What in the hell did these women have in common? How had they all found their way to the same plot of land thousands of miles away from where they’d originated?
My pen bounced off the hard surface of my desk, its rhythm a mystery even to me. We’d been wrong last night. These women had more in common than where they’d been found and how they’d died. With the exception of Gladys Clark, all the other victims were in their early- to mid-twenties. That was the only way Gladys physically differed from the others. All six were Caucasian, blond, fit, and between five-four to five-seven in height. All of them were considered low-risk victims. All were from good, solid upbringings, their lifestyles overall mundane. Granted I hadn’t had time to do any deep dives intotheir histories, but on the surface everything appeared about as normal as American apple pie.
Years working homicide had made me a little too jaded to trust my initial screening, but I had a nagging suspicion that even when we dug deeper, there would be precious little leading us in a direction that even remotely mimicked a straight line.
“That bad?”
I glanced up, my pen halting its ceaseless motion when Officer Ebony Becks’s voice broke through my brooding. “Depends on your definition,” I answered.
“Well, by the constipated look on your face, I’d say it’s not great. Care to share?” Becks didn’t wait for an answer. She pulled up a chair and plunked down, rolling closer to my desk and resting her elbows on the edge, an eager expression lighting her eyes.
“Something I don’t know?”
Becks grinned. “I just got done speaking with Captain Cicely. Looks like my computer skills are all yours for the foreseeable future.” Becks wiggled her fingers. Instead of playing air guitar, she played air keyboard. “Come on, O’Hare. Don’t you know that sharing is caring?” Becks’s grin lit up her face, her teeth a brilliant white against her dark skin.
My bark of laughter surprised me more than Becks. “In that case, expect to get a shit ton ofcaringcoming your way.”
“Bring it on.” Becks’s grin eased into something more serious. “The captain filled me in on some of it. From what I understand, you’ve got six bodies, each one from a different state.”
I nodded while gathering the paper file I’d thus far accumulated. “I’ve been going through those individual states’ missing persons reports.”
Becks’s eyebrows scrunched. “How come? I thought Boone gave us the identities.”
“He did. What he couldn’t do was tell us when the individuals were murdered.” I thought over those words and corrected them. “The women who died couldn’t tell us exactly when they were murdered. I’m not sure if they just can’t remember or if it has something to do with the trauma of dying. The only one that gave us a decent timeline was Clarissa Peyton. She was just a few days shy of finishing her doctorate. The problem is that type of degree doesn’t follow an exact timeline.”
Becks nodded with understanding. “It’s not like graduating from undergrad. Those dates are pretty set. It might depend on the semester, but it would be easier to track.”
“Exactly. I also wanted to see who reported them missing and if those states have anyone else meeting our profile that is still missing.”
Eyebrows shooting skyward, Becks asked, “Any luck with that?”
I cringed. “A little too much luck.” I rubbed the back of my head and neck. Going through missing persons was trawling through a river of misery and without more to go on, I had no idea if any of the missing women who matched the profile would show up on my doorstep anytime soon.
Thumbing through the list of names scribbled across the front of the manila file folder holding together the loose pieces of this burgeoning case, Becks asked, “Have you done the notifications yet?”
I swallowed hard, my earlier breakfast sitting like a leaden weight. “No.” When Becks glanced up, her eyes wide and questioning, I answered, “I’ll do it soon. Or at least I’ll notify those investigating their deaths. Typically, local law enforcement does the notifications. I know if it were my case, I’d want to be the one to speak with the deceased’s loved ones.”Wantwasn’t really the right word. Nobodywantedto give a death notification to a grieving family. However, it was aresponsibility and act of respect. While no one wanted to find out their loved one had been the victim of murder, discovering the truth was normally the first step in a long and often arduous healing process. Not everyone completed that journey and each individual’s path was different. My job was to give them as many answers as possible. At the end of the day, that’s all I could truly do.
“I don’t envy you the next few hours, O’Hare.”
Leaning back into my chair, my shoulders slumped as I stared at my phone. “I’d like to give the local police more information.” Maybe that’s why I was truly holding off.
Becks reached out, the tips of her fingers lightly resting against my forearm. “You’re going to give them more than they had when they went to bed last night. Don’t minimize what you do know, O’Hare.”
Becks was right, and I told her so. “That’s true.”
Picking up the manila folder, Becks tapped it on the table, settling the papers inside and tucking them safely away. “You let me do the computer legwork. That’s what I’m good at.”
“That’s what you’re a whiz at,” I corrected.
Becks dramatically fanned her face. “You’re such a flirt, O’Hare, complimenting me like that. What would your fiancé say?” Becks teased, a smirk twisting her lips.
“That every word is true,” I teased back.
Becks let loose a deep belly laugh. “Then I’d have two of you whispering sweet digital nothings into my ears. Is it getting warm in here, or is it just me?” Becks winked before standing. Leaning over my desk, Becks’s mischievous grin softened. “Seriously, O’Hare. I’ve got this. By the time I’m done, you’ll know every dirty little secret hiding out in these women’s lives, along with anyone they were even remotely associated with.”
“Four of our murdered women gave a name regarding who they thought killed them. Those names are in there too,” I said, pointing at the file.
“Four different names?” Becks asked with a frown. “That’s…”
