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- Author: Adam Nicholls
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After a short wait, two customers left with a new set of keys and big smiles on their faces. A small, skinny man with a shit-eating grin shook their hands one by one, then stood and waved as they left the building. When the door’s bell rang, he turned his attention to the seating area and introduced himself, maintaining the same false smile.
“Josiah Bentley,” he said, reaching out a hand.
Morgan stood, took his hand, and shook. “Morgan Young. Is that your real name?”
“Oh, I had it legally changed to suit business. Smart, huh?”
“Very,” Morgan said, doing his best to not sound sarcastic.
Josiah escorted him into his office, which was four times bigger than the waiting room but just as dirty. The high-back chair had a tear streaking down it, the ashtray at his desk collected stinking butts, and the air was stuffy. He gestured to the other chair, and Morgan took it without protest. After all, he was here on business.
“So, what can I do you for?” Josiah asked.
“I’m an investigator working with the MPD,” Morgan said, watching Josiah’s smile fade like the time lapse of a sunset. “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble unless you’ve done something wrong. I need to identify a driver from one of your vehicles.”
Josiah made a tsk sound. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to disclose that information.”
“Would you rather the police asked instead?”
“Is that a threat?”
“Let’s just say you’d do well to help me.” Morgan hated the idea of making threats—he liked even the worst people at the worst of times—but this was more than necessary. “I don’t want to cause you any trouble, Mr. Bentley, but it’s important I get that name.”
With an exaggerated frown and a sigh, Josiah adjusted his tie and pulled in his chair. Clearing his throat, he typed something into his stained, old laptop, which had sticker residue across the back. “What was the license plate?”
“I don’t actually know,” Morgan said.
“You don’t know? How am I supposed to help you, then?”
“It was a Ford Fiesta, silver in color.”
“That’s better.” Josiah hit some keys. “Right, of course.”
Morgan watched the man fall back into his chair, exasperated.
It wasn’t a good sign.
“I don’t know how to tell you this, Mr. Young, but that car was stolen.”
The walls toppled down around him, trapping him in the debris of disappointment. Hope was a bad foundation when it came to homicide investigation. “What do you mean, stolen?”
“I mean somebody hired the car, and somebody else stole it from them.”
“Did they report it?”
“Certainly. There’s an open investigation, as I understand it.”
That made things even worse for Morgan. If there was an active case surrounding the stolen car and it hadn’t yet been solved, there was no chance he was getting that name. All he could do was fill Gary in on the news and realign his focus point.
As if his ears had been burning, Morgan’s cell phone jerked in his pocket. The screen read Gary Lee, and he stood to excuse himself. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Bentley. I might be back at some point, but here’s my number in case you find out anything.” He slid his business card across the desk with a pointed finger and hurried out of the room, failing to hear what the man mumbled under his breath behind him.
Once outside, he took the call. “What’s up?”
“You’re not going to believe this,” Gary said, panting.
Morgan’s heart filled with dread. He knew the score; rarely did “unbelievable” news come through as something positive. In fact, he was expecting nothing short of a new twist to kick him while he was down. “Please tell me you have something I can work with. I can’t deal with another nightmare.”
“It’s worse than that.” Gary’s voice lowered to morose. “There’s been another murder.”
The light of day had gone from its full afternoon brightness to near-black night without Morgan noticing. It was that time of year when leaves clung to your shoes and night came sooner than you’d expected. It suited his mood too—like something was coming to an end. He had no idea what that was, but it was clear it wasn’t the case he was working on.
When he arrived, parking at the far end of the street to avoid the crowd, Morgan found Gary beside the crime scene, his arms crossed and pressed firmly to his chest while his chin moved like he was grinding his teeth. Morgan squeezed through the growing crowd, careful not to hurt anyone as they carelessly bumped into his broad chest, and finally stopped beside Gary. “Sorry I took so long. What’s happening?”
Gary stood still, barely flinching at the sound of his voice. “Against the captain’s orders, a friend on the case gave me the tip. The call came in from a concerned cousin who was due a night out with one of the victims.”
“One of? There were multiple?”
“Two.” Gary held up a matching number of fingers.
A sickening feeling twisted in Morgan’s stomach. He turned toward the house, where forensics were swooping in and out with evidence bags, and the coroner scribbled something onto his clipboard. “Anything to go on?”
“I can’t even get inside.”
“Right. But you can get more information from your contact?”
“Not until they’re wrapped up here.” Gary sighed. “Sorry.”
Morgan offered a thin smile. He knew how overwhelming these things could be, and that was before you factored in a relationship with one of the victims. “Something keeps going round and round in my mind. You called me here because it’s related to what I’m investigating, but you haven’t said anything to suggest these are the same killer. What aren’t you telling me?”
Twisting up the corner of his mouth into a half smile, Gary finally craned his neck and locked eyes with Morgan. There was a familiar humor there that only Morgan could recognize. “Nothing gets by you, does it?”
“I try to be observant.”
“That you are.” Gary looked down at his feet, unfolding his arms and beginning to pick at his frayed nails. “This friend of mine who gave me the call, he said one of the victims was repeatedly stabbed, and the other…”
Morgan put a hand on his friend’s shoulder to steady him. “The other?”
“The other had her face sliced off.” Gary gagged into his closed fist.
“Jesus.” As if one murder wasn’t enough, now they had a serial killer to contend with? Morgan hadn’t thought it was possible, but things had just gone from bad to worse. “I need to look at the crime scene. You know that, don’t you?”
Gary sucked in a deep breath, steadying himself. “I know.”
“Then how do we get in?”
Gary said nothing but pointed at the house, where Police Captain Bray was storming out of the building and snapping off a pair of rubber gloves. He tossed them into a nearby biohazard bag and then climbed into his own car, leaving the scene. “I was waiting for that. Come on.”
There was no time to prepare for what he was about to see, so Morgan simply followed him past the tape as Gary proffered a glimpse of his badge to the guarding officer. They were in the house within a minute, and although Morgan was expecting some time to settle his stomach, horror stole over him the moment he walked through the door. The bloody scene was laid out in front of him like something from a Wes Craven movie. The taste of bile filled his mouth, any remains of hunger leaving him until further notice.
“That sick son of a bitch,” Gary mumbled.
Morgan said nothing, staring down. The bodies in front of him were both pale, their faces twisted in horror like they were frozen at the time of their deaths. They’d been stripped down, had suffered multiple lacerations to their naked chests, and were thrown together like a pair of rag dolls. Nobody deserved an end like this, Morgan thought, but if he had to suffer like any of these women, he knew which one he’d choose: the one who’d been stabbed repeatedly and left to die. The other had endured a fate even worse, her face torn open by the violent swipes of a blade. Her wide eyes expressed horror and desperation, but that was the only thing readable within the bloody mess. There was no flesh to deepen her story.
But there was something else.
It wouldn’t be an easy thing to tell Gary, so he kept it to himself for now, stepping farther onto the scene and bumping into a forensics operative, who apologized profusely with a young voice muffled by his mask. Morgan raised a hand as if to say, “it’s okay,” and kept his eyes fixed on the bodies at his feet. “Does anything stand out to you?”
Gary appeared at his side, his hand clapped over his mouth. “The way they were killed? I think it’s safe to say this is the same asshole who killed Carrie Whittle. Notice he has a primary victim, where the other seems to be killed
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