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“Fine,” Torres snaps sharply. “I can see the demon has his talons sank deep. I have plenty of evidence for the criminologist who needs proof. But once you see it, I want your word you’ll help me get out of here.”
A small measure of relief loosens the tight cavities of my heart. So this is Torres’s motive. Playing into his delusion will only further his psychosis. I shouldn’t have answered the call.
“Sure, Dr. Torres,” I say. “Once you provide this evidence, I’ll gladly help secure your release.”
As I go to end the call, he says, “I am sorry, Halen. I was an opportunist, and single-mindedly focused on my case study. For not being truthful with you and allowing the manipulation to go this far, I am sorry.”
My thumb hovers over the red button. I school my features even as a tiny fissure of doubt cracks my resolve. “It’s all right,” I assure him, trying to placate the doctor. “You were a pawn.”
“I’m afraid when it comes to the great Professor Locke, we are all pawns,” he says. “Even you, Dr. St. James.”
Three beeps signal the call disconnecting, and still I stare at the screen after it’s gone dark. I’m reaching for the anchor tether, desperate for a breath as my lungs ache from the pressure.
A knock sounds at the room door to mercifully pull me out of my spiraling thoughts. I pocket my phone, the device feeling heavy, and open the door to find Hernandez on the other side.
A deep groove carves the skin between his thick eyebrows. “What is it?” I ask.
“The ME report came back on the vic from the recent scene,” he says, like he’s pausing for dramatic effect. I widen my eyes to urge him on. “While it was confirmed she had a rare disease, that’s not how she died.”
“Gael, just say it.”
“Hemlock poisoning.”
The last bit of solid ground erodes beneath my feet. I’m falling through a crag at the bottom of the ocean basin, a vortex sucking me down past any rays of light.
“All right,” I say, trying to sort my thoughts. “Let me get ready and grab my bag.” I toss a glance around his shoulder at Kallum’s room door.
“Do you want me to grab them?” he questions, referring to Kallum and Dr. Keller.
Doubt is poison injected into my bloodstream. I can only shake my head in answer, my voice lost.
I close the door and glance at the safe, where I stashed the carving knife. One second to deliberate, then I unlock it and shove the bagged knife into my tote. I pack everything else that remains into my suitcase. I hesitate a moment as I look at the nightstand before I stuff the necklace into my pocket.
Then I meet Hernandez in the hallway with all my belongings.
I won’t be returning.
10
FORCES COLLIDE
HALEN
The medical examiner’s office is located in the minor building adjacent to the police department. In smaller towns, they’re even sometimes nested within the same building. This is a convenience for more than just town officials; it’s convenient for any person who wants to tamper with evidence and reports.
The chilly air is laced with the stringent scent of antiseptic as Hernandez and I wait at a stainless-steel table in the main office for Rebecca Forester, the chief ME of the county. She was brought in the first day of the investigation to assist the office when dismembered eyes were discovered on eerie marsh trees.
She arrives with a couple folders and a tablet nestled in her thin arms. “I just gave this information to Agent Rana,” she says, as if we’re disrupting her process. Which, admittedly, after the abuse of this office and scrutiny it’s been under due to the evidence tampering, I understand her distrust.
Regardless, she hands me the tablet. I scan the document, confirming the finding of hemlock poisoning to Bethany Elsen. A puncture wound was discovered at the base of her spine, the same location as Leroy Landry—the beast of a man who attacked me and Kallum at the ritual crime scene.
I set the tablet on the table, disbelief clawing at my conscience. “We need to see the body,” I say.
Her slight features purse. “My findings are sound.”
“No one is questioning your autopsy,” I say. “I need to know if there were any markings on the body I overlooked.” I accept full responsibility of my negligence. I was distracted at the scene, moving too quickly through it, wanting to shut down my own pain.
Hernandez’s phone rings to break the tension, and he accepts the video call. A partial view of Agent Rana’s face appears on the screen. “Good, you already have St. James with you.” Apparently, she hasn’t yet checked her email to receive my notice. “I’ve been trying to keep this quiet from the media, but the medical reports have leaked that the local victims were all terminally ill.”
