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‘Anything?’ asked Ella.
‘Empty. I think people just come here to catch the Meth Express.’
Ella couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, the sense that they were not alone in this decrepit graveyard of memories.
‘Why would he do this?’ she asked. ‘I don’t see why he’d lure someone all the way out here. This place must be two miles out from James Gorton’s house.’
Ripley shrugged, her eyes scanning the derelict landscape. ‘Could be a red herring. Maybe he's trying to throw us off, make us waste time while he's plotting his next move somewhere else. Maybe he knew James wouldn’t solve the riddle but the police would.’
Ella pondered this, her gaze lingering on the shadowed recesses between the garages. ‘Or maybe it's part of his game. A wild goose chase, leading us on, enjoying the spectacle of our frustration.’
‘Yeah. Either way, we need eyes on this place going forward, and eyes on the other locations he mentioned. The pond and the park. If they mean something to him, chances are he’ll head back there.’
Pond, park, garages. Ella questioned what – if anything – they had in common. She had no immediate answer.
‘When we get back to the precinct, I’m going to see who owns these garages. Or who used to own them. We know our killer’s a local, so he might have tried to lure James here because he was familiar with the area.’
‘Good idea, but you’re out of your mind if you think I’m going back to the precinct tonight. It’s three o’clock in the morning.’
Ella sighed, knowing Ripley was right. The weight of exhaustion hung heavy on her shoulders, yet the thought of closing her eyes, even for a moment, seemed impossible. The images of four dead bodies haunted her, each a tragic chapter in the killer's twisted narrative. The garages, the pond, the park; they were all pieces of a macabre puzzle that she desperately needed to solve but couldn’t without rest.
‘You're right,’ Ella admitted reluctantly. The adrenaline that had sustained her was waning, replaced by blurry vision and a bone-deep fatigue. ‘We need to be alert for what comes next.’
‘Let’s get a few hours’ sleep, then look at this asshole with fresh eyes tomorrow.’
Ella nodded in agreement. This killer wasn’t done, and neither was she.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The next morning, Ella entered the precinct, her resolve fortified by a few hours of restless sleep. She settled at her desk, mentally replaying the events of the previous day like a movie reel. The riddles, the locations, the calculated brutality of the murders – all pieces of a puzzle that she was determined to solve.
‘Morning, Dark,’ Ripley greeted her, coffee in hand. Her voice was tinged with the same fatigue Ella felt, a shared burden in their relentless pursuit. ‘Another day, another few hundred dollars.’
Ella accepted the drink. The warm aroma was a small comfort, a brief moment of normalcy amidst the storm of their investigation. ‘You earn how much?’ she asked.
‘Not enough.’ said Ripley. ‘I’ve already got officers stationed at the pond, the park, and those garages. If our guy shows up at any of those places, we'll know. I’m working on getting clearance to access James Gorton’s phone, and forensics are examining all of the envelopes and riddles you found.’
‘You’ve been busy,’ said Ella. She could sense the underlying determination in Ripley's tone. It wasn’t just about catching the killer; it was also about proving something. The new director had brought changes, and Ella and Ripley, with their unorthodox methods, were now under a microscope. Ella knew that solving this case was Ripley’s way of showing she could do things her way and still get results.
‘I want to be ahead of this guy, Dark. Every step counts.’
‘Any word on the recent victims’ autopsy results?’
Ripley flung a sealed file across the desk. ‘Everything you need to know is in there, but long story short, our killer strangled him. No tools, no theatrics. Just his bare hands and a lifetime of rage.’
Ella pictured the scene – James being drawn out of his home, his killer pouncing from the shadows and unleashing decades of pent-up aggression. Ella had no doubt James might not have been the nicest guy in the world during high school, but premature death for anyone other than the most heinous villains deserved sympathy.
‘So it’s a devolution in killing method, but an evolution in body disposal,’ she suggested.
‘No, it’s a full-scale evolution, but it’s his confidence that’s evolving. His first murders suggested timidity, but now he’s an unhinged killing machine. Not only has he refined his killing methods, but he's got a taste for it now. What started as vengeance has become an addiction.'
‘The Great Red Dragon phase,’ Ella said.
‘Yup. He’s been reborn. Have you checked the ownership records for those locations yet?’
‘Yeah, I'm on it,’ Ella replied, turning to her computer. She navigated to a property ownership website for commercial buildings in Connecticut, typed in the address for the garages and began her search. Ella's fingers moved with practiced efficiency, tracing the lines of ownership like a detective of old unraveling a mystery through dusty ledgers.
As she sifted through the pages, a pattern quickly emerged. Three of the garages all belonged to one individual.
