A muffled scream escapes my mouth, but is hindered by the thick glove covering my face. Travis’s hot breath chafes against my ear, making it hard to focus on anything else.
“If you make a sound, I will bring him down here and make you watch as I kill him.”
To the back of the basement, a brick wall seems to cut the room in half completely, and I wonder what he’s doing. He clicks one of the bricks as a secret button, and tears begin to fall down my cheeks.
As the door swings open, the waft of smell hits me like a punch to the gut. The sickly sweet rot invades my nostrils like it’s a rotting fist shoved down my throat, and before I can stop myself, I’m gagging against the hand on my mouth.
“Shut up,” he hisses as I pull in lungfuls of air through my nose. It’s so bad it stings; my eyes water as vomit threatens to hurl up my throat.
He pushes me down onto the floor, and my hand lands in something sludgy. I try to wipe iton the floor, but I find another wet, soft section that makes my gag reflex kick in, and I decide to just hold my hand away from my body like a limp cloth. No light filters through, so I’m scrambling in the dark completely, feeling my way around on my knees.
“Travis,” I hiss, feeling around until I find his leg. He rears back like a startled horse, and the sole of his boot bucks right into my ribs. I hear a crunch and try to take in a deep breath, but the pain is excruciating. I’m going to die. It’s kind of ironic, really, when I had assumed that if anyone was going to kill me, it would be Thomas Vale. I’d love to watch him find out the news that another serial killer got to me first. At least I have the satisfaction of knowing that.
“She’s not down here. Check the closet in the bedroom, under the bed. Try the yard too.” I hear Jonesy’s muffled voice and someone else, but the affirmative grunt is too muffled to identify. A hot tear slides down my cheek as footsteps thud up the wooden stairs.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jonesy
Ilet myself into Lottie’s house, the fireplace roaring as Lottie, Caleb, Alfie, and his girlfriend Mia stand around talking. There is a significant lack of drinks and one fiery redhead missing from the scene, which I’m sure will soon be rectified.
“The she-devil on her way?”
“Actually, she’ll be a bit late. She wanted to go and check out a crime scene again—something about sifting through her thoughts,” Lottie responds, her usual wine glass in hand.
I frown, surprised that she didn’t ask me to join, but I’m interrupted by my phone ringing. I assume this would be her, but it’s an unknown number.
“Jones speaking.” I hold my finger up to the group and turn toward the kitchen in case it’s someone from work.
“Dr. Jones, my name is Kenny Miller. I’m thelab technician working on the evidence for the Maddox case.”
“Hi, man, what can I do for you?”
“Your boss, Colonel Rogers, gave me your number as a backup. I can’t seem to get hold of him, and he said he wanted to be the first to find out when the evidence results came back. He was quite terrifying, actually.” The man gives a shaky laugh. I know exactly what he means; Colonel Rogers isn’t the kind of man who hears the word no very often.
“Well, even though it’s now inadmissible in court as the original evidence was stolen, I had tested it before it was taken. The DNA evidence found on the victim was Travis Marrs-Rogers. He has a few prior arrests for assault and sexual assault against women; one of them was only sixteen at the time, and he was twenty-one. So a long time ago.”
“Wait, did you say Travis Marrs?” I say.
“Umm, Travis Marrs-Rogers, but yes, the report says he goes by Travis Marrs now. It looks like he dropped the second name.”
Son of a bitch.Colonel-fucking-Rogershas been lying through his teeth this whole time. Are he and Travis related? And maybe Travis knows something, so that’s why he was so eager to get it under military control. He was protecting a family member.
“What evidence was it?”
“Saliva on her neck,” he pauses for a momentto check. “And some skin under her fingernails.”
“It definitely belonged to Travis?” I scratch the back of my neck.
Katie was right the whole time. Her gut feeling knew that something wasn’t right; she’s been saying it from day one.
“Ninety-nine-point-nine percent certain, and that’s about as certain as you can get in these cases.”
Holy shit. The kid really didn’t do it. This will cast serious doubt on the Connor Maddox case if there is another suspect. I need to call Katie.
“Have you spoken to the detective yet?” I ask.
“No.” He chuckles awkwardly. “The colonel was rather insistent that he find out first.”
