Chapter 31
“Knox Quinlan?” Nikki repeated, remembering that he was part of the good ol’ boys club of the elders of All Christian Church.
“Mainly misdemeanors, but he’s definitely not a stand-up guy. Or at least he wasn’t,” Pierce told her.
“He do time?” Phone pressed to her ear, she watched as Quinlan climbed into his large pickup.
“Community service. Got into it with his neighbor. Flashed a gun. Neighbor said he was threatened. Quinlan got off easy, if you ask me.”
“When I saw Naomi with him last week, I didn’t know who he was.” She started down the path to the parking area. “I’ll talk to him.”
“No! Wait!” Pierce ordered, but she was already walking down the path, halfway to the lot.
“I’ll call you back.” She hung up and called over her shoulder to Phee. “Give me a few minutes” and, pointing to Chloe, added, “Watch her. Stay there.”
“Why?” Phee asked, stopping at the door near the goat pen and dropping her bag.
“Just do it.” Nikki said, then, meeting Gia’s curious gaze, pointed from Phee to Chloe and ordered, “Stay with them.” She didn’t expect any trouble from Knox, but if there was, she wanted to make sure the kids were out of it.
“But—” Phee started to complain, but Nikki had already reached the edge of the parking area just as she heard the big truck’s engine roar to life and saw its backup lights come on. “Hey!” she shouted, running to reach the driver’s side before he could leave. “Hey! Knox!”
He hit the brakes and rolled down his window. “What?” he asked, thick eyebrows knitting over intense, deep-set eyes. He was handsome, she thought, in that rugged cowboy way. Uncombed hair, three-day’s worth of beard shadow over a granite-like jaw.
A little reckless, a bit dangerous.
And staring at her.
Hard.
With no plan, she plunged right in. “I saw you here the other day, talking to Naomi Kittle, and you’re here now, so I was wondering if you were waiting for her.”
“Who are you?” he demanded, then the light dawned. “You’re that reporter who writes books. I’ve seen you being interviewed on TV. And you write for the Sentinel.”
“Right,” she agreed and noticed that behind the back seat was a rifle. Not unusual for men around here, but still, because of Pierce’s warning, she was wary. “Nikki Gillette,” she added.
“I have nothing to say to you.” Knox reached for the gearshift.
“You know that Naomi’s missing?”
He froze. “What?”
“I just heard that the police are looking for her.” Nikki wasn’t going to go into too many details, but she had to tell him enough to get him to talk. “I thought you might have an idea where she is.”
“Why would I?”
“Because you’re waiting for her, and you and she are—?”
“What?” he demanded and swatted at a horsefly that had flown through the open window.
“Close,” she guessed. “I know that you were engaged once.”
He muttered something under his breath. “Son of a …”
“So, if you’re close,” Nikki barreled on, “you might know where she went. Where she is.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“You were supposed to meet her here today?”
Knox hesitated, but his eyes held worry. “I got nothing to say to you.” He seemed about to leave again.
“I thought you could help find her.”
“Are you with the police?” he asked. “Or lookin’ for a story?”
“I just want to locate her. We’re friends,” she added, even though that was a bit of a stretch.
“She never mentioned you.” He was dismissing her, ready to leave.
“There’s a killer in Savannah,” Nikki said.
That caught his attention.
“You think that …” He glanced to the front of the truck, through the bug-spattered windshield.
“Oh, hell.” His voice trailed off, and his expression grew grim, and his eyes thinned suspiciously.
“Look, lady, I don’t know what your game is, and I don’t really give a rat’s ass, okay? But it has nothing to do with me!”
“I’m not with the police, but they’ll uncover whatever your relationship is.”
“We know each other, okay? That’s it. That’s all there is.
Leave it alone!” Before she could say anything else, Knox reversed out of the parking slot, jammed his truck into drive, and roared off.
She watched as the black truck sped down the long lane, sunlight bouncing brightly off the pickup’s chrome and glass.
He was somehow involved with Naomi Kittle, and he was part of the Friday night group Kyle had mentioned and had a rap sheet. Huh.
But as she watched the truck disappear, she couldn’t quite see Knox Quinlan having anything to do with Naomi’s disappearance. Maybe he was capable of petty crimes; however, homicide seemed far-fetched.
But then, you never knew, she thought, returning to the stables to collect Phee and Chloe. Murderers came in various shapes and sizes.
But still she was bothered. Her skin prickled.
As if someone were watching. She cast a glance to the thickets of pine, live oak, and mulberry, studying the shadows, telling herself that too many thoughts about serial killers were affecting her.
Returning to the stables to collect the girls, she attempted to push her fears aside.
Yet, as she strapped her daughter into her car seat, she sensed again that someone was watching.
Hiding in the umbra.
Stealthily observing.
Sweeping her gaze around the surrounding acres, she found no one silently staring, no one harboring malicious intent.
But she was unnerved.
Glancing back at Chloe—so innocent and trusting, so full of vim and vigor, laughter and chaos, shy charm and brash defiance—Nikki felt a fear worse than death to think that anything bad could happen to her child.
From the second Chloe had entered the world, she’d bored a spot deep inside her mother’s heart.
Castigating herself for her fears, Nikki started the engine and squinted as she drove past the edge of the forest. Was that movement?
No, a shadow.
Possibly a hunter.
Or a bird-watcher.
Nothing … evil.
Nevertheless, she hit the gas. It’s nothing, she told herself.
But she didn’t believe it for a second.
Her mind racing faster than the wheels on her rental car, she drove home, ignoring the pleas from both girls to stop for ice cream or some other treat again. “Not today.”
“Please,” Phee begged from the passenger seat. “I’m starving.”
“I’ll let your mom know.” But her mind was elsewhere. On Naomi Kittle. On Knox Quinlan. On the murders. On the shadowy figure she was certain she’d seen.
Phee rolled her eyes and pouted, while Chloe fell asleep just before they pulled into the drive.
“Perfect,” Nikki murmured cynically as she saw Chloe’s relaxed features in the rearview and the garage door rolled up.
She parked, still trying to convince herself she’d overreacted as Phee, still sulking, put away her gear.
“Good boys,” Nikki shushed the dogs, who had converged on her as she hauled “rag doll” Chloe into the house.
Lily was standing transfixed in front of the television, the remote in her hand. She turned at the commotion and asked, “Did you know about this?”
Nikki took in the screen where Vivian Johnson, the public information officer, was standing in front of the brick facade of the police station, flanked by several officers.
She was a tall, thin woman with even features, near-black eyes, a short Afro, and a no-nonsense demeanor.
She was staring straight into the camera and was wrapping up her official statement.
“If anyone has seen this woman or has any information about her, please call the department.” A phone number appeared on the screen below a recent picture of Naomi Kittle, a professional photograph of Naomi in the same dress she’d been wearing on the night of her daughter’s sweet-sixteen party.
It seemed the picture had been taken on that same April night just a few weeks earlier.
Lily looked at her sister. “Did you know about this?”
“Pierce called as I was leaving the academy,” she said, irritated that the story had somehow been leaked to the press before she’d even heard. “I need to get on this. Do you think you could watch the girls for a while?” Chloe stirred in her arms but didn’t wake.
“Sure. It’s Friday night and with my busy social schedule, I’ll try to fit it in.
” Lily didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm as she stared at the screen.
The image faded to two in-studio anchors at a wide desk.
They began discussing Naomi Kittle’s disappearance and then slid into the next story, the ongoing investigation into the homicides of Billy Huber, Mavis Greenlee, and Jeanne LaRoux, all their pictures flashing onto the screen.
She watched the TV, but there was no more information offered, just a warning for citizens to stay wary and report any suspicious activity to the police.
Lily said, “You know, the way the stories were reported, they were almost linked.”
“I got that.” The anchors hadn’t actually said it, but the hint was there, that Naomi could be the next victim.
Even worse, the anchors kept referring to the unknown killer as the Savannah Slasher.
The name had caught on. Someone in the television world, and probably the podcast and social-media worlds, had coined the phrase, and all of a sudden the murderer had a name.
Lily grimaced. “Does the killer actually slash the victims’ throats?”
Pierce had confided in Nikki that a knife was used in the homicides.
“I’m not sure,” she hedged, still sticking to her part of the deal with her husband, even though the wounds to the carotid artery and jugular veins seemed to have suddenly become common knowledge.
“That’s a really big leap.” Nikki dropped her purse on the kitchen table as she watched the report, which had turned the subject back to the connection between Naomi’s disappearance and the ongoing homicide investigations.
“She’s missing, and they’re already speculating … ” she muttered.
“Do you think—” Lily started.