Beverly Barton - Silent Killer

“I’ll call him myself,” Elliott had offered, “and fill him in on the situation. Give me until around eight-thirty, then call his private number and work out the details with him yourself.”

The waiting area was no longer empty. An elderly couple sat in the corner, haggard expressions on their lined faces. When she entered the room, they glanced her way. Then the man returned to reading the newspaper and the woman to her knitting.

Cathy made her way to the private nook near the windows overlooking the roof of the one-story ER, a 1980s addition to the hospital. She removed her phone from her purse, checked her wristwatch-8:35-and carefully dialed the number Elliott had given her.

He answered on the third ring. “Camden Hendrix here.”

“Mr. Hendrix, this is Catherine Cantrell. Elliott Floyd called you earlier this morning and-”

“Yes, Ms. Cantrell, Elliott filled me in on the case. Have the authorities tried to question Ms. Hovater?”

“No, not really, but they have posted a deputy outside her hospital room.”

“I see. Okay, give me the name and phone number for the hospital, then her doctor’s name, the one in charge of her there in the psych ward. I don’t want anyone questioning her until after I’ve spoken to her.”

“Then you’ll represent Missy?”

“If Elliott Floyd asks me for a favor, I usually comply.”

“Thank you. I don’t know what your usual fee is, but-”

“I’m not holding you responsible for the bill, Ms. Cantrell. Elliott explained your involvement. I’ll represent Ms. Hovater pro bono. As I said, as a favor to Elliott. That, and I hate the thought of a young girl being victimized by her own father.”

“Again, thank you, Mr. Hendrix.”

“I’ll try to rearrange my schedule so that I can be in Dunmore by sometime this afternoon. It’s only a two-and-a-half-hour drive from Chattanooga.”

Dial tone. End of conversation. She didn’t know Camden Hendrix, but Elliott Floyd had sung the man’s praises.

“He’s the best of the best. The man never loses a case.”

Cathy slipped her phone back into her purse and left the waiting room. Just as she approached the nurse’s station, she saw Ruth Ann Harper coming up the hall, directly from the elevator. She threw up her hand and waved. Ruth Ann walked straight to Cathy.

“Thank you for coming.”

“How is Missy?” Ruth Ann asked.

“She was still sleeping when I left to make a phone call.”

“You said that they’re keeping her sedated.”

“That’s right.”

“Will they allow me to go in and see her?”

“Yes. I’ve already spoken to the nurses, and they’ve gotten in touch with Dr. Morrison. I also explained that you’re a close family friend. And I told a small white lie. I told them that Missy had asked for you.”

“I don’t know if I can help her. I’m afraid I might say the wrong thing.”

“She needs someone who understands what she’s been through.” Cathy’s gaze locked with Ruth Ann’s. She saw the realization in the other woman’s eyes.

“How did you know about me?” Ruth Ann asked.

“Know about…?”

“Don’t pretend with me, please. When you called me, I suspected you knew something, and just now, when you said what you did about Missy needing someone who understands what she’s been through, I knew for sure.”

“I don’t know anything about your past,” Cathy said. “It was Lorie. She picked up on some things you said a few years ago, and…well, she told me that you’d taken a special interest in the Whitmore girl’s rape case.”

“And here I thought I hid my feelings so well that no one would ever suspect anything.”

“Look, Ruth Ann, whatever did or didn’t happen to you is none of my business. I neither want nor need to know. The only reason I called you is because I hoped you could help Missy.”

“A long time ago, someone helped me,” Ruth Ann said. “I guess it’s past time for me to do the same. I’ll talk to Missy and do whatever I can to help her.”

Cathy grasped Ruth Ann’s hand. “Thank you.”

“Would you take me to her?”

“Come on. Her room is just down the hall.”

When they entered Missy’s room, they found her awake and restless, her slender young body curled into a trembling fetal ball.

“I thought you’d left and weren’t coming back.” Missy held out her hand to Cathy, who rushed forward and took the girl’s unsteady hand.

“There’s someone here to see you,” Cathy said.

“I don’t want to see anyone.” Missy looked at her visitor and turned away. “No, please, no.”

“What happened to you was not your fault,” Ruth Ann said in a soft voice as she approached Missy’s bed. “You’re not to blame. Do you hear me?”

“I am. He told me I wanted him to do what he did. He told me that I tempted him.”

Ruth Ann and Cathy exchanged glances, both of them consumed with sympathy for the abused child. And that’s what Missy was, just a girl of seventeen, close to the same age as their own children.

Missy cried quietly, her entire body shaking with the force of her almost-silent sobs.

Ruth Ann paused beside the bed. “What your father did to you was not your fault. He was sick, and what he did to you was wrong. Believe me, I understand how you feel.”

“How could you possibly understand?” Missy asked, her voice quavering with emotion.

Ruth Ann laid her hand gently on Missy’s back. “Because when I was a young girl, my father raped me repeatedly, from the time I was ten years old until the night he died.”

Both Cathy and Ruth Ann accompanied Missy Hovater when she was taken to the sheriff’s office for questioning on Monday following Donnie Hovater’s death late Saturday night. The authorities had been unable to find a close relative. It seemed that Donnie Hovater had been an only child and his parents were deceased. Missy’s mother had been raised in a series of foster homes and had never known either of her parents. For all intents and purposes, Missy Hovater was alone in the world. ABI agent and head of the Fire and Brimstone Killer task force Wayne Morgan looked as if he’d rather eat glass than have to interrogate a young girl who had been brutalized by her father’s sick cruelty.

Camden Hendrix had shown up at the hospital yesterday afternoon, but Missy had been completely uncooperative. The only people she would talk to were Cathy and Ruth Ann, so they had acted as go-betweens for Missy’s lawyer. Cathy didn’t know what she had expected Cam Hendrix to look like, but certainly not the big, ruggedly handsome guy whose winning personality instantly put her at ease. Elliott Floyd had sung the man’s praises, filling her in on his reputation as one of the South’s premiere attorneys.

“He came from nothing. Literally. And now he’s filthy rich and famous, or at the very least notorious.” Elliott had chuckled. “He’s one of the most sought-after trial lawyers in the country, and his firm has even branched out into international law. He’s an advisor to Griffin Powell. I assume you’ve heard of him.”

Yes, she’d heard of the Griffin Powell, the mysterious former University of Tennessee quarterback who had disappeared off the face of the earth shortly after college graduation. The man had shown up ten years later, a billionaire philanthropist who established the Powell Private Security and Investigation Agency, some said, as a front for his illegal businesses. But that was only one of many rumors about the wealthy mystery man.

Cathy also knew that Jack’s sister, Maleah, worked for the Powell Agency and that she had used her contacts in the agency to persuade former FBI profiler Derek Lawrence to help the Fire and Brimstone Killer task force. Free of charge.