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"What?" I hissed, shocked.
"Come on, this town? We know how things are in this town."
"Yeah, no. I mean, of course. But that isn't the kind of thing I'm talking about. I'm not talking about the bikers or the mob. This is different."
"Well, with their deep pockets and heavily greased palms in every level of the justice system, I can't do shit about the bikers and the mob. But I might be able to do something about different, if what you say is true. Show me what you've got."
With that, I did.
I opened up the file.
I showed him pictures and timelines.
I gave him minute details.
I explained about the cleaner in the garage.
I went ahead and left out the whole part about fucking the serial killer because, well, I didn't need to expose myself that much just yet. I knew, eventually, if they investigated the case, I would need to reveal all those dirty secrets, but I didn't feel like it was pertinent right that moment.
"Okay," Lloyd said, pressing his lips into a firm line, clearly seeing the complete lack of concrete evidence.
"It's not crazy."
"I'm not saying it is," he said, taking a deep breath. "I'm not even saying it's impossible. Working in this town has really reframed what I think is possible or not."
"So what are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking most serial killers, as you know, have a pattern to their crimes. There isn't even a pattern to these victims. Which is usually the most glaring commonality. If nothing else, the same sex. But this is all over the map."
"There is a commonality, though," I reminded him, finding the image of the cleaner I found online. Made by a small manufacturer. But when I'd looked, I couldn't even find a way to buy the chemicals if I wanted to.
"Cleaning solution. I mean... it's something. But how can we find the man who...what?" he asked.
It was right then that I realized I'd left out the most vital part. As in the name of the serial killer himself. Hell, I somehow "forgot" to slip a picture of him into the file. It wasn't a great picture. I'd only been able to get it by going into my home security system's cloud to find a still of him when he was walking up to my house.
"I know who it is," I told him. "I, ah, I guess I should have started with that. This is him. Finn. That's all I have, though. Finn. No last name," I told him, pushing the picture across his desk.
"Oh," Lloyd said, shoulders slumping as recognition hit his face.
"You know him?" I asked, wondering if he had a rap sheet as long as my arm, if he'd been hauled in and questioned before.
"You could say that," he said, placing the picture in the pile with the rest of the proof I'd accumulated. "Alright, look," he went on, exhaling hard. "He's not a serial killer."
"What? You can't possibly know that. This is him. I've been in his garage. I've seen his massive supply of that cleaner. He's a neat freak. This is the guy," I declared, voice getting a tad hysterical as I jabbed my finger into Finn's picture.
"I'm not going to tell you to calm down," Lloyd said, lips twitching. "I made that mistake once with my wife. Once," he added dramatically. "She, ah, she threatened to grind me up, brew me, and serve me as the next day's special coffee," he added, smiling at the memory. "If you knew her, you'd know it wasn't exactly an idle threat," he told me, turning the picture on his desk to face me.
"Jazzy?" I asked, seeing the gorgeous, stacked, light-purple-haired woman smiling in the picture with him. "You're married to Jazzy from She's Bean Around? I practically live there. How come I never see you there?"
"Because she told me I would have to wait in line like everyone else, and I don't have that kind of time," he told me, smiling. "So I tolerate the sludge here. Anyway, I won't tell you to calm down, but I will ask that you take a deep breath, and then let me say something.
"Fine," I grumbled, crossing my arms as I leaned back. But Lloyd just raised a brow at me, making me realize he was waiting for me to take that deep breath. Feeling silly, I did. "There."
"Good enough, I guess," he said, rolling his eyes. "Alright. Finn isn't a serial killer. In fact, seeing this now, I am putting the pieces together. And I regret to inform you that you're wrong, that there isn't a serial killer. I also have to tell you that there's nothing I can do. My hands are tied here too."
"These people are missing, presumed dead," I snapped, reaching to grab the file back from him, snapping it closed.
"I'm not disputing that."
