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“Romance comes later. We’ve got two killers to catch. Let’s get going.”
The adrenaline surged again. The trap was set. Now came the hard part. Plus, the quicker Ripley got this over with, the sooner she could see Martin again.
She’d forgotten what this feeling was like.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Ella made a mental note to buy Sergeant Grant the biggest bouquet of flowers she could find once all this was over, because he’d made all the arrangements and helped assemble their giant mousetrap in record time. Now she was in the lobby of the Capri Hotel, double-checking everything was set up for maximum enticement.
Grant had called in a few favors, made a few promises. He’d spoken to the hotel manager and promised him a fee for his troubles. Grant had even called up his old pal William Edis and told him Ella’s plan, and the director, much to Ella’s dismay, had given his full approval.
All of the staff and residents at the Capri Hotel had been evacuated and moved to better accommodation under the guise of a plumbing issue. The woman behind the desk was merely playing the role of receptionist, and the faux patron in the lobby was a Special Firearms Officer in disguise. Every room except two would be unoccupied for the next few nights – or until one or both killers made their guest appearances.
The press conference had ended barely thirty minutes ago, but the trap had been laid before it had even begun. Both the Rose Killer and the Ripper worked fast, so Ella couldn’t risk either of them witnessing the bait being setup. It needed to be in place in case of an unexpected arrival. Now, she applied the finishing touches to the motel lobby; an apparently misplaced list of occupants lying on the front counter. According to the forged document, the tiny motel only had six guests for the night. Five of the names were fabricated, one of them was real.
Room 106: M. Ripley (long stay).
Mia was already locked and loaded in the room, conveniently located at the depths of the motel which also offered potential window access. Sergeant Grant had offered her officer protection in there too, but Ripley had refused, stating that an experienced predator would be able to sniff out multiple bodies in one room. She had a point, because if the killers heard commotion in the room, they wouldn’t risk invading. Ella needed the Rose Killer and the Ripper to fully believe that Mia was alone in there, otherwise the plan wouldn’t work. Three officers were situated in the staff area, another two out in the parking lot.
Ella’s instructions had been clear and simple: stay the hell out of sight, don’t draw attention, don’t approach anyone unless they reached Mia’s hotel room door. Her instructions to the fake receptionist were clear too: watch the desk from afar, don’t man it.
The CCTV camera at the front of the motel had been detached.
Empty cars were laid out in the parking lot.
Ripley had turned the volume up on her TV so it could be heard from the outside corridor.
Now the stage was set, they just needed the actors to appear. It was Ella’s turn to hide.
She rushed up to room one-one-two, directly opposite Ripley’s. From now until the morning hours, she had one job: to watch Ripley’s door through the spyglass. She couldn’t leave, couldn’t move, would go to the bathroom in a jar if she had to. She had everything she needed to get through the night in the form of coffee and sugar. It might wreak havoc on her digestive system but if you needed to stay alert, these were the necessary tools to do so.
Not even seven p.m., but there was no way of knowing what time either killer might strike.
Now we wait,Ella said to herself.
It was going to be a long night.
***
The image of the vacant corridor had burned itself onto Ella’s pupils. Even when she briefly glanced away to stretch her neck, the image remained superimposed over her vision. She took another hit of sugar and caffeine. It was approaching eleven p.m. now, nearly four hours since their operation had begun, and she hadn’t seen a soul or heard a thing from any of the officers on standby.
Ella tried not to let her mind wander, but it was difficult when confronted with such nothingness. Recent events had proven a welcome distraction from her phone call with Logan Nash, but it was still there, whirring around her head like a plague of locusts, playing and replaying every little word, every little threat. She had a lot to think about, but now wasn’t the time, not when there was a brief window when her partner could be left alone with two serial killers.
The status of Clarissa Reed was also gnawing at her. Ella had called Clarissa’s spare phone since Logan had revealed that he’d tracked her down, but all she’d received was a text message sayingI’m okay, don’t call me.It was minimally reassuring, but if Logan had captured her, why would he lie about it? He’d use it as fuel to torment Ella further. All signs pointed to Clarissa still alive. Traumatized, but alive.
Before Ella could dwell on it anymore, her phone gently hummed against her thigh.
Incoming call.
Sergeant Grant.
Ella lowered her voice to a whisper. “Grant,” she said.
“Ella, we got something.”
She shook off her exhaustion, slapped herself a little too hard in the face to wake up. “What’s happening?” she whispered.
“Possible person of interest. Hanging around the parking lot. I’m out here; I’ve got eyes on him.”
