up at Ellie.
“What is it?” Ellie asked.
An odd look crossed Laney’s face. “The bastard sewed her lips shut.”
Ten
“He sewed her lips closed?” Ellie asked, swallowing hard. “Like a mortician would?”
“Exactly,” Laney said, nodding.
Ellie glanced at Cord, noticed an odd look on his face. But his radio crackled, and he walked over to a boulder several feet away to answer the call.
“That gives the MO a new meaning.” Ellie’s mind raced. Instead of dressing the women for an outing or church, the killer dressed and posed his victim for burial.
The realization made her skin crawl.
“Then we might be dealing with someone experienced in preparing dead bodies for burial or cremation.” Ellie thought out loud.
“That’s possible.” A frown marred Laney’s face. “Only, he left her eyes untouched, whereas a mortician would have glued her eyelids closed as well.” Laney stood, pushing her glasses up with the back of her hand. “Although with the internet, El, anyone who wanted to know about preparing a body could find that information.”
“True. He could just be some psycho intrigued by the death process. Or necrophilia. Or hell, he might have sewn her mouth closed because he didn’t want her to talk.”
“I’ll definitely look for signs of sexual abuse, both pre- and postmortem.” Laney gestured at the woman’s throat. “There’s a small line of bruising that may indicate he strangled her. Although this doesn’t look like rope burns. Maybe something else.”
Ellie winced at the thick, deep bruising. “Get me her prints right away. I need to notify the family and question them.”
Laney nodded.
“Meanwhile, I’ll search for other crimes bearing a similar MO.”
“You think he’s done this before?” asked Laney.
Ellie shrugged. “I don’t know, but this type of display took planning and a certain kind of pathology. It wasn’t just a crime of opportunity.”
Special Agent Derrick Fox would be the best source for information on other similar cases, she thought, as the breeze swirled dead leaves and daffodil petals around her muddy boots. But Derrick Fox was the last person on earth she wanted anything to do with.
The memory of the last time she’d seen him taunted her. She’d stood on the periphery of a graveyard as he and his mother said their final goodbyes to Derrick’s little sister, Kim, the first girl Hiram had murdered.
Derrick had come to Crooked Creek with the theory of a serial killer, opening her eyes to the truth about her father. He blamed Randall for closing Kim’s case too soon, then later for keeping suspicions about Hiram from the police. She and Derrick had spent a heated night together in the mountains during the investigation—and then he’d accused her of sleeping with him to distract him, so she could protect her dad.
He’d been right about everything except the latter. But it didn’t matter now. He hated her and her family––and she could hardly blame him.
She’d do some research on her own, she told herself. Meanwhile, she watched as the crime team scoured the area and Laney finished her initial exam.
Cord returned, frowning. “I have to go. There’s trouble over at Rattlesnake Ridge.”
“What kind of trouble?” Ellie asked.
“Couple of hikers lost their footing and one broke his ankle.” He took off on the path south, and Ellie followed Laney down the mountain, where Laney drove Ellie to her Jeep.
“I’ll send those prints in ASAP,” Laney said as Ellie got out.
Thanking her, Ellie climbed into her Jeep, and retrieved her phone from the glove compartment. She had to call her captain immediately. He’d ordered her to take some time off but she’d just stumbled on a gruesome murder and she couldn’t ignore it. The poor woman needed justice.
Eleven
Pigeon Lake
Skinny Minnie Whiny Vinny. Skinny Minnie Whiny Vinny. You’re so stupid, you don’t know when to get out of the rain.
The voice chimed in Vinny Holcomb’s ears as he rocked back and forth in the old dilapidated house. He hated the nickname. Hated the house.
The one that held the memories of all the bad things.
Blood dripped through his fingers and dotted his clothes, but he didn’t care. She had deserved to die for what she’d done.
Her ugly laugh echoed in his ears, a sound that gnawed on his nerve endings like a falcon sinking its talons into its prey.
You’re a loser, boy. You don’t have any friends. You’ll never have any.
But she was wrong. He’d made friends with Hiram. Hiram was like him. He’d suffered and been locked away by the woman who was supposed to love him.
He pulled the article about the Ghost from his