I deserve some answers!
Then a response came through, but one not written by the mentor’s hand.
Messages to this number have been blocked.
The fury and frustration built to a boiling point, and he hurled his phone against the wall.It was one of the few things he still had left, but a part of him no longer cared for material possessions.The mentor had shown him that, given him purpose.
Now what?
Well, he’d be damned if he let that purpose gutter out now.With or without the mentor, he was going to see this through to the bloody end.
Just two more.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Ella slunk into the precinct at seven-fifteen feeling worse than she had any right to after a night where she hadn't even had a drink.She'd lain awake in the hotel room until gone three, staring at the ceiling and running the figurine chain through her head until the links blurred together and none of it made sense anymore.At some point, she must have slept because her alarm had woken her, but she didn't feel like she'd slept.She felt like she'd been buried in sand for six hours and someone had dug her up too early.
Ripley was already at the desk they’d been sharing.Of course she was.She had a coffee, a stack of notes, and the look of someone who had been productive for long enough to feel superior about it.
‘Morning,’ Ripley said without looking up.
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Long enough.’Ripley glanced at her and took in whatever Ella’s face was doing this morning.‘You look terrible.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I mean it.You look like you slept in a ditch.’
‘I didn’t sleep at all.Or I slept badly, which is the same thing.’Ella dropped into her chair.‘What have you got?’
Ripley pushed her notes across the desk.‘Two things.First, I’ve been on the phone since seven.Every donation centre within twenty miles of Rose Michaels’s apartment.’
‘The music box.’
‘The music box.Lily said Rose donated it after the split with Jared, but she didn’t know where.So I called them all.I found fourteen places.’
‘And?’
‘Nothing.Not one of them remembers a music box coming in during the last six months.Most of them said they wouldn’t, because they don’t keep item-level logs.Stuff comes in, they put a price sticker on it, it goes on the shelf.If it sells, the money goes in the register.If it doesn’t sell, it goes in the back or gets binned.Nobody’s cataloguing individual donations unless they’re high value.’
Ella had expected as much, but it was still a dead end she’d hoped wouldn’t be.The music box was the origin point of the figurine chain, or at least the earliest point they could trace.Rose’s snowman had ended up on Amber Holloway’s body.The ballet dancer had led them to the Colisée Theatre and Eddie Foxall.If they could find out who had bought or received the music box after Rose donated it, they’d have a direct connection to the killer.
‘So we’re dry.’
‘For now.I’ve asked all fourteen places to check with their volunteers and staff, see if anyone remembers it.But I wouldn’t hold your breath.These places turn over hundreds of items a day.’
‘What’s the second thing?’
‘I got us a meeting.’Ripley checked her watch.‘In about an hour and a half.A woman named Marguerite Lefevre.She runs an antique shop on Royal Street in the Quarter.Specialises in musical antiques.She might recognize the figure we found on Eddie Foxall.’
‘How’d you find her?’
‘I called the Orleans Parish library reference desk last night and asked who in the city knew the most about handcrafted figurines and music boxes.The librarian gave me three names.Lefevre was the only one who picked up the phone at before 8AM.She sounded excited about talking to us.I think she might be a bit odd.’
‘Odd is fine.Odd people notice things normal people don’t.’
‘That’s what I figured.I told her we had three figurines connected to an active investigation and asked if she’d be willing to examine them.She said she’d clear her morning.’
