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Ella turned the blackbook over in her hands, its surface marked by the passage of time and theweight of the secrets it held within. The pages, edged with wear, whispered asshe flipped through them, each turn revealing a glimpse into Rebekah'sprofessional world and, perhaps, the shadows that lurked just out of sight.Ella couldn’t ignore the legal ramifications of accepting such a gift, andwhile Chester had willingly handed over the book, Ella knew that possessing itcould potentially lead to complications.
But given the urgencyof the investigation, she decided to cross that bridge when she came to it.
‘Thank you, Chester.This could be vital to our investigation,’ Ella replied.
As she thumbed throughthe pages, careful not to disturb the order of Rebekah's meticulous notes, Ellafelt the stirrings of resolve harden within her. She could almost hearRebekah's voice through the ink, her dedication transcending the grave.
‘Your discretion withthis... it means everything,’ Chester said.
‘Nothing here will gobeyond me and my partner,’ Ella assured him, locking eyes to cement thepromise. ‘We'll use it only to help find who did this.’
‘Do you think... willyou find whoever did this?’ he asked. His tone cracked under the weight of aquarter-century love now lost. ‘Rebekah was more than just my wife—my partner. She'sbeen my rock for years. Without her, there's just this...’ He gesturedhelplessly around the room that suddenly seemed too large, too empty.
Ella closed the blackbook. Protocol dictated distance, a professional barrier between detective andbereaved, but humanity called for something more profound—a touch, a comfortthat no words could convey.
Ignoring the ruleswhispered into her ear by years of training, Ella stood and crossed the room,closing the distance between duty and compassion. She enveloped Chester in anembrace, her arms conveying the strength this poor man desperately needed.
‘We'll find the personresponsible, Chester,’ Ella promised. ‘I swear on everything I hold dear—we'llfind the person who took Rebekah from you.’
With a nod to Mia,Ella signaled their departure. They stepped toward the door. Mia turned backand said, ‘If you think of anything else that could be helpful, give us acall.’
The agents made theirway out of Chester’s home, towards their car. Even after two interviewees, shedidn’t have a whole lot to go on. Therefore, she had to hope there was someoverlap between Rebekah Holden and the first victim.
‘Let's get to work,Ripley,’ Ella said. ‘I need to look into victim one, see if there’s anyconnection to Rebekah.’
‘We better hopethere’s something there, because this is dry as a bone,’ Ripley said.
‘Tell me about it. Weneed to dive deep into the lives of both victims. There has to be somethingthat ties them together. We need to look beyond the surface, compare everydetail, no matter how small.’
‘Let’s head to theprecinct. We’ve got some digging to do.’
Ella was ready to leapinto the abyss. She had a mission fuelled by the promise of justice. And everysecond this unsub was free was a second closer to a disaster.
CHAPTER NINE
Ella Dark perched on the edge of achair that had seen better days, its faux leather peeling at the corners likeold wallpaper. The Sturgeon Bay precinct was a far cry from what she was usedto—a cramped space where the hum of fluorescent lights filled the silencebetween phone calls and keyboard clicks. Her temporary office was nothing morethan a cube encased in white walls, but it worked.
Spread across the desk were thecase files, their corners already dog-eared. Ella’s eyes drifted towards thephotographs of Rebekah Holden and the first victim - Donna Shepherd - aforty-year-old psychologist killed in a near-identical manner to Rebekah.
It struck her forcefully, the eerieresemblance between the two women—blonde hair cut to mirror each other'slength, green eyes that once sparkled with life, jaws set in determination thateven death couldn’t relax, and figures that seemed like they could be draped inthe same clothes. Their similarities were more than coincidental; they were achilling echo of each other.
The click of the door announced MiaRipley’s arrival. She rushed in with a purpose, hands full with a stack ofpapers
‘Chief Caldwell sent over somethingthat might help,’ Mia said. She laid a sheet of paper on Ella’s overcrowdeddesk. It was a list, names written in stark black ink, devoid of anyelaboration.
'Donna Shepherd's clients?' askedElla.
'Yup. Got an entire roster goingback a year. All I can get is names, though. No fine details.'
‘That works,’ Ella replied, hermind already racing through her options. Her fingers brushed over the paper asif the simple contact could imbue her with insights into the lives behind thosenames. Each one was a thread in the tangled web they needed to unravel, andsomewhere within that list hid the clues necessary to catch a killer.
But before she dove into the names,Ella leaned back in her chair and turned back to the crime scene photographs.Rebekah Holden and Donna Shepherd stared back from frozen moments in time.Their eerily similar features were gnawing at her.
‘Look at them,’ Ella murmured,tapping the edge of one photo. ‘Could almost be sisters, don't you think?’
Mia , standing on the opposite sideof the desk, folded her arms and nodded. ‘It's not surprising. Killers likethis—they have a type. Just because our guy isn't a lust killer, doesn't meanhe isn't drawn to women he wants to screw.’
Ella bit her lip. Ripley had apoint, but Ella didn't see it that way. 'Do you think? But if he was attractedto these women, wouldn't there be a sexual component somewhere? I've neverknown a bull that purposely targeted a type of woman. Carl Panzram killedanyone he could. Joel Rifkin killed white women, black women, Asian women.'
