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- Author: Adam Nicholls
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“True.” But Morgan knew there was more than that. “Anything else?”
Gary stared harder, his eyebrow crooked. “No. What?”
Morgan took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he got ready to address what ultimately had to be addressed. There was no getting around it, and although this would complicate the investigation in a thousand different ways, there was at least a chance that it might offer some kind of clue. The bad news was that it’d shake Gary even further, and Morgan didn’t want to be the one to do it. If he had a choice, that was. “Look at her face.”
“I can’t—”
“Do it. Does she look familiar?”
Gary’s face contorted as he strained to look, his head bobbing forward like the extra inch would help. He held still for a few moments, his eyes rolling over the scene in front of him before landing back on the face of the first victim.
That was when his mouth dropped open.
“You see it, don’t you?” Morgan said, watching the realization take him as if he himself was discovering it all over again. He could feel his friend’s agony—read the confusion in his eyes. “She was Carrie’s friend in high school, which can mean only one thing: there’s a personal grudge here, and that makes this killer even more dangerous.”
Bumping shoulders with the black detective did something to the killer, but whatever it was couldn’t be identified. It was like a new rivalry began, transferring the moment they came into contact. The exchange wasn’t too different from one dog passing fleas onto the other, only this version came with its own aggression—whoever this man was, he was intriguing.
When he’d apologized and moved on, the killer continued his pass under the guise of a forensics expert, pulling the waterproofs tighter over his thin chest. The ID tag swung from side to side, announcing his name as Walter Stephens. That wasn’t his real name, of course, and the real Walter Stephens would soon report his ID as missing, which meant the killer had to wrap up his egotistical bask of glory and get out of there.
But that detective…
There was something about him. He wasn’t a cop—that much he’d overheard from the police officers who had mixed feelings about him—so what was he? A private investigator? Something more? Whatever it was, the killer would have a hard time forgetting him. Whether the man became a problem or not, there was no denying he could be an interesting test of his own skills, given how easily he’d gotten away with… well, murder.
Snapping out of his overactive imagination, the killer waited until the last of the police officers passed him, and then he slid out the back door. The second he was clear, he hopped the fence and ran down the alley, taking occasional glances over his shoulder to ensure he wasn’t followed. The gloves came off, and he hurled them over a wall into someone else’s yard. The waterproofs were next, sliding down his body as he stepped out of them while laughing at how easy this whole affair had been. It was almost too easy, which left the killer thinking one thing, and one thing only.
It was time to step up his game.
The following day had passed with no progress, which Morgan had expected from the moment a second victim was announced. While the press continued to glorify the killer—dubbing him “The DC Carver”—Gary retreated back into his slump. Not that Morgan could blame him; it must have been tough knowing your first love was killed, but now that there was a connection to the second victim, a brand-new can of worms had been opened.
Since then it’d been all work and no play. For the second day in a row, Morgan had set up camp in the local library, using his laptop and the wide array of books available to search for a link related to the crime rather than the victims. Having wasted another day and turning up nothing, Morgan thought he might soon have to pay a visit to the school the victims—not to mention he and Gary—had attended. He stole a quick glance at his watch, realized it was getting late, and then packed up to head home… the long way.
Buried deep inside his own thoughts, he drove past the house of Danielle Phillips and parked farther along the street to study the place from afar. How had the killer looked at this stretch of road? The police had reportedly found nothing from the neighbors, and they had no leads to go on, so what was next? Were they all expected to sit on their thumbs until there was a third victim? A fourth? There was no telling where the killer would go next.
When the sun disappeared behind the horizon and the sky turned black, Morgan fired up the car’s engine and returned home, where the living room window glowed in the darkness. Smiling to himself and eager to fall into the loving embrace of his wife, he killed the engine and headed inside, finding some—though only a little—relief that the day was over.
“Is that you?” Rachel called from the next room.
“It’s me.” Morgan kicked off his shoes, dumped his laptop bag, and went through to the living room where Rachel sat on the couch with a book in her lap. The lamp beside her lit up her beautiful auburn hair, giving it an additional shimmer. “Good day?”
“Busy. You?”
“Same.” Morgan crossed the room, leaned over to plant a kiss on her soft cheek, then dropped onto the seat beside her. There was just something right about returning home to this remarkable woman, which was why he’d married her in the first place, but he still couldn’t pinpoint exactly why it felt so perfect. Perhaps it was that she didn’t dote on him but was always pleased to see him. But tonight… No, she was avoiding eye contact. “What’s wrong?”
Rachel said nothing, only picking her book up and turning the page.
Then he remembered.
It was like an alarm went off in his head, only hours too late. How had he allowed work to seize control of him like that? His priorities were usually so aligned, so how had this happened? Later he would cuss himself for it, but for now he had some explaining to do. “It was your speech today, wasn’t it? At the HUCINS Center?”
Rachel nodded and continued reading.
“I’m so, so sorry.” Misery and regret stole over him then. It wasn’t because he was in trouble or “in the dog house,” but he’d upset the one person he cared about the most. There was no coming back from that. “I won’t make excuses—you deserve better than that. I just got caught up in work and I forgot. I’m sorry.”
Taking him by surprise, Rachel smiled and closed the book. “That’s very sweet of you to say, but you’re going to have to make it up to me.”
Morgan smiled too. “Sexual favors?”
“Keep dreaming.”
“What, then?”
“Dishes.” She hiked a thumb over her shoulder.
“It’s the least I deserve. Can we catch up while I do them?”
Rachel climbed out of the sofa immediately, dragging Morgan into the kitchen by his hand. She ran over the events of the evening while he scrubbed at yesterday’s dishes with the rough side of a sponge, detailing the grandeur of the event and how nervous she’d been. More than anything, she talked about how happy the kids were as she stood on stage and made all these promises about how their lives were going to change. All they needed was funding, and the kids were excited to help in any way they could.
By the time he was done, Morgan kissed her softly on the lips, and it was as if nothing had ever happened. They worked together to tidy up as usual, brushed their teeth together as usual, and then curled up in bed like they always did, with Rachel’s head resting on his chest while his heart hammered like it was their first time. It was probably ranking fifth or sixth in their list of disagreements, which the average couple would no doubt become very jealous of. Morgan knew, however, that although they were out of the storm, some repair work could still be done on the ship they’d come in on.
“Rachel?” he said in a whisper.
“Mm-hmm?” she muttered, half-asleep.
“You have another event, right?”
Clearing her throat, Rachel rolled back and reached for her bedside lamp. The soft cotton made a light scratching noise as she moved, and then the dim light brightened. “In two days. Why?”
“Because I feel like I’ve taken us back a step.” Morgan paused, choosing his words carefully. He was out of the woods, that much was clear, but he still felt awful for missing her
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