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“Yeah. If you ask me, the cops have jumped to conclusions here. These are two isolated incidents that just happened to have taken place within forty-eight hours of each other. It’s a coincidence. Nothing more.”
Ella suddenly felt like she’d entered an alternate universe. She was the one who usually wished for connections in the face of opposing evidence.
“Or there’s something else at play,” said Ripley. “Something we might not have considered yet.”
Ella figured out where Ripley’s head was at. “You mean that this unsub might have purposely changed his M.O.?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried it.”
Ella recalled a few historic killers who’d done exactly that. “I guess. The Golden State Killer changed his M.O. Israel Keyes purposely did it to throw police off his scent. The Zodiac went from shooting to stabbing then back to shooting.”
“Right, not to mention how many serial killers we’ve missed over the years because they did exactly this.”
Ella gave the idea some thought, but no matter how hard she tried, the credibility wasn’t there. She struggled to believe that Ripley believed it too.
“Mia, come on. The evidence doesn’t say that. You’re always telling me not to make leaps, and here you are doing exactly that. If he was going to change his M.O., he’d changeeverythingabout the M.O. The locations, the victims’ genders, the disposal methods. And he certainly wouldn’t kill twice in two days. It’s not impossible, but it’s improbable.”
Ripley smirked, patted Ella hard on the back. “So, you’re believing the evidence over a fanciful possibility?”
Ella sighed, realized she’d been set up. Ripley’s teaching methods weren’t conventional but she couldn’t deny they worked. “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” she said.
“Coincidences happen, as much as we don’t want to believe it.”
Ella felt a little better, a little more positive that she and Ripley were on the same page. “Coincidences do indeed happen. You know there was a murderer from Sweden in the eighties who tore off women’s breasts? His name was Teet Harm.”
Ripley checked her phone again, ignoring the piece of obscure trivia. “This is a double-edged sword, because if we can confirm these are two separate perpetrators, all we need to do is provide a psychological profile for each. The rest is up to the cops.”
Ella nodded. Isolated instances of homicide were not federal crimes, but despite the legal boundaries, Ella still wanted to see this one out. She might never have met Vanessa or Katherine in life, but she still felt a kinship with them in death. Walking away and leaving an unanswered mystery wasn’t in her nature. She was a firm believer in embracing responsibility and finishing what you started despite what the rulebook said.
“Two distinct profiles. Double the work.”
“I’m not one hundred percent on this being two killers, because it’s notimpossiblethat he switched things up to throw us off. But until the evidence says otherwise, that’s what we should go with.”
“I’m with you on that. Katherine’s sister wants to see us, you said?”
“Yeah. Let’s get going.”
Ella was ready. Now wasn’t the time to turn back. One killer, two killer, three killers. It didn’t matter. Bring them on, Ella thought.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Why would anyone do this to Katherine?” the woman cried as she hugged a cushion. She had scraggly blonde hair, smeared makeup, and skin blotched with the residue of tears.
Sitting across from family members of the deceased was the reality check, Ella thought. The pursuit of serial killers was a rollercoaster of excitement, disappointment, and surges of adrenaline, but talking to someone in the throes of despair was a constant line of discomfort. In many ways, this was the most important part of the whole process. Giving hope to family members was as much as any investigator could promise, because capturing the villain was never guaranteed.
“She seemed like a fantastic woman,” Ella said as she leaned forward in her chair. The woman opposite her and Ripley was Natalie Parkinson, sister of their second victim. “We were hoping you could shed some light on Katherine’s life, perhaps something that could suggest who did this.”
Natalie tossed her cushion to one side and curled up in the corner of her couch. Ella always felt a little foolish quizzing a grieving family member about their loved one’s past, especially mere hours after they’d been taken away. However, if there was an easier way to dig into a victim’s life, she was yet to hear of it.
“Katherine’s the best. A real warrior. Positive, warm, caring. The kind of person you’d want by your side.”
Ripley was leaning against the wall. There wasn’t enough room for her to sit down in the tiny living room. “Could you give us a glimpse into her life?” she asked. “Work, friends, boyfriends?”
“Katherine was self-employed. She worked as a graphic designer. She talked to me about it a few times, but it was so boring.”
“Did she mention any problems with her job? Or any problems with people she worked with?”
“Doubt it,” said Natalie as she scrubbed away a new batch of tears. “She just designed websites, logos, that kind of thing.”
