Page 53 of XO Karma

A silence falls over us just as Dahlia delivers our food, and I can’t help but laugh at Aster’s face as she sets the tuna sandwich before him. He doesn’t hide his glare as she sets the burger before me.

“You said it was delicious,” I say with a teasing smile.

“It is,” Dahlia says with a wink, walking away.

“So?” I ask Aster. “Do you?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t.”

I should be relieved, but that only heightens my frustration. “How is that possible?”

“What?”

“That the lead crime journalist, who likely has more information than anyone aside from the police, has no clue who Kodak is.” My hand on the table clenches, nails digging tiny moons in my palms. “If even you don’t know, then how the hell is there any hope to find him?”

“Hey.” He reaches out and places a hand on mine, stilling me. “I said I don’t know who he is. Not that I’m not looking. Not that I don’t have any leads.”

His thumb strokes my knuckles reassuringly, but my anxiety skyrockets nonetheless. I think about Violet and her laugh and her smile. How she should still be here and I shouldn’t have let her leave that night, and a million and one other things that could have changed the outcome.

“Where do the photos come from?” I ask, trying to veer the conversation back on track, and he releases my hand. I shouldn’t be so damn disappointed at the loss of contact. After all, just an hour ago, I was 99% convinced he was the killer I’ve been searching for. How can so much change in an hour?

“Kodak emails them to the Solarium and the precinct whenever they’re ready for us to know about a new victim.”

“Email?” I ask, and he nods. “What’s with the darkroom then?”

“Those are for other articles.” And shirtless selfies apparently… “Sometimes if I’m feeling old school, I’ll convert Kodak’s digital files to physical negatives and develop them in the dark room too.”

“Has anyone ever tried to do an IP search on the email?”

“It’s a dead-end.” He dips a fry in ketchup. “I’ve tried. The precinct’s tried. Nada.” His phone rings, and he glances at the screen on the table and sighs. “One sec, it’s the Solarium,” he tells me before taking the call and placing it to his ear, fry abandoned. “Hey… Yeah… Yeah?” He looks at me, brow cocked, and my curiosity is piqued. “Wait, what?” More silence. “Yeah, where? I’ll check it right now. Okay, bye.” He hangs up, typing around on the device.

“What was that about?”

“Just got photos of the latest Kodak Kill.” My blood runs cold. He turns his screen to face me, presenting an image of the woman we saw die tonight, posed under a street bridge with red graffiti behind her, those same eyes void of life. My heart twists in my chest, oxygen voiding the room. “Do you believe me now?”

I nod, covering my mouth with one hand and nudging his phone away with the other. “I believe you.”

17

ASTER

The darkness of night makes our walk from my car especially eerie as red and blue blinking lights beacon us to the crime scene like a lighthouse. “Stay here,” I tell Lily, gesturing to a lamppost as we near the 14th Street bridge.

“You’re benching me?” she pouts, and I take the sides of my suit jacket and pull them closed around her so she doesn’t catch a chill, then tug her to me.

“I’m sorry, but we can’t have two quarterbacks heading in for this one.”

“And what makes you the quarterback?” she scoffs with a sexy little grimace. I point to the press badge clipped to my shirt, and she rolls her eyes. “Fine, I will stay put.”

“Thank you.” I force myself to let go and continue towards the police and fellow reporters surrounding the area. A camera swings from my neck, and I still it with my hand while nearing the black-and-yellow striped DO NOT CROSS caution tape. Remaining behind it, I zero in on a piece of red graffiti reading Thief, which was above the shoulder of the woman’s corpse in the picture. Although just like every other one of the Kodak Killer’s victims, the body is gone.

Police scour the area, collecting what they believe is evidence off the ground. I’ve seen enough of Kodak’s crime scenes to know they never leave anything behind. Not unless it’s on purpose to throw off the scent.

Taking the lens cover off my camera, I aim towards the “scene of the crime.” While I am well aware this murder did not happen here, I must do everything exactly as I usually would. Why the killer took the effort to relocate the body, arrange the shot, and then move the body again is beyond me. Have they been doing that the entire time?

Given the graffiti tag, I am curious about exactly how involved she was in Vetrel’s business. Did she double-cross him and he did this to silence her? Was that what they were whispering about tonight?

She said, “He knows,” and Vetrel did not look pleased by that. Who was she referring to?