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Peter stared at him. “Why would I murder eight women?”
“I want you to tell me why you did it,” Mitch said firmly. He was not going to play games.
The corner of Peter’s lips turned up. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
Mitch stared at him, refusing to play along.
Peter sighed. “I had a dream one night. At first I thought they were ghosts, surrounding me. But then I realized they were angels. Do you think I’m evil?” Peter asked, searching Mitch’s eyes.
Mitch sat quietly, keeping his face impassive.
“You do. At first I thought I was too, but now I realize that great art comes from great sacrifice,” Peter said without a hint of remorse.
“Tell me about the painting in your office in St. Louis,” Mitch said.
“You ruined my greatest work,” Peter responded bitterly. “I want to speak to Zoe.” Peter’s eyes held a challenge.
“I don’t think she wants to speak to you,” Mitch said.
Peter turned over his empty hands. “I guess we’re done, then.”
Mitch sat calmly, wondering what his next move should be. “Okay. Take him back to his cell.”
He stood and calmly walked out. Peter wanted power, and Mitch wasn’t going to react.
Mitch sat in his office, watching the security monitors. Jackson led Peter back into the cells. He didn’t resist, didn’t fight, didn’t say a word.
Jackson sighed when he entered Mitch’s office. “Thoughts?”
“He wants to play games, and he wants to play them his way,” Mitch said. “This is beyond our scope of work. We need someone who has experience in criminal psychology to do this.”
“Or, Zoe could speak to him,” Jackson suggested, raising an eyebrow.
Mitch’s jaw jutted out. “Why? So he can torture her with information about her dead sister? He’s playing games.”
“Right, but she might be able to play too, and beat him at his game. We don’t know if there are other victims... We don’t know what this guy was doing over the past years,” Jackson said.
He was right, and Mitch knew, although they could charge him with attempted murder for Zoe, they couldn’t yet charge him with the other murders because he could blame it on Jonathan, and Jonathan was dead. Or, he could say nothing at all.
“I’ll speak to her,” he said, resigned.
His cell phone rang and he eagerly answered, placing the call on speaker. “Hi, Maria,” he said.
“I have good news for you. The last victim has been identified... it’s their mother.”
CHAPTER42
ZOE
Zoe opened her eyes, her vision taking a moment to clear. She looked around the room, but she was alone. She went to stretch out her legs but that pulled on her wounds and she quickly stalled any further movement. She grimaced, wondering if she was due for more pain killers. They made her drowsy—she could barely keep her eyes open after she took them. She wanted to ask the nurse for ibuprofen instead. She’d rather feel a little pain than be in this constant state of drowsiness.
She turned her head to look for the button attached to her bed to call for the nurse when she saw a box on the cabinet beside her bed. She wiggled over, trying not to use her abdomen. She’d never realized how almost every movement the human body made somehow involved the abdomen.
She slowly lifted the box, surprised at how heavy it was. She grimaced again. She rested the box on her legs and opened the folded piece of paper taped to the top.
Zoe,
I thought you might like this.
