Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
A message was being sent. The setup was familiar. The results were far from it.
But why? And how? If the props were specific to the victims, how did the killer know such personal information? Was the killer some type of therapist? Someone who’d collected secrets from their pasts and then cruelly used those secrets against them? Or had the victims themselves helped the killer set up each scenario toward a different end? A twisted version of something good?
Who would want to do something so horrific to other human beings?
He sat down on the bed, perusing the board. But nothing else clicked. He wouldn’t stop trying, though. He felt responsible for these people now—the ones who had lived and died screaming for help.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Lennon rushed to her bedroom, where her phone was ringing. She wrapped the towel around her as she went, her wet hair slapping on her back. The station. Her heart gave a gallop. “Hello?”
“Lennon, it’s Adella.”
She paused. Adella was the last person she’d expected to hear from. And one of the last people she wanted to talk to. When she remained silent, Adella cleared her throat. “I, ah, I thought you should know that a woman named Brandy Lopez was just discovered dead in her apartment. I called because I heard the inspectors working your case talking, and apparently she was roommates with one of the victims, named Cherish Olsen.”
Lennon sank down onto the edge of her bed, gripping her towel between her breasts. Brandy was dead? What about her little girl? Lennon’s mind spun. “How?” she finally asked.
“It looks like an overdose. She had an eighteen-month-old girl, and she’s okay. Anyway, I thought you might want to be kept up to speed on the case, so when you get back, you can hit the ground running.” Ah. Adella felt guilty for talking. And this was her way of making amends. Lennon sighed. The truth was, Lennon’s circumstances were no one’s fault but her own. She’d made the choice to get chummy with Agent Mars or whoever he was, and so she deserved to be investigated. Is that your new euphemism for amazing sex? “Getting chummy?” She gave herself an internal eye roll. Sure, why not. It worked.
“Thanks, Adella. I appreciate it a lot. Anything else?”
“Yes, and you’ll definitely want to hear this. Apparently, a man heard Brandy’s daughter crying from inside, and kicked down the door. The description sounded suspiciously like a certain agent who’s not an agent.”
Her heart gave another gallop and then started to race. Ambrose. He was still working the case. She knew it. “Is he the one that called the police?”
“No. A neighbor did. The man who kicked in the door when they heard a baby crying inside took off before the police got there.”
Of course he did. He kicked in a door to save a baby. Dammit, she really wanted to keep hating him, but he kept making it hard.
“Okay. Hey, Adella, seriously, I appreciate you calling me.” She didn’t like what Adella had done, ratting her out, but she could acknowledge Adella’s call.
“You’re welcome. Take care, Lennon.”
“I will. Thanks again.” She hung up the phone and spent a few minutes pacing in front of her bed, a renewed vigor to get back to the case making her feel jumpy but energized. Ambrose had gotten close to her—very close—and stolen files, gathered all the official information he could. And now he was working the case on his own, using the leads she’d helped him gather.
That energy took on heat, turning to anger. There was no way she’d let him sneak around behind the city’s back. Who knew, maybe he was even working on behalf of the killer! Didn’t she owe it to the citizens of San Francisco to make sure he wasn’t still hindering their investigation of a serial killer and a deadly drug concoction?
She dropped her towel and then pulled on her underwear, a pair of jeans, and a sweater. Then she gathered her wet hair into a bun and secured it on top of her head.
Lennon went to the living room and turned on her laptop, brought it to the kitchen table, and sat down. The news about Brandy had made her think of the doctor she’d mentioned Cherish had seen. The Candyman. She’d moved that to the back of her mind as something to perhaps question Brandy about later, when the woman’s mind might be clearer and she hadn’t just received traumatic news about her roommate. But that was no longer a possibility.
She opened Google and did a search of clinics and doctors’ offices in the Tenderloin, going through them one by one.
God, there were a lot of them, not only medical clinics but listings for syringe access and mental health services. For an area that offered so much health care, there sure were a lot of sick people, in numbers that were increasing by the week.