The Dying Game. Beverly Barton

      Dr. Clark met them at the entrance to Gale Ann Cain’s cubicle and motioned them to step back a few feet. Once he had them alone, he glanced from one to the other.

      “Ms. Cain remains in critical condition,” the doctor said. “Her chances of survival are not good. She’s trying to talk, trying to tell her sister something, and has indicated she wants to speak. We’ve explained to her that we cannot take her off the ventilator at this point. She’s highly agitated and if she doesn’t calm down soon, we’ll have no choice but to restrain her and sedate her. Her sister, Ms. Hughes, asked that you two be allowed to see Ms. Cain, while she’s conscious. She hopes one of you might be able to help her decipher her sister’s sign language.”

      “Sign language?” Griff asked.

      “Since Ms. Cain can’t speak, she’s using her hands and facial expressions to try to convey a message of some sort.”

      “How long will it be before you can take her off the ventilator?” Nic asked.

      Dr. Clark shook his head. “It’s too soon to say. Maybe days or weeks. Maybe never.”

      “Are you saying—?”

      “She has a living will,” Dr. Clark said. “If she isn’t able to breathe on her own after a period of time and if we see no hope for her…”

      “We understand.” Nic glanced at Griff.

      “I will allow the two of you five minutes with Ms. Cain,” Dr. Clark told them. “But if she becomes upset or even more agitated, I’ll ask you to leave.”

      Nic nodded.

      Griff said, “Okay.”

      When they entered Gale Ann’s cubicle, Barbara Jean, who was holding her sister’s hand, glanced up and offered them a pitiful smile. Then she leaned over and whispered, “Gale Ann, they’re here. Special Agent Baxter and Mr. Powell. Tell them what you’ve been trying to tell me.”

      Gale Ann Cain’s mane of shoulder-length, copper red hair contrasted sharply with the white bed linens on which she lay. Her cat-green eyes opened wide and stared upward, first at Nic and then at Griff.

      She jerked her hand out of Barbara Jean’s grasp, and despite the fact that both arms were connected to a series of tubes and wires, she lifted her hands in the air, palms open, fingers spread apart, then clutched her hands into fists. As quickly as she had fisted her hands, she opened them again and spread apart all ten digits.

      “She keeps doing that over and over again,” Barbara Jean said.

      Nic moved in closer to Gale Ann and asked, “Are you trying to tell us something about your attacker?”

      Gale Ann nodded and repeated the flashing fingers. Ten fingers.

      “How about getting her a pad and pencil?” Griff said. “Maybe she could write it down.”

      “We tried that, but she can’t seem to do anything except scribble,” Barbara Jean explained. “And that just upset her even more.”

      “Ten fingers,” Nic said. “The number ten?” she asked Gale Ann.

      Gale Ann shook her head and repeated her flashing hands one more time.

      “She’s doing it twice,” Griff said. “Twenty.”

      Gale Ann nodded.

      “What does the number twenty have to do with her attacker?” Nic wondered aloud.

      Gale Ann pointed to her head, slowly but surely twining her index finger around a strand of her hair.

      “Your hair and the number twenty,” Nic said.

      “It doesn’t make any sense.” Barbara Jean looked from Nic to Griff, her expression one of hopelessness.

      Gale Ann yanked on her hair, then pointed to the foot of the bed. When she realized that no one understood what she was trying to tell them, her actions became frantic. She grasped the ventilator tube and tried to pull it out of her throat. Barbara Jean screamed for a nurse.

      “Calm down, Gale Ann,” Griff said as he hovered over the bed.

      Nic rushed to the cubicle entrance and cried out, “Hurry, please! Ms. Cain is trying to remove her ventilator tube.”

      A second too late, Griff grabbed Gale Ann’s hand that held the trachea tubing she had brutally yanked from her throat. She gasped for air.

      “Twenty points.” She barely managed to say the two whispered words before the nurses and Dr. Clark shoved Griff out of the way. Then, Gale Ann gulped one final word, “Game.”

      One of the nurses shooed Griff and Nic out of the cubicle and pushed Barbara Jean’s wheelchair out directly behind them. With the white curtains pulled and the door closed, they were cut off from the frantic efforts to save Gale Ann’s life.

      “What did she say to you?” Barbara Jean asked before Nic had a chance to ask.

      “She said three words,” Griff told them. “Twenty points. And game.”

      “Dear God!” When Nic’s gaze met Griff’s, she knew that they were thinking the same thing.

      “Killing is a game to him,” Griff said. “He must have told Gale Ann that she was worth twenty points.”

      Nic nodded. “She kept tugging on her hair. There has to be a connection.” Nic gasped loudly. “It’s because of her red hair that she was worth twenty points.”

      “In his sick game, redheads are worth twenty points.”

      Chapter 5

      Lindsay and Judd arrived at Williamstown General Hospital at six-ten that evening and went straight to the intensive care unit on the second floor. As they marched straight toward the waiting area, Lindsay caught sight of Griff outside in the hallway. He stood off to the side, talking quietly with a man she recognized as Special Agent Josh Friedman, who had worked his first case with Nic Baxter and Curtis Jackson this past year. Three months ago. The last Beauty Queen Killer case: Carrie Warren. Throat slit. Tongue cut out. In the talent segment of the Miss Dixie Belle contest ten years ago, she had sung a heartrending aria from Puccini’s opera, Madama Butterfly.

      As if sensing their approach, Griff paused in his conversation and glanced down the hall. Lindsay flinched when she saw the way Griff looked at Judd. The news would not be good.

      “She’s dead,” Judd said.

      Lindsay slowed her hurried pace and glanced at Judd. “What makes you think that?”

      “You saw the expression on Griff’s face.”

      She wanted to contradict Judd, to tell him she didn’t know what he meant, but what was the point in trying to give him false hope? One glimpse at Griffin Powell’s tense features and she’d had the same gut reaction as Judd had. Gale Ann Cain was probably dead.

      Special Agent Friedman nodded to Judd and smiled at Lindsay. “How are you Ms. McAllister?”

      “Getting by,” she replied. “You?”

      “Yeah, about the same,” Josh said. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon.” He turned and shook hands with Griff, then headed down the hall toward the elevators.

      “The guy’s got the hots for you,” Judd said. “Who is he, a new Powell agent?”

      Before Lindsay could reply, Griff responded. “He’s Special Agent Friedman. He joined Curtis Jackson’s investigative team on the last Beauty Queen Killer case. You remember Carrie Warren, don’t you, Judd?”

      Judd narrowed his gaze, glowering at Griff.

      “You