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I share the house with Asher Mulligan—I nearly tackled him as he came into the house, mostly because I didn’t recognize him, having never known Asher as an adult. Because, you know, he died. Until he didn’t.
Oh boy.
He is apparently my roommate, a white-hat hacker and someone with whom I’m friendly, if not close.
I don’t know who I’m close to, really, because the only two people in my life I’d put in that category have each other now.
Eve, my wife, and Burke.
Andrew Burke, my former partner. Who now hates me, and bears a terrible burn scar across his face. I’m going to get to the bottom of that.
My office is still a conference room, but now, instead of twenty-three horrific murders, thirty-eight cases line the board.
Thirty-eight women killed by a man we—I?—have dubbed the Jackson killer, because of this calling card, a twenty dollar bill.
What no one knows is that inscribed on
each twenty are the words, “thank you for your service.”
Sick.
The only anomaly in the lineup of cases is still the murder of my old boss, John Booker.
My daughter’s case, however, is absent, because, like I said, she doesn’t exist.
Never existed.
See why I need to write things down? Because I sound a little crazy when I say it aloud.
“Rem. I thought I’d find you here.”
The voice turns me and just like always I’m blown over by the sight of Eve walking onto a crime scene.
Her auburn hair is tied back, and she’s wearing a pair of hiking boots, jeans and her CSI vest. And, she’s just as beautiful as she was yesterday, or the day before, and twenty-three years ago when I kissed her on the steps of her home.
She’s not mine. And she probably just rolled out of the bed she shares with Burke and I need to not let that find root in my brain if I hope to survive this world.
Time is cruel. Or maybe it’s fate. I’m not sure, but frankly, Eve belongs to me. And I know that sounds rather Neanderthal, but that’s just where I am right now.
I’m not sure why the idea of her, happy, with my best friend is worse than her divorcing me. I just can’t believe she moved on after what we had. Or maybe we, like Ash, never existed because Eve looks at me with a friendly smile, nothing of a spark in her eyes, and my throat thickens.
I probably need more coffee.
No, I need to rewind time, find my life, and throw the watch into the Mississippi.
She is carrying a pair of gloves, but she doesn’t do the heavy lifting anymore. Not as director of the Crime Lab.
She stands at the edge of the crime scene, stares at the body. “What do we know?”
This information is recent, handed to me by Zeke, my assistant. “Female, early twenties. From the marks at her neck, she was strangled. She’s naked, but in her hand is—”
“A twenty dollar bill.”
“Yeah.”
“Is it marked?”
“Yes,” I say and finish off my coffee.
