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“Ethan Terrance O’Dey is named, photographed, and quoted in every yearbook all the way through high school except for his senior year.” I set the printouts of each book on the conference room table we’ve declared our temporary war room. “No documentation anywhere to say why he’s not on the final list, but a couple years later, O’Dey jumps into community college and provides the graduating certificate for the class he’s not enrolled in.”
“Administration screwup.” Fletch shrugs and stands by a whiteboard almost the size of the wall. “Kiera Chase, Kylie Bastion,andLana Blayney all attended the same school. The same grade. Not necessarily the same classes, but the connect is still there. And just to drive this all the way home, Kylie Bastion was also attending the same community college during the same time period O’Dey was. Not the same course, but still.”
“That’s double exposure,” I ponder. “Maybe he used that common thread to lure her down to the bay that night. Not on a date, but maybe a friendship thing.”
“Hit on her,” Fletch draws an arrow from O’Dey’s name across to each of his victims. “She said no, so he took her out. Jabbed her and walked away. Ended up at the Opulus that same night. Whether he knew Kiera would be there for her birthday or it was pure coincidence, he ran with it.”
“I’m saying he knew.” I set photographs of Kiera’s dead body on the table. She was our friend, she was way too young for this bullshit. And seeing her on the table, and never again in the restaurant, tugs at my stomach. “I doubt he carries unlimited doses of this shit around with him. Besides, we heard her talking about her birthday celebrations. It’s easy to assume he overheard the same shit.”
“So he lines them up. Kylie was his first. Bring her to the bay—see how that one is different to the next two? They went someplace together.”
“But she wasn’t buying what he was selling. He drops her and goes for the next. Kiera is drinking and celebrating. You see your old school friend, especially one whose work is across the street from yours. So you know they’ve had contact since school. She’s feeling happy. Silly. Sees him, possibly even steps in for a hug.”
“Maybe he hits on her,” Fletch continues, “or maybe he already knows it’s a nonstarter, since she’s practically married and has a kid. Jabs her and walks away. She stays upright longer than Miranda London did. Kiera makes it all the way to the front doors and out onto the street. Miranda dropped where she stood.”
“Worth discussing with the lab.” I take the third victim’s file—Lana Blayney—and set it on top. “Same school. Same age. Once again, we have crossover. But this one is in the middle of City Park.”
“Means he knew her schedule. He knew what time she’d be off work. Where does he live?” Stepping away from the board, Fletch snatches up the file we’ve been able to collate on Ethan O’Dey in the last hour and a half. “West and Thirty Fifth.” He glances across to me. “A few blocks from here.”
“Which means he sat in wait.” I push up from my chair and think. “He didn’t just happen to see her pass by on the daily. He went out of his way to figure out her schedule.”
“The matchbook?”
“He was playing with us.” I bring a hand up and scrub it along my face. “And trying to impress Minka. He wanted her to pat his ass and tell him how smart he is for bringing evidence to her attention.” I drop my hand and look to my partner. “He didn’t find the fuckin’ matchbook in his van, Fletch. He collected it on his way out of Opulus so he could hand it over like fine jewelry the next day.”
“And Miranda London?” he counters. “Wrong MO. Wrong age. Wrong look. Wrong everything.”
“Everything, except he has a new crush,” I grit out. “O’Dey seems to have a habit of liking women who barely know he exists. He liked Kylie, he liked Lana, and he liked Kiera. Each time, we assume they shot him down. After a while his resentment built up, something set him off, and now he’s taking them out one by one. He doesn’t like Miranda that way, but he thinks his new boss is the bee’s fucking knees. Miranda was harassing her, so he took her out and played the knight in shining armor for Minka.”
“So going by that logic, he’ll approach Minka soon and shoot his shot, no?” Fletch rests his hands on the back of a chair and studies me across the boardroom table. “He likes her, Arch. He saved her from Miranda today. He’s gonna take his chance, and she’s gonna turn him down.”
“She knows who we’ve pegged for this.”
I drop my hand into my pocket when my phone rings, while across from me, Fletcher’s gaze grow wider.
“I had to tell her. I had to protect her.”
“You had to break the law too?” he challenges. “And compromise our investigation? When she sees him, she’ll be so fucking obvious, we’ll be lucky if theonlything he does is to bolt and go into hiding. He’ll know we know, Arch! So what do you think he’s gonna do then? Ask her out, or end her life?”
“She’s at Copeland Memorial right now being watched by a doctor and three uniforms. Relax.”
Accepting the call before it rings out, I bring the device to my ear. “This is Detective Malone.”
“Lieutenant Fabian here,” my superior immediately says in way of a greeting. “You asked for help to find O’Dey’s mother.”
“We’ve looked, Lieutenant. We looked everywhere, but all we’re finding is a deceased father and no mother. Did you find her?”
“She’s supposed to be down at Baybridge Senior Care Facility.” He rattles off the address, though I don’t bother writing it down. Instead, my eyes come to Fletch’s as he stares back.
“What do you meansupposed to be?” I ask. “Where is she now?”
“She was checked out on Christmas Eve,” Fabian answers. “Discharged against medical advice, or whatever the correct terminology for that is.”
“Which means?”
“She went home with her kid,” he exhales. “O’Dey did some aged care course down at the community college that said he could take care of her on his own—which isn’t entirely unprecedented, especially as folks age and their time is coming to an end. Coral, his mother, suffers late-stage frontotemporal lobar degeneration, according to the director of Baybridge. FTD, also known as Pick’s Disease,” he speaks as though reading from a flyer, “is a type of dementia. And Coral’s so far along, she can’t take care of herself anymore. She’s deteriorating fast. But get this,” he pauses as though to read notes, “her file says sherefusedtime with her son.”
