Page 3 of Closer Than You Know (Vera Boyett #2)

Old Lincoln County Hospital

Maple Street, Fayetteville, 7:00 a.m.

The last time Vera had stood in this hospital, her mother was in the emergency room being officially pronounced dead.

The image of her father standing quietly next to the gurney that had been used to wheel his wife into a room, with poor Eve—Vera’s younger sister—flung across their mother’s cold, dead body was one Vera would never be able to exile from her brain. She had hovered at the foot of the gurney in a sort of shock that wouldn’t allow the tears to flow until later, when she was alone in her room.

Grief was that way. It either poured from one at the moment of trauma or buried itself for a later eruption.

That day had been the worst of her and Eve’s lives.

“The room where Joel Keeton was found is on the third floor,” Bent said, drawing her attention back to the present.

They’d entered the building through the old emergency room entrance. The same way she and her family had come in all those years ago.

“Lead the way.” Vera gestured for the sheriff to precede her.

He gave her one of those nods—every woman knew the sort. The kind only a man like Gray Benton could pull off. The vague gesture had many meanings. Yes. Okay. Whatever. The impact was in the execution. And no one ever questioned it.

Vera narrowed her focus to the reason she was here. A young man—arrogant though he might be—had gotten himself into what would likely prove to be deep shit. But like most reporters, Nolan Baker wanted the story and was willing to do most anything to get it. She wondered if he felt that way now ... assuming he was still alive. Then again, there was no reason to believe he wasn’t, based on the perp’s MO so far.

Broken glass and other debris littered the floor of the long corridor they entered next. The seemingly endless walls had once been white. Now they were mostly gray, speckled and streaked with something darker from the mildew and mold. Amid the collage of gray hues were a few not readily identifiable stains. On the way here Bent had explained that the chief of police had someone checking on the place each night to ensure there were no vagrants hanging out. Still, without a guard 24–7, it was difficult to keep out those who had mischief in mind. The curious could be a problem as well. Not to mention the desperate, who just needed shelter. Particularly in weather like this.

For the life of her, Vera would never understand why cities didn’t make repairs to old buildings like this and house those with no place to stay, especially during cold weather. Realistically she understood the financial and legal ramifications might very well be overwhelming. But there was just something intrinsically wrong with the idea of people sleeping on the streets when buildings like this one stood empty.

In the end, she supposed it all boiled down to whether or not the city owned the property. In this case they did not. Long ago life had changed from the simple terms of right and wrong to the far more complicated concepts of why and whose opinion reigned.

“You’re probably aware of the stories about the little girl who haunts the place,” Bent said as they entered the stairwell and began the climb upward.

“Eve has mentioned the stories over the years.” She recalled her sister saying there had been television-docuseries-type shows about the old hospital. Vera had never watched any of them. Maybe she would when she got home. The perp had chosen this place for a reason. Learning as much as possible about it could prove useful.

Another flight of steps disappeared behind them with nothing more than the sound of Bent’s cowboy boots, as well as her own nondescript ones. Bent wasn’t a big talker. He spoke when he had something to say. Small talk wasn’t a part of his top-cop toolbox. Never had been a part of who he was. As much time as they had spent together during their brief love affair twenty-odd years ago, very little talking had taken place.

She shivered at the memory ... or maybe because it was so damned cold in here.

When Bent moved to open the stairwell door, curiosity got the better of her, and Vera braced a hand against it to stop him. “Do you believe the rumors—about the little girl, I mean?”

Bent studied her for a moment. She clenched her jaw and refused to blink—not an easy task. Of all the men she had met in her life, Bent was the only one who could look so deep inside her. Back in the day, he’d been what folks around here referred to as a “lady’s man.” The women adored him and gladly forgot all about their boyfriends and husbands for a moment of no-holds-barred pleasure with Bent. At seventeen, Vera had thought he was the most amazing man on the planet. At least until he disappeared, leaving her heartbroken.

He gave her a vague shrug. “I believe there are people who believe they’ve seen her.”

Exactly the answer she’d expected. Vera dropped her hand. Bent was a good man and a good sheriff. Maybe one of the best cops with whom she’d worked.

They stepped into the center corridor on the top floor. The gathering at the other end told her the two forensic cops in the department were on site already. The forensic duo was relatively new for the county. Bent had been working on building a team since becoming sheriff. Finally, early last year he’d brought two new deputies, both educated and trained in forensic science, on board. Another deputy appeared to be standing guard. No TBI agents so far.

And she didn’t see Nolan Baker’s mama. That was the real surprise.

“I imagine Elizabeth has attempted to visit the scene already,” she said as they neared the ongoing activity. A face-to-face with her was not something Vera looked forward to, even if the woman had asked for her.

“Chief Teller talked to the family personally. He assured both the mother and father that he’d give them a walk-through when the forensic work was done.”

Of course he would. No one ever said no to Elizabeth. Vera wasn’t surprised it was the chief who’d done the talking. The incident occurred inside the city limits, making it Police Chief Ray Teller’s jurisdiction. But the ongoing investigation was the county’s, and that made it Bent’s problem. Teller likely had no issue with leaving the bizarre case with the sheriff’s department. If Vera recalled correctly, Teller had a daughter who had been friends with Elizabeth back in high school. He would no doubt have taken the initiative of informing the parents either way.

“Teller passed along Elizabeth’s request about me?”

“He did.” Bent turned to meet her gaze. “You still don’t like her?”

Vera almost laughed. “Ah, unless you can tell me she’s not the snobbish bully she was in high school, yeah, I suppose I don’t.”

A smile played with one corner of his mouth. “You’re right. You don’t.”

Vera shook her head. Some things never changed.

Before entering the room, they donned gloves and shoe covers. Vera was fairly confident Bent kept a special size on hand for his boots. The boots and the hat were details that made the ladies like him more. The tight-fitting tee he wore under that sheriff’s department shirt only added to his appeal.

Don’t be an idiot, Vee. Focus on why you’re here.

As with the rest of the former hospital, the room they entered had been vandalized. Blinds were open. Graffiti and those other unpleasant discolorations marred the once-white walls. The commercial-grade vinyl tile covering the floor was dirty with random debris lying around. Beer bottles, some broken, along with beer cans and miscellaneous trash. No small number of cigarette butts.

Deputy Will Conover, the lead forensic investigator, nodded to Bent. “We’re just finishing up. Be out of your way in about fifteen seconds.”

“Take your time.” Bent scanned the floor. “Did you find any fresher cigarette butts?”

It went without saying that he hoped for genetic evidence.

“I did,” Conover said. “But none smelled very recent, so I wouldn’t get my hopes up. We dusted for prints in the most obvious places, but”—he surveyed the room—“it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. There’s been a lot of people through here.”

In Vera’s opinion, there was little in the space that would provide anything in the way of usable evidence—unless they got really, really lucky. The sheer notoriety of the place ensured far too many visitors.

Considering no evidence had been found at any of the places where the previous victims were taken or left suggested this perp planned carefully. He was organized and smart. Too smart to leave something as elementary as a fingerprint. Either that or he’d been damned lucky so far.

The other deputy—Vera didn’t recall her name—grabbed the last of their gear and headed out.

“If you find anything,” Bent said to Conover, “call me.”

“Will do.”

With that, the two deputies were gone, leaving only the one assigned to guard duty in the corridor.

“Keeton said it was dark when they entered the room. The blinds were closed. Perp probably closed them for that reason. Keeton hit the floor here,” Bent said as he moved toward the right and closer to the window. “When he regained consciousness, Baker and the perp were gone. Keeton was tied up with nylon rope. It took him a while to free himself. His cell was taken, along with the fob to Baker’s car—which was likely in his pocket. Once Keeton was outside, he banged on doors in the neighborhood until someone answered and let him use a phone.”

Vera moved toward the spot where Keeton had fallen, then turned all the way around. “So the perp was waiting in the room for them. He must have known Nolan wasn’t coming alone.”

Bent walked the few steps to the window. “Baker’s car was parked in the lot in clear view of this window. The perp probably watched them enter the building, then closed the blinds to block any moonlight.”

The blinds were open fully now. Bent or one of his deputies likely opened them once the initial crime scene photos and video had been taken. Vera peered out the window. She thought of the tracks she’d found behind her house this morning. “No tracks in the snow down there?”

A multitude of vehicle and person tracks littered the melting slush now. Reporters had started to line up outside the perimeter the deputies had put in place.

Bent shook his head. “Keeton said it had just started to snow when they came in last night, so I’m assuming our perp got Baker out before the snow piled up.”

“No other vehicle in the lot when the two arrived?”

“No. If there was a vehicle on the property, it was well hidden. And,” he went on, “we’ve canvassed the area, and no one who lives nearby saw or heard anything.”

Well, that answered her next question.

“With the other victims, he waited for them where they lived or worked or some other place they frequented,” she mentioned, her brain running through scenarios.

“The first was taken from home around ten p.m.,” Bent explained. “Number two was taken from the gym after closing time. The parking lot was empty. There was no one else inside except the employee closing up, who didn’t see or hear anything.” He surveyed the room. “The last victim was putting flowers on her mother’s grave in the middle of the afternoon.”

At Blanche Cemetery over near Taft. Not at Rose Hill, where Vera’s parents were buried. The ache of having buried their father just two months ago was still fresh.

“This one is a sizable step out of his usual MO,” Vera said, pointing out the obvious and moving on from thoughts of her father.

“That’s what worries me,” Bent agreed.

“Maybe he’s ready to tell his story,” Vera suggested. “Nolan Baker is a reporter. He has extensive local connections, which makes him high profile. Maybe Nolan is the big finale—the point he hopes to make in all this.”

Bent shot her a look that said he hoped to hell not. Okay, that wasn’t what she’d been going for.

“I mean,” she clarified, “to achieve whatever glory he’s hoping for. Perps like this one aren’t in it for the violence; this is all about proving something. Showing off. That sort of thing.” At least, that appeared to be the case so far. There certainly was nothing in his MO that suggested otherwise—at least until now.

“We can hope it doesn’t involve murder.”

Murder. Vera had helped bring many murderers to justice, and she’d kept at least two murders hidden. Basically, she’d been a part of the deed from both sides—going way back. Better to keep that to herself too.

Funny, she’d never seen her sister Eve or their daddy as killers. But they were ... weren’t they? No matter that the act in both instances had been self-defense. Still, people were dead.

There were times when she wondered if she was one of the good guys or not. Not tap-dancing around in that minefield.

She squared her shoulders and suggested, “We should walk through the other rooms on this floor. Look for any sort of staging area.”

“We walked through earlier.” Bent waited for her to take the lead now. “Didn’t find anything, but a fresh set of eyes is always a good idea.”

As soon as they were out of the room where the attack had occurred, they removed their shoe covers. Vera left her gloves on just in case. The other rooms were not unlike the one where Joel Keeton had found himself unconscious on the floor. By the time they reached the fourth room, Vera had noted the one undeniable consistency that did not extend to the scene of the attack.

“All the windows”—she gestured to the one in the room where they currently stood—“are basically bare. The curtains and blinds are either gone completely or hanging by a thread. But the window in the room where the abduction took place has a workable set of blinds.”

Bent’s gaze narrowed as he considered her point. “Let’s take another look.”

They walked back to the room and, not bothering with the shoe covers this time, took a closer look at the intact blinds on the window.

“Looks the same as the damaged ones on the windows in the other rooms,” Bent noted, “but this one is in working order.”

“Maybe the perp picked this room because it was the only one with an intact set.” Made sense, Vera supposed.

“Otherwise,” Bent said, “he picked the best of the window coverings, since the windows are all about the same size, and moved it here. This is the room where sightings of that mysterious light and the little girl most often occur. If cashing in on the notoriety was his point, this room was the one to choose.”

“He would unquestionably do that. He’s careful, organized,” Vera said. “We know this from the other abductions. His victims have all been locals, all around the same age. And all taken with no witnesses and no evidence left behind. Sticking to a precise routine has prevented any missteps so far.”

“If we find the window where this blind came from,” Bent considered out loud, “assuming that’s what happened, we might find prints. Removing a set of blinds is a pain in the ass if you’re wearing gloves.”

“Are we checking every window?” Vera did a quick mental tally of all the windows she’d seen.

Bent shook his head. “That last show some ghost-hunter group made is still on YouTube. They went from room to room. We should be able to see which one had what we’re looking for.”

“Excellent idea.” Vera grinned. “Your office or mine?”

“I have the investigation details laid out at my home office.”

“But does it come with the offer of breakfast?” Vera was suddenly starving.

He smiled. “I can make that happen.”

“Best offer I’ve had all morning.”

Back on the first floor, more uniforms guarded the entrances. News had spread, and a few lookie-loos were in the parking lot along with the reporters.

Vera groaned at the number of news vans lining the perimeter. “Oh yippee.”

“All we have to do,” Bent said, leaning closer to her, “is make sure they don’t follow us.”

Before she could respond, two women and a cameraman breached the yellow tape and stormed toward them.

“Oh hell,” Bent murmured.

He headed toward the three to cut them off while Vera climbed into his truck. She appreciated the move. He knew how she hated this sort of thing. She had nothing against reporters in general, but she’d suffered through more than her share in her career. Now that she was a private contractor, she didn’t have to talk to reporters if she didn’t want to. No chain of command to keep happy. No public to appease.

“Vera Mae!”

She would have recognized that voice anywhere. Another groan welled inside her. Elizabeth “Boggie” Bogus Baker. Vera would lay odds that the woman had chosen a man with a last name that began with a B just so she didn’t have to change any of her monogrammed self-indulgences.

“Mrs. Baker ...,” Bent was saying.

“Vera Mae, please, I need to speak with you.” Elizabeth’s face was red and puffy, but it was the pain there that did the trick.

Vera took a breath and climbed out of the truck. Putting off the inevitable was a waste of time anyway.

Bent glanced at Vera as Elizabeth rushed past him.

“I’m so sorry to hear about what’s happened, Elizabeth,” Vera said with complete earnestness. Having a child in danger—even an adult child—was a parent’s worst nightmare. “We can talk at Bent’s office—have more privacy.”

“I know.” Elizabeth grabbed Vera by the shoulders. “But I just couldn’t wait. Please, just please promise me you won’t let anything happen to my son. I know if anyone in this world can find him before he’s hurt, it’s you. Please promise me.”

Vera could feel the various camera lenses zooming in on her. The other woman who’d made it as far as Bent would allow was obviously a reporter. She appeared to be directing the guy with the television camera on his shoulder. She produced a smile when she noticed Vera watching her.

Vera shifted her attention back to Nolan’s mother. “I can promise you, Elizabeth, that Bent and I will do everything we can.”

Tears flowed down the woman’s face. Funny, she had not a single wrinkle under all that puffy redness. She looked perfect. Vera, on the other hand, had plenty of lines. Truth be told, Elizabeth had always been perfect, from the top of her flawlessly styled black hair to her elegant designer boots.

“Thank you, Vera Mae.” She yanked Vera against her, hugging her tightly. “Thank you. I just want my son back safe and sound.”

Vera glanced at the reporter. Now the whole town—possibly the country—would know that Vera Mae Boyett had promised to find the victim, in a case where the victims were typically released basically unharmed anyway. She wasn’t sure which one of them would come off looking more foolish, she or Elizabeth. Then again, it wasn’t Vera’s son missing.

She just hoped like hell this was not the moment this bizarre perpetrator decided to escalate into the kind of violence that did more than inconvenience and temporarily disable his victims.

At least not before Vera could find that little shit, Nolan Baker.