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Ella took the folder. ‘Thank you, chief.’
‘He can’t afford a lawyer so his public defendant will be here. He can’t make it for a few hours, so you ladies are gonna need to sit tight.’
‘God’s sake,’ Ripley said.
Ella began to pace. She wasn’t going to idly sit by until this defendant showed up, because if they had this all wrong, then every second wasted was a second closer to finding another body.
And not only did Mark Brewer’s personality oppose the psychological profile, but there was something else on Ella’s mind too.
In horror movies, the killer was rarely the ex-boyfriend.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ginny pulled the soft throw blanket tighter around her shoulders as switched the channel to KTLA News. A drone shot of a small apartment building filled the screen, glinting in the flashing blue lights of the nearby police vans surrounding the place. The lower third of the screen read:
HORROR MURDERS GRIP MAYWOOD,UPDATES AS THEY COME.
She had a sudden urge to run upstairs and check on the kids. Chester and Amelia were old enough now that they rarely woke up in the middle of the night, and every other time Ginny had babysat the little angels, she’d never had any problems.
But she’d been hearing about these apparent horror movie kills all day, and the news had put her on edge. The information was impossible to escape, because every news outlet had shamelessly thrown the details in her face, almost mocking her with the grisly specifics.
Ginny looked around the living room, trying to shake off the unease that had settled in her chest. The murmur of the TV newscaster droned on, ‘Police have confirmed two victims of the horror slayer, both Maywood residents. The crimes have taken place over the span of two nights, and police are urging locals to stay vigilant.’
She ditched the blanket, double checked the front door, patio door, kitchen windows. All locked. The Martins were a security-conscious family, and there was no way they’d have taken any risks when it came to their children’s safety. With a deep breath, she decided to check on the kids. Maybe it would soothe her nerves to see them safe and sound.
She tiptoed upstairs, trying to minimize any noise. As she approached Chester's room, she noticed his door slightly ajar. She peeked inside, caught the six-year-old sleeping peacefully, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Amelia's room was next, and just as she had hoped, the little girl was wrapped in her blanket, lost in dreams, nothing but a gentle breeze lapping at her curtains and green wavelight casting stars against the ceiling.
Ginny went back to the living room and muted the television. The fear-mongering was doing her no good. She reached for a book on the table, determined to spend the rest of the evening lost in a fictional world where monsters could be defeated by closing the cover. The book was trashy romance; a clichéd story of a young woman falling for an emotionally-unavailable bad boy, only to discover she’d accidentally friend-zoned her true love along the way. Easy and brainless, and that was enough for Ginny tonight.
Just as she started to get engrossed in the book's pages, her soft ringtone broke the silence.
Ginny froze for a moment, glancing at the name flashing on her screen.
UNKNOWN.
Her heartbeat ramped up, but Ginny settled herself. She received anonymous calls all the time. Ever since she’d streamed Paranormal Activity through that sketchy website, her email and phone number had fallen prey to scammers worldwide.
Every fiber of her being told her it was probably just someone trying to swindle her into buying insurance, but what if it was the Martins checking in? Cliff was a digital dinosaur by his own admission, so he might have set his phone to anonymous calling by accident.
Ginny decided to answer.
‘Hello?’
A few seconds of silence, then a raspy voice whispered, ‘Have you checked on the children?’
Ginny’s fingertips clenched the phone. She felt a sudden pain in her chest, keeping deep breaths at bay. ‘Excuse me?’
‘I said, have you checked on the children?’
Ginny suddenly felt eyes on her, exposed, as though answering the call had unlocked the doors and opened all the drapes by magic.
That voice. She knew it well, but she couldn’t place it. Her rationale was clouded by a sudden dread.
‘Mr. Martin? Is that you?’
It wasn’t his voice, nor the voice of any telemarketer or scammer she’d heard before.
‘No. Are you watching the news?’
