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  I jumped straight up in bed and gasped for air. I gulped in hard breaths while I rubbed my aching chest and left shoulder. It felt as though a real heart attack was squeezing the life out of me. I wiped my eyes with the realization that the nightmare wasn’t about me, it was about Janine, and the man in my dream had called her Tristan. There was no doubt about it—her abductor was the Fulton County Butcher, and she must have escaped, but once again, her fate was sealed. He had found her, and death was imminent. It was just a matter of time.

  I filled my teacup with cold water then guzzled it down without taking a breath. Back in bed, I reached for my dream journal and began writing down everything I could remember.

  Lots of land and a plowed field full of ruts and dirt clods. A patch of trees, or maybe woods, stood farther back.

  It was a forested property for the most part, and I felt that same disorientation I’d had in my first dream. I remembered running wildly out of a single-story house surrounded by trees. The glow of the bright porch light bounced off the chrome bumper of what looked like a parked truck. I bolted left and ran blindly through the dark but saw the silhouette of a shed between the house and open patch of land ahead of me. I continued writing as the dream unfolded.

  “The flashlight!” I’d remembered him shining it in his own face. I rubbed my forehead as I tried to bring back that moment. “What did he look like?” The more I grasped for his image, the more it faded. Flashlights created all kinds of distorted shadows and describing somebody’s appearance while they were holding a flashlight on their own face was nearly impossible. “Damn it. What did I actually see?” I remembered a blue-eyed white man and wrote that down. A scruff of hair popped into my mind. “That’s right, it hung over his eyebrows as he hovered above Janine, but what was the color? The flashlight was in his own face for crissakes!” I squeezed my eyes closed and dug deep. His hair wasn’t black, and it wasn’t blond. It was barely memorable, but those piercing blue eyes stared down and twinkled with evil intentions. “Wait!” I went back to his eyes then looked above them. His eyebrows were light brown, so his hair must have been the same. “Got it! Blue eyes, light-brown hair that fell in his face, an all-terrain vehicle, single-story house, and lots of property. It’s a good place to start.”

  Tomorrow, I’d hit the ground running now that I had something to work with. I turned the switch on the lamp, and the room went dark. I prayed for Janine’s safety as I closed my eyes.

  Hang in there if you can. We’re trying to find you.

  Chapter 38

  He needed to utilize her head and legs, so he couldn’t damage those body parts. Bruises and cuts wouldn’t do. Kamila deserved better than that, and Tristan’s face had the closest resemblance to Kamila he’d found so far. He flipped her over and tied her hands behind her back.

  “Stand up now!” He grabbed her under the arm and lifted.

  Exhausted, she rose to her knees then stood. Greg sliced through the rope with his pocketknife, tied it around her waist, then knotted the end to the rear of the four-wheeler.

  “You can walk back to the house or be dragged, it’s your choice.”

  He climbed on the vehicle, started it, and pulled her behind him. Once they arrived at the house, he pushed her through the doorway and down the hall to the hidden rooms.

  “Back in the cage for you, and no more special treatment either. From now on, you go without food and water because of that stunt.”

  He shoved her in a different cage, one that hadn’t been dented by constant kicking, and snapped the padlock over the latch.

  “Why are you holding me hostage, and who the hell are you?”

  “I’m Hank, remember?” He knelt to her level and stared at her face. “And I hate your blue eyes. Everything I’m doing is on a need-to-know basis, and at this point, Tristan, you don’t need to know shit.”

  Greg smacked the wall switch and the room went black, then he made sure the dead bolt was securely locked. He walked to the glass eyes that still sat on the counter. Tristan had interrupted the call he was about to make earlier, and now, hours had passed, and it was too late to reach the company. It would have to wait until tomorrow. He picked up the eyes, threw them at the wall, and watched as they shattered into a million pieces.

  In the kitchen, he poured a double shot of whiskey then walked to the couch. There couldn’t be any more mistakes—he was too close to completing the transformation. He took in a tired breath and let it out slowly. He had to regroup and stay smart. His focus needed to be on the prize—his Kamila. With one more shot of whiskey, Greg slugged it back, washed the glass and put it away, then trudged down the hallway to bed.

  Chapter 39

  The toaster strudel popped up, and I dropped the hot pastry onto a napkin. With a travel mug of coffee in hand, I was ready to go. I had plenty to do and conversations to have with Dave, the ME, and the groundskeeper at the cemetery. With my backpack slung over my shoulder, I said my goodbyes and headed to the car with the strudel, coffee, and keys.

  I arrived at the police department in under five minutes, and looking into the visor’s mirror, I wiped my mouth and checked my appearance before exiting the rental car. I slugged down the rest of my coffee, popped a breath mint in my mouth, and crossed the lot to the building’s main entrance. Inside, I was led to Dave’s office.

  I gave the door two raps and heard him call out to come in. I turned the knob and peeked around the opening.

  “It’s me, and if you have a few minutes—”

  “Of course. Come in, Kate.” Dave leaned back in his chair, as if he were stretching the kinks out of his back. I knew the feeling.

  “There are a few things I’d like to run by you, along with the nightmare I had last night.”

  Dave reached in his center desk drawer and pulled out a legal pad. The expression on his face told me he was all ears and ready to hear what I was about to say. “A nightmare about the case?”

  I unzipped my backpack and pulled out all the notes I had compiled last night, along with my dream journal. The recurring nightmares I had about Robert Lynch always started out the same way. I didn’t know why because he had never chased me through a field, but they all began that way, and I had to explain that to Dave. Usually, Robert was replaced with the perp we were after, and I was replaced with the actual victim we were trying to find, and last night’s dream was no different. In time, I came to realize that I could trust my dreams, and they always proved to be more accurate than our own theories.

  “Tell me about the dream, and was Janine in it?”

  “She was. First, I have to say my dreams always start the same way. Robert Lynch is always the killer, and I’m always the victim. I believe that stems from the mental scars I still carry from the near-death experience I had with him.”

  “And who could blame you?”

  I gave Dave a quick smile. “Thank you for saying that. Anyway, when I replace Robert with the current perp and myself with the actual victim, the rest of the scene turns out to be eerily accurate. I can always trust what I see in my dreams.”

  “That’s a big help. Go on.”

  I had to clear my head for a second and took in a deep breath. Talking in great detail about the nightmares meant reliving them in a sense, and that was always traumatic. “Okay, as usual, I was running for my life and being chased by Robert. I’m confident that Janine was the actual victim since I heard him call her Tristan.”

  “So we know for sure she’s with the john who picked her up at Third and Piedmont since she only used that alias when undercover.”

  “That’s correct, sir. She was running through a field, and he was chasing her with an ATV.”

  Dave squeezed his eyes closed. “I can’t even imagine how terrified she must be. So she had to have escaped wherever he was holding her.”

  “I would agree, but he caught her in the end and said he was going to kill her.”

  “Jesus! Why can’t we just find that maniac and rescue Janine?”

  �
��Well, I do have a few clues. I’m not saying they’re enough to find her in an hour or even a day, but with the help of the PD, I believe we can locate them.”

  “Whatever you need, Kate, just say the word.”

  “I saw him briefly in my dream. I can’t give you a detailed description, but I have bits and pieces.”

  Dave grabbed a pen from the cup on his desk. “Tell me everything you remember.”

  “He was Caucasian and had blue eyes. I remember a lock of hair tumbling over his forehead as he knelt over Janine. My best guess is he has light-brown hair.”

  “So far so good.” Dave grabbed two waters and cracked the seals. He slid one across his desk.

  “Thanks. The property seemed like a large parcel, but I have no idea where it’s at. I do remember the area being very secluded and surrounded by trees, but there was also a clearing that I, or actually Janine, was running through.” I felt the dirt clods beneath my feet as I pulled the dream in closer. “It was definitely a plowed field with ruts and gullies.”

  “Okay, a large parcel of land with woods and fields?”

  “Yes, that’s correct, and a single-story house with a long driveway in the middle of it.”

  “This is good information. That would take us at least to the outskirts of the city or farther.”

  “You’re right, it was definitely away from urban areas. I remember the porch light reflecting off a bright chrome bumper as I tried to decide which way to run.”

  “That could be a clue in itself,” Dave said. “Vehicles haven’t had chrome bumpers since the early seventies.”

  “And I believe it was a truck. Since I couldn’t make out the color, I’m assuming it was a dark one. The perp chased me with a four-wheeler until I couldn’t run anymore. I fell to the ground with exhaustion, and that’s when I realized the victim was Janine, not me. He climbed off the ATV, walked toward her, and called her Tristan.”

  Dave blew out a puff of air and whistled. “Wow. That’s a lot to digest and scary as hell. I hope to God Janine is still alive, and if we all work together, we might find her in time.” Dave set the pen on his legal pad. “I have to ask you, do you think it’s the Fulton County Butcher who has Janine?”

  “I believe it is, and time isn’t on her side.”

  “Okay, the ATV does us little good since they don’t need to be titled in Georgia, and the truck is going to be tough too.” Dave raked his hair and groaned. “I don’t quite know where to go with this information.”

  “Have you spoken with the ME about the torso and legs found in the cemetery, specifically how long that body has been dead?”

  “Yeah, I did.” Dave shuffled through the notes scattered across his desk. “Here it is. Based on the decomp of the legs, he said the body had been dead for about five days.”

  I calculated in my head. “So she was likely killed last Wednesday?”

  “His best estimate, yes.”

  “So the torso was partially frozen, but the legs weren’t. That’s interesting. I need to speak to the groundskeeper at the cemetery and find out when he does his rounds. I heard on TV it’s twice a week, Saturday being one of those days. If we find out when the bag was dumped, we can check the neighborhood cameras for a suspicious vehicle roaming the area at night. When Ron and I drove the perimeter yesterday, I saw several apartment buildings and of course the train station in the immediate area. Somebody had to catch that truck on their surveillance camera, and if it is an antique or collector’s truck, it’ll stand out.”

  “You’re absolutely right, and at this point, I think that’s our best bet. Great job, Kate, and that groundskeeper’s name and contact information is in-house since it was our own patrol units that interviewed him. Let me make a quick call and get the guy’s name, phone number, and address. You and I can head out and talk to him together.”

  I gave the sergeant a relieved nod. “It feels like we may make progress today.” I checked my phone as Dave made the call. Jack had texted me twenty minutes earlier and said I could take the whole week if I needed it. Mary had agreed to cover during my absence. I sent a reply text with a thank-you and a thumbs-up, and I said I’d call him later that night for a real conversation. I pocketed my phone just as Dave hung up.

  “I’ve got the man’s information. Feel like going for a drive?”

  “You bet.”

  Chapter 40

  Greg held the person hostage on the other end of the phone line and repeatedly berated him. He sat on the recliner and yelled as his coffee cooled to the perfect drinking temperature. “You’re a bunch of incompetent idiots that can’t tell the difference between a yellow-green color and blue. I want expedited delivery, and the color better be yellow green this time. Yeah, I’ll send the other ones back after the right ones show up.” Greg clicked off the call and whipped his phone across the room. It bounced off the couch and fell to the floor. “You’ll never get those eyes back unless you want to pick the glass shards out of the trash can.” He pulled the handle on the side of the chair and lowered the footrest then wrapped his hands around the sides of the coffee cup. “Finally, it’s cooled down enough to drink.”

  Greg thought about Tristan and the fact that it was Monday and a new workweek. That meant he’d be at the butcher shop until six o’clock every evening, and he wouldn’t be prepared to start his at-home project until seven. He’d be working until the late hours of the night if he intended to have the new Kamila completed by Halloween.

  He checked the time—8:57. In less than a half hour, he’d be leaving for work—not enough time to sedate Tristan and dye her hair. He wondered how he’d fool her the next time. She was well aware of his lies now and wouldn’t come close enough to the cage’s sides to let him poke her with a needle.

  I’ll have to offer her food after all, but I’ll worry about that tonight. Now, I need to make my own breakfast and leave.

  Chapter 41

  William Dobbs lived three miles from Oakland Cemetery and was waiting for us to show up. Dave drove as I reviewed my notes. I wanted to go past the cemetery again after the interview with Dobbs and find out which businesses had surveillance systems and which would give me the best view of that side of the cemetery. I was certain we’d make progress that day—we had to for Janine’s sake.

  Dave parked along the curb in front of a modest tan brick home with white shutters. A long window box filled with fake plants sat beneath the bay window that faced the street. We followed the sidewalk to the covered porch and took one step up to the door. I pressed the bell and gave Dave a hopeful smile.

  Seconds later, a woman who appeared to be in her fifties swung open the door.

  Dave took charge and pulled out his badge. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Sergeant Dave Masters from the Atlanta Police Department, and this is Detective Kate Pierce. I called earlier and set up an interview with William. Is he available?”

  “Yes, please come in. Billy is in the living room. Follow me.”

  I gave her a warm smile. “Thank you, ma’am.” I wasn’t sure if we were meeting a husband or a son, but as soon as we turned the corner, I knew—Billy was likely a son.

  He rose from the couch and shook our hands, then Dave made the introductions again.

  Billy pointed at several occasional chairs. “Please, have a seat. I’ll help the PD however I can, although I’ve already told them what I knew when I was interviewed Saturday morning.”

  Dave turned to me. “Go ahead, Kate. You have the floor.”

  “We appreciate you taking the time to speak with the police again, Mr. Dobbs.”

  “Billy, please.”

  “Okay, Billy. There are a few concerns that weren’t covered in your initial interview, and then I have several questions of my own.”

  “Sure, that’s fine. Go ahead.”

  “How many days a week do you groom the cemetery grounds?”

  “Only two at this time of year since the plant growth slows way down.”

  “I understand.”

  “I
n the summer, and when there’s two of us working, we’re there three times a week, mowing the first day, trimming the next, and cleaning up trash on the last day.”

  I entered that in my notepad. “And this time of year, you’re out there on Saturday and—”

  “And Wednesday.”

  “Okay, good. Did you do the same routine on Wednesday, cleaning and such?”

  “I did. Actually, I do the cleaning on Wednesday and the mowing on Saturday through the winter months, but if I see something lying around, I’ll pick it up.”

  “So you cleaned the grounds thoroughly on Wednesday, and that bag wasn’t there?”

  “Nope, nothing was behind those mausoleums. I always check near the wall, anyway, because people walking by on the sidewalk tend to throw their trash over it.”

  “Would you mind taking me through Saturday morning?”

  Billy rubbed his forehead as if to bring that morning back to mind. “Well, I got there at seven o’clock. It’s barely light then, but once I get what I need from the shed and hop on the golf cart to start my rounds, it’s daylight. I usually drive the perimeter of the inside wall first then check the grounds in quadrants since it’s so large. I’m finished by one o’clock then put everything back in the maintenance shed.”

  I tapped my notepad with the pen. “What time do you think you discovered that bag?”

  “Well”—he raked his blond hair—“I’d say about seven forty-five. A bag that size stands out, and I’ve never come across anything like that before. I guess I was curious, but I knew something was wrong when I got closer. It was that odor, you know?”

  I grimaced as I glanced at Dave.

  Dave checked the copy of the police report he had sent to his phone. “Police were dispatched to the scene at seven fifty-one and arrived several minutes after eight.”

  “Yeah, that sounds right. I had dragged the bag away from the wall so it was out of the shadows, and that’s when I opened it. I’ll admit, I threw up right then and there.”