Rick took a long drag off the cigarette. “I got a dead cop, a leather harness, and a serial killer carving up people’s faces. And he’s the one thing tying them all together. That enough?”
Kitty paused to give him a slow, sidelong look. “You had me at leather harness.”
He smirked. But his gaze didn’t follow the joke—he was locked on the flicker of data moving across her screen, jaw set, pulse ticking in his neck. Behind him, he sensed movement; Frank, approaching with measured steps, hands in his pockets.
“No way the kid was in on it,” he muttered, standing beside Rick. “The place was locked up tight—deadbolt, chain, windows barred. Cops had to kick the damn door in.”
Rick kept his eyes on the screen. “Maybe he didn’t pull the trigger. But he lit the fuse, somehow. You can bet on it.”
“I got something,” Kitty said, scrolling fast. “Birth name: Ash Costa. Born twenty-five years ago at St. Brigit’s Hospital, Wapanoak. Mother listed as Lily Costa, also known as Sister Mary. Deceased. No father on record.”
Rick’s brows lifted. “Sister?”
“Nun. Affiliated with the Sisters of Divine Mercy.” Kitty’s eyes flew over the text and images on the screen. “They run a convent in Ebonridge. Real Hammer Horror energy, by the looks of it. And get this—she gave birth to twins. Boy and girl. They were adopted separately.”
Rick’s thoughts turned like gears.Ash had a sister? “What happened to the girl?”
Kitty shook her head. “Adoption records are sealed.”
“And the boy’s adoptive parents?”
Kitty kept digging. “Adam and Lisa Hunter… both died in a car crash when Ash was sixteen. Officially, the cause checks out. Detective Dirk Deckard handled it. Ash was placed in foster care after that, but that’s where the trail goes cold.” She clicked into a deeper folder. Her brows lifted. “Okay… that’s odd.”
Rick leaned in. “Talk to me.”
“No medical file attached to the accident report. The hospital logged him as discharged the same day, but there’s nothing else. No injury notes, no scans, no follow-ups.”
“Could he just be lucky?”
Kitty pulled up photos from the original case file, the mangled sedan crushed inwards, frame crumpled like wet cardboard. “You tell me.”
Rick bent closer, cigarette forgotten. The car was obliterated. No one walked away from that untouched.No human, at least.
“Deckard,” Frank murmured, his frown deepening as memory surfaced.
Rick straightened. “You know him?”
“Not personally,” Frank said, rubbing his chin. “But I remember a story from when we first partnered. Word was, a cop at Arkham precinct got obsessed with a case. Kept poking around after it was closed, harassing witnesses, revisiting the scene at odd hours.” He shook his head. “One day, he just cracked. Showed up to work raving. They had to pull him off duty.”
Kitty’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. “You want me to pull his file?”
“Do it,” Rick said, gut churning.
The monitor flickered as she dug through personnel records. “Dirk Deckard,” she read. “Twenty-three years on the force… commendations… clean record… hmm.” Her voice dropped. “Right after the Hunter case, he was put on leave. Two weeks later, a court order committed him to Murnau Asylum, Section 12. Psychotic break noted in the departmental eval.” She scrolled further. “According to this, he’s still there. Never recovered.”
Frank let out a slow breath. “Damn.”
Kitty clicked one more link. “Hold up. The papers ran a story about it when he was admitted.” A grainy article photo flashed: Deckard in his forties, sharp-eyed, solid. She opened the next photo showing a hollowed-out man with grayed hair and a vacant stare, mind gutted from the inside out.
Rick’s jaw clenched as he stared. No resemblance except the name.Fuck. He crushed his cigarette into the ashtray, then straightened. “All right. Give me the convent’s address.”
Kitty scribbled it down, folding the paper once before handing it over. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she muttered.
Rick nodded, slipping the note into his pocket.
“What’s the plan?” Frank said.
“We swing by a greasy spoon first.” Rick glanced at him, already moving. “Then we go see the nuns.”
