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“Like a broken man.”
“I don’t think he’s our mastermind,” Kimberly said. D.D. and the sheriff nodded their agreement. The mayor’s emotional response yesterday had been too genuine.
“What about our UNSUB? Our mystery killer?” Kimberly turned to D.D. “You said Bonita drew a picture.”
The girl looked up at the sound of her name, then went back to her study of Flora’s boot.
D.D. crossed into the second room, returning momentarily with three drawings in one hand, and a lone drawing in the other. She held out the first three, kept the fourth.
The rest of them gathered around to study.
“I’ll be damned,” the sheriff said first. “If that ain’t a picture of pure evil, I don’t know what is.”
Kimberly had to agree. In terms of specific features, the coloring didn’t help them. In terms of sending a shiver down her spine, however...
“I never thought to draw Jacob,” Flora murmured softly. “But if I did, it would be something like that.”
Kimberly moved to the second picture. Blue into red. It took a moment to get it. D.D. was right: Bonita was a gifted impressionist.
“That’s another maid,” D.D. supplied. “She died right before Martha Counsel. Bonita saw it, but said the demon didn’t do it.”
“The cook?” Kimberly glanced up at Bonita.
The girl shook her head.
“Do you know this woman’s name?”
Nod.
Kimberly thought about the files she’d discovered in Martha Counsel’s office. One had a name, but was empty. “Stacey?” She attempted to remember. “Stacey...” She couldn’t quite get the last name.
Two quick nods.
Kimberly pursed her lips, then sighed.
A sharp clap. They all glanced up. Bonita clapped again.
“What is it?” D.D. asked.
The girl was frowning, moving her hands. She clearly had something she wanted to communicate, but didn’t know how to do it. Finally, she pointed at Flora’s boot. The butterfly blade. She wanted the knife.
“Are you sure?” Flora asked her.
Curt nod.
Flora appeared skeptical, but she pulled out the folded up blade and handed it over. Bonita took a moment to examine it. She shifted it from hand to hand, clearly feeling the weight, then traced the intricate dragon design etched across the surface.
“She’s very tactile,” D.D. volunteered.
Apparently, D.D. was doing a good job of bonding with her new charge. Now, Bonita tried to pry open the closed sides with her fingernails. She was frowning hard, one corner of her mouth pinched.
“Give it back. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Bonita reluctantly relinquished her new toy back to Flora. With a flick of her wrist, Flora transformed the instrument from a closed fan to a deadly knife. Bonita’s eyes widened in appreciation. She took the blade back, closing her fingers around the handle gingerly.
“The blade is sharp, do not cut yourself,” Flora ordered.
The girl glanced at her, then looked up again to make sure everyone was watching. Slowly, she placed the knife just above her thigh. Then, with a short, violent jerk, she pantomimed slicing open her leg.
“Someone cut open the woman’s femoral artery,” D.D. said.
