Page 14 of Cold Threat

“I do. Tony told you about his grandfather?”

River nodded.

“Alzheimer’s is awful. It was like watching that wonderful man slowly disappear.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I am too.” She sighed. “Tony’s battle with aphasia makes him worry, you know. That he’ll end up like his grandfather.”

“I’ve wondered about that,” River said, “but it’s a different situation. And he seems to be handling it pretty well.”

Beth smiled. “My son has faith. The kind that can move mountains. But I know him well enough to know that he struggles with his condition.” She stood up. “I need to let you get back to it. I didn’t mean to stay so long. I’d planned to just drop off the snack and leave.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

Beth stared at River for several seconds. Then she said, “I’m glad you’re in my son’s life.” She frowned slightly. “I ... I just hope you know how important you are to him.”

Then she walked out the door, closing it behind her.

River opened the file and pulled out some of the reports, but she couldn’t concentrate completely. As she reached for the cup of hot chocolate, she wondered just what Beth had meant by her parting words.

CHAPTER

EIGHT

After poring through the file for about an hour, River was left with more questions than answers. What linked these murders together? Why was the killer so angry? She couldn’t find a common thread. The victims in Des Moines were older people, as were the first couple killed in Burlington. But the second attack in Burlington involved a couple in their forties. It didn’t fit the pattern. Besides that, there weren’t any connections between these people that she could see. Different families. Different backgrounds. Different races. She couldn’t find one thread of commonality. What was she missing? How could she and Tony write a profile without understanding the killer’s trigger?

She finally closed the file and stared at it for a few minutes. All the questions she had filled her mind until she had to force herself to stop thinking about the case. She’d been through this before, and if she didn’t push it away, she’d toss and turn all night trying to find the elusive thread that would tie the deaths together.

The only thing she was sure of was that the killer needed snow to act out his rage—and that the ornament was important. Something traumatic had happened to him during a past snowy winter. December seemed to be important, and the ornament was partof it. Not much to go on, but they’d had cases in the past with even fewer clues to go on.

River put the file on the table next to the tray that held her empty cup and plate. Then she got up and walked over to the bed, pausing to gaze around the lovely room. Dusky blue walls with white antique furniture. A bay window with plush pillows that looked like the perfect place to snuggle with a good book. A large wardrobe stood across from the bed. She went over and pulled the top doors open. As she’d suspected, there was a TV inside. She closed the doors. It was then that she noticed a bookcase near the bay window. She went over to it and scanned the titles. She was too tired to read, but she was curious as to what books Aimee read. River smiled when she saw all the inspirational suspense titles. Some people seemed to think that inspirational mystery and suspense books were a step below secular novels. They were wrong. Some of the best books she’d read were by Christian authors. She figured that Aimee would choose romance or something else that was a departure from the life shared by her father and brother. But instead, she’d embraced it. Interesting.

River headed back to bed and slipped between the satiny sheets. She kept the lamp on the nightstand next to the bed turned on. She never slept in the dark anymore—especially in a new place. Although she was getting better, she still dealt with nightmares. Besides, waking up in a place she didn’t recognize right away could be very startling.

“Please, God,” she whispered, “don’t let me cry out tonight. It would embarrass me.” She closed her eyes, but the information in the file ran through her mind like a wild river—as if it were pulling her along, the water rushing past her. This time she couldn’t vanquish it. What was she missing? Who was the person killing these people, and when would he strike again?

Ray had said that his gut told him it would be soon. Were therepeople out there who had no idea that this was their last night on earth? Would they die because she and Tony couldn’t help Ray stop a killer who was just beyond their reach? She tried to tell herself that worrying because of Ray’s intuition was nonsense—that the killer may not strike again for a long time. Yet over the years, she’d grown to respect a gut instinct from those in law enforcement. Especially from Christians. Strangely, she felt something too. As if a voice inside was warning her. Maybe it was her imagination. But what if it wasn’t?

River sat up in bed. She really wasn’t certain she could sleep. She got up and went over to her bag. She’d put it just inside the closet, but she hadn’t unpacked it. She never did. When she was with the Bureau, she had to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. It was a habit she couldn’t seem to lose.

She reached inside and pulled out her Bible, then she carried it back to the bed. She’d recently discovered that when she couldn’t sleep, reading it helped. She opened the cover and flipped through the pages. She loved Psalms. Especially Psalm 91. She found it and began to softly read it out loud.

She took a deep breath and said, “He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the LORD, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress; My God, in Him I will trust.’”

The words seemed to sink down deep inside her, soaking up the fear she felt, not only from the possibility of being unable to stop the Snowman before others died—but also fear from the knowledge that the Salt River Strangler’s minion might be stalking her. As she read the rest of the psalm, a feeling of calm assurance wrapped itself around her like a cocoon. Especially as she reread the last few verses.

“Because he has set his love upon Me,” she read softly, “therefore I will deliver him; I will set him on high, because he has known My name. He shall call upon Me, and I will answer him;I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him and honor him. With long life I will satisfy him, and show him My salvation.”

God’s promise of deliverance gave River comfort. “God,” she whispered, “I am calling on You. Thank You for Your promise to answer me. To deliver me. And long life? I’d like that too. For me and for Tony.” She paused for a moment, then realized that her cheeks were wet. River was someone who didn’t like to cry. What was it about the love of God that moved her so emotionally? It was as if her body reacted to His love without needing her mind to agree.

She closed her Bible and put it on her nightstand. Then she put her head on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. The apprehension she’d felt earlier dissipated, leaving her mind clear and calm.

“Please show us how to stop this evil man before he takes another life,” she prayed. “We need Your help. Your wisdom. You know who he is.”

She started to flip over on her side, preparing to sleep, but then she added, “And please take care of my mother. Lord, heal her. Strengthen her. And more than anything, help her to forgive and rededicate her life to You. She needs You so desperately.”

River felt herself begin to drift off. Immediately she saw a man and a woman walking in the snow. In his hand, the man held a duplicate of the ornament left behind at each murder he’d committed. The woman was whispering something in his ear, but River couldn’t hear her words. It was as if she was speaking so softly, only the man could hear her. Suddenly the man turned and looked River’s way. It startled her. His face was hidden, but his eyes burned like fire.

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