Page 37 of The Morning After (Savannah 2)

Now!

In one silent movement, he hurled the cat over the fence.

The tabby screeched.

“Maximus? What the devil?” she asked and hurried down the steps…onto the brick path…her slippers rustling as she made her way to the gate.

He reached into his pocket. Gloved fingers found the waiting syringe.

“Come here, boy. Kitty, kitty, are you hurt?” She was fumbling with the latch when he leapt from the shadows. She started to scream.

With one hand, he covered her mouth.

She struggled, surprisingly strong for an old bony thing. “Time to meet God, Roberta,” he whispered roughly against her ear and she struggled more fiercely, her body writhing wildly. But she was no match for him.

With his free hand, he plunged his deadly needle into her scrawny arm, through the silky fabric of her dressing gown. She fought, twisting her neck backward and staring into his face. There was a moment of recognition, of astonishment and anguish as she bit into the glove. Hard. Teeth piercing the leather.

Pain shot through his palm. “Bitch!” he snarled.

Her last-ditch effort to save herself was too late.

The damage was done.

Her eyes rolled back in her head. Her jaw slackened. Her body sagged.

He threw her over his shoulder as the cat, hissing, darted through the shadows to stare at him with angry malevolent eyes. His only witness. And an unwitting partner. The stupid creature didn’t realize he’d never see his mistress alive again.

No one would.

CHAPTER 7

“You’re calling the guy ‘the Grave Robber?’” Tom Fink asked as he adjusted his reading glasses and studied the final draft of Nikki’s article on the crime scene in Lumpkin County. It was late at night, the morning edition was about to be put to bed, and Nikki shifted from one foot to the other in front of Fink’s desk. He stood on the other side. Her article was faceup between them.

“Right. It’s got a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” Nikki was jazzed to think that finally she would see her byline on the front page. She imagined the story in print. Bold headlines would declare: “Grave Robber Strikes, Baffles Police.”

If Fink went for it.

“Your sources are impeccable?” He raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Of course.”

“Don’t bullshit me. You’ve talked to Reed?” Fink pointed to the detective’s name in the second paragraph.

“I’ve tried. He’s not too cooperative. But I have a source close to the investigation—”

“Who?” he demanded.

“Uh-uh. I don’t reveal my sources. Not even to you.”

“You’re willing to take the stand to that effect.”

“If I have to. But I won’t. I spoke to both victims’ husbands to corroborate.”

“Wait a minute,” he clarified. “One victim. The old lady, Pauline Alexander, died of natural causes.”

She really had Fink’s attention now. Good. “So it appears. But no one’s certain.”

“Curiouser and curiouser?” he asked.

---