All the pretty faces gra.., p.10
All the Pretty Faces (Graveyard Falls), page 10
Dane’s look softened. “That’s not going to happen, Josie.”
She nodded. “I know, but this man visited Billy. He’s trying to emulate his behavior, speech patterns, his movements.”
A dark look flashed across Dane’s face. “You think he’s a copycat killer?”
“I don’t know that he’s actually killed anyone, but he gave me the creeps. He wanted me to run through exactly what happened when Billy abducted me.”
“Where is this asshole?” Dane asked bluntly.
Josie searched the room. McCray was standing at the edge of a group of young women, watching them with lecherous eyes.
“I’m going to talk to him.” Dane’s voice was raw with anger. “What’s his name?”
A warm tingle seeped through Josie at his protective tone. She’d vowed to stand on her own, but it was nice to know he had her back. “Porter McCray.”
“Shit. He’s the guy who hosted the party at the cabins.”
A chill came over Josie.
That party was the last place Charity Snow had been seen alive.
CHAPTER NINE
Dane studied McCray. Some actors went to extremes to land a part and to fit into a role, but this man looked so much like the Bride Killer that he could have been his twin.
Worse, his suggestion to Josie was disturbing.
Whether or not he was the killer they were looking for was the question.
“I’ll have a chat with Mr. McCray,” Dane said.
Josie caught his arm before he could walk away. “Let me go with you.”
Protective feelings surged inside Dane, reminding him of the way he’d felt about Betsy. Except his feelings weren’t brotherly. They were more personal, making him even more unsettled. “I don’t like you being involved. This man could be dangerous.”
“I know that, but I can’t hide,” Josie said. “I wrote the Bride Killer story. If Charity Snow’s death has something to do with this movie, I have to help.”
Dane’s heart hammered at the determination in her eyes. Josie was the strongest woman he’d ever met. She’d returned to a town where she’d suffered a horrific attack, and she hadn’t backed down when another killer had drawn her into this murder by texting her that photograph. Even the break-in at her house hadn’t sent her running.
She was still young and sweet, and she’d already suffered too much trauma.
“You don’t have to do anything but stay safe,” Dane said. “If we don’t solve this murder right away, I want you out of town. Out of harm’s way.”
Her chin lifted slightly. “I appreciate that. I still want to listen when you question him. He caught me off guard, and I don’t like that.”
Dane tried to understand her feelings, but the possibility that she might get hurt didn’t sit well in his gut.
Not when her mere touch on his arm had his body hardening, taunting him that they would be good in bed together.
“Josie, please just let me handle the situation.”
Her eyes softened. They were the damn greenest eyes he’d ever fallen into.
Err . . . seen.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He was getting lost in her when he had a murderer to catch.
Dammit. He pulled away. Letting his emotions into the picture was exactly what he wanted to avoid when he’d first told her he didn’t want her involved. “All right. Just let me do the talking. Maybe if he sees you’re with me, he’ll leave you alone.”
He hoped that was true. He’d let Betsy down.
He wouldn’t let Josie down.
Josie’s heart raced. What had just happened between Dane and her?
A zing of attraction had hit her when she’d touched him. His voice had gotten low, gravelly, almost possessive when he suggested that he wanted McCray to know she was with him.
He’s just doing his job. He didn’t mean anything by it.
Dane had never been anything but professional. In fact, when she’d first interviewed him about the Bride Killer, he’d been almost rude.
Cold even.
As if he disagreed with what she was doing, like so many of the people in town.
Yet he’d been the one person she wanted to call when she’d received that text.
He also had a brooding intensity in his dark eyes that drew her. Beneath that rough, lone-wolf exterior, she sensed a wounded soul. She connected with that part of him.
Getting him to open up seemed impossible, though.
Besides, she was damaged and struggling with her own inner demons. What did she have to offer him or any other man?
A group of young women brushed past on their way out the door, chattering about their photography shoots and auditions and their plans for the evening. Someone had posted an invitation on social media to meet up for happy hour at Blues and Brews, a local bar.
McCray was talking to Olive, the casting director, when they approached. Josie shivered at his voice. He must have taped Billy Linder and had adapted a good imitation of his tone.
“I know this man,” McCray said earnestly. “I’ve spent time with him. I can get in his head and become him.” His eye twitched just as Billy’s had. “Let me show you.”
The casting director gave him a wan smile. “You’ll have your chance tomorrow. I have to go now.”
She started to walk away, but the man blocked her way. “I can be Billy Linder,” he said, his tone more sinister. “I can make people see what he was really like. What he was thinking when he killed those women. You know he did it all cause his mama was dying. He loved his mama more than anything, but she was sick. She used to make him do things to her at night—”
Josie instinctively backed away. The vile things Charlene had done to Billy sickened her. Billy was also the product of molestation and inbreeding.
“That’s enough.” Olive’s eyes flared with unease. “Mr. McCray, I will see you at your scheduled time.”
McCray reached for her hand. “I can show you how he adorned her with the jewelry he took from his victims. Mama likes sparkly jewels,” he said, imitating Billy’s voice. “She’s happy when I give her gifts.”
Dane cleared his throat. “You heard the lady,” Dane said. “Step aside.”
McCray pivoted, anger streaking his craggy face. When he spotted Josie, an evil glint appeared. “Josie, that was good, wasn’t it? Didn’t I sound like Billy?”
Josie barely suppressed a shudder. Yes, he did, and his voice triggered the memories she’d worked so hard to forget.
Dane flashed his badge. “Special Agent Dane Hamrick, Mr. McCray. I need to ask you some questions.”
The man opened his mouth to argue, but Dane shot him a menacing look and gestured for him to step into an alcove to the side. The casting director darted away, obviously grateful to be rescued.
“Mr. McCray,” Dane began, “I understand that you hosted a party the other night.”
McCray shrugged. “No crime in throwing a party. It was just a little meet and greet anyway. We were all bonding over the story of the Bride Killer. Some of the guests were especially intrigued by the Thorn Ripper since that was the mama doing the killing.”
Violence and incest had bred more violence. A cycle that was hard to break. Not an excuse, though, when lives and families had been destroyed.
Josie’s entire family had been affected by Linder and his mother.
Dane flipped his phone around to show McCray the picture of Charity. “Do you remember seeing this woman at the party?”
McCray peered at the photograph, his jagged teeth showing as he smiled. “There were a lot of pretty women there. Next time you’ll have to join us, Josie. I bet you could pick out the cast for the movie better than that tight-assed bitch they put in charge.”
Josie glared at him. “I don’t think so.”
“Cut the act, McCray,” Dane said, his tone hard. “Did you talk to this woman?”
McCray shrugged, but his posture remained slightly slumped as if he didn’t intend to venture out of character. “For a minute. Name is Charity, right?”
Dane gave a clipped nod. “Yes. What did you two talk about?”
“She wanted to play the reporter Carol Little but said she’d take any of the victims’ parts.” A leer pulled at the corners of his mouth as if the mention of victims excited him. “I offered to practice lines with her.”
“Is that all you offered?” Dane asked. “Did you also suggest tying her up and reenacting her murder?”
Heat flickered in his eyes as if the thought excited him. “We could have role-played that, yes.”
“How about stabbing her in the heart?” Dane asked. “Did you want to role-play that?”
McCray tugged at his chin. “Where are you going with this, Agent Hamrick?”
Dane ignored the question.
Josie had read about interrogation tactics. Intimidate the man and throw him off his game.
“Did you see her in private?” Dane pressed.
“No,” McCray said. “That photographer showed up, and she went outside to talk to him. I lost track of her after that.”
“Did you see her leave?” Dane asked.
McCray angled his head to one side. “No, but I wasn’t paying attention. I met a couple of the other ladies, and we downed some shots.”
“You went out of character, Mr. McCray. Billy Linder didn’t drink,” Josie said, watching for a reaction.
McCray frowned.
“He could be charming,” McCray said in defense.
“Linder wasn’t a smooth talker,” Josie stressed. “He was awkward with women, shy. That’s why the women trusted him, because he didn’t come across as dangerous or cocky. He was vulnerable.”
Anger reddened the man’s face. “I know that and I can play that part.” He wiped at his forehead. “But the party did take place after hours.”
Dane jumped in. “You said you were with some other women that night. I need their names.”
McCray worked his mouth from side to side. He slipped back into character and mimicked the way Billy pulled at his chin.
Josie’s stomach knotted.
“This sounds like some kind of inquisition,” McCray said. “Did something happen to Charity?”
“Yes,” Dane said bluntly. “She’s dead.”
The man’s nostrils flared. “Dead? How?”
“She was murdered.” Dane muttered a sarcastic sound. “Don’t act like you don’t know. You want to be Billy Linder so much that you altered your appearance. You studied his moves. You stabbed her so you’d know what it felt like to murder someone like he did.”
McCray lifted his hands, his voice shrill, almost panicked. “I have role-played murder,” he admitted. “That’s as far as it went.”
Dane leaned closer to the man, his jaw firm, his posture aggressive. “I don’t believe you. I think you wanted to know what it was like to feel someone die at your hands. You don’t just want to play Billy Linder, you want to be famous like him.”
Josie curled her fingers into her hands. Maybe her book and this movie had been a mistake. If someone was using it as a blueprint for murder, she should get the book pulled from the shelves and put a halt to this film.
Of course that would mean giving in to her fear, giving in to this latest madman. Overcoming her nightmares was the only way for her to be whole again.
Guilt clawed her, making her chest heave.
Except how could she be whole if telling her story had cost another woman her life?
Neesie Netherington had come a long way from Biloxi, Mississippi, hoping to get a break in this true crime film. True, it wasn’t a big-screen production with a superstar as the lead, but it would earn her a SAG card, get her foot in the door, and prove to those Hollywood folks she could act.
Not that there was much to playing dead, but there would be the big drawn-out abduction and the kill scene. The way Josie DuKane had described her ordeal, the Bride Killer kept his victims for a while and forced them to endure tests his mama set up to prove they could be a good wife.
Hell, she’d done the wife thing, thank you very much. She’d kissed that bastard Leroy’s feet and ass for as long as she could take it.
One day that handsome photographer had come to Biloxi, set up shop at the mall of all things, and invited local girls and women to do photo shoots. He promised to make them look like stars.
She tested the weight of her new double Ds in her hands, adjusting her top to maximize cleavage, and smiled at the perfect face that stared back. That dang scar on her cheek where her stepdaddy had broken her jaw was now gone. No more pancake makeup for her or stares or rude comments behind her back.
She furrowed her brows. Leroy hadn’t liked her new face. He’d accused her of doing it to leave him for another man. Then he’d cut her.
She rubbed at her torso where he’d scarred her. No one could see it with her clothes on, but she knew it was there. A reminder of Leroy. Just the way he’d wanted it.
Someday she had to get it fixed.
She’d heard Porter McCray offer to run auditions with anyone interested, and she intended to take him up on it. She’d do everything she could to up her chances. And she could use some acting tips.
First, Eddie was going to do another shoot with her, a private one where she’d dress in a wedding gown like the Bride Killer’s victims and pose with a rose stem between her teeth.
Eddie was nothing but a creative genius. He’d also offered to take a couple of the teenagers to Graveyard Falls and shoot them standing on the edge of the falls as if they were about to be pushed over by Charlene Linder.
Her stomach roiled at the thought. She hated heights.
Eddie’s photos were so real looking, though. This way the director could actually see her as the character.
Her fear of heights be damned. She’d do anything to get this part and not have to go back to Leroy.
Dane didn’t trust Porter McCray, but he needed proof before he could make an arrest. “I’ll need a list of everyone you talked to at the party.”
A chuckle rumbled from the man. “I don’t know everyone’s names or contact information, Agent Hamrick. It was an informal gathering. Booze was flowing. Everyone was all hyped up, talking about the auditions and Miss DuKane’s book.”
“Just make a list of anyone you remember. I need to talk to them and verify your story.”
McCray’s eye twitched. “Don’t you mean you need to question them and see if they murdered Charity?”
“Since you’re such a study of characters, I’m surprised you weren’t more observant,” Dane said. “Maybe one of the other guests noticed something you didn’t.”
His jab hit home. A spark of anger jolted McCray’s confidence.
Dane gave him a stony look. “Make the list and get it to me.” He shoved a business card in McCray’s hand. “Don’t leave town either.”
McCray waved a hand around, gesturing toward the signs for the film. “I’m not going anywhere. They can’t make this story without Billy Linder, and that’s me.”
The sheer cockiness of his tone set Dane’s teeth on edge. Yet he had that wired look about him as if he wasn’t quite all there mentally.
McCray angled his head toward Josie. “Let me know if you change your mind about running through some scenes with me.”
“I won’t,” Josie said sharply.
He lifted one eyebrow. “Then perhaps we can have coffee and talk. I have several questions—”
“Leave me alone,” Josie said. “I refuse to relive the past for you.”
“You asked the victims’ families to relive it,” McCray pointed out.
Josie’s face lost its color.
Dane admired her for standing up to the bastard, but he didn’t trust the son of a bitch. He inched closer to McCray to block him from touching Josie.
“You heard the lady,” Dane said. “Stay away from her or you’ll answer to me.”
McCray lifted his head defiantly, gave him a sinister smile, and walked away.
Dane ground his molars. He had a bad feeling he hadn’t seen the last of the man.
If McCray bothered Josie, his badge be damned. He’d do whatever was necessary to keep him away from her.
He knew which ones were bad girls. Which ones were dispensable.
Oh, their pretty faces smiled at him from his wall of photographs. They smiled because they were beautiful.
Some of them even changed their names to become the person they wanted to be.
They had come from dust and bones just as he had. They would return to dust and bones in the end.
Then everyone would see them as they were underneath the façade.
Naked. Ugly. Desperate. Alone.
Crying for attention.
Dying to be loved.
They wouldn’t need love once they were dead.
CHAPTER TEN
Josie tried to hide her discomfort around McCray. Men like him enjoyed watching women squirm. She refused to give him the satisfaction.
Dane guided her away from McCray. “If he bothers you again, let me know.”
“Do you think he killed that woman?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t like him. No man in his right mind would suggest role-playing murder to a woman who’d been kidnapped by a serial killer.”
Josie drew in a deep breath as they stepped outside. She needed fresh air, but the strong wind made the trees sway and tossed leaves and twigs across the quadrangle. In spite of the heavy dark clouds, locals, spectators, and actors were scattered across the grassy area mingling as if they were oblivious to the threat of bad weather.
Or death.
One couple about her age shared a picnic, their affection for each other obvious. They looked so happy. Carefree. Normal.
Would she ever be normal? Allow herself to fall in love and have a family?
Or would she always be guarded, distrustful, looking over her shoulder for men like Billy Linder?
She searched Dane’s face for pity or derision. “That’s how you see me, isn’t it, Dane? As a victim?”
Not a woman a man would want to be with.
“You were a victim,” Dane said matter-of-factly.
