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“Ed Gein turned bones into lampshades and bowls. I might do something with skin.”
“We can’t simply copy the killers we’ve learned about,” another one said. “We have to create our own signature.”
That was the first time she’d heard them making plans. The day her infatuation started. The day she realized that she wanted to be part of it.
FIFTY-SIX
THE JAVA JUNKIE
Ellie ducked into the coffee shop at the college while Derrick returned Lindsey’s call. She’d been falling apart more often now than ever and had his number on speed dial.
Ellie ordered a mocha coffee for herself and black coffee for Derrick, along with pastries, then claimed a booth in the back facing the door so they could view anyone who entered. Not that she expected to recognize Amy’s killer.
A minute later, Derrick appeared, a look of frustration deepening his eyes.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
He sighed. “Lindsey and the kids are still struggling. I promised to come back and take Evan to ball practice soon.”
“That’s nice of you,” Ellie said softly.
“I care about those kids. I know what it’s like to grow up without a father,” he replied, bitterness lacing his voice. He slid his laptop onto the table and seated himself across from her. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“No problem.” She finished off her cinnamon roll, unsettled by his comment. But she had to focus. “I’ve been contemplating whether Waycross killed Amy,” Ellie said. “He was a cutter which is a form of self-mutilation. He could have graduated to murder, killed his first victim, Amy, and then tried to get away in her car.” She sipped her coffee. “Then someone killed him. But who?”
“We need Amy’s cause of death,” Derrick said.
“Hard to do with what little of her remains were found,” Ellie said, thoughts scattered. “What if Waycross didn’t kill Amy? What if Waycross was trying to help her escape and her killer murdered him?”
“That sounds feasible,” Derrick agreed. “Although, judging from his father’s comments about the photos his son had at his apartment, Waycross doesn’t sound like the hero type.”
“True. So what was his involvement? Did he know someone intended to kill her?” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I’ll look for other coed murders around that time frame across the States. Maybe we’ll find a connection.”
Derrick opened his laptop. “I’ll work on addresses for Wahlburg and Pockley and run background checks on them.” He checked his watch. “Our forensic psychiatrist is interviewing Dominique Radcliff today.” Derrick scratched his head. “Maybe he’ll get something.”
Ellie twisted her mouth sideways in thought then pulled her own tablet from her bag, and they lapsed into silence as they got to work.
Paisley’s precious little face haunted Ellie as she accessed police databases.Where are you, sweet girl? Where are you?
FIFTY-SEVEN
WIDOW LAKE
He hid in the foliage surrounding the shed where the kids had congregated. The little girl they called Betsy. And then the older one, she must be what—twelve, thirteen?
A teenager. That could be fun. Lately he’d been bored, almost complacent. Taking a teenager would up his game. Missing children always got more attention in the media.
He had to lure her away from the other kids. Formulate a plan. Choose the right moment.
He looked down at his fingers. In his mind, he could already see the blood dripping…
Their hushed voices echoed from the bushes, then the boy leaned closer to the older girl. Lorna Bea was what they called her.
“Dad said they found some bones under that shed where Betsy fell,” the boy said.
Lorna Bea lifted her hand to the side of her mouth as if to whisper a secret. “First a man in the car. And now another body in that shed. Cade, maybe the lake is haunted like they say.”
“Dad said they were murdered,” Cade said. “I wonder if the killer’s still around here.”
