“Yes.”

“Pack it up and find a place to live. There’s money in the bottom of the black suitcase. That will do you for a while. There’s also a key. Hang onto it. It’ll take care of us when I get out. In the meantime, you know how to get money. Don’t worry, Sonny.”

She had taught him how to pick pockets, shoplift, and extort money, but she had always been there to distract the mark. And because they had moved around so much, he had no friends, and whatever real family he might have had was long gone. Now he would have to survive by himself. He was alone.

Bonnie was not out soon. Despite her pleas of innocence, she was sent away for seven years. He cried the day she left for prison, and for weeks he barely got by, living on the streets. And then a local minister took him in, fed him, and gave him a warm place to sleep. It was about that time that he was going through the black suitcase again, looking for more money. When he found the key hidden in a side pocket, he threaded it through a chain and wore it around his neck for years.

There were GED classes at the center and people who encouraged him to figure out what he wanted. He had no more excuses not to live a clean life. A job as a roadie with a band followed. He took the key, found the duffel full of money, and used it to build up a pretty damn good life.

He walked toward his bedroom, passing the rows of pictures taken of him on the road. More places than he could remember, but all damn good times.

He carefully pushed open his bedroom door and turned on the light. His gaze swept the room, which at first glance looked intact. He almost thought he had imagined the home invasion stuff when he saw the closet door ajar.

Sonny was a creature of habit and always closed the closet door. His heart beat faster as he moved toward the door and opened it wide. Dropping to his knees in front of the pair of boots, he knew in his gut what he would discover. Bonnie had come back, and she had remembered his habit of stashing cash.

He shook out the pair of black Tecovas boots, and when nothing came out, he shoved his hand into the boot and fished around with his fingers. It was empty.

“You stupid, stupid moron.”

Heat rushed to his face as blood rose in his cheeks. He had been a fool even to answer the door.

Once Bonnie set her sights on someone, they could resign themselves to being screwed every way to Sunday.

He slammed the boot down. It was not the cash that really bothered him but the credit cards. None were his, and they could be traced back to his lady friends.

He ran his hands along the wall and felt for the pickle jar hidden under a blanket. His fingers skimmed over dusty plywood flooring, finding no blanket or jar.

“Shit!”

His heart galloping, he reached for his cell and turned on the flashlight app and searched the darkness. No jar. The space was empty.

“Bonnie,” he hissed.

She had taken his jar of memories, knowing she could use it against him. With the jar, she could easily shatter the life he had built.

He glanced at his phone and double-checked his incoming calls. There was no number that he did not recognize.

He rose and walked to the window and discovered it was unlocked. There were scratch marks along the metal frame. Bonnie had pried it open, climbed in and out with his treasures.

It was Tuesday afternoon. The cops had not come knocking on his door, which meant Bonnie had not gone to the police. Yet. She also had not contacted him, which was not like her. Patience was not one of her virtues.

Whatever game she was playing, she had underestimated him this time. He was no longer a naive young boy desperately seeking her approval. Bonnie did not have a clue who she was fucking with.

He went to the trash in the kitchen and fished out the number she had scribbled on the piece of paper. He typed in the cell number and was ready to hit send when he paused.

There was no tracing the jar back to him. It was her word against his that she had stolen it from his house, and he was always careful to wipe his prints clean from the jar each time he handled it.

Bonnie was running low on money. Otherwise she would not have broken in and taken his cash. And if she used any of the credit cards in the stolen stack, she would bring the cops down on her, not him.

He fished a Ziploc bag from his pocket and opened it. He removed the bloodied wad of paper towels and carefully folded back the layers. Nestled inside was the severed finger. Gently he stroked the cool pale skin. It would not be smart to save this one. If Bonnie talked, the cops would come knocking and they would tear his place apart.

But he could not bear to part with his girlfriend’s gift. He had to find a better hiding place, and if Bonnie came at him again, he would add her finger to his collection.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Wednesday, August 26, 11:30 a.m.

Melina called Matt for an update on the white van, but the forensic team was still taking it apart. Another call to Jackson told her Bonnie Guthrie remained in the wind.

She drove to the Mission and parked. It did not take long to find some of the regular girls roaming the streets looking for a john. She crossed the street to where two women stood. They were older, late twenties, and both wore very short skirts and halter tops that barely contained their breasts. Both wore wigs and high heels that made her own feet hurt just looking at them.

“Morning, ladies,” she said. “I’m Melina.”

The taller of the two women eyed her carefully. “You’re that cop.”

“That’s right. I’m friends with Sarah.”

“Just about got your ass dragged in a van, I hear,” the woman said.

“Correct. Speaking of the van, anyone seen any odd men lurking around?”

Both laughed. The shorter of the two lit a cigarette. “They’re all weird, honey.”

“Point taken,” Melina said. “Anyone hear from Delia or Joy? They turn up?”

The women looked at each other and then shook their heads. “We haven’t seen them,” the tall woman said.

Melina handed each her card. “If they turn up, call me, okay?”

“Should we be looking for the van?” the short woman asked.

“No. The cops have impounded it. But the driver is still on the loose. So be careful, okay?”

Melina spoke to several other women, but the story was consistent. No one had seen Delia, Joy, or the Key Killer.

“Where the hell are you?” she muttered. She started her car and drove toward the hospital, grabbing a couple of Happy Meals on the way. Her phone rang as she pulled into the parking lot.

“Agent Shepard.”

“This is Agent Ramsey. Nashville police arrested Bonnie Guthrie in an eastside motel. The credit card she was using was reported stolen last week.”

Her heart kicked into high gear. “Have you interviewed her yet?” Melina asked.

“No. Thought we could both share that pleasure.”

“She’s at the Metro-Davidson detention center?”

“That’s right.”

“I can be there in thirty minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

She quickly pulled onto the road toward the detention center. It was a quarter after twelve, which put her ahead of any afternoon commuter tangle of cars filling the roads. She merged onto Interstate 24 and headed south. She ate both meals as she drove and saved the toys for Elena.

Melina pulled into the fenced parking lot of the brick facility and parked. She grabbed her bag and was out of the car, looping her identification around her neck. She found Ramsey standing in the lobby, phone in hand and reading.

“Agent Melina Shepard,” she said to the guard on duty.

The sound of her voice had Ramsey raising his gaze as the guard waved her through.

Without a word, the two passed through another set of doors, checked their weapons in lockers, and then made their way to an interview room.

“You said she was picked up in a motel?” Melina asked.

“A dive next to a bar called Max’s. The clerk said she stumbled in about midnight and wanted a room. He asked for a credit card and she produced an American Express Gold Card.”

“How did she pay for the drinks at the bar?”

“Officers spoke to the bartender at Max’s. Her card worked there.”

“Was it the Gold Card?”

“No.”

“She was too buzzed when she showed up at the motel to use the card that worked,” Melina said.

“When Bonnie’s card was declined, she handed the clerk another. It was declined. When the third came back stolen, she got an attitude. That’s when he called the cops.”

“So, three’s the charm with this clerk,” she said.

He smiled. “She put up quite a fuss. Took two officers to get her cuffed. When they searched her purse, they found a stack of credit cards an inch thick and bound together. Nashville PD is checking the cards right now to see when they were stolen.”

“With her record, she’s looking at more prison time.”