The precinct door opened.Ripley came out with two fresh cups, handed one over, and leaned against the wall next to her.
‘Breathe it in,’ Ripley said.
‘Breathe what in?’
‘That southern air.It’s good for the lungs.’
‘It’s humid and gross.’
‘Tell me what you really think,’ Ripley said.
‘I really think that I can’t read the figurine, and it’s driving me crazy.Did you get a match back from Amelia?’
‘Yeah.No exact matches.Some partials, but nothing close enough to say what it is for sure.What does your gut say?’
‘My gut says the little blue line on it means water, but why would a key open something in water?Are we going to find our next vic in a chest at the bottom of a lake?’
‘I’d be more concerned with this guy’s killing patterns.Two vics in one night, followed by one the next day.There’s every chance the fourth vic is already dead.Spree killers don’t like to relax too much.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘Come on.We’re not going to solve much out here.There are still people on our list of local antique stealers to get through.’
They went inside.Fields was in the corridor with a folder under his arm and the expression of a man about to deliver news that would complicate someone’s day.
‘Creed transfer,’ he said.‘Paperwork’s nearly done.Dever’s office confirmed this afternoon.We’re probably moving him within twenty-four hours.Dever is in a hotel room a few miles away.’
Twenty-four hours.Ella had almost managed to forget that the reason she was in New Orleans had nothing to do with figurines.She was here to escort Austin Creed from death row to D.C.so that a convicted serial killer could sit across from the woman who might or might not be Lindsey Doyle while a room full of people watched to see which one of them flinched first.
‘Thanks, Fields.’
Ella looked at Ripley.Twenty-four hours.Whatever she was going to do, she had to do it before that clock ran out, because once the Creed transfer started, this case would land in someone else’s lap, and nobody else had spent the last two days inside this unsub’s head.
She, Ripley and Fields went back upstairs.They were almost at the office door when it opened from the other side.It was just Mabel, the precinct's receptionist, whom Ella had briefly met the previous day.
'Call,' Mabel gasped as she'd just aced the hundred-meter sprint.'For you.'
‘Busy with other stuff right now, Mabe,’ Fields said.‘Take a message.’
‘Not you.Her.’Mabel jabbed a finger at Ella.All eyes turned to her.‘And he’s insisting.He came directly to us, not through dispatch.’
‘Who is it?It’s not Rick Vernon or Terrance Dever, is it?’
‘No, no.’Mabel was breathless.‘He didn’t give a name, but he’s claiming to be your killer.’
Bile rose in Ella’s throat.Was this real?
Ripley said, ‘Could be a faker.Don’t…’
‘No.He said he’s just killed number four.And he wants to speak to the woman in charge.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Ella covered the distance to her office in four seconds.Ripley and Fields came through the door behind her.Mabel followed with her phone pressed to her chest like a compress on a wound.Ripley grabbed Ella’s laptop and began frantically searching.
‘Which extension?’Ella breathed.
‘He’s holding on line two.I didn’t know what to do so I just told him to wait.’
