‘Dark, this would make a drastic deviation in M.O.First he ambushes two young women in public, and then he breaks into a house to kill a middle-aged man?Does that make sense to you?’
‘No, but it makes sense to him.He has to get to these victims somehow.Maybe this was the only option he had to reach Foxall.’
Ripley said, ‘Okay, so he slips inside the house, then just… waits?’
‘Well, there’s a bottle of wine on the table.Something tells me Eddie Foxall didn’t leave that there all day.’
Ripley peered through the glass at the booze setup.‘So, our unsub made himself comfortable.’
'If you ask me, it was just for show.He's adding some theatrics to the proceedings because he's got a taste for killing now, but just killing isn't enough.He needs additional elements to help chase the high he felt when he killed Amber and Rose.'
‘Or he just likes whiskey.’
Ella shook her head.‘Our guy’s been meticulous, as much as we hate to admit it.No prints or hair strands on the first two bodies.He somehow got hold of an item belonging to Rose Michaels and planted it on another corpse.And then again with the ballet dancer, and now with that weird oversized key thing.This is strategic planning, so he’s not dumb enough to leave his saliva behind.’
‘Duly noted.So, next step is to figure out where that key-figurine thing leads.’
‘That’ll at least help us keep the next target safe, but…’
‘But it won’t help us catch him, and doesn’t mean he won’t just target someone else.’
Ella assumed the mindset of her unsub – an organized, mission-oriented psychopath who set goals and stuck to them.He wasn’t an improviser, he was a planner.He had one foot in reality, another in the realm of derangement, but he was rooted in the real world enough to know how to cover his tracks.
‘He won’t target someone different, because then the pattern will break.A guy like this, he’s OCD, meticulous, military-grade fortitude.’
‘Could be ex-military, indeed.’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised.Where’s Sheila?’
‘In the cruiser outside.Poor woman is a wreck.’
‘Don’t I know it.I practically felt her soul leave her body when she saw Eddie.We need to talk to her though, because our killer knows these victims well enough to plant figurines that relate to their lives.Someone who knows Eddie Foxall did this.’
***
Ella left Foxall’s body in the capable hands of the techs; now it was time to get some answers from the living.She found Sheila Foxall exactly where Ripley said she’d be: slumped in the back of a squad car.Her tears had dried but they’d left their mark, carving trenches through her blush and mascara until she looked like some demented painting.
This was the worst part of the job.It went against every instinct to barge in and demand answers from a woman who’d just had her heart cleaved in two.But the job had taught her that time was a slippery thing; wait too long and the breadcrumbs go stale.
She leaned down to the window and knocked.Sheila unlocked the door without looking up.
‘Mrs.Foxall – Sheila – I know this is the worst moment of your life.I can’t imagine what you’re going through.But I need to ask you some questions, okay?’
Sheila stared at the flashing lights painting the street red and blue; didn’t acknowledge Ella beyond a nod.
‘Can you tell me about Eddie?Where he worked, what he was like?’
A hitched breath and then, ‘He was – is – God, I don’t...’Sheila covered her mouth, stifling something between a laugh and a sob.She grasped for composure.‘He worked in finance.At J.M.Waterman.’
Ella made a ‘go on’ noise.
‘He managed the Colisée.The theatre on St.Claude.He loved that place more than he loved most people.Me included.’
‘How long had he worked there?’
Four years.The hours were insane, especially recently.Late nights, early mornings.Sometimes I felt like I never saw him.
‘Any idea why he was working so much?’
