Aidan frowned but followed until Mrs. Rivers spoke again. He needed to strain to hear what she was saying.
“He was born evil. But he was my son. I didn’t see it. Not until he hit me with the knife.” She paused, another tear sliding down her cheeks. She rocked back and forth, hugging herself. “Georgia told me he needed help. So we took him to a psychiatrist. But it didn’t help.”
“What did you do with him after that?” Shaun asked.
“We put him in a boarding school, but they kicked him out.” Each word seemed to cause her more pain. “Then we put him in the hospital. He said he was going to kill us. He hated us so much. I just wanted to love him. He called me. Said it was done. I went over. I saw her laying there. He killed her!”
“What’s your son’s name?” Aidan asked her again. He knelt by her side. “Tell me.”
She moaned softly before speaking. “Grant.”
She reached into the pocket of her pants and pulled out a photo. She stared at it before passing it to Aidan.
Shaun and Aidan looked at the face of a young boy. He looked to be four years old. Aidan could see the smile on his face, but there appeared to be darkness in his eyes.
There was something familiar about him. He couldn’t put his finger on it.
“Do you have a picture of your son that’s more recent?”
“Burned,” she whispered. “I burned them all. Except that one. He was happy then. He was happy. I wanted him happy.”
“Do you know if there was any significance about your son and carnations?”
Mrs. Rivers shook her head, her eyes toward the window.
“Thank you, Mrs. Rivers,” Aidan said. He squeezed her arm gently before pushing to his feet.
Shaun and Aidan walked outside where they thanked Fiona for her assistance, and they left the retirement center.
70
JORDAN TRIED TO focus on the latest Playboy issue, but he couldn't. His mind was on Duke, his beloved dog he’d taken care of ever since his dad died. He’d always loved him and couldn't imagine what his life would be without Duke.
After the agents left last night, Jordan buried him next to the doghouse and set a few bricks over the grave to make sure an animal wouldn’t break into the yard and start digging him out. He also created a headstone and set it at the head of the grave.
Next to burying his dad, it was the worst thing he ever had to do.
He called his mother to tell her what had happened. That was the second worst thing he did. Jordan and his mother hadn’t spoken since his dad’s funeral. But for some reason, he needed her at that time.
She seemed as though she was apologetic, but he couldn’t tell. He never could tell with her. His mother was always wishy-washy when it came to him. And it almost never failed that he wished he never picked up the phone.
Almost immediately, she changed the subject, telling him she’d seen him on the news and she was very proud of him.
Proud.
Was she really?
He spent his entire life trying to make people proud of him: his mother, his uncle, his grandparents.
The only person whoever breezed into Jordan’s life that seemed to be truly proud was his dad. But he’d died of cancer.
His dad had always told him to shoot for the stars. That he could be and do anything he wanted.
He closed the magazine and tossed it on the floor next to him with a frustrated groan.
Rubbing his eyelids, Jordan tried to recall the events leading to the murder of his dog.
He’d gotten home shortly after filming the segment the agents wanted him to do, then The Carnations Killer called him. He told him he knew the report was only meant to trap him. Then he told Jordan there was a present waiting outside for him.
When he walked outside, he saw Duke’s body.
How did the killer know it was a trap?
Why didn’t Duke bark? Did he not get the chance to fight for his life?
Normally, Duke wasn’t accustomed to strangers.
Jordan took a swig of his Michelob, rose from his chair and made a beeline for the back door.
It was dark, so maybe Duke didn’t see the killer in the shadows.
No.
That wasn’t it.
Duke didn’t bark.
He knew that was the key.
Whoever the killer was knew where Jordan lived, and he knew he had a dog. He knew Duke would have torn him to pieces if he’d approached.
So it made sense Duke knew the killer.
There was a very small handful of people who would have been able to get close enough to Duke to kill him.
His uncle was one, but he wouldn’t hurt the dog, would he? He was very fond of Duke. At least that was what he’d always said.
Jordan clutched the neck of his beer bottle as his mind once again ran through the night his dog was murdered.
Duke was innocent. He didn’t deserve it.
And neither did those women for that matter.
The Carnations Killer now had Agent O’Reilly’s girlfriend.
And he started thinking he might know where to find her. Or at least how.
Jordan considered calling Agent O’Reilly but decided against it. If he was right, then he wanted The Carnations Killer all to himself.
If he was right, then he could be the hero by saving the woman and get justice for Duke at the same time.
Jordan threw the beer bottle across the room, screaming as loud as his voice could muster. Upon
