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“We were.” Pen’s eyes narrow. “Along with a lot of other people.”
“Yes, quite the crowd for a weekday.” Lynch unbuttons his jacket and sits across from her. “What were you celebrating?”
I mirror Pen’s pose. “We were blowing off steam. Nothing more.”
Bailey leans back in his seat. “Funny how your party took place right next to a murder. You expect us to believe that’s just a coincidence?”
Pen lifts a shoulder. “It happens.”
“Not where your team is involved.” Bailey’s gaze hardens. “I should know, since I’ve employed you on several jobs.”
I meet Lynch’s eyes. “We had nothing to do with Vicki’s death.”
Bailey’s head whips toward me as if he caught me in a confession. “You knew the victim?”
“She was a repeat offender in the Yard.” Pen leans forward on her elbows. “Just like she was a repeat offender in your jail cell. How many times did you have her arrested for public indecency?”
If Bailey wants to indulge in a finger pointing game, he’s going to realize fast that he’s playing with half a deck.
“Did you maybe get tired of her harassing your boys in blue?” I arch my eyebrows. “One of your officers was patrolling the area. I should know, because he broke my taillight minutes before the body was discovered.”
“We have alibis, Bailey. A hundred people saw us at Hopper’s that night.” Pen’s lips curl. “What about you?”
Bailey bristles with self-righteous anger. “What are you implying?”
“What are you implying?” I roll my head, my neck cracking. “Why are we really here? What are you after?”
Bailey pulls his shoulders back. “I’m after a killer.”
“Which isn’t us.” I tap my finger against the table. “Stop posturing and get on with it.”
Lynch fixes Bailey with a stern gaze. “We already know they didn’t kill the victim. Move this along.”
The vein in Bailey’s temple throbs at being reprimanded, but he flips open the folder he brought in before pushing it in front of us.
Pen and I lean forward at the same time. Pictures spill out of it, portraying a crime scene, but not the one we expect.
Instead, Jordan Shawe’s torn-up body plays out in high definition across multiple images. Something ripped into him, tearing out his throat and his stomach. He lies like a starfish out on a lawn, limbs spread out, his intestines strewn on the grass. The morning sun shines on the left side of his face, illuminating his death stare.
Based on what the others described of Vicki’s murder, it matches.
Pen shoves the photo back. “Gruesome, but what does this have to do with Vicki?”
Bailey studies her face for any hint that she recognizes the MO before he pushes the second folder closer.
I flip back the cover to see Vicki, spread out with the same wound pattern. The only difference is that she lies on cold concrete instead of out in the open.
“You have the makings of a serial killer on your hands.” Pen looks up, her expression blank. “I still don’t see what you want us to do about it.”
Bailey stabs a finger at the photos. “This isn’t a human murderer.”
“No.” Pen’s ready agreement catches Bailey off guard.
His mouth gapes for a moment before he shakes himself. “So what is it?”
“It’s not our problem, is what it is.” I lean back and drape my arm across the back of Pen’s chair. “You revoked our license to practice private investigation. You shut down the JTFPI. You hobbled the entire paranormal law enforcement organization in Clearhelm, and now you want us to… What? Come save your ass? Illegally?”
Pen scoffs and stands. “Clean this up yourself, Bailey. We don’t owe you anything.”
