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  Kale's heart swelled. He rushed to her.

  "Sarah! Are you all right?"

  She blinked. Stared at him, her pupils wide.

  Shit! He lifted her into his arms.

  She was freezing.

  Where the hell was her coat?

  "We need to warm her up!" Kale shouted to anyone listening.

  People started clambering around him.

  "Let me go." Sarah struggled against his hold.

  "We need to get her to a hospital," Kale said to the chief.

  "No." She struggled some more. "I'm all right. Put me down."

  He had no choice but to do as she said or risk dropping her. She staggered. He steadied her.

  She searched the faces until she found the chief's. "I can take you to where I was held."

  Kale shook his head. "First, we go to the hospital."

  "Listen to her," August urged. "If she needed immediate medical attention, she would tell you."

  Sarah pushed away from Kale. Glowered at August. "Chief,"—she looked directly at him—"take me now before my memory is muddled with other influences."

  "Where'd you find her?" the chief asked Tate.

  "I was on my way to work," Jimmy told him. "Found her way down on 52. She was trying to climb outta the ditch. It's a miracle I saw her. She'd about frozen to death. I wanted to take her to the ER but she made me bring her here."

  "Why the hell didn't you call?" Kale demanded.

  "I don't have no cell phone," Jimmy growled. "She wouldn't let me stop nowhere. She wanted to come straight here."

  "We're wasting time," Sarah argued, her voice quivery and weak.

  Kale jerked off his coat and wrapped it around her. She shuddered. Damn it! She needed medical attention. He didn't care what she or anyone else said.

  "Get the lady some coffee," the chief shouted. "And let's take her where she wants to go."

  After a few wrong turns in the woods, they found the location where Sarah had dropped her cell phone.

  Sarah pointed to the shore. "Down there."

  Kale didn't want her to go back down there but there was no stopping her. Now that she had some caffeine in her veins she was taking no orders from him. Or anyone else.

  At the mouth of the cave, the chief halted the progress. "Agent August, you, Kale, and Ms. Newton come with me." He surveyed the rest of the group as they ambled closer. "Karen, you call the State Police and tell them to get their lab techs down here. And call Billy Jackson and let him know we're out here."

  This cave wasn't technically in Youngstown town limits, so the local police needed to be contacted.

  The chief glanced at Kale. "Let's see what we've got here."

  Sarah led the way.

  The powerful flashlight beams bounced around the dark interior. Kale spotted the bag she carried everywhere. He started to reach for it.

  "Don't touch nothing," the chief reminded.

  "Over here, Chief," August shouted.

  Kale stayed close to Sarah. The agent's flashlight was focused on an object on the ground.

  Silver glinted… big-ass knife… bloody.

  The chief studied it a moment, then surveyed the area around it.

  A piece of white cloth lay on the ground nearby. Small, empty tubes that had once held glue. A partial roll of duct tape. Empty food containers. A woman's shoe. And eyeglasses.

  All kinds of evidence.

  Anticipation burned inside Kale.

  'Bout fucking time.

  They were going to get this bastard.

  CHAPTER 43

  2312 Beauchamp Road, 11:00 A.M.

  Jerald watched the security monitor in his study as the police cruisers braked to sudden stops in front of his home. Five, no seven deputies spilled out of the vehicles and formed a perimeter around his home. Chief Willard and Special Agent Lex August approached his front door.

  He'd expected them hours ago.

  Some things took time, he supposed.

  When he'd gotten his passport years ago he'd had to provide his thumbprint. It should have been an easy process with the federal agent's assistance to match the prints on the evidence to him.

  Apparently they had taken the route of caution, not wanting to jump the gun and risk double-jeopardy complications.

  Understandable.

  The doorbell sang its greeting, echoing through the house. He had ensured his wife and daughter were away this morning.

  That made things simpler.

  Less traumatic for all involved.

  His primary goal was to ensure they were both protected.

  No matter the cost.

  Enjoying a final look at the home he had so lovingly designed himself, he took his time arriving at the front door.

  At least now he had no reason to worry about the carpal tunnel surgery. His hands would no longer be of any use to him.

  When he opened the door, Chief Willard stepped forward. Jerald was surprised his service revolver remained holstered.

  "Good morning, Chief." He glanced at the agent. "Agent August. How can I help you this morning?"

  "Jerald, I have a warrant here to search your property." Willard held the official document in his hand. "We'll need your full cooperation."

  Jerald stepped back, opened the door wide. "Be my guest."

  He got a glimpse of Sarah Newton waiting near one of the police cruisers. He smiled, gave her a nod.

  Perhaps she didn't know it yet, but this was a game she could not win.

  CHAPTER 44

  717 High Street, 12:15 P.M.

  Deborah watched, transfixed, as Jerald Pope was escorted, hands cuffed behind his back, into the Youngstown Public Safety Office.

  She blinked, returned her attention to the reporter touting the breaking news.

  "More to come in this gruesome story. For now, according to Chief Willard of the Youngstown police, after discovering overwhelming evidence early this morning, master boat builder Jerald Pope has been arrested for the murders of Valerie Gerard and Alicia Appleton. Back to you, Scott."

  The reporter's image was replaced on the screen by her colleague's back at the station. He wore a grim face for the camera. "Thank you, Marcia. That news comes from Youngstown, where it appears a frantic investigation into the disappearance and murder of two young women is finally coming to an end."

  Deborah turned from the television, shock settling over her. She walked numbly to the kitchen and picked up the prescription bottle. She stared at the few remaining tablets inside.

  What had she done?

  Fear slithered around her throat and tightened like a noose.

  She rushed to the window and gazed out at the church where Christopher was working on the upcoming Sunday's sermon. Soon he would grow sleepy and eventually lose consciousness.

  Think rationally, she told herself.

  There were two options.

  She could call 911 and stop this now before it was too late. But then she would likely go to prison for the rest of her life. Christopher would understand and forgive her as she had forgiven him, but the rest of the world would not be so forgiving.

  The other option, if chosen, would play out as set in motion, leaving her and Tamara well provided for, financially. Their futures would be assured. The chances of the police discovering the truth were minimal. The insurance was more than adequate for their current and future needs.

  But Deborah knew her Father in heaven would know.

  And He would not forgive her.

  As much as she had no desire to spend the rest of her life in prison, she had a greater desire not to spend eternity in Hell.

  Deborah reached for the phone.

  The Overlook Inn, 12:15 P.M.

  Barton stared at the television set.

  Was it possible?

  Was the nightmare finally over?

  If an arrest had been made, the investigation would end.

  He looked heavenward and repeated a mantra of thanks.

  Sweet Jesus, was it really ove
r?

  But Jerald Pope? Incredible.

  Barton hurried into his private office and unlocked his desk. He grabbed the plastic bag in the bottom drawer and removed the bane of his existence from it. Now that the danger had passed, he had to decide what to do with it.

  Destroy it once and for all.

  He'd kept it all these years… just in case he needed to prove that he'd found the journal and learned of the secret inside. But now, that was no longer necessary.

  Perhaps he would burn it… or bury it with his father when he eventually passed.

  No waiting. He would act today.

  Since he'd only just cleaned out the fireplace, his wife would be suspicious if he started a fire before evening. No, that wouldn't work.

  Bury it. Yes. He would bury it. Time and the elements would destroy the filthy pages. They would decompose and return to the earth where they belonged.

  He had a minor yard task or two. Some of the landscape lighting needed repairs. His wife would think nothing of him doing those chores. But just to be safe, he would wait until she was away from the inn. She had errands. Perhaps he would insist she do them this afternoon.

  A relieved sigh whispered past his lips.

  He didn't have to worry about the police anymore. Or that annoying Sarah Newton. Lucky for her. He'd racked his brain coming up with a plan to scare her away. That business was no longer necessary.

  Finally, he could rest easy again.

  CHAPTER 45

  Public Safety Office, 5:15 P.M.

  Until he could be transported to the county jail, Jerald Pope was being held in the conference room. Two deputies were stationed in the room with him, another two outside the office.

  Every single piece of evidence they had found was lined up in a neat little row.

  The shoe had belonged to Alicia, the glasses to Valerie. The knife and the other items had been covered in Pope's fingerprints and both victims' blood.

  Too neat.

  Sarah stood outside the rear entrance, wishing again she had a cigarette.

  Her instincts still leaned toward a female perpetrator. But, of course, no one wanted to hear that. They had their murderer. Sarah, herself, had been forced to admit that it was a man who called her cell phone and then snatched her.

  Of course it was a man. He was covering for someone. His wife or his daughter? Sarah's every instinct insisted that was the case.

  Didn't anyone consider it a little strange that the first two victims were murdered and the last two escaped unharmed?

  This was utter and complete bullshit.

  She jerked the door open and went back inside.

  "Hey, I was looking for you."

  She met Kale's worried gaze. "Are you sure you're okay?"

  If he asked her that one more time…

  "I'm fine. Just…" Why bother even saying anything to him? He was like the others. He wanted this case over.

  "Come in here." He pulled her into the closest office and closed the door. "Talk to me."

  What was the point?

  "Come on, Sarah, say what's on your mind."

  "Don't you find this all too easy?" She turned her hands up. "The neatly placed evidence. The fact that Polly and I escaped when the other two didn't. Think about that."

  "Sarah." Kale leveled a weary gaze on hers. "You can't seriously think he's innocent after what they found in that storage unit in Bangor."

  Yeah, yeah. She knew. Twenty perfectly preserved human hearts. "Yes," she agreed, "he's a sick monster who obviously killed a whole hell of a lot of people, including the two young women from twenty years ago. I just don't think he killed Valerie and Alicia."

  The federal authorities were assuming jurisdiction over that aspect of the Pope case. Which was no surprise. August was probably in the men's room whacking off right now in celebration of the huge case he'd cracked.

  "Sarah," Kale said patiently, "why would he accept responsibility for these two murders? Why would he let himself be caught? No one was ever going to catch him. Don't you see that what you're proposing is a little crazy?"

  Crazy. Possibly.

  "Why would he do that?" Kale asked.

  "To cover for someone else. Think about that. That's not crazy. That's anything but crazy." She paced the small room. "The murders were motivated by envy. That's a very female motivation. The boot print, the propranolol, the roses. None of it is even remotely consistent with his previous MO."

  "August asked him about that," Kale argued. "He said he'd quit killing a long time ago, but the temptation overwhelmed him and he had to kill again. He changed his MO to try and make it look as if someone else committed the murders. He didn't say a woman, but that could have been his ultimate intent."

  Sarah wasn't buying it.

  "What blows me away," Kale went on, "is that he had all that stuff, the tools he used to kill those people, the clothes he wore—all of it—right there in the storage unit. That's sick."

  666.

  The code for his storage unit.

  He's the devil.

  … he uses people sometimes as an angel of light to mislead…

  The unexplained pieces fell into place and suddenly it all made sense to Sarah. Jesus… Matilda was right.

  "I have to talk to him."

  "Whoa." Kale took her by the shoulders and made her look at him. "You know they're not going to let you do that."

  Sarah knew what she had to do. "Yes they will."

  She waited for Kale to step out of the way; the instant he did she was out the door. She hunted down August.

  "I need to speak with you." He looked at her, as did Chief Willard. "Privately."

  When he didn't readily agree, she gave him a look that warned of severe consequences.

  "Give us a moment," August said to Willard.

  Kale stood in the corridor watching as Willard exited his office. Sarah didn't have time to placate him. She closed the door and turned on August. "I want to talk to Pope."

  August smirked. "No way. You know how this works, Sarah. We're not going to do anything that might weaken or somehow damage our case. He's off limits."

  "You either let me talk to him or I'll go outside right now and tell all those reporters how bad you fucked up three and a half years ago." There wasn't a day went by that she didn't remember.

  "What would that accomplish?" He tried to pretend she was suggesting an impotent reprisal.

  "You made a mistake. You leaked the information about that suspect after I warned you that he was innocent. You ignored me and the facts I presented and, because you did, he was murdered."

  August's expression hardened. "But we got the bad guy in the end."

  "Yeah," she confirmed, her jaw tightening, "the bad guy I urged you to consider before anyone innocent was murdered." She laughed. "Then you took credit for my conclusions."

  He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. "All right. All right. I'll give you a minute or two with him." He shook his finger in her face. "But don't fuck this up just to get back at me."

  She made a sound of disbelief. "Are you kidding? That's your MO not mine."

  His glare intensified. "This thing between us is done now. You talk to Pope and then we're even."

  She nodded. "Absolutely."

  August jerked the door open and cut a path through the people crowding the corridor.

  "What was that about?" Kale asked.

  Sarah paused, looked into his eyes. "Just trust me." Then she followed the route August had taken.

  When she reached the conference room door, he was ready to let her in. "Remember what I said."

  "Yeah, yeah."

  He opened the door and she went inside. "Step outside, gentlemen," August said to the deputies.

  They looked at each other then at Sarah, but they didn't argue.

  Before the door closed Sarah heard Kale demand, "What the hell are you doing?"

  August would handle him… for now.

  "Sarah." Pope smiled. "I would stand but—" He pulle
d at his wrists which were handcuffed to the chair arms.

  She dismissed his apology with a wave of her hand, then settled into the chair directly across from him. "I have a few questions for you. Just to satisfy my own curiosity."

  He inclined his head, analyzed her. Looking for the lie, as she so often did. "How can I know that you're not recording this conversation?"

  She stood, peeled off her sweatshirt, and turned all the way around. "No wires." When she'd faced him once more, she pulled the sweatshirt back on. "Do I need to take off my pants, too?"

  A grin lifted one corner of his mouth. "Not necessary. Oddly, I trust you."

  "I'll bet you do." She eased back down in the chair.

  For a moment they stared at each other, both analyzing.

  "How did you manage to kill so many without ever getting caught?" That was a hell of a record. Seemed like a good way to get him talking while at the same time lowering his guard.

  "I traveled a lot then. All over the country." His expression grew distant as he contemplated his past. "I always chose my victim while I was away. Never anyone close to home. And I planned extensively to lessen the likelihood of making a mistake."

  Anyone in the business of murder had to admire a man so precise. "Your victims were random?" With that many murders involving the same MO, one would think the feds would have noticed a connection. Typically when a pattern emerged, comparisons were done among the various jurisdictions.

  "Oh, no, you know better than that. A serial killer is never truly random. There is always a distinctly similar motive driven by his compulsion."

  She had known he would understand what he was. "So, how did you choose them?"

  "I needed to satisfy the urge, but I didn't want to eliminate anyone who contributed to society. You never know when someone might turn out to be the one who invents the cure for cancer or who turns around global warming."

  She got it now. "So you selected those who were a burden to society rather than vice versa. Prostitutes, thugs, et cetera."

  He nodded. "Very good, Sarah. You understand me quite well."

  "When did you know you were a serial killer?"