“Two are fairly recent. The third is much older, maybe even dating back to the 1990s. All appear to be female with significant cranial damage. No identifications yet.”
“Keep searching for other properties. This guy likely has money, so he can afford to have other venues like this one.”
“It’ll take time, but I’m on it,” Andy said.
Ramsey ended the call, again wishing he had a better arsenal of comforting words. “You heard most of that?”
“A murder that goes back over two decades. Wasn’t that about the time he bought his property and also had his first confirmed kill?”
“He had the land for almost nine years before the first kill in 1999. But men like him often live in a very elaborate fantasy world before they graduate to murder,” he said.
“We’re getting closer and I want to give the Mecum case my full attention, but I can’t until I find Elena.” The silence that followed was chock full of emotions. She stared out the car window for close to a minute as she seemed to gather herself.
“Bonnie will not get far.”
Melina shook her head, knowing that Bonnie was clever and had survived this long because she knew how to hide. “She did last time.”
Bonnie parked in front of Sonny’s house. There was no car in the driveway. He would be here soon, and they could collect Elena and get on the road.
She walked around to the back side of the house to the sliding glass door. She pulled out a stainless steel knife that she had procured from a restaurant and shoved it between the lock and the jamb. A couple of wiggles and the lock popped.
“Sonny, I thought I taught you better than this.”
Inside the house, she walked directly into the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, and pulled out her cell phone and dialed his number. The call went to voicemail. “Sonny, it’s me. Come on home and let’s get going.”
She opened a kitchen cabinet, smiling when she saw the cans of SpaghettiOs. He’d loved those as a kid. She took a long pull on her beer and moved into the living room toward a collection of guitars displayed on the wall. Several were autographed. She lightly strummed the strings on an old Gibson.
Bonnie had to admit the kid had done all right for himself in spite of her. He had made the home he had always wanted. She never could stand being in one place for long. That was not likely to change, but Sonny and she would make it work for Elena’s sake.
Behind her, floorboards creaked in the back hallway.
After finishing her beer, she set the bottle on a wooden table and walked toward the living room. “Sonny, baby?”
Someone came up behind her, and she expected to hear Sonny’s voice. Instead, a cord wrapped around her throat and cut off her air. She reached for the cord, trying to wedge her fingers underneath. “Sonny?”
The cord cut into her skin, igniting her strong survival instinct. She dragged her heel down his shin, and when he grunted, she realized she was not dealing with Sonny. She squirmed against him, hoping to break his concentration, but his grip tightened as if he enjoyed her struggle.
Her head began to swim. She gasped, and with the last of the air in her lungs, whispered, “Don’t.”
Her attacker, knowing she was near death, whirled her around to face a mirror. As the cord slackened, she could breathe and focus beyond her grossly distorted features to the man killing her. He had graying hair, dark eyes, and a smile.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t catch your name.”
She willed him to see the desperation in her eyes. Whatever was driving this guy, she was sure she could change his mind. “Baby.”
The man snatched her purse and pawed through receipts, coins, a bundle of credit cards that no longer worked, a bottle of tranquilizers, and the motel room key that unlocked the room in which Elena now slept. He grabbed the key. “Is he here?”
Her knees were weak, and it was difficult to stand. “What?”
“Is Sam here? Is he with Melina?”
“Melina? How do you know her?”
“I know all about her. Where is she?”
When she did not answer, he tightened the cord around her neck again. “Where does she live? Where can I find her?”
She grabbed at the cord but could not wedge her fingers underneath.
His temper and frustration were rising, and he twisted the rope tighter. Her eyes felt as if they were going to bulge out of her head. “Are they together?”
The cord’s slick nylon edge cut deeper into her skin, drawing blood that trickled down her neck. She mouthed a response but couldn’t draw in enough air.
He loosened his hold just enough for her to breathe. “Are they together?”
She had been around long enough to recognize the face of evil. He was never going to let her go. Best she could hope for now was to die fast. She spit in his face. “Bonnie says go fuck yourself.”
As Mecum looked at Bonnie’s bloodied face and her blown pupils, he knew he had screwed up. It had been years since he had really lost control. But the pressure of time was eating at him, and when she had spit in his face, his need to punish her had been visceral.
His window of opportunity to find Melina was closing. He released his grip on her neck and watched her body slide to the floor into a crumpled pile of bones and flesh. He had ruined this chance to find Melina, but he did not have time to dwell on his failure.
He wiped the bloody spittle from his face with his sleeve and then hefted Bonnie’s lifeless body over his shoulder. He carried it into the back bedroom, dumped it on the bed, and then covered it with a blanket.
Mecum returned to the living room and picked up the motel key still tucked in the motel’s sleeve. Room 132. Convenient. It was not Melina’s address, but it was a step closer.
As he crossed the living room, he pocketed the key and the phone. Before leaving the house, he paused at a mirror and inspected his face. His cheeks were flushed but there were no scratch marks. Using his fingers, he smoothed out his thick hair until it was neat and presentable.
He slid into his van, now sporting magnetic signs that read THOMPSON’S AIR-CONDITIONING. His heart raced when he started the engine. He wound through traffic toward the motel in East Nashville. It was not much to look at but fit the woman’s personality.
He parked across the lot from the room and watched it closely for several minutes. There was no sign of anyone. He searched the woman’s phone for texts. The only person she had texted in the last day had been Sonny. Who the hell was Sonny? The last text read, Baby, I’m coming to your place. The girl is waiting safe in a motel.
Your place. He had found Bonnie at Sam’s house. Was Sonny Sam? The girl. Who was Bonnie talking about? Was she referring to Melina? His blood stirring, he took a chance and got out of the car and crossed the lot. He quickly swiped the key and stepped into the darkened, cool room. He saw the small figure lying on the bed and knew it was a child and not a woman. Not his Melina.
He sat on the edge of the bed and carefully smoothed back the child’s dark hair. She was sleeping hard, no doubt drugged. In some ways, she reminded him of his granddaughter. Sweet. Innocent.
Sonny or Sam wanted the girl. And Mecum could use the girl to get Sonny to tell him how to find Melina. He might even be able to get Sonny to lure Melina to him.
He typed into the phone: Get the girl. Key hidden in planter to right of door. I will find you in a couple of hours. Cops on my tail. He added the motel address and then hit send.
Ramsey and Melina drove to the small East Nashville neighborhood located less than a mile from where Bonnie had crashed her car into the cul-de-sac. He parked out front and the two stood on the curb for a moment, studying the house.
She was still trying to wrap her brain around the idea that Sam was her half brother. Jesus. How long had he known? She thought about all the times she had seen him at the Mission. He was always kind to her and respectful to the residents and went out of his way to make the Mission a success. A part of her wanted to rush up to the house, believing he would not hurt her.
But she was a cop first and cops developed a skill for sizing up homes. Was the lawn cut or the house in order? Were there bushes or trees obscuring the house? Trash in the yard? Shades open or closed? Privacy fences. Locks. Smells. Everything came into play when a cop approached a residence for the first time. All had the potential to be a death trap.
Both Melina and Ramsey checked their weapons as they reached the front steps. Ramsey moved past her. “I’ll take point.”
“He’s my crazy half brother,” she said. “He might listen to me.”
“Don’t count on it.” When she opened her mouth to argue, he said, “You take the lead with the next nutty sibling. This one is mine.”
Without glancing back, he rapped on the front door. They stood to the side, listening.
“I know this guy,” she whispered.
“Apparently not well enough.”
The front windows were covered in shades and the curtains were drawn. There were no cars in the driveway. Ramsey tried the knob. It was locked.