death had left mother and son financially ruined. They’d moved from their country farm to a city apartment. Harvey had been forced to quit school and work, so he drove trucks. The money had been good enough and the two had gotten by. Smith continued to study and earned a GED. He’d also applied to Oklahoma University and been accepted. The boy’s mother had died suddenly and he’d been free to study full-time.
The mother’s untimely death had been a red flag to Brody, and he’d spent a good bit of time digging into her death. But the coroner’s findings had been clear-cut. Mae Smith died of a heart attack.
After graduation, he took a job as a substitute teacher. Several schools had wanted to hire Smith but he’d refused all offers. He’d never married and seemed to be just another normal guy.
Until the recent discovery of Smith’s oldest kill. The first known victim had been Sandra Day, a twenty-one-year-old waitress in Houston. According to Smith’s statement later, he’d taken Day on a date and instead of returning her at the end of the day had kept her in his house for the next three months before he’d buried her alive. He’d not intended to bury her alive. But she’d fought him hard, landing a hard punch to his nose. He’d hit her back and stunned her enough to get her to the grave. She was about covered with dirt when she’d startled awake and realized what was happening. Excited by her panic, he’d quickly covered her face with dirt.
Brody shifted through the victim profiles and made a list of the children. There’d been nine children between the five women. Five boys and four girls. He searched the names of the boys. Two were in prison. One dead. One living in Seattle and working as a cop. And the last … unaccounted for. The boy’s name had been Nathanial Boykin. Nathanial, not Robbie. He’d been placed in foster care after his mother’s death and then there was no more mention of him. He’d be in his early thirties now.
Brody typed up a request for Social Services and sent it out. Maybe he’d get lucky. Maybe Robbie still lurked somewhere in the system.
Chapter Four
Sunday, April 7, 4:00 A.M.
Jo woke up to the pitch black of night. Though she tried to coax herself back to sleep for at least another half hour, she was tossing and turning. Her active brain wouldn’t be silenced. Sleep wasn’t coming back her way anytime soon.
Out of bed, she dressed in dark jeans, a dark turtleneck and vigorously brushed her hair, hoping to smooth out at least some of the curls and tangles. When her hair refused reason she coiled it back in her customary bun and pinned it in place. Knowing she’d be going to the crime scene, she took time applying her makeup as if it were a business day. Since she’d been a small child her mother had talked about the importance of makeup. ‘A smart lady looks her best all the time.’
Jo had not inherited her mother’s sleek, blond locks but thanks to makeup she could look more like a professional woman rather than Pippi Longstocking.
After coffee and a breakfast of eggs and toast, she checked her cell for a text from her mother. No message.
Jo still had an hour before Brody was to arrive, giving her enough time to drive to her mother’s salon. For all the differences that divided Jo and her mother, she could honestly say she’d inherited her mother’s work ethic. Candace worked seven days a week, often ten or twelve hours a day, and Jo was no different.
She grabbed her purse and a backpack prepped for a day in the field and ran out into the morning chill to drive the three miles to her mother’s salon. As expected she saw lights on and Candace inside painting a purple wall blue.
Jo knocked on the door, making Candace jump. When she saw Jo she smiled, climbed off her stepladder and crossed to the front door.
Candace opened the front door with one hand while keeping her blue-tipped paintbrush away from her spotless shirt and ironed pants. Her
The mother’s untimely death had been a red flag to Brody, and he’d spent a good bit of time digging into her death. But the coroner’s findings had been clear-cut. Mae Smith died of a heart attack.
After graduation, he took a job as a substitute teacher. Several schools had wanted to hire Smith but he’d refused all offers. He’d never married and seemed to be just another normal guy.
Until the recent discovery of Smith’s oldest kill. The first known victim had been Sandra Day, a twenty-one-year-old waitress in Houston. According to Smith’s statement later, he’d taken Day on a date and instead of returning her at the end of the day had kept her in his house for the next three months before he’d buried her alive. He’d not intended to bury her alive. But she’d fought him hard, landing a hard punch to his nose. He’d hit her back and stunned her enough to get her to the grave. She was about covered with dirt when she’d startled awake and realized what was happening. Excited by her panic, he’d quickly covered her face with dirt.
Brody shifted through the victim profiles and made a list of the children. There’d been nine children between the five women. Five boys and four girls. He searched the names of the boys. Two were in prison. One dead. One living in Seattle and working as a cop. And the last … unaccounted for. The boy’s name had been Nathanial Boykin. Nathanial, not Robbie. He’d been placed in foster care after his mother’s death and then there was no more mention of him. He’d be in his early thirties now.
Brody typed up a request for Social Services and sent it out. Maybe he’d get lucky. Maybe Robbie still lurked somewhere in the system.
Chapter Four
Sunday, April 7, 4:00 A.M.
Jo woke up to the pitch black of night. Though she tried to coax herself back to sleep for at least another half hour, she was tossing and turning. Her active brain wouldn’t be silenced. Sleep wasn’t coming back her way anytime soon.
Out of bed, she dressed in dark jeans, a dark turtleneck and vigorously brushed her hair, hoping to smooth out at least some of the curls and tangles. When her hair refused reason she coiled it back in her customary bun and pinned it in place. Knowing she’d be going to the crime scene, she took time applying her makeup as if it were a business day. Since she’d been a small child her mother had talked about the importance of makeup. ‘A smart lady looks her best all the time.’
Jo had not inherited her mother’s sleek, blond locks but thanks to makeup she could look more like a professional woman rather than Pippi Longstocking.
After coffee and a breakfast of eggs and toast, she checked her cell for a text from her mother. No message.
Jo still had an hour before Brody was to arrive, giving her enough time to drive to her mother’s salon. For all the differences that divided Jo and her mother, she could honestly say she’d inherited her mother’s work ethic. Candace worked seven days a week, often ten or twelve hours a day, and Jo was no different.
She grabbed her purse and a backpack prepped for a day in the field and ran out into the morning chill to drive the three miles to her mother’s salon. As expected she saw lights on and Candace inside painting a purple wall blue.
Jo knocked on the door, making Candace jump. When she saw Jo she smiled, climbed off her stepladder and crossed to the front door.
Candace opened the front door with one hand while keeping her blue-tipped paintbrush away from her spotless shirt and ironed pants. Her
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