Page 54 of 1st Shock
"I'm Billy Ray. I hear you've been looking for me."
"Billy Ray Carter?"
"Yes, ma'am. Dixie said you wanna talk to me. How can I help you?"
Relief takes hold. I let out a hard breath, giving my system a few seconds to unwind itself. The emotional buzz saw of the day will let me sleep for a week after this.
Jesus, the man scared me.
And what the hell is he doing here? Apparently my evasion skills need work because he had to have followed me. Regardless of our intent to question him, did he not think it a tad bizarre to tail me?
"Billy Ray, how did you get here?"
"Well, I was about to visit your office. I saw you leave so…”
He shrugs and doesn’t bother to finish his sentence.
This is a weird dude. That's all I can think. Cagey? Or just socially inept?
Maybe both given his family history. Charlie would know better than me. All I know is the relative of a serial killer followed me to the woods and I'm alone with him. Excellent.
"We're investigating a cold case. We believe there's a copycat of your stepbrother's modis operandi—mode of operation."
"A copycat? He must be a sick fucker then."
"It appears so. Dixie said Mickey didn't have many friends."
A burst of chilly spring wind rattles the overhead branches, shaking the leaves and Billy Ray shoves his hands in his pockets.
"Nobody could stand him," he says. "Mean as the day is long."
"Do you remember anyone else who might’ve been around? Anyone he may have shared information with?"
A slow smile reveals yellowed teeth that could use a trip to the dentist.
Weird.
Dude.
He moves his right hand, drawing it, inch by inch, from his pocket. The edge of something wooden peeps out from beneath his closed hand and my ears roar.
"Billy Ray? What do you have there?"
He takes a step forward and I take one back, retreating as I keep my gaze on him. "What is that?"
He stops moving. "You asked who Mickey told stuff to."
"Yes. Do you remember anyone?"
"Yeah," he says, his smile widening. "Me."
Then he lifts his hand, showing me exactly what he'd been hiding. A garrote hangs from his fingertips.
Him.
Shit.
I focus on the cord, on his other hand gripping the end. "It's you," I blurt.
