The DA was a very hot topic, and apparently extremely good at surviving. It hardly seemed fair she had survived when Karen hadn’t.
“Your Honor?” The defense attorney cleared his throat. “I—uh—I objected.”
Hell.
He didn’t even know what the objection had been about. He slammed down his gavel. “Court is recessed until nine a.m. tomorrow.”
The defense attorney’s jaw dropped. “But Your Honor—”
Pierce shoved away from his chair and hurried for the door.
The police had said they’d protect Lauren. They hadn’t. She’d nearly died.
What will happen to me?
His robe billowed around him. He wasn’t going to sit there and wait for the Butcher to come after him. Karen was already gone. He wouldn’t roll over and die, too.
If the Butcher thought he would, then the sick prick needed to think again.
He was in a different office today—one that had been empty since Judge Remus retired six years ago. The cops had told him his office was still off-limits.
This office would work, for now.
He pulled open the desk drawer. A gun waited inside. As a judge, he didn’t exactly spend a whole lot of time getting patted down. It had been too easy to get the weapon in the courthouse.
He tucked the gun into the waistband of his pants. He’d already hit the bank and withdrawn a nice chunk of cash. He hadn’t run after getting the cash. Instead, he’d gone to court.
He’d thought he could try and wait things out. Use the cash only if he got really desperate.
I am desperate. With every moment that passed, the fear grew stronger. He wasn’t ready to die.
He wouldn’t be the Bayou Butcher’s next target.
After tossing his robe, Pierce hurried down the hallway. He took the elevator, an empty ride that coasted quickly down to the parking garage. He was avoiding the cops who were supposed to watch him, slipping right past their guard. If they saw him, they would stop him.
No one was stopping him. He was getting out of town before the Butcher came after him.
When the cops had the killer, then he’d return. Until then, Mexico was looking pretty f**king nice.
Screw any pending cases. Screw the bitch of a wife at home. Screw all of it.
Life was what mattered. He wasn’t ready to give his up.
The elevator doors opened, and he hurried into the parking garage.
Footsteps shuffled to the right, and he froze. “Is someone there?”
Silence.
I’m not going to die.
He hurried his pace.
The footsteps shuffled once more.
I’m not going to—
“The original profile for the Bayou Butcher missed a few key elements.” Cadence stood in the front of the conference room. The room was filled with cops, marshals, and even the ME. The homicide captain sat in the back corner, his arms crossed over his chest.
Anthony also stood in the back, near Lauren. She’d taken a seat in the last row, and he kept close to her. She seemed too fragile. Every time he glimpsed the cut on her cheek, he wanted to empty his weapon into Walker’s heart.
“I don’t believe Jon Walker was working alone when he committed his crimes.”
The silence in the room was thick and heavy.
“When Walker held DA Chandler, he said he watched the murder of the DA’s sister years before.”
Several heads turned toward Lauren. Her shoulders tensed.
“Jennifer Chandler died twenty years ago,” Cadence continued. Her partner stood by her side, his eyes on her. “If Walker was there at the time of her death, he would have been only sixteen years old.”
So young.
“By his own words, Walker watched Jennifer die, so that means someone else—”
“Pardon me, ma’am,” Paul said as he rose to his feet. “Maybe the guy just f**kin’ slipped up when he was talking. Maybe he killed her and then stood back and watched her die.” He shook his head. “With respect, I worked those Bayou Butcher cases five years ago. There was never a sign anyone else killed those women.”
“Not those women, no,” she agreed.
Anthony noticed Kyle had tensed when the detective rose.
“I believe those kills were all his. I also believe someone else might have witnessed them. Just as Walker witnessed Jennifer’s death.”
Lauren must be hating having her sister’s death mentioned again and again…Anthony wanted to reach out to her. Pull her into his arms. But she’d never wanted their involvement seen by others.
Screw what she wanted. I can’t let her hurt.
He stepped closer to her and put his hand on her shoulder.
She glanced back at him.
“You okay?” he whispered.
Her lips were pressed together, as if she was trying to hide the tremble. She gave a quick nod.
“One watched, one killed. I believe that is the way they’ve been working for years. Walker did kill seven women, the women he was convicted of five years ago. But I also believe there are more victims out there—more bodies—victims who were the prey of his partner.”
There wasn’t silence in the packed room anymore. There was shock. Paul slowly slid back into his seat.
“A team?” a uniformed cop asked. “I thought those crazy guys killed on their own.”
“It’s believed that sociopaths have a hard time forming attachments, so sociopathic serial killers do often kill on their own.” Cadence paused. “Serial killing pairs aren’t common, but they do happen.”
“All sociopaths aren’t serial killers,” Kyle said as he raised a brow and studied the group. “And all serial killers aren’t sociopaths. Serial killers strike for dozens of damn reasons.”
Yes, they did. Anthony had worked on enough cases to realize that. Sometimes, there was no understanding their savagery.
Kyle stepped forward, fully facing the group. “Some serial killing teams are couples. Husband-and-wife teams. One member of the team will act as bait—usually the wife. She goes out and draws the prey in. Then she might stand back and watch as the husband rapes and murders his victims.”
“That was the case with Jonas and Candy Kramer,” Cadence said, her face somber. “Their plan was to get a group of sex slaves. Candy would approach the victims, get them to come into the van, and…” She shook her head. “Well, the idea was that their slaves would be disposable, so those poor girls didn’t survive long.”
Fuck. Anthony remembered that case. It still turned his stomach.
“Are we looking for a couple here?” Matt asked as he tilted his head. The marshal had met Anthony at the precinct door, his frustration with the swamp search clear in the hard lines on his face. Jim was out there, still searching. They weren’t giving up. Marshals never did.