How bad could it be? Jenna would be happy to eliminate a suspect. She sighed. “Okay, what did you do, Matt?”
“He’s not saying a word.” Cross stared at Jenna and his eyes twinkled. “Matt was delivering grass to his friends. He obtains it from a dealer and they split the cost is all. His friends will verify his whereabouts on Sunday and Wednesday nights and give you the approximate times, if they all get immunity.”
“And an assurance he won’t deal drugs again?”
“Sure.” Cross smiled at her. “He wants a quiet life.”
Jenna turned to Kane. “I figure we call the DA.”
“Yeah, but you won’t get him here this afternoon, he’ll be in court.” Kane glanced at his watch. “Maybe first thing in the morning?”
“Okay.” Jenna turned back to Cross. “Matt will have to stay here until we arrange a meet with the DA. Maybe in the morning.”
“I don’t want to stay here overnight.” Matt rose to his feet. “I’ve admitted why I was in Stanton Road.”
“It’s just one night and they’ll feed you well.” Cross placed a hand on Matt’s shoulder. “It will all be over soon.”
Jenna got up to leave. “We’ll make the arrangements and call you with the details.” She glanced at Matt. “Wait here and Rowley will take you to the cells.” She followed Kane out the door with Cross and George Miller close behind.
“Thanks for your consideration, Jenna.” Cross gave her a brilliant smile. “We should have dinner sometime?”
Jenna laughed. “A sheriff and a defense attorney. Been there and done that. Trust me, it wouldn’t turn out well, but thanks anyway.” She turned away and followed Kane to the next interview room.
She noticed the way Kane looked at her and smiled at him. “It’s nice to have an ego-stroke sometimes.”
“Ah-huh.” Kane gave her a slow smile. “I’ll have to remember that.”
As much as she loved the attention Kane gave her off duty, when they were on the job it made it difficult to keep her head straight. After what I’ve been through today, a cuddle would be just fine. Her face grew hot at the thought and she cleared her throat. “Lancaster is next.”
Forty-Seven
He stared at the clock hanging on the wall. It was a familiar, generic round clock, metal, eight inches across with a clear glass front. The face had the usual twelve numerals in black and seconds marked off in sections with hands to match. A red second hand ticked away the seconds, sixty seconds to one minute, sixty minutes to one hour. The rhyme sat in his head like an earwig as he watched time slip away. He had nowhere else to go right now and he liked to watch the clock. Tick tock, tick tock.
The sound calmed him and put everything in his mind firmly into place. Up to now, he’d planned a schedule, each move carefully timed – but he’d added another twist to the game with Sara. Meeting her had been different and he’d decided on impulse to kill her there. The forest had turned out to be a perfect place to kill and he’d consumed her fear. If only the sheriff had wandered into his trap instead.
Tick tock, tick tock. His eyes followed the red hand, moving past the number nine and on to ten. It was almost hypnotic. Clocks were amazing inventions; they measured an illusion that only existed in a person’s mind. An invention by man to measure a creation of man.
From a young age, he’d enjoyed discovering how things worked. Books or the internet filled in the information he lacked but the workings of the mind confused him. He’d once wanted to ask someone, a shrink maybe, why his grandma’s image appeared over the faces of the women he killed, and then the moment he killed Lindy, everything had changed.
It had just been Lindy’s big scared eyes looking up at him as he tightened the rope around her neck, not his grandma’s angry glare. Killing the girls had been different – exciting – and watching their fear of him had seeped into him like a drug. Maybe he could slay his demons for good by killing the sheriff and winning the game. After all, the thrill of abducting and killing a teenage girl was so much better.
The first time he’d laid eyes on the sheriff, ordering men around like she was all that, he’d seen his grandma’s eyes flashing with anger and cursing him, telling him he was useless and would amount to nothing. For a long time, he’d figured she’d been right because as a kid, all the women he’d met treated him like a bug they wanted to squash under their feet.
But he wasn’t a little boy anymore.
One by one, he’d made them apologize and then delivered his sentence. He’d expected one day someone would put a stop to his revenge and he’d grown bored waiting for the fun to begin. The chase he expected had never occurred and the notoriety of murdering twenty-seven women had not rated a mention – then he’d strangled Lindy. His life had changed in that dark root cellar and the Shadow Man had risen, feared and respected. Now one woman stood in the way of redemption – Sheriff Jenna Alton. He had to win the game and destroy the final vision of his grandma then he’d be free. Lady, you’re so gonna die.
Forty-Eight
Exhausted, Jenna waited for Kane to open the door to the interview room, and then walked inside. She recognized the muscular man sprawled in the chair with his feet on the table and cowboy hat tipped down over his eyes and cleared her throat. “Mr. Lancaster.”
“That would be me.” Lancaster tipped up the rim of his hat and looked at her. “Afternoon, Sheriff, nice to see you again, ma’am.” He dropped his boots from the table and sat up in his chair.
Jenna took in the man before her, handsome with a sexy smile – no wonder the young girls chased after him. She explained the situation and his rights and, when he agreed, turned on the recorder. “The last time we spoke, you mentioned knowing Lindy Rosen. Have you met Amanda Braxton?”
“The other girl that went missin’?” Lancaster’s forehead creased into a frown. “Yeah, she was one of the girls who hung around me at the school, just the same as Lindy. Is that why I’m here? You figure I’d something to do with abducting those girls?”
If that was a proclamation of innocence, it sure looked genuine. Jenna ignored his question, opened the file and slipped out the crime scene photographs Agent Martin had given her of the two murdered women. “What about Christine Pullman and Joy Coran?” She placed the imag