“Yes, he is.”
Out of the car, Ramsey followed Melina up the front steps and into the house. They were met by an officer at the front door who introduced them to Sandra Wallace. She could have been Bonnie Guthrie’s younger sister.
“We came as soon as we heard,” Ramsey said. “Can you walk us through the evening? When did you arrive home?”
“It’s like I told the other cop. I came in the door with my guy and saw a light on in the bathroom. My friend went to look and found the tub full and the window open.”
“Who is your guy?” Melina asked.
“His name is Perry Nelson. I met him at the club last night.”
“What club?” Melina asked.
Sandra tucked a curl behind her ear. “Red’s Saloon.”
“Red’s?” Ramsey asked. “On Union Street?”
“Yeah,” Sandra said. “I’m a bartender there.”
It was not coincidental that their other victim had spent time at Red’s. “Have you known Perry long?” he asked.
Sandra shook her head. “No, and after tonight, I don’t care if I ever see him again.”
“Why is that?” Melina said.
“He got real freaked out when he saw the shears. Thought I had something kinky planned for him. I tried to tell him I had nothing to do with it, but he wouldn’t listen. He split.”
“Do you have his contact information?” Ramsey asked.
“I know where to find him. He’s a bartender down the street at the Boot ’n’ Scoot.”
“He leaves and then what?” Melina asked.
“I called the cops. Then I sat in my room, cradled a baseball bat, and tried not to lose my shit.”
“When did the police arrive?” Ramsey asked.
“Pretty quickly. They seemed interested when I told them about the shears. And I didn’t touch anything while I was waiting. Your boys in the forensic van just showed up about a half hour ago. And now I got FBI and TBI in my living room. What the hell is going on?”
“Evidence suggests that a person we’re looking for may have broken into your house,” Melina said.
“What gave it away, the tub or the shears?” Sandra asked.
Instead of answering, Ramsey fired back with, “Was there anyone else in the bar last night who might have chatted you up or suggested a date?”
“Sure. There are always a few guys each night. Flirting helps with tips, and every so often I do like to spend a little one-on-one time with the cute ones.”
“Other than Perry, was there anyone else?” Melina pressed. “Someone who made an impression.”
“There was a guy. Real cute. I thought we might hook up. But he didn’t come back today.”
“Did he have a name?” Melina asked.
Sandra chewed her fingernail as she tried to recall. “I don’t remember. It was real busy that night.”
“What did he look like?” Ramsey asked.
“Good looking. Kind of tall like you. Strong build.”
“Caucasian, African American, Hispanic?” Melina asked.
“He was a white guy. I’d say in his midthirties.”
“And this was the night before?” Ramsey asked.
“That’s right. The bar has security cameras if that helps.”
“It could a great deal,” Ramsey said.
“If we don’t get a clear picture of him, would you meet with a sketch artist?” Melina asked.
“Yeah, I guess. Who the hell is this guy? I mean, should I be worried?”
“We haven’t quite figured that out yet,” Melina said. “But we think he’s very dangerous.”
Sandra looked toward the bathroom where a technician was dusting the doorknob for prints. “What’s the deal with the shears?”
“Still working on that,” Ramsey said, dodging the question. “Mind if we have a look around the house?”
“Be my guest.”
When they had arrived at the last crime scene, much of the water had all but drained from the tub. Now they had a chance to see this killer’s ritualistic room setup firsthand.
Both Ramsey and Melina pulled on latex gloves and stood at the threshold of the bathroom. A large claw-foot tub that appeared original dominated the room. Black and white tiled floor, a small pedestal sink, and a mirror that covered a medicine chest set into the wall.
The space was fairly large considering the house could not be more than twelve hundred square feet. There was a window that opened onto a small backyard ringed with trees.
There was no way Sonny would have known about the tub and the room’s setup unless he had done some kind of reconnaissance.
“He went out the window,” the tech said. “I looked outside and there’s a print below. Looks like a men’s size ten sports shoe. But other than the shoe impression, there doesn’t appear to be much evidence. The shears are old and may give us something. After I’ve made impressions of the blades, I will pull them apart and see if there’s traces of blood.”
“Thank you,” Ramsey said.
He left the techs to their data collection and walked through the house. It was not a cozy setup. The furniture was threadbare and covered in stains. There were discarded wrappers and used plates on the coffee table and in the kitchen sink. And by the back and front doors, piles of shoes lay haphazardly about. However, the bathroom was relatively clean and organized.
Melina came up behind and the two walked silently out the front door and around the back of the house. Both moved toward the yellow-tented markers indicating a trail of footprints that led toward the woods.
“He was here. He preplanned his escape route,” he said.
“A one-level house was a smart play for him. Multiple exit opportunities, especially if in a rush.”
“He wasn’t expecting Sandra to have company,” he said, looking back toward the window. “But his preplanning saved him.”
“If Sandra is remembering the right guy, then Sonny made contact with her,” Melina said. “But is it unusual for serial killers to have such a short downtime between murders?” she asked.
“Sometimes. Some killers cluster their murders. A trigger sets them off and they kill until whatever is driving them is exorcised or they are caught. This killer’s confirmed murders were spaced years apart. Now he may have one confirmed murder with another attempted murder within two weeks.”
“If we’re dealing with Sonny, and he does have a relationship with Bonnie, her arrival would be a serious stressor,” she said. “She’s doing her best to turn me inside out.”
“Has she managed it?” Ramsey asked.
She tilted her chin up. “Not quite.”
“Good.” He drew in a breath, glad to hear the brittleness softening in her tone. He needed Melina focused. “If you’re a little off your game . . .”
“I’m not.”
“If you were, how would you react to Bonnie’s arrival?”
“Anger, fear, and frustration are powerful motivators. If I were a little less controlled, I might have shot Bonnie an hour ago while she stood on my parents’ lawn with that shit-eating grin on her face.”
Bonnie had the same effect on Sonny, only he followed through on his impulses. “Stress could have pushed him to kill again, and maybe this time he was rushed and wasn’t as deliberate as he is normally.”
“There was no sign of sexual intercourse with Jennifer Brown,” she said.
“Yet the scene we saw at Jennifer Brown’s had a sexual component to it.”
“We have a killer who’s under more stress, and the cooling-off period between kills is shortening,” she said.
“This failed attempt cannot be sitting well with him.”
“He’ll strike again?”
“He may already have,” he said.
“Why not just kill Bonnie? Why all the surrogates?” she asked.
“You know the answer. She holds power over him. He kills her and he really is alone.”
“Mommy dearest.”
“I’d say so,” he said.
“What’re the chances that he’ll leave Nashville?” she asked. “Why not pull up stakes and leave?”
“It’s like the Key Killer. The area is familiar. Creature of habit. Like us, they, too, want to keep the stress in check.”
“We need to locate the bail bondsman who put up bail for Bonnie. He should have some record of who reached out to him.”
Sonny stood across the street from the small house, standing behind a privacy fence in a neighbor’s yard. He watched as the cops escorted Sandra to her car. An officer placed a suitcase in her trunk.
He should not have delayed taking Sandra. That extra night he had been distracted by Bonnie had nearly gotten him caught.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Bonnie had taught him planning was the difference between the pros and amateurs. Prison was full of lazy cons doing it on the fly.
He closed his eyes, pushing down a primal urge to kill. Bonnie had hammered the rules over and over.
And then she had done the unforgiveable. She had gotten sloppy and decided just like that to take a credit card from a regular customer at a bar where she worked. The guy had been too drunk to notice the missing card, until he had sobered up.