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  “It had to be very disturbing, I’m sure. Billy, have you recently noticed a dark-colored older truck in the area?”

  “Like an antique?”

  “Sort of.” Billy looked to be my age, and I wouldn’t want to consider something ten years older than me an antique, but since I saw it for only a split second in my dream, I had no idea how old the truck actually was. “Just an older truck that still has chrome bumpers, but we aren’t quite sure of its age.”

  “Sorry, but it doesn’t ring a bell. I’m usually focused on my job, and unless there’s a funeral, the cemetery is normally pretty quiet.” He smiled. “If you know what I mean.”

  “We do.” I looked at Dave with raised brows. “Can you think of anything else that hasn’t been asked?”

  “One more question. When do the main gates close for the night?”

  “They close at six o’clock. Unfortunately, grave robbers still exist in today’s world, as well as people who are up to no good. Prostitutes, drug pushers, and gravestone tippers think cemeteries are fair game and a good place to sell their wares or cause trouble without being seen. Most cemeteries across the country close their gates before dark. Of course, people can scale the walls if they really want to get inside.”

  I jotted down that last bit of information, then Dave and I thanked him and left.

  “Did you get what you needed in there?”

  “Definitely. Now to find the cameras nearest to the cemetery. All we really need to focus on are buildings on the sides since the perp couldn’t enter off a busy street like Memorial Drive, and the train station is behind the cemetery. I remember seeing a number of apartment buildings in the area, though, and one in particular was on the side where my dream occurred.”

  Dave glanced across the console. “Then that sounds like the best place to start.”

  We reached Memorial Drive a few minutes later, and I told Dave to make a left on Carroll Street then follow the curve on Boulevard. “It’s up there on the right.”

  Dave turned in to the driveway of the King Station Lofts and parked in one of the designated visitors’ spots. I shielded my eyes and looked out across the street. From the parking lot, I had a decent view of the cemetery and the general location where I saw the man in my dream. Depending on where the apartment’s cameras were—if they actually had cameras—there was a good chance we’d catch that truck on video.

  I stared at the rooftops as we approached the entrance, and my confidence was beginning to drop—I didn’t see cameras anywhere. We walked in and found the residents’ intercom just inside the vestibule, with the manager listed as being in apartment number one. The door separating us from the hallways to the apartments was locked. Dave pressed the buzzer that read B. Rogers- Manager. We waited, and I hoped that person was a full-time manager and at home.

  I let out a sigh of relief when a voice came over the intercom. “Brad Rogers speaking.”

  Dave gave me a nod. “This is Sergeant Masters with the Atlanta Police Department. I’d like a few minutes of your time, Mr. Rogers.”

  “I’ll buzz you through. I’m the first door down the left hallway.” Seconds later, a buzzer sounded, and a click released the glass security door. We walked through and turned left. Mr. Rogers, who was standing behind a chain-locked door, stared out at us.

  Dave moved his jacket aside and exposed his badge. “We only need a few minutes of your time, sir.”

  “Hang on.” Brad closed the door, released the chain, then opened the door fully. “What’s this about?”

  “May we come in?”

  Brad’s groan told us he wasn’t keen on the idea, but he tipped his head toward the living room, anyway. “I’m a bachelor, and this place is a mess.”

  “Not a problem. We’re wondering about surveillance for the apartment building since it looks like a relatively large complex. Are there any cameras here?”

  “Yeah, there are.”

  My confidence was restored but only for a few seconds.

  “They face the parking garage and tenant entrance out back. As you can see when you entered the front of the building, the neighbors across the street don’t cause any ruckus.”

  “That’s it? There aren’t any cameras that face Boulevard?” I asked.

  “Nope, sorry. The conglomerate that owns this place didn’t feel the need to install any out front. The tenants’ security is our main focus, not the cars passing by.”

  I was sure Dave wouldn’t mind me asking the next question. “Brad, have you ever noticed an older dark-colored truck roaming the neighborhood?”

  “If I had a street-facing window, it could be a possibility, but I don’t. My living room only has a slider that leads out to a small fenced patio. I really don’t have a view of any streets, which is better for me. It keeps the noise level down.”

  My hope for getting any information out of that place was quickly dashed, and I’d have to come up with another idea. Dave thanked Brad for his time, and we headed out.

  “Maybe something on Memorial Drive would work after all if the cameras face the intersection at Carroll Street.”

  Dave turned around, drove the block toward Memorial, and pulled into the only driveway for the five-store strip mall on the south side of the street. I leaned forward and peered out his window to the first unit—a cigar bar with a camera above the door. I pointed. “Bingo. We couldn’t ask for anything better, and that camera faces Carroll Street.”

  “Hopefully, it’s a real camera and not just a deterrent,” he said as he parked, and we exited the cruiser.

  “And the footage is saved for at least a week,” I added. I thought about the time of day when I noticed there weren’t any cars parked at that end of the strip mall. When we reached the front door, I read the store hours—noon to one o’clock in the morning Monday through Thursday, noon to two o’clock Friday and Saturday, and closed on Sunday. “Damn it, they aren’t open yet.”

  Dave pulled his cell phone from his chest pocket and called the precinct. “I need Tech to find out who owns Smokers’ Choice Cigar Lounge on Memorial Drive and get them or their manager out here right away. Yep, call me back.”

  We sat on the bench under the awning and waited.

  I opened my notepad to review the days we were working with. “So the perp dumped the bag sometime after dark Wednesday night and before daylight on Saturday morning. Carroll Street has to be the way he got in. The wall starts just beyond the service entrance on Boulevard, which is only closed at night, with that big chain we saw along the driveway. Anybody can move it aside and drive in without being seen since it has to be pretty dark along that route.”

  “True, but surveillance from the cigar bar is only going to help us if he turned onto Carroll from Memorial Drive. Keep in mind, Boulevard goes quite a distance north. He could have gotten to the cemetery from anywhere as long as the street intersected with Boulevard.”

  What I thought would be a slam dunk as soon as we found the right camera could end up being a lot more complicated. I said another silent prayer for Janine’s safety. “What if we put our best description of the truck on the news? Wouldn’t that ring a bell with somebody the perp knows or lives near?”

  Dave gave his cheek a scratch as he pondered my suggestion. “It’s a sticky situation because of Janine being a cop. There’s more at risk for the perp if he learns who she really is, and he’d kill her for sure. We’d be signing her death warrant.”

  I shook my head. “But he killed others before her, and they weren’t cops. I’m pretty sure that’s his intention no matter who they are. What we don’t know is how long he holds the women before he kills them. I just hope Janine hasn’t run out of time.”

  Dave reached in his pocket and pulled out his vibrating phone. “What have you got, Terry? Paul Wingate, and he’s the owner?” Dave turned his wrist to check the time. “Ten minutes? Okay, thanks, that’s all I need for now.”

  Chapter 42

  The deep throttling sound of the high-performance r
ed Camaro that just turned in to the driveway caught my attention. I looked up from my phone and watched the vehicle as it parked in front of the cigar bar. “Looks like the person we need to talk to just arrived.” Dave and I stood and walked in that direction.

  The man unlocked the front door as we approached. “You the police officers who need to see my surveillance system?”

  Dave showed him the badge that was clipped to his belt. “That’s correct, and I hope it isn’t just for looks.”

  “It isn’t. It’s the real thing. Come on in.” Paul Wingate led us to a locked door with a plaque glued to it that read Office. He pulled a large ring of keys from his pocket, searched for the right one, and unlocked the door. “Upgraded our system just six months ago. There’s been a rash of burglaries in the area, and I keep expensive cigars, booze, and humidors here. I’m not a big fan of barred doors and windows. It gives the neighborhood a bad look.”

  Dave spoke up. “Understood, and we appreciate you taking the time to lend a hand.”

  Paul took a seat behind his desk and jerked his chin toward a love seat facing it. “Go ahead and have a seat while I log into the account. Is there a certain day or time you’re looking for?”

  I answered for both of us. “At this point, it’s undetermined. It could be anywhere from after dark on Wednesday night to the early predawn hours of Saturday morning.”

  “Got it. Luckily, this system records for a full month, and then I erase it manually, which I prefer. You never know if you’ll need to look back on something earlier in that month or not.”

  “That should be a big help for us. Just a quick question first while you’re setting up the parameters,” I said.

  “Yeah, shoot.”

  “Have you ever noticed an older dark-colored pickup with chrome bumpers driving the neighborhood?”

  Paul scratched the several-day stubble he was sporting. “Nah, I’m not here regularly. I check in on the managers, go over the reports, then move on to my other locations. I have four cigar bars in the greater Atlanta area.”

  “Doing well?” Dave asked.

  “Yeah, no complaints. You know, your question about an older truck brings a place to mind that’s only a few blocks from here. It’s called Memorial Drive Classics, and they might be able to help you.”

  I wrote that in my notepad. I didn’t know if the truck was something that was just older and still running or if it was a collector’s vehicle that had been restored, but it couldn’t hurt to talk to the people who ran the place. “Thanks for the info. We’ll check it out.”

  “Okay, here we go. I will admit, it’s going to take a while to go through that much footage, and the bar doesn’t open for business for a few hours. I have several appointments set up for this morning that I really don’t want to cancel. How about if I transfer the entire month to a flash drive that you can take along? You can look at it on your own time, then.”

  Dave nodded. “That makes more sense. Yeah, go ahead.”

  “Sure. It’ll be in your hands in five minutes, and then I can get on with my day.”

  I pulled my phone from my purse and searched the hours for Memorial Drive Classics while we waited. “Good, they opened at nine o’clock. Let’s pay them a visit.”

  With the flash drive tucked in Dave’s pocket, we thanked Paul and headed east. The classic car restoration company was three blocks farther down Memorial Drive. I doubted we’d get anything helpful since I had no idea what the make, model, year, or color of the truck was, only that it had chrome bumpers.

  We reached the shop minutes later and found a fenced lot filled with classic cars of every sort. I pointed to my favorites as we headed to the front door. A long customer counter stood before us, and a showroom took up the space to our right.

  “How can I help you folks?” A friendly looking gray-haired man on the other side of the counter lowered his glasses and introduced himself as the owner, Stan Gibbons.

  Dave showed his badge and explained that although it would be fun to see and learn about the beautiful classics displayed in their facility, we were strictly there on official business and needed information.

  “Sure, I’ll help you any way I can. What do you need to know?”

  “We’re wondering if anybody with an older dark-colored truck with chrome bumpers has had that vehicle serviced or restored here.”

  “Give me a second to get this computer over to our customer page. Okay, what’s the name of the owner and type of vehicle?”

  I wrinkled my face with embarrassment. “I don’t have the answer to either question.”

  He stared at me then smiled. “Should I just pull up trucks we’ve had come through the shop that are more than forty years old?”

  I let out a relieved breath. “That would be a great start, thanks.”

  He tapped the keyboard and hit Print. Seconds later, the printer at his back whirred to life, one sheet of paper dropped into the tray, and he retrieved it.

  “I guess there haven’t been that many trucks over forty years old that have been serviced here. Most of our clientele are car enthusiasts, but this sheet does list thirty trucks. You might get lucky and find what you’re looking for.” He handed the sheet of paper to me. “We do have a newsletter that a lot more people subscribe to. You can check out everything on our website.”

  Dave shook Stan’s hand and thanked him for the list.

  Back in the cruiser, I looked over the single sheet of paper as Dave drove to the station. Those names were as meaningless to me as names from a telephone book. It had been years since I was local to the area, and I didn’t recognize anyone, nor did I have a reason to. “I guess we’ll have to call these people and ask what make, model, year, and color their trucks are to narrow down the possibilities.”

  “It doesn’t mean the perp has ever been inside that shop, Kate.”

  I groaned my frustration. “I know, just wishful thinking, I guess. I’ll make the calls since it was my dream, and I don’t want to tie up your department’s time.”

  “Don’t forget we have the flash drive too. We should take a look at that first.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, and I’ll start on that as soon as we get back.”

  Dave set me up in the same room where, several days earlier, I had explained who I was and my relationship with Janine’s family. He brought in a spare department-issued laptop, pressed the flash drive into the available port, and left me to it. He said he’d be back within the hour but had to check for updates with his officers and detectives first.

  I settled in with a cup of coffee and fast-forwarded through the month, stopping about a week ago. If nothing panned out, we’d have to reevaluate that angle or go further back on the video. I started the video when it became dark on Wednesday night. Luckily, the ambient light from the buildings in the area—and the fact that there was a stoplight on that corner—would make it easier to see any vehicle, especially an older truck, turning left from Memorial to Carroll Street. I set the footage to normal speed and watched as vehicles passed by on the screen.

  At noon, a knock sounded on the door, and Dave peeked around the opening. “Making any progress?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Progress—what’s that?” I slurped down the remaining coffee in my cup—now ice cold—and stood to stretch.

  “Come on. You need food just like everyone else. Let’s hit the cafeteria.”

  We each picked a sandwich and chips from the vending machine and sat at a long lunch table. I tore the bag and dumped the chips on my open napkin. “Anything new in the search for Janine?”

  I saw the despair written across Dave’s face as he shook his head. “Nope, not a thing. I’m usually an optimistic guy, but this is beyond anything we’ve dealt with before. Sure, there’s been dozens of women who have gone missing over the years. They’re never heard from again, and foul play is usually blamed, but this is one of our own, and what keeps me awake at night is knowing that a butcher who’s hacking up women is roaming the streets of Atla
nta at the same time. The only good thing right now is that no other plastic bags with body parts have surfaced since Saturday.”

  “I understand your pain, Dave, and Beth’s too. In my heart, I’m sure we’ll get him, but I don’t know if it’ll be in time to save Janine.” I gobbled down my food and excused myself. “I’ve got to get back at it. My gut is telling me if we find that truck, we’ll find Janine.”

  Back in the small room with a fresh cup of coffee at my side, I continued where I had left off, which was only at the ten o’clock mark on Wednesday night. The image of the perp from my most recent dream kept coming back to me—light-brown hair and the shadowy face of pure evil.

  I tapped the gallery folder on my phone and looked at the quick shot I had taken of Greg McMillian as I was leaving the butcher shop on Saturday. He did have light-brown hair, but I assumed a good third of the men in the Atlanta region did too. I spread the image with my fingertips to enlarge the picture. It was hard to see in the photograph, but he could have had blue eyes. I shook off my suspicions and got back to the video. I’d research Greg McMillian on my own time, but right now, I needed to focus on finding that truck.

  I watched as the video progressed through Wednesday night into Thursday morning and never saw a dark-colored truck with chrome bumpers turn left at that intersection. I knew I might have to resign myself to Dave’s way of thinking. He could be on the right track, and the truck might have reached the cemetery from streets coming from the north off Boulevard.

  One thing at a time, Kate. Don’t spread your thoughts too thin, or you’ll never figure this out.

  I focused on the screen and fast-forwarded through Thursday’s daylight hours and started watching again once the sun had set on Thursday night.

  Dave pushed through the door at four o’clock, this time with a sense of urgency. I immediately knew something was wrong as I spun toward him. “Janine?”

  “We don’t know, but another suspicious bag was just found. We’re heading out now, and I want you to ride along.”