‘Loss.Amber lost her house, Rose lost custody of her son, Eddie lost his chance to reproduce…’
Ripley gaped at her.She could see the facts and inferences clicking into place.‘And this gent here lost his mind.’
‘Not just his mind, but the thing that defined him.The things our vics lost – it affected their entire lives.’
‘Jesus,’ Ella breathed.‘That’s why the disparate victimology.That’s why there’s no connections between them.The figurines are symbolic, but of what?’
‘These figurines don’t relate to their losses at all.Amber didn’t lose a snowman.Rose didn’t lose a ballet dancer.None of the victims lost any of the things that the figures represent.’
‘No, so that means the figurines are personal to the killer.They only mean something to him, not to the victims.’
Ella was rapidly processing everything, ensuring she hadn’t missed anything along the way.Anything that might give her a clue where this freak might strike next.
Finally, Ripley said, ‘He said on the phone he hadone more person to save.’
‘To save,’ Ella repeated.
‘Yeah.’
Another jigsaw piece slot into place.‘He’s not killing these people, at least not in his head.He’s saving them from the pain.That’s why he doesn’t fit the mold of a typical serial killer, because he isn’t one.’
‘He’s an angel of mercy.’
Ella nodded.‘He thinks he’s a hero.’
‘Right, so how can we use that to catch him?This pelican could lead anywhere in this whole state, or it could even lead to Florida.’
The million dollar question.Ella wanted to put her fist through the wall, splinter her knuckles and watch the blood flow just to feel something besides this impotent rage.
Ella rose the pelican to eye level.
‘You’re going to stare a hole in that thing.’
‘I told you.I’ve seen it before.’
‘And I told you, it’s a pelican.Louisiana’s state bird.It’s on the flag, it’s on licence plates, it’s on half the restaurant signs between here and Baton Rouge.You’ve probably seen a thousand of them since we landed.’
‘Not like this.I’ve seen this specific pelican before, or one close enough that the person who made it was either copying the same thing or made them both.’
‘Okay,’ Ripley said.‘So where did you see it?’
The image was right there, vivid as a photograph, but the context around it was fog.Something she’d turned a page on.
‘I don’t know yet,’ she said.And the admission cost her more than Ripley would ever know.‘But I’m not going to find the answers here.Call me if you find anything.I’m going to the precinct and I’m not leaving until I’ve figured this out.’
CHAPTER THIRTY
The precinct had nearly cleared out.Ella was alone in the office she’d claimed as her own, which suited her fine because she needed silence and she needed to think and she needed to stop staring at a wooden pelican like it was going to open its beak and start talking.
She set it on the desk in front of her.
Each figurine was an arrow.The snowman pointed from Amber to Rose.The ballet dancer pointed from Rose to Eddie Foxall.The key-man pointed from Foxall to Earl Parsons.The pelican, left in Earl’s hand, pointed to victim five.The last one.
So where did a hand-carved pelican point?
She pushed that aside for now because something else was chewing at her.Something the killer had said on the phone.
Someone’s told me all about you.
