childhood. I think it’s going to take several visits before he gets past that and we can discuss the details of the crimes. He likes the attention, so we can use that to our advantage.”
Ellie raised a brow at Angelica using the word we, as if they were partners.
“He did hint that he had a fan, although he refused to divulge his name,” the reporter said, twisting the strap of her handbag.
Surprise fluttered through Ellie. “This fan could be the Weekday Killer.”
Angelica nodded. “I thought of that, and I’ll keep pushing. Do you have any updates?”
“You talked to the sheriff, you heard what he had to say,” Ellie pointed out.
“I was hoping you had more,” Angelica said with an eyebrow lift.
Derrick squared his shoulders. “We’re exploring possibilities.”
Angelica glanced back at Ellie. “He also talked about your family. He said they had more secrets.”
Ellie grinded her teeth. “You know you can’t go public with any of this right now. If you do, you could jeopardize the case against my parents.”
“I’m surprised you want to protect them,” Angelica said. “Considering.”
Ellie shot her a warning look, daring her to say more.
The journalist remained cool, but she’d made her point. “I hope you find Deputy Eastwood.”
“We will,” Ellie said. She just prayed they found her alive.
As Angelica headed off, Ellie motioned at Derrick to head inside. Maybe talking to the reporter had warmed Hiram up enough to spill his guts to her.
Remaining silent as they entered the prison and went through security, Derrick’s face was a mask of control. While his mind must be occupied with thoughts of his sister and the fact that he was about to confront the man who’d killed her, he never once showed it.
The warden steepled his hands on his desk as they were shown into his office. The man was big and brawny, a former cop with mammoth-sized hands and arms, and eyes the color of cold steel.
“We think Hiram has a follower,” Derrick said. “Do you know anything about that?”
“Captain Hale asked me to check Hiram’s correspondence. He’s received hate mail for the crimes he committed. And also some fan mail. Disgusting.” He gestured toward a folder on the desk. “And last week, a man tried to visit him. Gave the name Vinny Harper, although he didn’t have proper ID or clearance, so we turned him away.”
“Can you have your people pull security footage from when he tried to enter?” Derrick asked.
“Certainly.” The warden buzzed security, asking them to locate the recording.
“Has he had any other visitors?” Ellie asked.
“Your mother came once,” the warden said. “But Hiram refused to see her.”
Ellie squeezed her fingers around the chair edge, stifling her reaction.
“What about his cellmate?” Derrick asked. “Or friends? Has Hiram made any since he’s been locked up?”
The warden shook his head. “Child molesters and killers are considered the lowest of the low, even to other felon offenders. His first cellmate tried to shank him, so we had to move him to a cell by himself instead of being in the general population.”
The warden buzzed for a security guard, who escorted them through the dingy halls to the main security office where dozens of cameras displayed various areas of the prison, including individual cells, the common areas, the yard and mess hall. He pulled up the footage of the main entrance and security station, zeroing in on the man who’d called himself Vinny.
The man, dressed in dark clothes, looked wiry and jumpy. He had a pointed chin, shifting eyes set a little too far apart and a ruddy complexion.
Derrick had the guard send the footage to the Bureau so they could run it through facial recognition software, while Ellie texted Heath and asked him to find out what he could on the man.
A coldness swept over Ellie as they were escorted through another dank cement hallway that smelled of sweat, urine and feces.
She and Derrick seated themselves at a metal table attached to the floor, and a guard brought Hiram in. Nerves pinched at Ellie, the memory of Hiram throwing her body into that hole and burying her alive returning to make her sweat.
Handcuffs and shackles clinked and clanged as he shuffled toward the chair. His limp seemed more pronounced today and a fresh scar marked his cheek, as if he’d been cut by a razor.
His crazed eyes skated over Ellie with a mixture of disdain and victory. “Hello, sis,” he said with a smile as he slid onto the chair across from her. “I’ve been expecting you.”