“Do you? Oh, for the love of God, you’d last ten minutes with that son of a bitch. He’s a druggie. He threw us out, remember? All of us. He doesn’t love you, Joey.” Her stern face softened as she reached out to touch her youngest son’s face. The boy jerked away. “Stephen Legittel doesn’t understand love. He only knows hate.”
“And what does LeRoy know?” Becky said. “He’s sick, Mom. A perv.”
“He takes care of us.”
Becky snorted and squashed her cigarette in a pot where petunias were busy dying. “He sure does.” She looked at Reed. “Don’t come back here again. It’s a waste of your time.” She pointed to her mother with her chin. “She’s not gonna listen.”
“That’s right,” Marlin agreed, scowling down at the floorboards, his dirty hands clenched into fists. He’d been suffering from guilt, Reed had assumed, the eldest boy unable to save his mother from the monster she’d tied herself to.
“No! He can’t leave!” Joey turned big eyes on Reed. “You can get rid of him. You can send him away.”
“If your mother presses charges.”
Spinning so fast he nearly stumbled, Joey glared at the woman who had brought him into this hell of a world. “You have to do it. You have to.”
“Joey, please.”
“He’s gonna kill us, Mom. He’s gonna kill all of us!”
“Then just run away, you little chicken,” Becky muttered.
Reed said, “Ms. Legittel, this has to be stopped. I can help.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a card. “Call me.”
“Don’t leave,” Joey pleaded.
“I could call child services.”
“Like hell, Detective. You won’t take my children away from me. Joey, hush!” She placed a protective arm around her son. “My kids are all I have, Detective Reed. Please don’t try to take them from me.”
“I just want to protect you. And them.”
“You can’t,” she whispered, a tear tracking from her bad eye. “No one can. Come on in, kids.” She’d shepherded them into the house and Reed had felt bleak inside.
“I’ll be back.”
“Don’t bother.” The torn screen door slapped shut and the dog started barking loudly. Reed stood on the steps and felt impotent. The door behind the screen shut with a slam and he noticed his card was still on the floorboards of the porch. Carefully, he tucked it into the windowsill and noticed the slats on the blinds move. Someone from the inside was watching him. Good. Something had to be done, or Joey’s prophecy might come true, he’d thought at the time, not understanding completely the depths of depravity Chevalier had wallowed in. Only at the trial had he learned how he’d abused the children and their mother, molested them and made them touch each other for his own vile entertainment.
LeRoy Chevalier should never have gotten out of prison. Never.
Now, as he stood in the tent, waiting for the coffin to be removed from the grave and opened, he realized why the killer was contacting him. He’d collared Chevalier and been a part of the trial.
Judge Ronald Gillette had presided. And Nikki was Big Ron’s daughter as well as a reporter for the Sentinel during the trial. The pieces were beginning to fall together. There was some logic in all this chaos.
LeRoy Chevalier had to be the killer. Had to be. He could almost convince himself and decided his reservations were clearly because he was a skeptic by nature, never believed anything until he saw it with his own two eyes.
Theories were just that—all conjecture.
Hard evidence, that was what counted.
Reed edged to the tent’s doorway. He looked at the area beyond the gate, to the parking lot half filled with cars parked haphazardly beneath huge live oaks. He noted that Nikki was still inside his car. Seeing her huddled there, looking small and frail, he felt a pang of empathy that went bone deep. Guilt was eating at her, torturing her, and as strong as she was, Nicole Gillette might not survive the horrendous death of her friend. She felt far too responsible.
No telling what she’d do. He saw the car door fly open and then she was hidden from view as she leaned over. No doubt losing her breakfast. He waited and she eventually sat up again and wiped a sleeve over her mouth. He wasn’t able to define her features through the foggy glass, just her small silhouette.
He’d always considered her a pain in the butt. A privileged brat with brass balls to accompany her brains, a pushy reporter who got under his skin and a person to avoid. Now, he didn’t want to think too closely about his conflicted feelings for her. Nor did he have the time.
He only hoped she’d brace herself and, despite all of his previous grumblings about her, mentally crossed his fingers that she was as strong and tough as he’d once thought. He stepped back into the tent and stood near one of the plastic walls.
Show time.