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7
Historic Charleston City Market stretched four chaotic blocks behind Market Hall in a riot of colors and scents. Underneath the four sheds original to the market, which opened in the 1790s, huddled dozens of tables bowed under merchandise. Most days it was bursting with handmade wares, packed with quirky vendors, and surging with delighted shoppers.
The walk over was scenic but with enough twists and turns to provide easy cover for our killer.
Add the deep shadows cast by live oaks and crape myrtles, and they would have been all but invisible.
A chime had me searching my pocket for my phone to find a text from Colby.
>>Tracy Amerson was single. No kids. No close friends. No hobbies.
The lack of a social circle could explain why the killer found her an appealing target.
>And you know that last part how?
>>The internet is a magical place, full of wonder and mysteries.
For little hacker moths, sure.
>>No link between the victims either. Or their parents. Not that I saw.
Asa had his own notes, so I would set them up to compare their findings.
>Thanks, smarty fuzz butt.
>>I’ll be slaying the orc scourge if you need me.
Those poor orcs. Seriously. As far as I could tell, their lives were an endless massacre.
Reflecting on the file for Bryce Masters, our second victim, I recalled the scant details.
After a nice dinner with his extended family, his aunts, visiting for the holidays, wanted to see the sights. Happy to play guides, his parents indulged them with an abbreviated tour of City Market.
Eager to get home to his new kitten, Bryce ran ahead of his family, vanishing into thin air.
The next morning, dark blood soaked the pavement where he had last been seen.
The exact location fell across the street from the sheds, outside a store with a black dog on its logo.
“The blood was found here.” I stood on the exact spot. “Are those…flower petals?”
“Crushed leaves and dung traces too.” Asa bagged a crumpled sample. “A horse must have trampled it.”
Carriage rides were popular in downtown, and several companies offered daytime and nighttime tours.
The various stables were nearby, so the market was an established part of their routes.
“Likely a grounds custodian or street sweeper tossed it after that.”
“This is enough to test it against the wreath we have to see if they match.”
Flowers left on graves that weren’t graves by a killer who mourned the victims as their body count rose.
Proof they wanted to get caught? Genuine remorse they couldn’t stop? A macabre token of thanks?
A text chime yanked me from my grim thoughts.
>>The leg has been identified.
