“We’re twins. Identical. We haven’t gone a single day of our lives without talking to each other. Until now.” Even though Luke was the one to ask the question, Elsie looks at me as she answers. Like she feels I’ll understand better than him. Maybe I do. “Please, you have to find her.”
I hold her gaze, refusing to break away from the pain I see there. I may have ulterior motives for becoming a cop, but I honestly do love my job. The chance to help people like Elsie is a lifeline that keeps me grounded, that makes me feel like I can do something,anything, good in this world.
“We’ll find her,” I promise. It’s a stupid thing to say and I sense Luke giving me the side eye. You should never promise a victim anything, but I’m determined to find Elsie’s twin. I know I shouldn’t get emotionally invested but I already know I’m not going to be able to let this case go.
Once we’ve looked around the house, we say goodbye to Elsie and head back to the car.
“Agent Park would disapprove,” Luke says as he slides into the passenger seat. “Other than your serial killer obsession, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you break protocol.” He’s teasing but his comment hits the mark. I always play by the book. A therapist would probably tell me I’m overcompensating for the things I’ve done, the things my father made me do. The therapist would probably be right.
But is it really much of a surprise that the daughter of a serial killer would spend her whole life trying to be good?
CHAPTER FOUR
Eli
I BEAT RIVER to the morgue. I’m not usually so punctual. My grams says I work on ranch time. Even though we moved to the suburbs after my dad lost himself to the alcohol, I’ve still got cowboy blood. It drives River up the fucking wall. I smirk, loving nothing more than winding him up.
He called five minutes ago telling me to get my ass down here, but I was only round the corner, so I flirt a little with Dr Knightly while we wait. It’s somewhat of a challenge flirting with someone when they’re wrist deep in a corpse’s torso but she humors me, a rosy tint blooming beneath her ebony skin.
“You’re incorrigible, Eli. You know where I stand on this.”
I lean against the counter opposite the wall of cold drawers filled with bodies. It probably says something about me that the morgue is one of my happy places, but Dr K’s made it her own with biology posters above the sinks and a model skeleton who’s always frozen mid-wave. I spin my Stetson round the tip of my finger. “I know, I know. ‘More than one night will blur the lines,’ so you say.”
Dr Eva Knightly is strict about keeping things professional. It seems to be a running theme in my line of work, which is hard for the wilder side of me to get on board with.
Eva eases the dead guy’s liver into a silver dish. “Go find your adrenaline kick elsewhere, Cowboy.”
I stretch my neck till it cracks, relieving the never-ending tension that’s buried itself there ever since I got high at seventeen and crashed my bike. River saved my life that night and I’ve not touched drugs since but Eva’s right, I do still search for adrenaline highs.
I put my hat on and place a hand on her shoulder, stopping her from diving back into the body. “You know you were more than that to me, right?”
Her brown eyes soften and that’s one of the reasons I actually want her to agree to go out with me. She sees more than just the broody cowboy chasing highs. “I do,” she says, “but I’m not changing my mind.”
I shrug it off, paste a smile on and tuck my thumbs through my belt hoops. “Fair enough, Doc. But if you ever want anyone to do that thing with their fingers, you know where to find me.”
She blushes again and shoots me a scolding gaze. I grin, the thrill of it filling the hollowness in my chest.
The air shifts and River enters. He’s got his doom and gloom look on but it’s the way Dr K tenses that has me standing up straight. “What’s going on?”
River doesn’t answer. He just spreads a folder out on the clean autopsy table and points to a picture.
I move to take a look, but River shakes his head and that’s all it takes for me to connect the dots. River was giving a lecture on Arthur Maxwell this morning. The pity in his eyes tells me the photo in that folder is not one I want to see. My hands clench into fists and I hang back as Dr K goes over to inspect the photo.
“I need you to tell me whether these cuts could have been made by someone other than Arthur Maxwell.”
It’s rare for Dr K to show a reaction but her eyebrows inch upwards. “You don’t think Maxwell killed her?”
River shakes his head, a few strands of his neatly styled hair coming loose. He doesn’t fix them which is how I know he’sshaken. “Maxwell killed her, I have no doubt about that, what I want to know is if someone else could have made the crosses. The cuts, they’re thinner, more jagged.”
Dr K takes off her gloves and picks up a magnifying glass. River and I wait in silence. I don’t know the full story here, but I get the feeling Dr K’s answer could change everything.
After a long minute of comparing the images – a minute I spend convincing myself not to lose my fucking mind - Ava straightens up. “There does seem to be a hesitation to the crosses that isn’t present in the cut to the throat. It’s hard to say for sure without being able to examine the body, it could just be that he was more delicate with the crosses, taking more time, but...” she looks up at River. “Yes, it’s possible. My gut tells me it’s more than possible.”
River runs a hand over his face. “Shit.”
I notice my own hand is shaking and I tuck it in the pocket of my jeans to hide the tremors.
River picks up the folder. “I’m going to send you the files for each of his victims. I need you tell me when these cuts stopped looking like they were made by an amateur.”
