AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The pleas for someoneto cure him.
The photograph ofPenelope Olson and her daughter.
None of it was anaccident.
A bead of sweat tracedits way down her temple as she leaned closer to the monitor, the air around hercharged with the electricity of imminent breakthrough. The pieces fell intoplace. Ella exhaled a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, and for afleeting moment, allowed herself the luxury of savoring the sweet taste oftriumph.
But triumph was acompanion that demanded action, and Ella was all too eager to comply. She rosefrom her chair, the wheels protesting as she pushed back with urgency. Withoutsparing a glance at the clock—whose hands pointed accusingly at an hour when mostwere lost to dreams—she strode out of her office and into the deserted precincthalls.
Her boots clickedagainst the tiled floor. There was no stranger feeling than being an emptypolice precinct, but there was no time to dwell on the solitude; she had tofind Ripley.
Ella burst into theconference room, where the soft sound of steady breathing guided her to thefigure slumped over a mess of papers and cold cups of coffee.
‘Ripley,’ she said,her voice cutting through the quiet. No response. She reached out, shakingRipley's shoulder with more force than she intended. ‘Ripley! Wake up!’
Ripley's eyes snappedopen, confusion warring with sleep before awareness settled in.
‘Shit, I must havefell asleep while I was on the phone to Edis,’ she rasped. Ripley rubbed thesleep from her eyes. ‘What time is it?’
‘Five in the morning.’
‘Christ. What is it?You found something?’
'I found something,alright.'
Ripley shot upright,back to full alertness. 'Please tell me you found the unsub.'
The corners of Ella'smouth twitched upwards, a mix of adrenaline and grim satisfaction coloring hertone.
‘No, not the unsub,’she said. ‘But I've found his mother.’
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Ella grabbed a markerpen and began attacking the whiteboard. She was ready to spill everything.
‘His mom?’ Ripleyasked.
‘His mom. Look,’ Ellasaid, unleashing her new theory upon the blank canvas. ‘I put our three victimsthrough image recognition software. I got ninety-six hits, but there was onethat stood out. A woman named Cassandra Sawyer.’
Ella moved to a pileof paperwork she’d loaded on the desk. She pulled a printout of CassandraSawyer’s details – including a close-up photograph. Ripley pulled it to herside of the desk.
‘God damn,’ Ripleysaid.
‘Right? Blonde hair,green eyes, high cheekbones. This woman is all of our victims’ featuresdistilled into one.’
Ripley scanned thephotograph and asked, ‘Who was this person?’
Ella scrawled her nameat the center of her web. ‘Cassandra Sawyer lived three miles from here. Shewas a Sturgeon Bay local until eighteen months ago when she…. vanished.’
‘Gone?’ Ripley asked.‘Presumed dead? Disappeared to another state?’
‘The former, becausepolice did find something that belonged to Cassandra.' Ella fetchedthe next piece of paper from the pile and threw it in front of her partner.'Some of her clothes washed up on the shore by the lighthouse.'
Ripley leaned in,examining the photograph laid out before her. The garments, a blouse and a pairof slacks, were soaked through, clinging to the rocks where they’d been found.The fabric of the blouse was translucent from the water, while the slacks weresplayed out, as if trying to escape the fate that their owner could not.
‘And there was no signof Cassandra herself?’
‘No, so you canimagine what the police suspected,’ Ella said.
