“Reverend Kelley is still alive,” Mike said as he met Jack outside Chief Richard Donaldson’s office at Decatur police headquarters. “Just barely.”
“What kind of shape’s he in?” Jack asked.
“From what I’ve been told, he has third-degree burns over seventy-five percent of his body, his neck and the back of his head. He’s unconscious, and the odds of him living twenty-four hours are slim to none.”
“Then there’s no way to question him?”
Mike shook his head. “The only reason he’s alive is because neighbors heard him screaming and then heard his wife’s caretaker screaming. They got to him pretty fast right after it happened and called 911. He was airlifted from Decatur General straight to Vanderbilt. They’re a Level One Trauma Center with a top-notch burn center.”
“Did any of the neighbors see anything, see anybody?”
“Nope. But they thought they heard a car in the alley, so the entire alley is being considered part of the crime scene.”
“Have you contacted Wayne Morgan?” Jack asked about the ABI agent who headed the Fire and Brimstone Killer task force.
“He’s got a unit on its way to the crime scene right now.” Mike inclined his head toward the exit. “Leave your car here and ride over to the reverend’s house with me. Chief Donaldson’s given us the green light since two of the four murders occurred in our jurisdiction and you’re on the task force.”
“We both know that I wouldn’t be anybody’s top pick to represent your department on the task force. It just worked out that way because you’d put me in charge of your cold cases.”
“You’re as qualified as any man on my force,” Mike corrected him. “I don’t kid myself about my people or myself. We’re a group of honest, down-to-earth country folks who seldom have to deal with murders and certainly not serial killers.”
Jack shrugged. Mike was right. It wasn’t as if anyone on his team had ever dealt with a serial killer. And only the ABI guys were actually trained, at least to a certain extent, to deal with this type of crime.
“Reverend Kelley’s death is bound to be on the local early morning news,” Jack said. “Don’t you think somebody should contact the families of the previous victims?”
“Do you want to contact Cathy and tell her?”
“Yeah, I do. This is going to hit her hard. She managed to hold it together when the Catholic priest was murdered, but…Maybe we should call Lorie and have her go over to Cathy’s.”
“Sure. As soon as we get on the road, go ahead and call Lorie.” Mike pulled keys from his pocket and headed for the exit. Jack followed. “Ask her to contact Cathy and then inform Cathy’s in-laws.”
Once settled in Mike’s SUV and en route, Jack checked the stored numbers in his cell phone. But before he could dial the first number, Mike asked him a pointed question.
“Where were you when I called?”
“Some dive called the Purple Mustang in Huntsville.”
“Please tell me you didn’t drive here under the influence.”
“I had two beers,” Jack said. “It would take more than a six-pack for me to feel the effects.” When Mike gave him a skeptical glance, Jack added, “Believe me. I’ve built up a tolerance over the years. I know when I’ve had my limit.”
“What were you doing at the Purple Mustang—trying to drown your sorrows?”
“Something like that.”
“Looking for a little TLC?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“Did you find any?”
“What is this, the frigging third degree? You’re not my father, and I’m not some disobedient kid who needs reprimanding.”
“Call Lorie,” Mike said, letting the matter drop.
Jack brought up her number on his phone, hit
SEND
and waited for her to answer. Considering that it was close to three in the morning, he was surprised she picked up the phone after the second ring.
“Jack?” she asked in a sleep-hoarse voice.
“Yeah, it’s me. Sorry to wake you, but I need you to go over to Cathy’s as soon as you can.”
“What’s happened?”
“Our Fire and Brimstone Killer has struck again, this time in Decatur. The victim is a Presbyterian minister named Kelley, and for now he’s still alive.”
“Oh God! Can he ID his attacker?”
“He’s unconscious, and that’s all I can say.”
“Yeah, sure. I understand. Are you calling Cathy or do you want me to tell—?”
“I’ll call her,” Jack said. “But you get your cute little butt over there ASAP. She’s going to need you. And call her in-laws later, before the news hits the airwaves.”
“Okay. I’ll handle calling the Cantrells. And I’ll take care of Cathy.”
“Thanks.”
“Jack?”
“Huh?”
“I know you’re going to be busy with the task force, but…Cathy might need you. She might—”
“If she needs anything from me, just call.”
“I will.”
As soon as he finished his conversation with Lorie, he phoned Cathy. God, how he wished he was back in Dunmore so he could be there to comfort her when he gave her the bad news.
The jarring ring of the telephone on the bedside table brought Cathy out of a deep sleep. Reaching from beneath the sheet and light blanket covering her, she grabbed the phone but somehow managed to knock the base off and onto the floor. As she hit the
TALK
button on the portable handset, she didn’t even bother looking at caller ID. Instead, she glanced at the digital alarm clock. Who would be calling at 2:56 in the morning? If it wasn’t a wrong number, it had to be an emergency.
“Hello.”
“Cathy, this is Jack Perdue.”
She shot straight up in bed. “Jack? What’s wrong?”
“Listen to me,” he said in a consoling voice. “Lorie’s on her way there as we speak, so you won’t be alone.”
“I’m not alone. Seth’s here. He’s spending the weekend.” Whatever it was, it had to be bad if he’d called Lorie first. “Just tell me, please.” But she knew. Oh God, she knew.
“The Fire and Brimstone Killer has struck again.”
Cathy swallowed hard. “Who?”
“A Reverend Kelley, from Decatur. It happened just a few hours ago.”
“Bruce Kelley?”
“Yeah, that’s the name. Why, do you know him?”
“I’m acquainted with the family,” Cathy said. “One of his daughters is the director of Bright Side, a school and help center for the mentally challenged. It’s located here in Dunmore.”
“Damn,” Jack mumbled under his breath.
“I’ll wait until morning to tell Seth and call J.B. and Mona.”
“You’ll have to tell Seth, but Lorie will call the Cantrells. I’m sorry that I can’t come straight over there, but—”
“I’ll be all right. You do your job and help find the person responsible for these murders.”
“We’re doing all we can, honey.”
“Yes, I know…I know.”
“I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Okay.”
She had no more than said good-bye and turned on the bedside lamp when she heard footsteps in the hallway. She got out of bed and picked up the phone base lying on the floor. By the time she had set it back in place, Seth called out to her from the doorway.
“Who was on the phone?” he asked, as he entered the bedroom.
“Jack Perdue.”
Surveying her face and apparently sensing the worst, Seth said, “Something terrible has happened, hasn’t it?”
“There’s been another murder.”
“The Fire and Brimstone Killer?”
Cathy nodded. “Reverend Bruce Kelley from Decatur. I know his daughter, Kim Randall. She’s the director at Bright Side.”
“Oh, Mom.”
Looking at Seth, she saw a sad, vulnerable boy who had lost his father to an insane killer, a boy badly in need of comfort. When she held open her arms, he didn’t hesitate. He went straight into her embrace. She held her tall, teenage son in her arms and asked God to give her the strength to help them both. The memories of Mark’s brutal murder, his funeral and the days that followed came rushing back, front and center, for both of them. First she had to fight her own demons, and then she could help her son vanquish his.
The neighbors stayed there at the house with her mother and Mirabelle, allowing Kim and her siblings to drive to Nashville, where their father was being treated for life-threatening burns. When they arrived at the Burn Center, located on the fourth floor of the main hospital, the morning nurse in charge of the ICU, Susan Bolden, came out and spoke to them.
“The first forty-eight hours after a burn injury are the most critical,” she explained. “Our immediate concerns are to prevent fluid loss and to do all we can to prevent infection.”
“When can we see him?” Kim asked.
“Right now, the staff is working with him. He’s been given a tetanus vaccination and is receiving fluids, electrolytes, antibiotics and pain medication through an IV. He’s also been catheterized.”
“Is he in horrible pain?” Kira asked, tears dampening her face.
Nurse Bolden grimaced. “He is in considerable pain, but the medication is helping him.”
“Is he going to die?” Kevin asked.
“I can’t answer that,” Nurse Bolden replied. “Dr. Cummings will speak to you sometime later today. But in the meantime, rest assured that we’re doing everything possible for your father.”
“Will he need skin grafts?” Kim asked.
Nurse Bolden glanced away as if she couldn’t bear to look at them, but she recovered quickly and replied, “It’s too soon to know what type of treatment will be required. For now, that’s all I can tell you. We have a visitor’s lounge on the eleventh floor for the families of our patients. It will probably be during the one o’clock visitation time before y’all can see Reverend Kelley. You might want to have breakfast in the cafeteria or drive to a nearby restaurant. Leave your cell numbers, and someone will contact you if there’s any significant change in your father’s condition.”
With that said, Nurse Bolden disappeared into the intensive care unit. Kim looked at Kevin, who stood there with his shoulders slumped and head bowed. She knew he was praying. When she glanced at her sister, Kira immediately burst into tears and hurled herself into Kim’s arms.
“Daddy’s going to die, isn’t he?” Kira trembled as she cried.
Kim stroked her sister’s back and wished she could promise her that their dad would live. She couldn’t. From what the Decatur police officers had told them, their father had been doused with gasoline and set on fire. Just like the other three clergymen. Mark Cantrell had been the first. Kim knew his wife, Cathy, who had been a volunteer at Bright Side. It didn’t seem possible that the same deranged killer who had murdered Cathy’s husband, an Athens minister and a Catholic priest had now tried to kill her father. Why hadn’t that monster been caught and put behind bars?
By seven that Saturday evening, it seemed to Cathy that half the world had stopped by her house during the day. Of course, that was a huge exaggeration. Lorie had been the first to arrive. Cathy was thankful that she’d stayed all day and planned to stay with her and Seth tonight. Lorie had served as a buffer between Cathy and the numerous concerned visitors, and she had taken over the dreaded task of contacting J.B. and Mona with the news of Reverend Kelley’s condition. Her in-laws had shown up before breakfast, with her mother in tow, and the three of them had stayed until midafternoon. J.B. had wanted Seth to go home with them, but he had adamantly refused.
“Mom needs me to stay with her,” Seth had told his grandfather. “It’s what Dad would want me to do. I’m not leaving her.”
J.B. had backed off reluctantly.
Donnie and Missy had come by twice, once in the morning and then again only an hour ago. John Earl and his daughters had visited briefly, and Ruth Ann had stopped by on her way home after having worked at Treasures all day. Patsy and Elliott Floyd had been among the many visitors, along with at least a dozen members of Cathy’s church.
“You two have to be hungry. I don’t think either of you has eaten a bite all day,” Lorie said. “I’m going to fix some sandwiches, and I expect both of you to eat.”
“I’ll help you,” Seth said as he followed Lorie toward the kitchen. He paused, glanced over his shoulder and said, “Mom, why don’t you sit down or even lie down for a little while and try to relax while no one else is here. I’ll come get you when the sandwiches are ready.”
“Okay, I’ll do that.” To humor her protective son, Cathy sat on the sofa, kicked off her shoes and folded her legs at the knees as she pressed her back against the padded armrest.
She was physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted, as much from the parade of well-meaning friends and acquaintances as from the knowledge that Mark’s killer had struck again. But she had to admit that having had to deal with company coming and going all day had actually been a blessing, keeping her too busy to allow depression to take hold. Whenever she had gone off by herself, even for a few minutes, either Seth or Lorie had come after her. She hadn’t missed the worried look in their eyes and the concerned glances they had exchanged.
The only way she could convince her son and her best friend that she was not going to fall apart was simply not to do it. Yes, whenever she had a quiet moment, such as now, memories of the day Mark had died bombarded her. Unless a person had experienced it, no one could imagine the horror of seeing someone you loved die in such an agonizing way. Mark had gone into shock, and that had lessened his chances for survival. The shock combined with the extent of the third-degree burns covering his body had made recovery impossible. Even now, Cathy asked herself if there was anything she could have done to save Mark.
His death is not your fault. There was nothing more you could have done. Even the paramedics who treated him for shock had been unable to save him.
Tears burned her eyes and tightened her throat. She had needed to cry all day, but had kept her emotions in check, as much for Seth’s sake as to prove to herself that she was in control.
When the doorbell rang, she hesitated. Please, God, not more company, not now when she was on the verge of crying her heart out.
As she swung her legs off the sofa and stood, she called out to Lorie and Seth, “I’ll get it.”
Barefooted, she padded to the front door. The moment she peered through the viewfinder and recognized her visitor, she swung open the door. Jack Perdue stood on her porch, a five o’clock shadow darkening his face.