Torn - Cynthia Eden Page 0,61
about to go down. She felt the same way.
“You better have some kind of warrant!” the man yelled. “You can’t just—”
“Are you Jeremiah Jennings?” Dace fired at him. “Because if so, our officers have been trying to reach you for the last four hours. Ever since the property clerk told us that you owned this land.”
Jeremiah straightened and jutted out his chin. “Been in my family for thirty years . . . and you shouldn’t be here! What the hell are all those dogs doing here?”
“They’re searching for bodies,” Dace said flatly.
Jeremiah’s dark eyes widened. “What? Why the hell are they doing that?”
Dace’s gaze held suspicion as he studied the older man. “Because a young woman was kidnapped recently. She was brought here, held in your house against her will, and then she was killed—her throat sliced open—right out on Driftwood Beach.”
Jeremiah stumbled back. “No . . . no . . . that’s not—”
“It’s absolutely true,” Dace said, voice biting. “And know what else is true? We found evidence that suggests another woman was buried in the back part of your property. That’s why so many people are running around. We’re trying to find all the bodies you buried, Mr. Jennings.” He motioned to the nearby uniformed cops. “Get this guy in the back of a patrol car and get his ass taken into custody, now.” He flashed a hard tiger’s smile at Jeremiah. “So fucking glad you showed up here. Saved us the trouble of hunting you down like the sick bastard that you are.” Disgust flashed on his face.
Two uniformed cops grabbed Jeremiah and held him tightly when he tried to break free. “No!” Jeremiah shouted. “You’re wrong! This isn’t—that didn’t happen!”
“He sure looks clueless,” Wade muttered to Victoria.
She had to agree. Shock had slackened the man’s face. And if he was the killer—just why would he have walked straight up to the crime scene? Too dumb a move to make.
“It happened,” Dace snapped back at Jeremiah. “And I’m the one who has to talk to the friends of the victims—I’m the one who has to tell them what the hell happened to those poor girls on your property.”
Jeremiah shuddered. “I didn’t—I didn’t know!”
“Bullshit,” Dace said, giving a rough shake of his head. “Here you are, bright and early, just waltzing right up to the place—”
“Because I got a call from my tenant!”
Wade stiffened.
“He said . . . said folks were running all over the place. That I needed to get out here.” Jeremiah’s gaze flew to the left, the right, and he tried hard to yank away from the cops once more.
He didn’t get free.
“Your tenant?” Dace asked.
“Yeah, yeah . . . guy who has been renting the place for the last five years.”
Five years. Victoria and Wade shared a long look, then inched closer to Jeremiah.
“Pays in cash. Always on time. First of the month, just like clockwork.”
“A name,” Dace ordered him. “Give me a name, right the hell now so I can check out this story.”
“M-Matthew Walker.”
The name rolled through Victoria.
“He’s a professor at Worthington University!” Now the words were tumbling fast and frantically from Jeremiah’s mouth. “The guy just wanted a place to escape, you know? Get away from the grind. So he started renting my cottage here. Paying me double what it was worth. Never caused any trouble . . .”
Because he’d been too busy torturing women.
“Matthew Walker,” Wade whispered. “The guy who just happened to find Kennedy Lane’s body on the jogging trail.”
“Take Jeremiah in for questioning,” Dace directed the cops.
“Wait! I didn’t do anything!” Jeremiah yelled.
Dace spun away from him and confronted Wade and Victoria. “That fucking professor,” he said, words low and lethal. “He stood right in front of me, acting like he felt sick after coming across her body. Kept saying he’d thought it was ‘trash.’ ”
Matthew Walker. His image flashed in Victoria’s mind. She remembered seeing him as she stumbled away from Jupiter Trail. The jogger who’d found Kennedy’s remains. Tall, fit, with dark hair. He’d asked her if she was a cop . . .
“I’m bringing that bastard in,” Dace said, nodding. “Right the hell now. He isn’t getting away from me!”
But he could have already skipped town, she thought. He could be far, far away by now. Matthew could have killed Melissa, then left the island.
Guilty men ran.
“I want an APB on Matthew Walker!” Dace yelled, drawing the attention of the cops nearby. “We’ve got a suspect, and I want him brought in . . .