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“Theory three, this has something to do with Lucifer Lost.” Arnett gestured toward the crime scene. “The precision of the crime-scene layout? Sure seems like the killer was following some sort of diagram or procedure that outlined exactly what to do.”
Jo nodded. “Could be both theories two and three together. We know someone from Lucifer Lostwas at The Volcano. Maybe they stumbled on Madison there, followed her, and discovered the other women.”
“So we add in a picture of Brad for our canvassers and see if anybody recognizes him,” Arnett said. “And Kiernan’s for good measure, until we get that security footage back. Maybe he’s unstable, and his anger toward Madison leaving him crept out to her friends. Especially if he thought they were covering up something for her.”
Jo tapped at her phone. “And we still have to figure out the discrepancy with the money at Beautiful Bouncing Babies.”
Arnett grimaced. “Seems like a non-issue to me. Madison needed money, that wasn’t a secret. She was already being pushed to do things she didn’t want to do, would she have stopped at grabbing some extra from an organization that’s there to help? And a thousand dollars—is that really worth killing two people over?”
“If the issue is staying out of jail, then yes. And Naomie didn’t think it was Madison, and Naomie didn’t strike me as the sort of person who caved to flights of fancy,” Jo said. “If the information about the missing money had come from Chelsea I’d brush it off, but Naomie was level-headed. And for her to turn up dead within hours of discovering the discrepancy? I think we have to at least consider the possibility that something deeper is going on, and someone killed both Madison and Naomie to cover their malfeasance. Making it look like a Satanic ritual would be an effective cover-up.”
Arnett gestured back to where Naomie’s belongings had been found. “We have the phone again, so hopefully Lopez can find us something. Stupid of the killer not to dump it somewhere, or at least remove the battery.”
Something about that tugged at Jo, but she couldn’t land on what. She tapped out a message to Lopez. “If anything’s there, she’ll find it. But I think at this point we also need to talk to the people who work at Triple-B.”
“We need to canvas there, anyway.”
“So, we have a solid plan.” Jo took in a deep, slow breath. “Which means there’s no more putting it off. We need to go tell Chris his wife’s dead.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO
Jo’s passion for her job had always been absolute. The long hours, the office politics, the budget limitations—none of it mattered as long as she could spend her days hunting down the men and women who destroyed other people’s lives. It was her way of bringing light to the darkness, of adding more to the world than she took from it, and any downsides along the way seemed relatively negligible.
Except telling people their loved ones were dead.
It never got easier, no matter how many times she’d done it. There were no words to make it easier to hear, no words to ease the pain once the news was delivered. There were dozens of different reactions, but one thing remained the same—the disbelieving pain in their eyes as their world shattered.
It shredded her heart, every single time.
Chris Alexander’s knees buckled out from under him when she delivered the news. Thankfully, he was standing next to the dining room table and caught himself into a chair. He sat for a moment staring straight ahead, saying nothing as Chelsea and Julia peppered Jo and Arnett with tearful questions. Chelsea’s were loud and effusive, punctuated with sniffs and hiccups; Julia’s were silent, tears streaming down her cheeks, the tendons in her neck strained and tight as she struggled to maintain control. Then, Chris gasped, sank his head down into his hands, and sobbed.
Chelsea pulled a chair to his side and put her arms around him as best she could. Julia left the room, returned with a blanket that she placed over his shoulders, and poured him a glass of water. Then she retreated to the spot where she’d been standing by the kitchen counter, her eyes sliding continually around the room, searching.
After walking them through the grief-counseling resources available to them, Jo gently told Chris that when he was ready, she’d need to ask him a few questions.
He sat up straight and rubbed a hand over his face. “Ask me now. You need to catch this guy.”
Jo nodded. “I noticed a camera by the front door. Do you have any others?”
Chris shook his head. “We just have that one so we could make sure nobody stole any packages that were delivered. There isn’t much other crime in this area.”
“We’ll need to check the footage,” Arnett said.
“That’s not a problem,” Chris said. “But it won’t tell you much. When we go for walks we go out the back, since the path is closer to the backyard than the front.”
“It’s possible that whoever is doing this may be someone known to Madison and Naomie, or it may be someone who has been following them.” Jo checked each of their expressions. “Has anything strange happened to her recently that you know of?”
“No, nothing,” Chris said, then looked to Chelsea and Julia.
“Just that guy at the juice bar,” Chelsea said, cheeks pink.
“Can you tell us anything about the vehicle?” Jo asked.
She nodded. “It was a dark color, like black or maybe charcoal. Mid-size. I’m sorry I didn’t notice the type.”
“You said you couldn’t tell what he looked like because of the cap and glasses,” Jo said. “But you’re sure it was a man?”
Chelsea blinked. “I assumed it was, but maybe it wasn’t. All I really saw was the cap and sunglasses. But you can’t think awomandid this?”
