Steven James - The Bishop

“What about you?”

“I need to talk to an eyewitness.”

Then I looked up Mrs. Rainey’s number and got her on the line. “Do you have a computer?”

“Yes.”

“Turn it on. Go to YouTube. And I’d like to speak to your son.”

Margaret finished an initial sweep of her house.

Found no sign of her dog. No sign of an intruder. Nothing was out of place.

Someone took him!

Which meant they’d been in her house.

And that meant they would have likely left evidence of their presence somewhere.

Still carrying her Glock, she began a more detailed search.

Pay attention, Margaret.

For Lewis’s sake.

Pay attention.

The female killer was Chelsea Tray, the investigative reporter for WXTN news.

Danny Rainey recognized her on the online WXTN coverage. “But her hair’s different,” he said. That didn’t surprise me-it was different when she was caught for a second on video as Aria Petic as well. I called Ralph and found out the voice print matched as well, confirming my suspicions. “Get to the house!” I told him.

End call.

But who was her partner? Nick?

The killers left clues to future crimes: they left the gas station receipt, then killed the attendant… left Mahan’s car, then killed him… left Mollie’s purse, then killed her… left the plates on Annette’s car…

Who thinks that far ahead?

My thoughts went once again to Sevren Adkins.

But he was dead They never found his body, Pat.

What is obvious is not always what is true.

You can never be sure you’ve eliminated the impossible, remember?

Okay, eliminate this possibility.

I speed-dialed Cheyenne.

IPR-OMI.

SED-UAR.

The body size of the male suspect matched Sevren’s, the scars made sense, both men were left-handed, the male suspect favored his right leg- Remember, Tessa stabbed a scissors into Sevren Adkins’s leg after he attacked her.

Sevren knew explosives… he liked to watch…

I waited for Cheyenne to pick up. What’s taking her so long?

The plates: IPR-OMI.

SED-UAR.

Six letters.

Each plate has six letters.

Denver plates.

Cheyenne lives in Denver too.

Six letters She picked up.

“Cheyenne,” I began It’s either you or her. Your car or hers.

But I wasn’t about to stop and check my plates.

“Pat? What’s up?”

“Is your car in the driveway?”

“What?”

“Outside. Your car!”

He leaves clues that point to the next victim.

“Can you see the plates without going outside?” I punched the gas.

A moment passed as she crossed the room. “No, I’d have to go outside.”

“Don’t, it’s-”

“Pat, what’s going on?”

“Tessa’s room. Try from Tessa’s room. The sight-line will be more direct.”

Only one killer had ever challenged me to a rematch. The same one who left clues to future crimes. Sevren Adkins.

“Pat-”

“Go, Cheyenne! Take her with you.”

I heard her call for Tessa and then there was a pause and a door banged open.

It’s going to say EMA-TCH.

And if it does “Okay.” Then shock. “What the-?”

I spelled it out before she could tell me what it was: “E-M-AT-C-H.”

Exasperation in her voice. “How did you know?”

“Get away from the window!”

IPR-OMI SED-UAR EMA-TCH.

I-PROMISED-U-A-REMATCH.

“He’s there!” I whipped around a curve in the road and nearly skidded out of control. A bomb. A car bomb? “Don’t go near your car!”

“Who’s here?”

“Sevren Adkins. Get to the center of the house, away from-”

“Pat, he’s dead.”

I heard Tessa in the background. “Who’s dead?”

What is obvious is not always “I think he’s alive. I think he’s back.”

“But he fell to the bottom of a gorge.”

“He promised me a rematch, Cheyenne. No one else knows about that.”

As I was finishing my sentence she gasped; I heard Tessa cry out.

A jolt of fear. “What is it?”

“The lights,” Cheyenne said. “They just went out. All of them.” The clock in the car: 9:26.

Three minutes.

I floored it.

Call dispatch, you have to call dispatch!

“I’m going to have a look around,” Cheyenne said.

“Be careful. Don’t go outside. And don’t leave Tessa alone.”

I was still nearly four minutes from the house, but because it was in the country, the response time for the sheriff’s department would probably be at least that long, I called them anyway.

This time I definitely wanted backup.

“What’s going on?” Tessa asked Detective Warren.

A moment ago she’d drawn her gun. “Get down on the floor, Tessa.”

“What is it?”

“Please.”

“Tell me.”

A pause. “It’s Sevren Adkins.”

“What!”

“Pat thinks he’s back.”

Tessa felt a terrible shiver slide through her. “It can’t be.”

The man who kidnapped you. The man who cut you. The man who tried to kill you. He’s here. He came back. He came back for you. “But I don’t understand-”

With one hand, Detective Warren gently but firmly guided Tessa to the floor. “Stay low,” she whispered and then headed toward the front door. “And follow me.”

Margaret noticed something.

The rolling chair in front of the computer desk was not positioned as it should have been, as she always left it, directly facing her keyboard.

Rather, it was swiveled to the right about forty degrees, as if someone had been sitting in it, then turned from the desk to get up, forgetting to straighten the chair again.

She surveyed the room. Everything else was in place.

But not the chair.

To avoid disturbing any prints that might be on her keyboard, she tapped her fingernail on the space bar to wake up the computer screen.

A document appeared.

Someone had left her a message. Just four words: “Check your trunk, Margaret.”

Tessa glanced out the dark windows. With the lights out and the moon full, she could see part of the backyard, but only faintly. The inside of the house was even darker. “Detective Warren, where are you?”

A voice came from a shadow eight feet from her. “I’m here. Quiet now. Shh. Just stay down. Your dad’s on the way.”

Cautiously, still in stocking feet, Margaret left the house.

Her thoughts flashed back to Sevren Adkins, the man who’d left the torso of one of his victims in her trunk in North Carolina.

But she was sure Adkins was dead. A copycat?

She studied the neighborhood. Saw nothing unusual.

Her Lexus was less than a dozen paces away. She pressed the keyless unlock button twice, and the car made two soft blips as the four-way flashers blinked on and then off.

Weapon out, she approached the driver’s side.

Made sure no one was under the vehicle.

Clear.

Checked the front and back seats. Clear.

She surveyed the area one last time, steadied her gun. Then pressed the trunk release button: the trunk clicked open slightly, but not high enough yet for her to see inside.

Margaret steeled herself and reached for the handle.

2 minutes left…

9:27 p.m.

A DVD was in the trunk, a note beside it: “I hope you enjoy watching this as much as I did filming it.” She felt a surge of dread, gazed around the neighborhood one last time, then took the DVD inside to watch it, thinking only of what Adkins, or his copycat, might have done to Lewis.

Out the back window, Tessa saw someone in the backyard.

Just a glimpse of shadowy movement along the edge of the rock wall.

“Detective Warren! He’s in the yard!” Even though she couldn’t see his face, she knew.