Wincing, Raven fished the phone from Damian’s jeans, terrified his hands would snap up and wrap around her neck. Little good the phone did her without his code. Noticing the phone used facial recognition, she turned the screen toward his face and unlocked the phone.
He mumbled under his breath as she stepped away. Her body thrumming with adrenaline, she dialed Chelsey.
“Raven, we’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Chelsey said.
“I don’t have time. Damian Ramos and Mark Benson kidnapped me and locked me in a farmhouse with Ellie Fisher.”
“Just tell me where you are.”
“I have no idea where I am. Somewhere in the country, surrounded by forest. I disabled Damian, but Benson still has Ellie.”
“Do you recognize any landmarks?”
“None.”
“Okay, let me—”
The phone died. Raven stared at the black screen. Damian hadn’t recharged his phone.
“Dammit.”
With no other choice, Raven slipped the phone into her pocket and caught her breath. It was only a matter of time before Mark sensed something was wrong and fled with Ellie. Raven retraced her path until she spotted the creek. The clock ticked toward one in the morning as she raced to the farmhouse.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Sunday, July 19th
12:55 a.m.
Yellow crime scene tape flapped in the wind. Kay Ramsey lay flat on her back, legs akimbo, a deep gash across her neck. Lights whirled across the graveyard as an ambulance followed the winding road into St. Mary’s cemetery. Virgil Harbough’s car trailed the ambulance.
“A woman walking her dog heard a scream and called the department,” Gray said, standing over Kay’s corpse. “I was two miles from the cemetery and responded. Found her like this, her throat slit from ear to ear.”
“Nobody saw anyone leave the graveyard?”
“No. What in God’s name was Kay Ramsey doing in a graveyard in the middle of the night?”
Cricket songs swelled around them as Thomas assessed the scene.
“She had trouble sleeping. My guess is she couldn’t stay away from her husband.”
“The poor woman. Lincoln’s funeral must have torn her apart.”
Thomas glanced at Gray and recognized the injured stare of a man who understood loss too well.
“You still believe Father Fowler committed these murders?”
“I’ll tell you who didn’t kill Kay Ramsey. Garrick Tillery and Carl Middleton. Like I said on Marcellus Street, we’re narrowing our suspect list every hour, and it keeps coming down to Fowler.”
Thomas popped the cruiser’s trunk and removed his investigation kit. As Gray videotaped the scene, Thomas donned yellow glasses and shone an alternate light source over the grass, then swept it over Lincoln Ramsey’s headstone. The blue wavelength filtered out external light and revealed evidence the naked eye missed. Blood splatter covered the ground and sprayed the gravestone.
“I found a shoe print,” Gray said, directing the camera toward an indentation in the dirt.
Thomas knelt in the grass, snapped a photograph with his phone, and placed a yellow evidence marker beside the print. The scale on the evidence marker told Thomas the shoe print was too small for Carl Middleton. Thomas gave Gray room to compare the scale and print.
“Fowler’s a big man, right?”
Gray nodded.
“Couldn’t tell you his shoe size, though.”
“Men’s size seven?”
“It’s possible.”
Thomas ground his teeth. Who were they looking for? All this time, he’d focused on Tillery and Middleton.
“I wonder where Duncan Bond is tonight.”
Gray turned off the camera.
“You believe Duncan Bond is capable of this?”
The sheriff swept his arm over Kay’s body.
“Carl Middleton has five inches and fifty pounds on Duncan Bond, and Father Fowler is a big guy too. This print is too small to belong to Middleton or Fowler.”
Gray scoffed.
“Shoe size doesn’t always match physical size. And anyhow, this might be Kay Ramsey’s print.”
Thomas set a second evidence marker beside Kay Ramsey’s foot.
“No chance. Kay’s shoe size is smaller.”
Virgil strode through the grass, hunched over as if he hadn’t slept a wink in the last week. The sheriff turned his attention to the medical examiner.
“I’m sorry you have to see this, Virgil. Everyone in Wolf Lake loved Kay Ramsey.”
“Seems we keep burying our neighbors,” Virgil said, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. “You better catch this guy, Sheriff. The village can’t survive another week like this one.”
“I’m pretty certain I know who did this. All I have to do is prove it.” Gray’s eyes held Thomas’s. “Speaking of which, I have a door to pound on.”
“Maybe you ought to think this through,” said Thomas, as Virgil glanced worriedly between the sheriff and his deputy.
“If I’d followed my gut after we found Garrick Tillery, Kay Ramsey would still be alive.” Gray packed his investigation kit. “Stay with Virgil’s team. Find me a fingerprint or anything that proves Fowler did this.”
Before Thomas stopped him, the sheriff stomped to his cruiser and slammed the door. The engine roared to life, and the cruiser kicked up stones as the tires spun.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Sunday, July 19th
1:05 a.m.
The farmhouse glowed in silver moonlight. Two lamps burned inside the home, one in the living room, the other upstairs where Mark and Damian held Ellie Fisher.
Raven stood behind the tree line and parted the branches. No sounds came from within the house, and no shadows moved past the windows. The driveway led to the garage. The door was closed, but Raven discerned the silhouette of Damian’s Audi beyond the windows. Were the keys inside the house?
Sometimes batteries recovered enough life to power the phone. Crouching amid the shadows, Raven tested Damian’s phone. No juice.
She was due a run of good luck. If Mark left Ellie alone to search for Damian, Raven could free the kidnapped woman. Raven scanned the backyard, then sprinted out of hiding and moved along the wall. She discovered a back door beneath a roofed porch. The steps appeared rickety, but they held her weight without squealing as she climbed onto the porch and tested the knob. Unlocked.
Without making a sound, Raven stepped into the darkened kitchen. Light bleeding out of the living room ended at the threshold. The ancient refrigerator in the corner rumbled, causing enough clamor to cover her
