Chapter 10
SAVANNAH
The hard brick red chair I’ve been sitting in for the last twenty minutes or so is starting to make my butt hurt.
The plain beige walls are making my eyes cross, but there’s nothing to look at in here.
Or even do for that matter. On top of that, I had to surrender my purse and warm coat to a prison guard.
“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Rio says to me for the millionth time. He’s not happy about what I’ve agreed to do for the FBI.
On the hour-long drive to Green Haven, Cassidy explained to me the wall they hit in the investigation. He said that they know for sure that the recent murders are from a John the Baptist copycat. The murders haven’t held to the same time frame as the originals.
The BAU believes that the copycat is a white man in his late thirties or early forties, he’s educated, and he’s obsessed with my father. They also said that they wouldn’t be surprised if the copycat has had some kind of contact with my father.
My father was fixated on religion and the Bible for as long as I can remember.
He had a quirk where he had to open and close a door seven times before he could exit a room.
He was very particular, and things had to be a certain way.
If my father were mentoring the copycat, he’d be furious with the deviation from the original time frame.
Cassidy said that they tried contacting my father, but he refused to talk to them. After their third attempt, he finally said that he wouldn’t talk to anyone but me.
I finally turn to Rio and respond. “I know.”
Cassidy and Huntley have been speaking with the warden in his office since we got here. And when Rio arrived, he tore into Huntley. I thought the last time was bad, but that encounter was nothing compared to today’s.
“It’s not too late to leave,” Rio reminds me again.
“I can do this.” My statement is more for me than for him.
Rio blows out a breath. “Okay. I’ll support whatever you want to do. You’re in control here. If at any point during your conversation you want it to end, it ends.”
I give him a wobbly smile. “Thank you.”
“We’re ready,” Huntley announces as he and Cassidy enter the waiting room.
Rio’s nostrils flare as he stands, shielding me from them. “You’re lucky she’s willing to do this. If my client is hurt in any way, my first call will be to SSA Marreli.”
Huntley rolls his eyes, and I jump between them, hoping to stop a fight before it starts. Cassidy intervenes at the same time, directing his words at Rio and me. “We’ll be listening the whole time. Rio, you can listen in too. If he threatens you, we’ll yank you out of there right away.”
I nod my head to let him know I understand. Rio seems to be satisfied with Cassidy’s explanation as well.
Huntley motions to a guard standing near one of the doors, and he guides me into another room with booths along a window that looks into another room. Each booth has a corded phone attached to its divider. On the other side of the window is a matching phone.
The visiting room is eerily quiet. Fluorescent bulbs are the only source of light in the space. The stillness makes me feel like the walls are going to cave in at any moment.
“So, John Barlett’s your dad, huh?” The guard questions me.
I finally get a good look at the prison guard.
His weathered face is adorned with fine lines and sharp features.
His light blue eyes have a natural intensity that puts me on edge.
He’s only a few inches taller than me, and he looks at me like I’m some exotic artifact in a museum.
His uniform is plain and utilitarian. His nametag reads Brad Gill.
Brad seems like the type of man who feels empowered because he’s allowed to carry a gun.
I take an imperceptible step to the side and answer him. “I guess you could say that.”
“What was it like growing up with him?”
His eager expression causes my pulse to roar in my throat. “It was—”
A deafening buzz cuts off my sentence, saving me from having to come up with a polite response.
Brad whips his head to the side, and I notice the way his hair is neatly styled and glistens in the light, as if he used too much gel to keep it flat.
The clink of metal on metal echoes on the other side of the large window, drawing my attention. I notice the sound of shoes sliding across the floor, as if the person won’t pick up their feet all the way as they walk.
It only takes a few moments before a man in a bright orange jumpsuit comes into view. His wrists and ankles are handcuffed together and connected by another chain. He’s guided forward to a booth, plops down in a seat, and scoots forward. His tired eyes light up when he spots me.
My feet are frozen in place. I can’t move, I can’t speak.
Brad places a hand on my back to lead me to the corresponding booth. My body seems to move on autopilot as I’m forced to sit on the round stool.
My father’s cheeks look hollow, like he’s malnourished. The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth make him look older than he is. His skin is lighter than the last time I saw him. I’m sure he doesn’t get much time outside. Despite looking like a ghost, his face is bright, and his smile is wide.
I look nothing like him. He always said I was the spitting image of my mother. The only thing he and I have in common is our eyes.
My father prompts me to pick up the handset next to me. As I do as he directs, he copies my movements.
He raises his hand to the glass like he wants to touch me. His voice comes through the speaker as clear as day. “My Daisy.”
The muscles in my back contract as I resist the urge to quiver, adrenaline flooding my system. I grip the handset tighter, turning my knuckles white. My fear is gone, and in its place is a snarling beast in my chest.
“John,” I reply curtly.
I don’t know why I’m pushing his buttons on purpose. I know he’ll hate it, but I don’t care. I want him to feel the anger I felt when I realized what he had done. I want him fuming so that I’m not alone in my rage, especially since he’s the reason it consumes my entire being.
A muscle in his jaw ticks, and a small part of me feels satisfied.
“How are you? I hear you’re working at a coffee shop in Midtown.” A wide smile replaces the fury he hides.
Sweat breaks out on the back of my neck. “How—How do you know that?”
“I have resources. The eyes of the watchful never sleep.” He leans forward, placing his elbows on the little counter in front of him. “Why did you stray from the path you’ve been called to journey? Davis was meant to be your field of harvest—your ministry.”
My brows furrow. I don’t like this back and forth between terror and indignation, but I shouldn’t have expected anything else. “You know exactly why I didn’t go, John,” I call him by his first name again, and it has its intended effect.
“Have you kept yourself clean?” He asks through gritted teeth.
My face goes blank as I try to numb myself to the memories that his question surfaces.
I don’t want to think about that. I don’t want to remember.
“That’s none of your business,” I snap back.
He smiles, showing all of his teeth. “Ah, you have, haven’t you? That’s my Daisy. Pure and innocent.”
“I’m not your anything.” Before he can reprimand me, I get down to business. “You wanted me here, so I’m here. What can you tell the FBI about the copycat?”
“I want to talk to you. Only you. Not the FBI, who I’m sure is listening in on this.” He raises his volume slightly at the end, speaking directly into the receiver.
“Then talk to me. Tell me about the copycat.” I push again. My extreme emotions dull when I switch the subject.
All I need to do is stay away from the past and what he put me through, and I should be okay.
“We’ll get to that—”
“No,” I interject. “We’ll talk about it now. I came here for answers. If you’re not going to give them to me, then I’m gone, and you’ll never see me again.”
His face turns a bright shade of red, and his hand slams down on the linoleum counter. “Mind your tongue, Daisy. Honor thy father.”
Of course, he conveniently leaves out the part about mothers.
I lean forward, my breath fogging the glass. “It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.”
We’ve never argued like this, but it feels good. A smug sort of gratification fills my chest as I spit my words at him.
My father swipes his tongue across his teeth as he squints at me. He lets out a huff and opens his mouth. “The man you’re looking for doesn’t care about who he kills. John the Baptist was a man on a mission. This guy is just a wannabe.”
Contemplating, I chew on my lip. “How would you know that?”
“I know becau—”
“Not another word!” A door behind me opens forcefully, hitting the wall.
A man in a nice suit and a leather messenger bag in his hand strolls in.
His onyx hair is parted on the side and styled, giving him a polished and clean look.
He has classically handsome features, but the look in his eyes is unsettling, leaving me with a disquieted feeling in my chest.
My father waves to the man, moving the phone away from his face as he shouts back, “What do you want, Jeremy? I’m counseling my daughter.”
Rio, followed by Agents Huntley and Cassidy, storms into the room behind the intruder.
The man my father called Jeremy whirls on them. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? This is entrapment. I’ll be filing a complaint with the Inspector General.”
Agent Huntley moves to get in Jeremy’s face, but Rio speaks up first, proving he really does know his stuff.
“Conversations between visitors and inmates are always recorded. Even if John Bartlett were to finally confess to murdering twenty-four women, it’s not like he can be tried again.
He was already found guilty in a court of law.
John is serving a triple life sentence nonconcurrently without the possibility of parole.
Get off your high horse, Jeremy Milton.”
“I can talk to my daughter if I want to,” my father argues from the other side of the glass, drawing my focus. No one else pays him any attention except the guard behind him and me.
“Using my client’s daughter to talk to him is coercion.
This is a disguised interrogation that undermines my client’s Sixth Amendment rights.
I demand to see the court order or warrant you procured that gives you permission to listen in on this conversation.
” Milton points a finger at Rio and the agents.
“Otherwise, anything you heard is the fruit of the poisonous tree.”
“Wait just a damn minute—” Cassidy starts.
Rio scoffs in Milton’s face, continuing his debate with Milton as if no one else is in the room.
“We don’t need one. This wasn’t a privileged conversation.
Miss Foster is not employed by law enforcement.
She is a private citizen having a personal conversation with her father.
There was no reason to notify you of her visit. ”
Milton shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. This is over. You need to leave.”
“Not a problem,” Rio retorts.
“We’re not going anywhere,” Huntley contradicts as I move to stand. He holds his hand up to me, stopping me. “We have questions, and your client will only talk to his daughter. We’re not leaving until we get the answers we came here for.”
Rio steps around Huntley to get to me. “Let’s go, Miss Foster. You did what they asked. It didn’t work in their favor. Your job is done here.” He gives me his hand, helping me to my feet, and guides me away with a hand on my back.
A crash resounds from behind me. “Get your filthy hands off my daughter! Don’t let him touch you, Savannah! Don’t be a Jezebel like the rest of them!”
Milton, Cassidy, and Huntley continue to contend over the legality of my visit as Rio and I walk by them.
When I peek over my shoulder, I find my father in a state I’ve never seen him in before. He kicks his stool back and pounds his fists on the glass as a guard struggles to detain the madman. I watch another guard rush in to help the first as Rio leads me away.
“The unclean cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven! Be ye pure, as He is pure!” My father fights the guards the whole time. He throws his body around, trying to get free.
Brad opens the door into the waiting room, just standing off to the side as chaos ensues around him. His pupils are dilated, and his cheeks are flushed.
When I no longer feel my father’s wild eyes on me, I deflate, my shoulders sagging.
“It’s over. You don’t have to do that again,” Rio reassures me.
Unable to use my words to communicate, I simply nod my head.
“Come on. I’ll give you a ride home.”
I nod again and follow Rio.
Rio’s just trying to help, but it’s wishful thinking.
I know I will have to talk to my father again. There’s no avoiding it.
He knows something. I can feel it.