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She slid down the deserted corridor, past a row of unoccupied offices towards her room at the end. Every other councilor must have been out on the road, probably doing their own methods of damage control to keep the press from turning this city inside out, but their efforts would be in vain unless they did something large-scale. Something that would draw the eyeballs, get the whole country talking and weed this guy out. Someone in this city knew who he was; they just needed to get the right mouths to the right ears. It was really the police and the FBI’s job, but Gail couldn’t deny that the prospect of helping catch the Davenport Monster had its appeal. She could cash in on that little fact for the rest of her career, and such an accolade was basically a cannon shot to the mayor’s seat.
Gail set the key in the lock, turned, and caught the metal catch.
It was already open.
She never left her office door unlocked.
Gail clutched the cool brass handle and wondered if she hadn’t suffered a lapse of memory. Had she been in such a rush to leave earlier that she’d forgotten to lock it?
Hesitantly, she pushed the door open, letting it swing all the way around before taking a step further.
Then the smell hit her like an invisible wave.
Bleach, chemicals, the unmistakable scent of freshness.
Gail slapped herself on the forehead. “Of course. Wednesday. Cleaners.” She stepped inside, threw down her bag and took a seat behind her mahogany desk. She tidied up the papers, stuffed a few documents into a drawer, then grabbed her notepad and a pen. She pressed the nub to the lined paper, watching the ink blot enlarge like a black sun as she collected her thoughts.
What could she do to mitigate the damage this killer was doing to the city? How could she assist the police, help combat this guy and put him behind bars? There were only two outcomes she could pray for here: catching him or hoping he suddenly disappeared. But if it was the latter, there was every chance he could crop up again in six months, a year, two years. The threat would perpetually hang over her head, and the last thing she needed was another constant headache.
Gail scrawled on her paper. The idea she’d been toying with since this morning. The thing she hadn’t mentioned to the mayor because he would have laughed it off, used it as an opportunity to suggest she was unfit to be a councilwoman.
Press conference.
An unrestricted affair to arouse public interest. You couldn’t hide anything in this day and age, so there was no point hoping that people might simply forget an uncaptured serial killer was roaming the streets. The city had to lean into it, show this mysterious offender that they weren’t going to take his actions lightly.
Gail penned a few notes, a potential date and location. Whenever the words flowed, her brain fell on autopilot. It had been a tiresome few days and she was happy for the brief moment of relief, but then something roused her conscious mind. A shuffling, a scratching, a pitter-patter of footsteps rocking back and forth. She suddenly became painfully aware of her isolation, realizing her vulnerability. It was a few moments before she could bring herself to move, and all she managed to do was spin her head before the masked figure burst out of the cupboard.
The last thing Gail saw was her page of notes, signed in her own blood.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Abuse fantasies weren’t all Ella found in Master D’s post history. His most recent post, made only yesterday, concerned the very case she was banging her head against. In a thread entitledDaily Rage,Master D had said that his only problem with the Davenport Monster was that he didn’t mutilate the women he killed.
It was enough to cast suspicion on him.
Ella couldn’t trace Master D’s real identity from his forum posts, but she knew someone who could. She and Ripley stormed out of their office, an unexpected avenue having presented itself.
“The coroner found flowers on Vanessa’s body,” she said. “We found a rose petal next to Abigail. Chances are it’s the same person who killed both of them, so what if he’s pretending to deliver these victims a gift?”
Ripley struggled to keep up with Ella’s huge strides. She said, “Yeah. And you can’t track his address through that message board?”
“I can’t. Someone better than me might, but I know a quicker way.” Ella burst into the interrogation room where Clarence was drinking from a foam coffee cup with cuffed hands. “Clarence, I need your help.”
He looked like he’d been told to go and clear landmines. “My help? You want help from a guy you think is a murderer?”
“I don’t think you’re a murderer, and yes, I want your help. Do you want to clear your name or not?”
Clarence’s eyes darted around the room aimlessly as he no doubt weighed up the options in his head. At last he said, “Okay, what do you want?”
“There’s a user named Master D on your forum. Do you know him?”
“Master D? Yes I do. Why?”
“I need to know who he is. All I can glean from his posts is that he’s an MMA fighter who lives in Davenport. And he has fantasies of breaking into women’s houses.”
Clarence clenched his teeth. “First thing you should know is that Master D is full of shit. He’s a troll.”
“I don’t care what he is. I need to speak to him,” Ella said.
