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‘Let’s get to work, Dark. We’ve got a rampage killer on the loose.’
Ella felt a surge of focused energy. She was nervous about the path ahead but determined to meet the man responsible for these senseless acts of rage. In her mind, the killer was already a target, an enigma to be solved, a shadow to be brought into the light.
And Ella Dark was ready for the hunt.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Agent Mia Ripley settled into the makeshift workspace at the precinct, her laptop open and a stack of files on the three victims - Demi Hart, Mark Jensen, and Miles Rampell - spread out before her. The hum of activity around her faded into the background as she honed in on the task at hand. Anything to take her mind off Randall Carter and his meddling with her retirement plans. Ripley hadn’t told Martin of her potential career extension yet, not wanting to disappoint the poor guy.
He had plans, Martin had said. All those midnight conversations they’d had about post-retirement adventures would have to continue for another six months, and who knows what might happen when the day came? Martin had already teased Ripley that she couldn’t live without her job, and the last thing she wanted to was suggest that he might be right. Ripley's fingers hovered over the keyboard, her mind momentarily drifting to Martin's playful jabs. She couldn't deny the pull her job still had on her, the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of putting together pieces of a puzzle no one else could see. But she also longed for those promised adventures, the freedom to explore life beyond the badge.
Ripley dug into the life of Demi Hart, noted down her crucial details then moved onto Mark Jensen, victim two. She saw the first connection immediately.
‘Got something interesting,’ she called out, beckoning Ella over.
Her partner, who had been engrossed in her own research, walked over. ‘What's up?’
‘Demi Hart and Mark Jensen went to the same high school. Lincoln High. That’s two for two.’
Ella leaned across to her side of the table and grabbed a printout. She laid it out in front of Ripley. ‘Three for three. Miles Rampell went there too.’
Ripley clasped her hands together, a little taken back by the immediate connection. It seemed too superficial, too simple.
‘Same graduating class,’ Ella continued. ‘Class of oh-five.’
‘Definitely not a coincidence, but it seems a little…’
‘Obvious?’ Ella asked.
‘Obvious.’
‘Agreed. This unsub might be a maniac, but if he’s got the smarts to worm his way into these people’s personal spaces, it means he has a semblance of self-control. That suggests he’s reasonably thoughtful, so he’d know that police would find the connection.’
‘Agreed. You got anything else on these victims?’ Ripley asked.
Ella gestured for her partner to join her across the table. ‘Come into my domain. I’ve got an alumni page from Lincoln High, and all our victims are on there.’
Ripley followed Ella around to her laptop. ‘Alumni pages for high schools? Is that a thing?’
‘Not officially,’ Ella said as she took her seat. ‘But social media does the hard work for you these days. Look,’ she ran her finger over the screen. ‘I’ve found a page dedicated to the victims’ graduation year.’
‘Frozen in time,’ Ripley mused as her partner scrolled through the posts. Photos of football games, prom nights, and graduation ceremonies painted a picture of youthful optimism. But beneath the surface, Ripley knew that high school could be a complex web of alliances and animosities.
‘One-hundred and twenty-five members,’ Ella said.
‘Chances our killer’s amongst them?’
‘Depends on how smart he is. This is a public group, visible by anyone, so he doesn’t have to join to view everything.’
Ripley gave a disapproving head shake. ‘When are people going to learn? Stop advertising your lives to the world.’
‘Never tag yourself on vacation. It’s the easiest way to get your house burgled.’
Ripley scanned the page, involuntarily reflecting on her own high school days - a time she rarely revisited. She remembered the cliques, the pressures, the unspoken rules that governed teenage life. Could the key to solving these murders lie in the forgotten conflicts and hidden scars of high school?
‘But even if our killer isn’t in the group, his next victim might be.’
Ella shrugged. ‘His victimology is broad. The only pattern is that each victim is thirty-six years old.’
