ago. Unless he’s found a way to rise from the dead, whoever the hell is calling himself Malcolm York is an imposter.”
“This man is in Europe somewhere, not here in the U.S. To date, all the murders related to the Powell Agency have occurred here in America. We have no evidence to indicate a connection between him and these murders.”
“Yes, I know. And the only apparent connection between the agency and the murders is Maleah.”
“She is going to freak out when we tell her that our research shows the three previous murders almost identically mimic the murders committed by the Carver and that one of his first victims was Noah Laborde.”
“It’s no coincidence that the original Carver murdered Maleah’s college boyfriend. What it means, we can’t be sure, not at this point. But sooner or later—”
“Maleah has become my best friend.” Nic rested her head on Griff’s shoulder. “What better way to get to me than by using my dearest friend?”
“And what better way to send me a warning than to use my wife and her best friend to send that message?”
“Maleah will want to follow through and see this out to the end. You know she will. She’ll feel that it’s personal because the original Carver killed Noah Laborde.”
“Yes, I know, she will. I also know that we need Derek’s expertise. We need a professional profile of our killer. And Derek has a keen sixth sense about these things. I can’t give him and Maleah the choice of not working together, despite their personal animosity,” Griff said. “I’m putting the entire staff—office employees and agents in the field—on high alert. This case takes precedence over every other case. Until we find and stop this killer, no one connected to the Powell Agency is safe.”
Nic turned into Griff’s arms. He cocooned her within his embrace.
She might have doubts about why this was happening and about who was responsible, but Griff didn’t. Not really. She knew her husband. No matter what she said to him or how many scenarios she presented to him, he laid the blame squarely on his own shoulders. He truly believed that innocent people were now paying for his past sins.
Chapter 2
Maleah and Derek arrived in Cullman shortly after midnight, checked into the Holiday Inn Express, dumped their bags, and drove straight to the sheriff’s office. As they had expected, someone from the Powell Agency had called ahead so the sheriff himself was there to meet them. Griffin Powell and his agency had become legendary, their success rate far exceeding that of regular law enforcement. Only occasionally did the agency come up against police chiefs or sheriffs who resented Powell involvement. Thankfully, Sheriff Devin Gray welcomed them with a cautious smile and a firm handshake. Looking the man in the eye, Maleah instantly felt at ease.
Gray was about five-ten, slender and young, probably not a day over thirty-five. Clean shaven, his sandy hair styled short and neat, he projected a squeaky-clean appearance.
“Come on into my office.” Sheriff Gray backed up his verbal invitation by opening the door and waiting for Maleah and Derek to enter.
The moment she crossed the threshold, she saw the heavyset, middle-aged man sitting in the corner, his gaze directed on her. He rose to his feet and waited until the sheriff closed the door, affectively isolating the four of them from the activity outside the office.
“This is Freddy Rose, the Cullman County coroner,” Sheriff Gray said. “Freddy, these are the Powell agents we’ve been expecting.”
Freddy’s round face, rosy cheeks, and pot belly made her think of Santa Claus, but his bald head and smooth face brought up an image of a short, rotund Mr. Clean.
Offering his meaty hand to Maleah, Freddy said, “Ma’am.” And once they shook hands, he turned to Derek.
“Derek Lawrence.” He exchanged handshakes with the coroner, and then nodded toward Maleah. “And this is Ms. Perdue.”
“Ordinarily, we wouldn’t share any of this information with outsiders,” Sheriff Gray explained. “But when the governor calls me personally . . . Well, that’s a horse of a different color, if you know what I mean.”
Maleah knew exactly what he meant. Griffin Powell’s sphere of influence reached far and wide, not only to the office of state governors, but to the powers that be in Washington, D.C. Griff’s connections were strictly behind the scenes, of course, but she suspected he wielded far more power than anyone knew.
“We appreciate your both being here this late,” Derek said. “Mr. Corbett’s son Ben is one of our people. Ben is on his way here now and Ms. Perdue and I would like to get the preliminaries out of the way before he arrives. He will have enough on his plate as it is coming to terms with his father’s murder.”
“Absolutely,” the sheriff agreed. “That’s why Freddy’s here. He hasn’t performed an autopsy, of course, since the state boys will be here in the morning to claim the body, but he’s certain about the cause of death.”
“Sure am,” Freddy said. “No doubt about it. Mr. Corbett’s throat was slit, pretty much from ear to ear. Sliced through the carotid arteries on both sides and the trachea as well. Death occurred within a couple of minutes.”
“Any idea about the blade the killer used?” Derek asked.
“The cut was smooth and straight,” Freddy said. “No jagged edges. I swear it looked so damn precise, I’d swear a surgeon did it using a scalpel.”
Maleah’s gut reacted instantly to that bit of information. The medical examiners in each of the previous cases believed that Kristi, Shelley, and Norris Keinan had been killed with a scalpel, their necks cut with the expertise of a surgeon.
“Does that fit other murders?” the sheriff asked. “I was told you’d want to compare this case to some previous murders.”
“Yes, so far, it does fit,” Derek said, and then turned to Freddy. “What else can you tell us about the body?”
Freddy’s gray eyes widened. “Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen. The killer cut out these little triangle-shaped pieces from Mr. Corbett’s upper arms and thighs.” Freddy shook his bald head. “Did it postmortem, thank the Good Lord.”
“Does that match what was done to the other victims?” Sheriff Gray looked at Maleah. “Are we dealing with a serial killer? Is that what’s going on?”
“Yes, the other victims also had triangular pieces of flesh removed from their limbs,” Maleah replied. “And yes, with three murders, now four, it appears to be the work of a serial killer, but—”
“But that’s all we know at this point,” Derek finished for her. “We’re working under the assumption that a serial killer has murdered four people now. Unfortunately the latest victim was the father of one of our agents.”
Why had Derek cut her off mid-sentence like that? What had he thought she was going to say? My God, did he actually think she’d been about to reveal the fact that all four victims were in some way related to the Powell Agency? Did he think she was that stupid? Up to this point, the press had made a connection only between Kristi Arians and Shelley Gilbert. But since no “guilty knowledge” details of either murder were ever released, it was assumed that Shelley died in the line of duty on assignment in Alabama and that Kristi’s murder in her Knoxville, Tennessee, apartment had been the work of another killer. The fact that they were both Powell Agency employees was believed to be simply a coincidence. Norris Keinan, a corporate lawyer, had lived in Denver, Colorado, and the fact that his younger brother was a Powell agent had not been an issue, either with the Denver PD or the local Denver media.
“I didn’t know Mr. Corbett personally,” the sheriff said. “But he and the mayor’s dad played golf together. I understand he was a fine man, well thought of in the community. We’re sure sorry something like this happened in Cullman.”
“Would it be possible for us to get copies of the reports, once they’re filed, and also copies of the photos taken at the scene?” Maleah asked.
