was smart, running like that. Thought she’d escaped him.
But he was smarter.
He’d covered his tracks. Hidden his face from her.
And he had another. One who was even more fitting to be Friday’s child than she had been. She’d served her purpose.
It was time for her to meet her fate.
One Hundred Four
Elm Grove
Finton no longer lived above the funeral home. He owned a house although the outside of it looked as bleak as the funeral home. Made of stacked stone in a dull gray, with overgrown weeds and backed by the woods, it seemed to disappear into the foliage. Kudzu had taken over, snaking up the sides, winding around the railings.
Derrick had called to request warrants for Finton’s home and computer while Ellie drove, his address easy enough to find. He’d also downloaded a photograph from the funeral home’s website. In the picture, Roy Finton was dressed in a gray pinstriped suit with his hair clipped short and a sympathetic smile on his face. On the surface he looked like a nice, empathetic undertaker—With our loving hands, your loved ones will rest in peace.
But if what Cord said was true, it was all a lie.
“I don’t see any cars,” Derrick said as she parked.
“No lights on inside either. If he’s not at the funeral home or here, where is he?”
“Who knows? The man might have a life. A girlfriend.”
“No one in their right mind would want to be with a creep like him,” said Ellie, with a shudder.
“That’s assuming McClain is telling the truth.”
Ellie threw a glare at him, then opened her car door and climbed out. He followed, examining the property for any signs Finton was around. An outbuilding sat to the side of the house, but it was dark and windowless.
Braced for an attack, they drew their weapons and eased up the drive. A stray cat loped across the front yard, then darted into the woods, and wind tore through the ancient trees, slamming a shutter on the house back and forth.
Cobwebs clung to the window to the side of the porch and Ellie noted rotting window casings that looked termite-infested. She reached the door and knocked, while Derrick continued to scope out the property. Set apart from other houses by at least a couple of miles, it would be easy for Finton to hide here or hold a victim without anyone being aware. If she screamed, the sound would dissolve into the wind and trees.
Ellie knocked again. There was no answer, so she jiggled the door. Locked. Derrick used his lock-picking tool and opened the heavy wooden door. The interior was an inky black, an odd odor permeating the air.
Freezing for a second, the darkness closed around Ellie and choked the air from her lungs. Dammit, she was working hard to overcome her fear, but sometimes it snuck out and curled around her like a snake winding its way around her throat.
“Roy Finton, this is the FBI!” Derrick shouted as she entered the space.
The sound of a clock ticking somewhere echoed as the wind wailed, gaining in intensity.
No one appeared to be inside.
Using his flashlight to illuminate the interior, Derrick cast a beam across the cement floor. A shiver rippled through Ellie as cold air wafted around her. The mausoleum-like house was like a refrigerator, carrying the scent of death and a deep kind of evil she’d never felt before.
Satisfied no one was inside, Derrick flipped on a light in the hall as they crossed through the entryway to the living area. More cement floors, and a black leather chair and stone countertop sat in an empty, plain kitchen.
Ellie forced herself to go to the refrigerator, half expecting to find jars of blood inside, but it was almost bare. A few condiments, sandwich meat and a leftover slice of pizza.
The desk in the corner held stacks of papers and bills. No typewriter to make the notes. No daffodils anywhere.
They moved down the hall to a bedroom. A king-sized oak bed was draped in a black comforter and the closet revealed pairs of jeans and work shirts, boots covered in mud, and an army-green duffel bag.
Ellie tugged on gloves and inspected the inside of the bag. There was some dried blood inside, but no knives or evidence he’d used the bag to carry wildflowers or bramble. In the outside pocket she found a suture kit that he could have used to sew the victims’ mouths shut.
Derrick snapped close-ups of the mud on the boots. “We’ll send these to the