Dead by Midnight - Beverly Barton [169]
Tyler glared at Ransom, pure hatred in his blue eyes. “Aren’t you happy that they’re all dead? You hated them, every last one of them, but you hated her the most, didn’t you? Candy Ruff. How many times did I hear you say you wished she were dead? If you hadn’t tried to play the hero tonight, she’d be dead. Dead before midnight.”
Tyler’s sinister smile unnerved Ransom. Had he created this monster, this sick, angry, dangerous monster?
As the agents dragged Tyler out of the room and down the hall, he kept talking. “He used to sit there in front of the TV screen playing that movie over and over again. Watch it, he’d say. See what evil truly is. That’s your mother up there screwing those men. She enjoys it, damn her. Hell, she loves it. That’s what he’d say.”
Long after the agents escorted Tyler out of Green Willows, Ransom stood alone in room 107, his son’s accusatory voice echoing inside his head. Choking on his unshed tears, he gasped for air and finally gave in to his emotions. He wept quietly, his shoulders shaking and his hands trembling.
“Mr. Ransom?”
He cleared his throat, wiped his face with his fingertips, and turned to face Lila Newton.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked.
“Would you take me to Terri?”
“Yes, sir, of course I will.”
Lila led him from the west wing to the east wing of the center. As they approached room 118, he noticed that a nurse’s aide sat in a chair outside the closed door. Lila spoke to her as she opened the door and then went with Ransom into the semidark room, the only illumination coming from the night-light in the bathroom. He slowly walked over to the edge of the bed and only then did he see that Terri was wide awake and staring at him.
“Tu. Tu?” she asked, her voice quavering.
Ransom took her small, slender right hand in his and held it tenderly. “The FBI took him away. They didn’t hurt him. Tomorrow, I’ll hire him a lawyer. I’ll call my old fraternity brother, Robert Barlow. He’ll take Tyler’s case. I’m sure of it.”
Terri squeezed his hand.
“Robert can use an insanity plea,” Ransom told her. “Tyler’s sick. He’s very, very sick.”
Terri squeezed his hand again and slowly closed her eyes. Ransom reached down and wiped the tears from her cheeks.
Mike’s cell phone rang at 1:15 A.M. Although he kept the volume on low at night, the distinct ring woke him immediately. He flopped over in bed, flung his arm out toward the nightstand, and grappled across his wallet, keys, and holstered S&W semiautomatic before finding his phone. He grabbed it, pressed the Unlock button, and stared bleary-eyed at the caller’s name and number.
Hicks Wainwright.
Mike shot straight up in bed and tossed back the covers. He took the call as he rose to his feet. “Mike Birkett here. What’s going on?”
“Mike, it’s Hicks Wainwright. We got him.”
“What!”
“The Midnight Killer. We arrested him tonight, just a few hours ago. And we have a full confession.”
“How? Who? My God!”
“Tyler Owens, Terri Owens’s son,” Hicks said. “For some reason, he confessed to his mother, and despite not being able to speak coherently since her stroke, she managed to make her ex-husband understand what she was trying to say. We set a trap, waited for Owens to try to kill his mother, which he did, and took him into custody. He’s been singing like a bird ever since.”
“I can’t believe it’s over,” Mike said. “You’re sure. A hundred percent sure.”
“As sure as we can be at this point,” Wainwright told him. “But my gut tells me that there’s not much doubt he’s our guy.”
“Thanks for letting me know so quickly.”
“I thought Ms. Hammonds should be one of the first to know. She and Terri Owens are the only two survivors. All the other actors from Midnight Masquerade are dead.”
“I’m sure she’ll have some questions.”
“Maybe I’ll be able to answer them in a few days.”
As soon as Mike said good-bye and placed his phone on the nightstand, he grabbed his jeans off the nearby chair where he’d hung them earlier, put them on, and ran up the hall to Lorie’s room. Per his instructions, she had left her door open.