Page 128 of The Morning After (Savannah 2)

“No…it’s all right.” Reluctantly she pulled out of his embrace and they both got into her car. Nikki started the engine and rewound the tape, then played it for Reed. Again, Simone’s voice filled the small interior, again, horrid images cut through Nikki’s mind. Finally, there was only silence.

“Jesus,” Reed whispered and it almost sounded like a prayer.

“She’s dead…” Nikki felt the tears again, tears borne of sorrow, pain and guilt. Overwhelming guilt. If only she’d met her friend last night. If only she’d called…

He grabbed her hand. Laced his fingers through hers. “There’s been another disturbance at a cemetery.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. “You found her?”

“Don’t know yet. A team’s been sent to Peltier Cemetery just outside the city.”

“We have to go there. Now.”

“I won’t be able to let you inside the scene,” he said, his eyes dark, the fingers holding hers tightening. “You can stay in the car or join the rest of the press, but that’s as far as it’ll go.”

“But you’ll let me know if the body is Simone.”

“Absolutely.”

She leaned back against the headrest, closed her eyes and drew in a big, calming breath, the kind Jake Vaughn insisted they take before and after kickboxing class. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”

“First, Nikki, I need the tape.”

She opened her eyes and nodded.

“And your cell phone?”

“But—” She started to protest, then didn’t. The police needed anything the killer had touched, for evidence.

“You touched the phone and tape without gloves?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I’m sure my fingerprints are on them both, but the police have my prints on file.” When he looked at her, she added, “There was another incident, years ago. I think I told you about Corey Sellwood. When he was a kid and, I thought, stalking me, the police needed my prints to compare to others in my house.”

“But no one else touched the phone or the tape since you found them this morning?”

“No.”

“Hold on a second.” She watched as he walked to the Caddy and retrieved two plastic bags from his glove compartment. Once he returned to her car he used a handkerchief and placed the phone in one bag, then carefully extracted the vile recording from the player and dropped it into the other bag. She showed him the envelope and he took it as well, sealing it in the plastic envelope with the tape.

“You know I’m going to have to impound the car,” he said, “just in case the son of a bitch left any evidence behind.”

“Now, wait a minute Reed, I can’t be without a car.” As distraught as she was, she couldn’t imagine that she would have to give up the Subaru.

“Nikki,” he reproached and she didn’t argue.

“Fine, fine. Just take me to a rental agency, after the cemetery.”

“You’re sure you want to go.”

“Absolutely.”

Reed called for someone to retrieve her car and once the officers and tow truck arrived, Nikki signed all the appropriate papers, then climbed into Reed’s Caddy and, as he drove through the rain-washed streets toward the outskirts of town, she was silent, her heart filled with dread, her world darker than it had been only a day before.

What would she do once she knew the truth? Race to the office and write an intimate story as she was close to the victim, work hard to edge out the competition on the most recent killing by the Grave Robber?

She barely noticed the change of scenery as they reached the bend in the river where Peltier Plantation had once stood. Now, police vehicles, news vans and unmarked cars clustered around the main gate where a uniformed police officer stood guard, waving through other cops, but keeping the public and press at bay.

Reed passed the WKAM rig and parked behind the crime scene van. As Nikki stared out the window she noticed Norm Metzger arriving in his Impala. Thankfully, he didn’t even glance her way as he joined the crowd at the gate. To Nikki the media frenzy was suddenly personal. And ugly. These people with their recorders and cameras were her peers, her contemporaries, and they were rabid for news, any kind of sensational news, regardless of the tragedy involved, not caring that Simone Everly had been a living, breathing, loving and charismatic individual. A person, not just a story.

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