Page 18 of Closer Than You Know (Vera Boyett #2)

Lincoln Medical Center

Medical Center Boulevard, Fayetteville, 10:50 p.m.

The throng of reporters outside the ER had not diminished. Lincoln County deputies, with the help of Fayetteville’s finest, were keeping them out of the hospital.

Vera could see the parking lot from the small conference room where she and the Bakers had been sequestered. Bent had gone back with Nolan more than an hour ago. What the hell was taking so long? Surely he had been stabilized and questioned by now.

Deep breath, Vee. These things take time.

Nolan’s parents were seated at the long table, and another deputy was stationed right outside the door. The glare Elizabeth kept on Vera prevented her from being able to sit. Instead, she paced, occasionally pausing at the window to peek through the slats of the blinds.

This was her fault. She got that. But it wasn’t like she had asked for any of this. It would be nice to have a normal life, but that was apparently not in the cards.

Then again, what was normal?

Besides, Elizabeth Baker had no right to judge anyone. Damn it. She had organized no fewer than three kidnappings. Held people hostage—drugged them. Set up all sorts of evidence to suggest poor drug-addicted Fisher Owens was the perpetrator. She’d even admitted to finding Nolan’s phone on her own front porch the night he disappeared—obviously left there by the person who’d actually abducted Nolan to make sure she understood someone else was in charge of her little game now. Elizabeth had hidden it along with the other evidence in that metal shed at Owens’s place just to make it look as if the victims had all been held there. What worried mother took the time to hide her son’s phone that way when he was missing? The woman was a psychopath if Vera had ever seen one.

She tightened her arms around her chest and turned in the other direction to pace some more. Dropping her arms to her sides was not an option with Nolan’s blood staining the front of her sweatshirt. Better to keep it covered as best she could.

She had sent a text to Liam Remington to let him know Nolan had been found and was undergoing a medical evaluation of his condition, which she believed was relatively good, under the circumstances. Liam had headed this way immediately. Then she’d called Eric and updated him about Baker and the new message left to her on the poor guy’s back. Eric was going to brief all the folks in Memphis who needed to hear the news before the media blitz that was no doubt coming. She’d warned Bent that MPD would likely be contacting him.

“Vera.”

Startled, she turned to the man who’d spoken.

Carl Baker, one arm around his wife, peered up at her. “You should sit down. You must be exhausted.”

Elizabeth pointed a glare at her that said she did not feel the same way as her husband. Maybe that was the reason Vera decided to take him up on the offer and collapse in the nearest chair already pulled away from the table. Getting off her feet had her body aching with relief. She was exhausted. Disgusted too.

“We,” Carl said, sitting a little straighter in his chair, “appreciate all you did to help Nolan. Todd Wiley, one of the paramedics, told us how you were comforting him when they arrived.” He looked away a moment as his emotions visibly got the better of him. “It means a lot.”

Elizabeth pulled away from his hold, her glare still intent on Vera. “But she’s the reason this happened,” she snarled. “That monster came here and took our son because of her.”

“Liz,” Carl murmured, “don’t do this. Our son is alive. We need to be thankful.”

“Alive?” She aimed her fierce glare on him now. “Yes, but look at what was done to him. He may never recover mentally. My God, PTSD can devastate your life.” Her head moved side to side. “His career may be over. He will be heartbroken.”

“I’m just glad he’s alive.” Carl looked away from her.

Vera decided it would be in her best interest to keep her mouth shut. You couldn’t win in a situation like this one. People saw what they wanted to see. Changing their minds was rarely possible. And when it involved a child—even a grown one—things could get ugly fast.

“You have nothing to say?” Elizabeth demanded.

Then again, sometimes the choice was taken from you.

Vera met her furious gaze. “You want an apology?” The emotions she’d ignored for the past two hours shook her hard. “Yes, I am very sorry this happened to Nolan. I would never have wished this nightmare on my worst enemy.” She pressed her lips together to prevent a tremor from showing. “Happy now?”

“No.” Elizabeth’s face pinched with mounting rage. “You’ve brought nothing but pain to this community since you came back. Your family is rotten to the core. Look at those people who were buried on your farm! What kind of person helps hide a body when they’re barely seventeen years old? You and your sister are just evil.”

Sister. She’d left Luna out, which was only fair. Vera lifted her chin but kept her lips pressed tightly together. What could she say? The woman had her there.

Elizabeth stood, leaned over the table, and braced her palms against its smooth surface. “They should run you and Eve out of this town.”

Carl attempted to usher her back into her chair. “Liz, please.”

She jerked away from him. “Look at what the two of you did to poor Luna.”

Vera flinched. She was well aware of what they had done to Luna, and no one regretted it more than her. But to argue with this woman would be a waste of time.

Elizabeth straightened to her full height, pointed a finger at Vera. “This is your fault. You’re the reason my son was almost killed.”

“That’s enough.”

Vera’s head snapped toward the door. Bent.

Thank God.

He closed the door behind him, his presence suddenly flattening the escalating tension in the room. “Nolan is doing well. The doctors say he’ll make a full recovery. The damage was almost entirely superficial.” This he directed at Carl and Vera. Then he turned to Elizabeth. “I understand this is difficult, but you need to be careful how you proceed from here.”

Elizabeth shot him a dismissive look. “I’m aware of your relationship with Vera. I’m not surprised you would take her side.”

Vera almost laughed out loud. Where was the terrified mother who had begged Vera to find her son? Oh well, once a bitch, always a bitch.

“Under the circumstances,” Bent said, his tone about as far from friendly or understanding as it could go, “I would advise you to bear in mind that any public displays similar to this one would not be in your best interest.”

Elizabeth laughed long and loud.

Carl winced. “Liz.”

“You expect,” Elizabeth went on, “me to keep quiet about this? Absolutely not. I intend to see that everyone in the whole town knows.” She sent a poisonous look at Vera. “I want them to run her out on a rail.”

“It’s a free country.” Bent placed his hat on the table and pulled out a chair. “But bear in mind that if the DA opts to proceed with charges against you—and that is the most likely path—the people in this town are your jury pool. I’d be on my best behavior if I were you. The grateful, humble mother persona is a far more sympathetic one. No one likes a haughty defendant.”

Elizabeth turned away then. “I need coffee.”

Carl rocketed to his feet. “I could use a shot of caffeine myself.” He ushered her from the room.

Vera sagged with relief. She turned to Bent. “Can I talk to Nolan now?”

He searched her gaze, sympathy in his. “Sorry about leaving you in here with her for so long.” His expression shifted to doubt. “Talking to Nolan is not a good idea, Vee.”

She figured he would say that. “For the record, I don’t need your sympathy; I need the facts. At least give me a replay of all he said.”

“It’s not a lot,” he warned. “The only message he received was the one tucked under his windshield wiper—the one that replaced his mother’s.”

According to Elizabeth, her note had instructed Nolan to meet her at the shack where Fisher Owens lived, but he’d never showed. She’d had no idea—even after finding his phone—until the next morning that somehow her latest move in the Time Thief game had gone awry. She’d assumed that Nolan had figured out what she was doing and wanted her to worry.

“He was drugged the entire time,” Bent was saying. “He heard a voice now and again, but he doesn’t remember much about it except that it sounded male. He has no idea where he was kept or how he got there, much less how he arrived at your barn.”

Wait just a minute. Vera sat up straight, mentally reviewing all that Bent had just said. “The Messenger relished interaction with his victims. The fear he induced. Their cries. The agony. He wouldn’t get any pleasure from keeping one drugged and compliant.” She shook her head. “This is wrong.” But the messages—the one on her mirror and on Nolan’s mirror and body—were right. “Are you sure he was telling you the truth? Maybe he was told not to talk about his experience and he’s afraid to do otherwise. He could still be suffering some level of shock.”

“That’s possible.” Bent studied her a moment, probably noting the fear she did not want him to see. “But I didn’t get the impression he was hiding anything. I’ll talk to him again in the morning. Possibly when he’s rested and full of pain meds, he’ll be more forthcoming—assuming he’s holding back.”

“Thank you.” She tried to feel satisfied with his plan. What was another eight or so hours?

It was a lifetime. Her tension started to build again. This was wrong. Completely wrong. “Did you see any other indications of torture?”

Bent shook his head. “The only injuries were the words carved onto his back. The doctor confirmed what we talked about at the scene—the knife work was almost all shallow. Deep enough to ensure plenty of bleeding and that the message was visible, but not enough so to cause serious injury.”

“This is way, way off, Bent. Whatever this person is up to, he knows about the messages, but this is not the person who killed all those people in Memphis.” Someone had started a game—one quite possibly being manipulated from prison by Palmer Solomon. Copycats often interacted with their idols. Son of a bitch!

As obvious as the concept was ... she couldn’t be certain of anything. Jesus Christ, she did not need this sudden uncertainty. Not right now, damn it. Think! Focus!

“The messages were talked about in depth in the media.” She said this as much for herself as for Bent. “But not the one carved on Gloria Anderson’s back. We never released anything about it, and Gloria refused to talk about what happened to her with the media.” Vera shrugged. “I suppose she could have confided in someone who eventually told someone else. Or maybe someone on the hospital staff or one of the cops assigned to the investigation—there were plenty who knew the details who might have spilled. But I never heard about it. There was nothing about it in any story that’s been done, and there have been several.”

And there was Eric ... those details had not been released either.

“So we don’t know with any measure of certainty what we’re dealing with here,” Bent said, voicing her primary concern. Worry deepened the lines around his eyes.

“That would be my conclusion.” And yet it made no sense. “The only thing, based on what we know so far, that makes any measure of sense is the idea that Solomon set this all up from his prison cell. He’s suddenly decided he wants to torment me.”

“There’s no chance he was working with a partner before you stopped him?”

Vera couldn’t deny having wondered about the possibility during the original investigation. “There was never any evidence. I considered the idea at one point, but then he was caught, so I let it go.” She shook her head. “Now, all these years later I think it’s safe to assume he didn’t. Most of the time serial killers don’t just stop killing, unless they’ve been stopped the way Solomon was or they’re dead.”

Bent nodded his understanding. “All right then. Let me take you home. I’ve arranged for my truck to be brought around to the back. We can get out of here without all the fanfare.”

“The sooner the better.” She needed a long hot shower and sleep.

Vera had a terrible feeling that this nightmare had just begun.

As they walked away from the conference room, she spotted Liam Remington. “That’s Nolan’s boyfriend,” she explained to Bent.

He gave her a nod and went to the younger man. They spoke briefly, then Bent rejoined Vera. “Let’s go.”

“What did you tell him?” She watched Remington head to the bank of elevators.

“I gave him Baker’s room number. He’s to tell the deputy to call me for confirmation that he’s allowed to see his friend for a few minutes.”

“Thank you.” Vera breathed a sigh of relief. Even Nolan Baker deserved to have the people he cared about close at a time like this.

Boyett Farm

Good Hollow Road, Fayetteville, 11:55 p.m.

There was a white van parked at the road when they reached Vera’s house. A reporter who’d figured out the best way to get to her was to wait for her at home.

God, she hated reporters sometimes.

“Stay put. I’ll take care of this,” Bent said, getting out.

Vera was only too happy to let him play the part of hero right now.

She twisted in the seat and watched as he approached the driver’s side of the van. He stood there for a half minute, then turned and walked away. The lights on the van came to life, and the vehicle rolled away.

“Good.” Vera reached for the door and got out. She was on the porch before she realized she didn’t have her bag. She’d left it in the house when she’d gone to the barn. “Damn it.” Then she stalled, stared at her door. She hadn’t locked the house ... she’d been too frustrated and too angry.

“Don’t worry,” Bent said, coming up beside her. “I had Olson come back and keep an eye on the place.” He knocked, and a few seconds later the door opened.

Deputy Olson looked from Vera to the sheriff. “All clear in here.”

“Good. You can go home now,” Bent told him. “I’ve got Price coming to take over for the night.”

“Yes, sir.” Olson nodded to Vera. “Night, ma’am.”

When the door had closed, she said, “I didn’t see his cruiser.”

“I had him park it down by the barn so the house would look empty. I figured if our perp wanted in your house, he might give it a shot while we were at the hospital.”

“That was a good idea. Interesting that he didn’t bother. I guess he had nothing else to say to me at the moment.”

“Guess so,” Bent agreed.

“Who was in the white van?” Vera was almost too exhausted to care.

“An old friend of yours.”

Vera felt her brow furrow. “Who?”

“Patricia Patton.”

She should have expected her to show up. Just another too-familiar element of this new nightmare.

“Thanks again for putting Boggie in her place.” Vera was fading fast. She really needed to get in the shower before she lost the ability to stay vertical.

“I’ll check in with you in the morning. See what we know then.”

“Thanks, Bent.”

He hesitated. “I can stay, you know. If you’d be more comfortable.”

She smiled. “I appreciate the offer, but I need sleep.” What she really needed was time to think.

“Night then.”

“Night.”

He left. Vera closed the door and locked it. Then she dragged herself upstairs. One of these days she was going to shock the man by saying yes.

But just look how that turned out last time.