realized he’d been close to the body when Ellie arrived.
“Good. We’ll need your boot prints though, to eliminate you in case we find others.”
He nodded, and slowly she walked nearer, careful to look for prints on the wet moss and noting disturbed patches of weeds. Emotions warred with her professionalism as she paused to study the body.
This woman had dark brown hair, long legs, and deep brown eyes that looked tormented in death. This time, the killer had dressed her in a crimson dress with tiny white pearl buttons that fastened up to her neck, and simple black flats. Her nails were clipped short again, and her hands were folded in prayer. A page from the Bible was tucked between her fingers. Leaning forward, she realized it was from Genesis, where Eve took a bite of the forbidden fruit.
Red lipstick and rouge completed her makeup, which was smeared, resembling blood.
The location of her body beside the Red River, where baptisms took place, fit with Tuesday’s child, and the MO was similar enough to tell her they were dealing with one killer.
The rhyme taunted her again. Monday’s child is fair of face, Tuesday’s child is full of grace, Wednesday’s child is full of woe, Thursday’s child has far to go, Friday’s child is loving and giving, Saturday’s child works hard for a living, and the child that is born on the Sabbath day, is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.
Ellie shivered as the implication set in. If the killer stayed true to the nursery rhyme, five more women would die unless she stopped him.
Twenty-Three
Twenty minutes later, Ellie guided Laney and the Evidence Response Team to the body, while Cord stood staring out into the woods, the same brooding, intense expression on his face. Something was clearly bothering him.
Hell, the grisly sight of the dead woman buried beneath the wildflowers was disturbing.
“We’re dealing with the same offender, aren’t we?” Laney asked as she knelt beside the victim.
Ellie nodded, explaining about the text.
Worry lines creased Laney’s forehead. “It’s interesting that he’s chosen to contact you personally.”
Ellie pursed her lips. Why her? Why not Bryce, the new sheriff? He’d been all over the media.
“COD looks the same, exsanguination from blood loss,” said Laney, examining the victim. “Although he didn’t clean her injuries. Blood is smeared down her neck into that red dress.” She unfastened the pearl buttons and eased the fabric away. “Similar plain white bra, although…” She adjusted her glasses and peered closer.
Ellie leaned over for a closer look. “Although what?”
“Look at this.” Laney pointed out x’s that had been carved into the woman’s breasts. “She had implants.”
“Good Lord, he punctured them,” Ellie muttered.
“He sure did.” Laney sighed. “But the implants will help us identify her more quickly.”
“Was that done before he killed her?”
“No, there would be more blood loss if that was the case.”
More questions pummeled Ellie as Laney finished and the crime techs began to gather the flower petals to bag for analysis. Courtney’s past had revealed the lawsuits, which meant she had enemies.
What about this victim?
At first glance, their hair color and body types were different.
So what was it about these two women that made the killer choose them?
Twenty-Four
Haints Bar
The first one he’d taken was a tough one. She hadn’t broken yet. Hadn’t begged or pleaded or prayed.
But she would. They all did at some point. It was just a matter of time.
His hand palmed his phone where the message to Detective Reeves waited. He’d send it later. For now, he reveled in the fact that Reeves might be looking at Tuesday’s victim.
Now he had a short window of time to take Wednesday’s child. He had to stay on schedule.
Eagerly he slipped inside Haints, a local bar and the best place for hardworking men to gather and shoot the shit. The place where booze made loose tongues wag.
Places had great meaning, just as the places he chose to dispose of his victims.
A few females dared to grace the establishment, but most learned their place real quick and decided to take their business to the local wine bar or Bulls, the honkytonk down the street. Women from all over Bluff County met there to vent, male bash and flirt with the rowdy cowboys. Testosterone and estrogen flowed as freely as the liquor and spirits, egged on by the soft croon of male country stars who sang of beer, whiskey, trucks, dogs, love and, of course, cheating women.
Voices dragged him back to the moment, and he turned to scan the crowd.