in the bean bag chair with Roscoe on top of him and five beer cans lying all around him. And the portable radio plugged into the wall is playing Charlie Daniels nonstop. So you’re telling me that’s the guy who successfully killed four people, dressed them up, and is making it hard for us to track him down? But then he conveniently burns evidence in his trash barrel and doesn’t bother to wrap the body in something so the bolt heads in his truck bed don’t get transferred to the victim?”
Laredo sighed. “Well, when you put it that way.”
“And there’s something else.”
“What?”
“Roscoe.”
“Who?”
“Tanner’s dog. How many serial killers are you aware of who had a pet that they doted on?”
Laredo didn’t answer right away. “Well, I can’t think of any right now.”
“Serial killers usually start off their careers by torturing and killing animals, not befriending them.”
“Well, that’s true, although there are exceptions to every rule.”
“Going with the odds, though, I don’t see our killer being a dog person. Especially one with a kidney problem who pees all over the place. So I say we put the search warrant on hold, we keep eyes on Cy, but we need to follow up some other leads.”
“Like what leads?”
“I’ll let you know when I come up with some.”
She clicked off, put her truck in gear, and drove off, leaving Tanner to his sleep and his Charlie Daniels tunes.
Well, the devil has come down to Georgia. I just have to find him. And I’m pretty damn sure he’s not dead asleep in that house.
On impulse she drove over to Jack Lineberry’s. The gate was open for some reason, and she drove through and up to the main house. As soon as she stepped out of her SUV, a man approached.
It was Jerry, the not-so-friendly security man. He was dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, and tie, and a comm piece was inserted in his right ear.
“What do you want?” he asked briskly.
“I just wanted to see Jack.”
“Did you make an appointment with Mr. Lineberry?”
“No, I’m just paying a friendly call. Is he in?”
“You have no reason to know that or not.”
Pine took a step back and appraised him. “What’s your last name?”
“Why?”
“Does everything have to have a reason?”
“With me it does.”
“Where were you stationed with the Secret Service?”
“None of your business.”
“Ever on the presidential detail?”
“Same answer.”
Pine nodded and gave him an amused look. “Okay, Jerry. Hang on a sec.”
She pulled out her phone and punched in a number. “Hey, Jack, it’s Atlee. Yeah, I’m right outside. But Jerry needs a reason for me to talk to you. What? Oh, sure. With pleasure.”
She handed the phone to Jerry. “He wants to talk to you.”
Jerry looked at the phone like it was a cobra about to strike.
He snatched it from her, cleared his throat, and said, “Yes sir?” He listened and nodded. “Yes sir,” he said again and handed the phone back to Pine.
“Well?” she said.
“This way.”
He turned and marched toward the house with Pine following him and doing nothing to hide her gleeful look.
Lineberry met her at the front door and took Pine back to his office.
He had on blue slacks, a white button-down shirt open at the collar, and tasseled loafers. Pine noted once more what a handsome man he was. But there was something underneath the strong features; she couldn’t be sure, but it seemed akin to a penetrating sadness.
He said, “Sorry about Jerry, he’s overzealous at times.”
“What’s his last name?”
“Jerry’s? It’s Danvers. Jerry Danvers.”
“You said Secret Service?”
“Yes. So, to what do I owe this visit?”
She looked at the stacks of paper on his desk. “You look like you’re busy.”
“Nothing that can’t wait. Please sit down. Would you like something to drink?”
“No, I’m good, thanks.”
They took their seats and he looked at her expectantly.
“Do you own a Pagani?” she asked.
He looked puzzled. “A Pagani? What’s that?”
“A car. A really expensive car. Runs about three million.”
“No, I don’t own a Pagani.”
“Not to be too personal, but could you afford one?”
“Yes, but that’s a lot of money for an asset that will depreciate as soon as you drive it off the lot.”
“Okay.”
“For the record, I usually drive a Jag. Hunter green.”
“Is that the only car you own?”
“No, I have the Porsche SUV you rode in the other day. And I have a silver Aston Martin convertible. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
He looked at her appraisingly. “Why do I doubt that?”
“Did you ever know a man who used to live here named Barry Vincent? He apparently knew my parents.”