Page 131 of The Morning After (Savannah 2)

The coffin was being hoisted out of the grave and into the tent. Diane Moses barked orders, kept a log, and made sure that nothing was damaged, no evidence lost, destroyed, or tampered with as the exterior of the casket was photographed and examined for tool marks, fingerprints or scrapes.

Reed waited, his stomach in knots as the coffin lid was raised. The stench of death rolled out of the tomb and caught on an easterly wind.

“Shit,” Morrisette said, turning away from the two bodies.

Cliff Siebert took a long look, then dragged his eyes away. “Son of a bitch.”

“You know this woman?” Diane asked.

“Simone Everly.” Reed turned his back on the open casket, unable to gawk at the bruised, naked body and unblinking eyes of Nikki’s friend. Her hair was matted and wild, caught in the remnants of flesh beneath, and her skin where it wasn’t contused was the pale gray shade of death. Once beautiful features were marred and broken where she’d banged her head on the lid and her fingers, as Bobbi’s had been, were covered in blood, the skin rubbed off, bare flesh exposed. “She went missing yesterday.”

“There’s something in here…a microphone and some kind of note.” One of the officers of the crime scene waited until the photographer had done his job, then carefully pried an envelope from the side of the coffin where it had been taped near Simone’s head.

“Don’t mess with the tape,” Diane warned sharply. “It could have fingerprints.”

If the guy’s stupid or careless, Reed thought, but didn’t say it. He didn’t have to. Morrisette stepped up to the plate.

“I doubt that Chevalier would make that kind of mistake.”

“Anyone can get distracted and slip up.”

The investigator removed the envelope and Reed’s name was written in block letters.

“This guy’s got a hard-on for you,” Morrisette muttered. Reed donned gloves, extracted the single sheet of paper and read:

FOUR ALREADY GONE,

TOO MANY MORE STILL ALIVE.

NO LONGER TWELVE,

NOW TEN AND TWO AND FIVE.

“What the hell does that mean? Four already gone?” Morrisette growled, motioning toward the open casket. “What four? I count six.”

“He’s talking about a total number of victims. Seventeen.

Look at the last line. Ten, two and five. Seventeen.” Reed’s mind was spinning ahead as he read the note again and again, comparing it to the others that had been received.

He thought hard. Why up the tally? Were they barking up the wrong tree? This had to be Chevalier’s work. All of the victims had been jurors…so far. What if he’d expanded his list. But who…or why?

“I don’t get it,” Morrisette grumbled.

“Some of the people died of natural causes, right? Maybe that’s what he’s talking about. He’s going to kill twelve, but four were already dead.”

“Three, Reed.” She held up three fingers and dropped them one at a time as she said, “Brown, Alexander, and Massey.”

“There could be someone else we haven’t found yet.”

“We checked. We’re all out of dead jurors. Everyone’s alive and accounted for. Kinda blows your whole jury panel theory then, doesn’t it? Unless the freak is so hung up on the number twelve, why not just kill the remaining jurors who were alive? Why isn’t the number nine? Seventeen? Crap! This doesn’t make any sense.”

“He’s giving us a clue,” Reed insisted.

“Or just messing with us!” Morrisette said irritably as wind lashed at the flaps of the tent.

“No…I don’t think he would bother. The words on the note add up to seventeen. That’s the number he’s working with now.”

“Well, since you seem to think you know how this perv’s thought processes work, you’d better figure out what he’s talkin’ about, and fast.”

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