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“Griffin, I have seen enough murdered women for one week, thank you very much.”
He stares at her.
“What murdered women?” he asks.
“Two students, stabbed and strangled, their decapitated bodies left in a car just outside Cranbourne Woods.”
“Decapitated? Why haven’t I heard about these? You know that’s not normal.”
“We’ve deliberately kept it away from the news. They’ve only just updated the system.” She says this quietly, almost under her breath. Then she shakes her head. “This is ridiculous. Please stop, Griffin. I can’t protect you forever. You’re under suspension as it is.” She looks at him. He knows she’s upset. “Please, Nate?”
He nods. But then he points to the folder again. “You’ll see that we’re right. And have a look at your double homicide. I bet you that fits the pattern.”
“But that was Monday night too. What are you saying? That this guy spent an evening driving around on a killing spree, and nobody noticed?”
Griffin stops and thinks. She’s right. It’s a lot. But yet—
She taps a finger on the file. “And if this pattern is so obvious, why is it only coming to light now? Why haven’t you spotted it before?”
It’s a good question, and one Griffin’s asked himself multiple times since Jess made the connection. But he’s never been a fan of true crime—when your job is so full of death and destruction, why seek it out in your spare time?—and his brain has been so addled for the last year, some days he’s barely remembered to eat.
He remembers Alan’s comments at the crime scene. Perhaps they had joined the dots, and Manson had been one of their theories? But he and Jess hadn’t stayed around long enough to find out.
He keeps this to himself. Instead, he says, “Multiple constabularies, different MOs, cops not working together. You know what it’s like. Everyone’s so overstretched, so focused on the detail, nobody has time to step back and think.” He looks at her. “Just promise me you’ll have a read.”
“Okay, fine. But if I don’t agree with you, you’ll stop?”
He presses his lips together. Then nods.
She moves forward, sitting on the edge of the park bench.
“And go see Mom, please?”
“Cara …”
“Please? I’ll do this for you on the one condition you go and see her. She worries about you. She misses you.”
He takes a deep breath, feeling the tension in his body. “She always forgets,” he says quietly. “She always asks about Mia.”
She turns and takes his hands gently. She stares at them, her fingers rubbing on his. “I’m sorry about what … happened,” she says at last. “It’s bad for me too. She forgets the kids, she forgets Roo. She thinks I’m this silly twenty-year-old getting dumped by unsuitable boyfriends. But I go see her, week after week.” She looks up at him. “You need to get help. Let me help you.”
Griffin pulls his hands away and reaches into his pocket for a cigarette. He lights it with shaking fingers.
“You don’t look well, Nate,” Cara continues. “I miss you. I miss my little brother.”
Griffin stands up. “I’ll go see her. Just read it, please.”
He turns away from her, taking a long drag on the cigarette as he walks away. He knew seeing Cara was going to be hard, but she is his best chance of being heard. And he misses her too. He misses seeing her every day at work. He misses arguing about their cases over the dinner table, her husband rolling his eyes as they’d banter to and fro. He misses his niece and nephew.
But he knows that he’s in no fit state to see people now.
He strides quickly away, knowing she’ll still be staring after him. But he refuses to turn around.
CHAPTER
15
HE’S EXCITED. THE man lies in front of him on his back, motionless, on the sofa. His shirt is off and he can just see the slight rise and fall of his chest. His eyes are closed: he’s asleep, drugged with sleeping pills.
