Dark Silence (Charli Cross Mystery Series Book 5) Read online

  DARK SILENCE

  CHARLI CROSS SERIES: BOOK FIVE

  MARY STONE

  DONNA BERDEL

  Copyright © 2022 by Mary Stone

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  CONTENTS

  Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Charli Cross Series

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  DESCRIPTION

  Silence is the most terrifying scream...

  When the beloved minister of a small inner-city church is killed in a drive-by shooting while delivering sandwiches to the homeless, Savannah Homicide Detective Charli Cross is on the case. Who would want to kill a man who does so much good? And why?

  More importantly...was the pastor targeted or chosen at random?

  While Charli and her partner, Detective Matthew Church, attempt to answer those questions, another shooting occurs...and then another. Soon, the town is terrified, and rightfully so. With each death, nothing will calm its citizens except catching the so-called "Savannah sniper" before he strikes again.

  But how? With no links to connect the victims and no leads except for some grainy video footage and vague witness reports, they have no idea who his next victim will be, or when.

  As the body count rises, Charli knows one thing for certain. There’s nothing more dangerous than a killer with nothing to lose.

  Suspenseful and unpredictable, Dark Silence is the fifth book in the Charli Cross Series from bestselling author Mary Stone and Donna Berdel. Think words are powerful? You might want to think again.

  1

  Victor Layne watched the night sky begin to lighten as the wheels of his bicycle spun against the pavement. Sunrise was only a few minutes away, and if he didn’t hurry, he would miss it peeking over the Wilmington River.

  Breathing in the cool air, Victor smiled. Now that it was officially autumn, the ambient air outside was getting a bit cooler, and it took longer for the sun to push away the chill from the previous night. Not that a low of sixty was cool—this was Savannah, Georgia after all—but it sure was a contrast to the mid-eighties they still experienced during the day.

  Nothing could hinder Victor from his morning routine, though, and even when fall turned into winter, he bundled up and stuck to his route. There were people who depended on him.

  In his younger years, he never missed a morning jog, not even on the coldest days. Back then, Victor had relished the feeling of the chilly air searing his lungs with every breath. There was nothing quite like communing with the great outdoors at the start of every day.

  Now in his mid-sixties, Victor had a hard time walking long distances with his bad knees, let alone running. When his joints had begun to wear out, he traded his daily jogs for bike rides. Since the doctor recommended—even insisted—that he continue to exercise every day, just at an easier pace, these daily jaunts kept his heart healthy.

  Victor hadn’t just obliged his physician’s advice, he was glad for it. Riding his bike let him cover even more ground, allowing him to deliver his wife’s daily basket of sandwiches to the homeless and needy while still getting his exercise. He would start in his neighborhood and venture out to some rougher areas, ending his route at the river to watch the sun rise and pray before pedaling back home.

  Stopping at a familiar alley, Victor climbed off his bike and grabbed the last bag from the basket. This one was marked with a D, and he’d been saving it for this last—and favorite—visit.

  “Henry?” Victor peered into the darkness of the alley and got a little ruff in return. Cans and other debris rattled before a skinny man with long silver-streaked hair lumbered into the light, a dog at his side.

  “Mornin’, Pastor Layne.” Henry still wore the tattered camouflage jacket he’d been given before being sent to Afghanistan twenty years ago. Beside him, the lab mix wagged his tail furiously.

  Though his knees popped and groaned, Victor knelt to pet the animal and got a sloppy lick up his cheek in return. “Hungry, Freedom?”

  He loved the dog’s name. Victor just wished the mind of the canine’s owner would be free from the trauma that had haunted him for so long. During one of Victor’s visits with Henry, the vet told him he only felt safe behind a dumpster “that no bullet could go through.”

  It was so very, very sad.

  To make things worse, Animal Control had attempted to take Freedom away from Henry several times, stating that the emotionally disturbed vet couldn’t possibly care for the dog while on the streets. To them, euthanasia was a better option. They didn’t stop hounding Henry until Victor stepped in, promising to deliver the pair a daily meal.

  It was just one of the reasons Victor refused to miss a single day.

  Pulling a plastic bag filled with two cups of kibble and a large can of wet dog food from the paper bag, Victor smiled as the dog’s tongue lolled out, a huge grin spreading across his furry face.

  “Something for you.” Victor handed the remaining contents to Henry. “And something for you.” Digging into his pocket, Victor pulled a dog biscuit out. “And a little treat too.”

  Freedom practically vibrated at the sight, but he was much too well mannered to jump for the bone. He was a good dog, cared for by a good man the world had turned its back on.

  Henry lifted a plastic bowl Victor had bought for the dog about a year ago. “Thank ya kindly, Pastor Layne. Tell the preacher ‘thank you’, Free.”

  As though he was in front of a king, Freedom lowered his head in a regal bow. It always made Victor smile and lower his torso in return. “You are very welcome, Master Freedom.”

  Victor emptied the contents into the bowl Henry held, placing the treat on top like a cherry on a bowl of ice cream. With another heartfelt “thank you,” the pair retreated back into the shadows to enjoy their meal.

  Still smiling, Victor climbed on his bike and pedaled away. The smile faded, though, as he was forced to navigate around a few bags of trash. The area was getting worse. Just like Victor’s own neighborhood.

  As much as he tried to help, his community was in steady decline. When he’d bought his home decades ago, it had been a wonderful area for families. Over the years, Victor had witnessed many of the children on his street grow up, walking to and from school each day and playing outside every evening until their mothers called them to come inside and eat dinner. Those children had long since transitioned into adults and now had families of their own, most of whom had moved away.

  Be careful.

  Tiny h
airs stood on the back of Victor’s neck as the words whispered through his brain. Where they had come from wasn’t a question that sprang to Victor’s mind…he knew they were from God and trusted the caution.

  But caution from what?

  He glanced around, seeing nothing.

  Although Victor’s own neighborhood was going downhill and his bike route was in an even rougher part of Savannah, he wasn’t afraid. Not usually. Everyone in the area knew him, and he believed everyone was a child of God, regardless of their circumstance.

  Truth be told, though, Victor also knew he was no longer a spry young man. His age was a blanket of vulnerability that he had to wrap himself in at all times, but one thing was certain. He would continue to stay as healthy as possible for as long as he could.

  His daily bike route was part of what kept Victor strong, both physically and mentally. Just being outdoors provided inspiration as he brainstormed for his weekly sermons. He had been a minister for nearly forty years. After getting his Master of Divinity at the Candler School of Theology, he took a position at a small congregation in Savannah.

  From that very first day at Cornerstone Presbyterian, Victor had known he wanted to spend his life working at this church. And oh, what a first day it was. Moving to the sidewalk on the left side of the street, he pedaled a bit harder, ensuring he didn’t slack off on his pace as his mind wandered. The memories of that first Sunday with his new congregation were so vivid in his mind, it could have been yesterday.

  Over the years, he’d met other ministers who were so driven by their egos that they craved the power the ministry provided them. They were always looking to work in more prestigious churches, to minister to more people.

  But that was never what Victor wanted. His only desire was to help a local community, as he believed with certainty that one minister was doing far more important work when he could connect with every member of his church. And he had done exactly that.

  Pastor Layne—as many of his congregation called him—knew every face, was aware of every challenge they endured. From addiction to marital issues to the loss of a loved one, Victor walked through life side by side with each member.

  Although he loved the members of his church—the younger ones like they were his own children—Victor had never had kids of his own. Truth be told, he had once entertained the idea that he might meet a good Christian woman and raise a family. But Victor followed God’s calling for him in every step of his life, and God never called him to have children, even after meeting his beautiful wife. At times, he longed to be surrounded by blonde-haired, blue-eyed children—he was certain his offspring would favor his wife—but for the most part, he was content to serve where God had called him.

  “My congregation is the only child I need.”

  As his mind wandered back to the people who would be watching him from their wooden benches, Victor slowed his pedaling and went over his Sunday sermon in his head. His knees may have given out over the years, but his mind never did. Still sharp as a whip, he was able to memorize an entire sermon without ever needing to write it down.

  Perhaps that came from many years of working as a minister. When someone did something week by week, they were bound to become skilled at it. And Victor was certainly skilled at crafting his sermons without taking notes.

  “As God’s love for us persists, so shall the love we feel for our neighbors.” The words flowed from his lips as he pedaled toward the river. The water was in sight now. “And who are our neighbors? Everyone we come in contact with. Not just those in our social circles, but the downtrodden, those who have not been fortunate to experience the blessings we have in our lives.” Victor nodded to himself, pleased with what he would preach this coming Sunday.

  The sermon was just as much for Victor as it was for his congregation. Although he encountered homeless people daily, he reminded himself often that they were equally as important to God as anyone else. After all, God didn’t pass judgment on these people, and neither should he.

  Be careful.

  For the second time that morning, tiny hairs stood to attention. This time, though he glanced around and didn’t spot an immediate threat, he had the unmistakable feeling that he was being watched. Forcing himself to be discreet, he glanced more fully over his right shoulder.

  It was only a car.

  Whew.

  Sweet relief swept through him, and he expelled the breath growing stale inside his lungs. Why had he gotten so nervous? He delivered food to the homeless every day, and he’d never been afraid to bike through the area.

  With a hearty chuckle, Victor mentally chided himself for being so on edge. Hadn’t he just been reviewing his sermon about loving his neighbors? Speaking of which…

  He scolded himself for not being more attentive to the newcomers in his own neighborhood in recent years. As soon as he got home, he would ask his wife to bake a pie for a couple across the street who had just moved into the house a few weeks prior. They would invite the young family over for coffee and dessert.

  Maybe that was why he was feeling so on edge. He was being cautioned by God to not forget the neighbors close to him while he cared for those farther away.

  Yes. That must be it.

  A smile played across Victor’s lips as he drew nearer to the river. He began to slow his pace as the soft glow of twilight surrounded him. Once he reached the water, he’d get off his bike and sit on a bench to watch the sun rise and pray.

  Should I ask Lydia to make an apple pie or a blueberry one? Or maybe blackberry cobbler and homemade vanilla ice cream?

  A cough brought Victor back to reality, and he glanced over his shoulder again. The car was closer now, but not close enough for him to make out the driver.

  Why was it going so slow?

  Was the driver following him?

  He shook his head and continued to pedal down the empty sidewalk, forcing himself to think logically. I’m being ridiculous. They’re probably just enjoying a quiet morning drive in the area as they head to work. Victor began to recite his sermon out loud again, forcing himself to dispel any fear attempting to creep into his mind.

  It worked for a moment. When his attention waned, Victor reminded himself of his congregation and his devotion to the Lord’s work, tapping into his sense of inner peace.

  The car’s engine grew louder, and the hair on Victor’s neck rose again. A quick glance over his shoulder told him what he already knew. The car was closer now. His body may be slowing down these days, but his hearing was still dead on.

  Don’t panic. It’s just a fellow human being, one who needs the love of God just like everyone else.

  He chanced another glance at the silvery gray car, but couldn’t see past the glare of the streetlights reflecting off the front window.

  Determined to calm his racing heart, Victor willed himself to take slow, steady breaths and started to recite one of his favorite chapters from the Bible as he pedaled harder. “The Lord is my shepherd…”

  He let out a shaky breath, the scripture that was usually like a soothing balm failing to calm his trembling nerves. “I shall not want.”

  In that moment, Victor swore he could hear the voice of God Himself in his ear, except God wasn’t leading him beside still waters. Instead, the voice seemed to say, “Pedal faster, Victor! Pedal as fast as you can, and don’t look back!”

  As if he’d been jolted by a prod, Victor didn’t have to be told twice to listen to the booming voice of God. Arthritis or not, he was getting out of dodge. His black sweats slid up his legs as he pedaled as hard and as fast as he could. Victor took in deep, heaving breaths as his bad knees protested. It had been a long time since he’d forced himself to pedal this hard, and his calves burned in protest.

  The car was beside him now.

  He didn’t dare glance over and make eye contact with the driver, though not making eye contact was hardly going to be enough to keep him safe. If the man had wanted anything mundane, like to ask for directions, he would have a
sked already. There was something menacing about this person’s intentions, and God was telling Victor as much.

  After decades in the church, Victor knew how to hear His word. And He made it clear that Victor was in imminent danger.

  Why?

  Victor had no money on him. Even all his sandwiches were gone. The bike he rode had been used when he purchased it and couldn’t be worth more than fifty dollars.

  It’s not money they want.

  A chill ran down his spine at the thought. As Victor struggled to keep a steady pace, his sweet wife rushed through his mind. He had to get home to her. She’d been baking a pound cake in preparation for her sister’s visit and had promised Victor a slice when he returned. Victor had to taste that cake. He had to see the face of his wife once again. But a nauseating turn in his stomach told him a simple truth…he might not.

  When he was just yards away from the banks of the river, his mind scurried for a plan. He might be able to force his bike off the sidewalk and down to the river’s edge.

  And break your neck in the process?

  Maybe he could just hide behind some nearby bushes, and the guy would leave. There were normally quite a few people walking or jogging by the river each morning. The driver would have to exit his vehicle and search to find him and wouldn’t want to be seen. Most petty criminals wouldn’t be bothered to go that far for a robbery, right? Why would someone be following Victor if not to rob him?