the girl, including yoga pants and a hooded sweatshirt.
Jessie left them there and continued down the hall, going room to room, until she reached the master bedroom. Unlike the others, it was clear that this room had been used recently. The bed was unmade. There was a plate with crumbs on the side table closest to the balcony. On one dresser, a man’s clothes were neatly folded with a pair of sneakers on the ground in front.
Jessie left and headed back down the stairs to the foyer. She could hear the sound of sirens close by, not a shock since the department she’d called was only six blocks north. Carl was sitting on the bottom step with his head resting on his non-cuffed hand. The pool of blood around the woman’s head had now expanded and was seeping under her shoulders.
As Jessie took the last few stair steps, she noticed something she hadn’t picked up on in the mad dash earlier. While one stocking was wrapped around the girl’s neck, she was still wearing the other one. That was different than the situation with Priscilla Barton at the Bloom house, when it seemed that the assailant had found the stocking in the dresser. This time he’d just used what was available. And yet, upon initial inspection, it looked like both stockings used were similar styles and brands. Was this the killer’s thing?
Something about the sight made her recall the notes scribbled on Garland’s pad. She remembered his chicken scratch saying “fetish?” Was that a reference to the use of the stocking? Then she remembered another note, “missing h.” It seemed reasonable to guess that the “h” referred to hose, as in pantyhose. But what did he mean by “missing”? And she still had no idea what the term “OTB” meant. Jessie realized that another visit to the Bloom house was likely in order.
The sirens were right outside now. Jessie holstered her weapon as a precaution, pulled out her ID, held it above her head, and looked at Carl, who seemed oblivious to the noise.
“When they come in,” she yelled at him over the din, “don’t make any sudden moves.”
He didn’t look likely to make any moves at all. In fact, she wasn’t even sure he’d heard her. His only priority seemed to be making sure not to look at the once-beautiful dead girl on the ground just feet away from him. She couldn’t really blame him.
Her ears became overwhelmed by the endless sounds of sirens blaring only yards away. As she stood there, waiting for the cops to burst in, a random thought entered her head, one she tried not to let control her. Ryan hadn’t checked in.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ryan covered his face with his arm as glass rained down on him from above.
When it subsided, he opened his eyes. He was still gasping for breath when he realized his attacker was right in front of him. He started to point his gun in the assailant’s direction but his foe smashed it away with a powerful forearm.
The gun left his hand and hit the shower stall floor. He wanted to reach for it but couldn’t risk it as the attacker was now on top of him, pinning his chest down with one arm as he jammed a forearm into his throat. As Ryan struggled to break free, he got his first look at the person trying to kill him.
It was clearly a man, one Ryan judged to be larger than himself. But discerning any other features was complicated by the fact that the man was wearing a black mask over his head, which had only small slits for his eyes and mouth. Making identifying him more difficult was the additional problem that he was being choked to death.
Ryan was a strong, well-built guy, but whoever this person on top of him was, he was bigger and just as brawny. Ryan punched at the man’s arms but the guy seemed oblivious. He gripped the man’s forearms and tried to rip them away so that he could wriggle loose. But the man barely seemed to budge. If Ryan couldn’t think of something fast, he was going to suffer the same fate as Garland Moses and the women in those mansions.
He was just starting to feel panic set in when he heard sirens, loud and close. He saw his attacker, dressed all in black, perk up at the sound as well. Ryan took advantage of the man’s half-second of inattention to smash him in