’t necessarily mean he had nothing to do with the murders. They had been operating under the assumption that it was one killer digging graves by hand, but it was quite possible that their killer was using a machine or that he was working with someone else.
Jeremiah certainly appeared suspicious, looking rapidly between the two agents and repeating, “I have nothing to hide. I didn’t kill those three.”
“Why don’t we start by talking about your relationship to the victims?” Faith asked. “How did you know them?”
His eyes flicked back and forth between Faith and Michael, and after a moment, he said, “Don’t you know?”
