“It’s not the Kings.” Elsie sighs, Patti’s words in her head.
“Aren’t the Kings Puerto Rican?” Margot asks, head swiveling between Elsie and Beverley, who holds her face in her hands. “We’re just lumping people all together, are we? Mexicans, Puerto Ricans…Three cheers for police prejudice.”
“They’re not going to mention Emily Roswell.” Bev tuts as the conference comes to a close. “It’s irresponsible.” She rises from the couch and clicks off the television.
“They’re making such a mess of it,” Elsie grumbles, then lifts her head suddenly, eyes determined. “We’ve really got to do it now.” Shesees Bev frown but is undeterred. “We’ll keep looking at these three cases, see if we can find a link.” She has the detail of Cheryl Herrera’s bracelet now, and the logo on the van at the vigil.
“So, what?” Bev says drily. “Just ignore the police and do our own investigation?”
Elsie nods. She is quite happy to ignore the police. She does not trust the police. She knows the LAPD chief, Tom Cornwell, is as bent as a right angle. He’s been discussed at theSignalbefore, many times, but there’s been little they could write about his dubious professionalism. The man is untouchable. She doesn’t trust any of his officers to carry out their duties effectively or honestly, either, not with a boss like that.
“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing for the past few weeks anyway? Why not make it official? Think about it,” she levels. “The girls—Henry’s victims, Stephen’s victims, Albert’s—if you could go back in time and stop them being harmed, wouldn’t you do it?”
Bev’s jaw flinches. “Well, of course. But this isn’t—”
“I’m not suggesting that we can change what happened,” she quickly corrects. Elsie knows they would all do that if they could. “My point is, if we can see that there might be a link, and if wemightbe able to help, in some small way, to find out who might be doing this, shouldn’t we do it?”
“That’s a lot ofmights,” Margot quips, but Elsie can see that she’s intrigued.
The women look at one another. No words pass between them, but they feel the weight of their shared history, the downward pull of their husbands’ actions.
“If they are linked, and Berryview is in the middle of this killer’s operating zone”—Elsie gestures to Beverley’s map, with its three red rings—“maybe it’s someone close to here. Maybe we could find him, or at least work out what sort of person he might be.”
“Now, thatissomething we’d be excellent at,” Margot agrees.
Bev raises an eyebrow in question.
Margot looks between them. “Have these cops shared a bed with a killer? Have they baked him a pie? Have they slipped his jacket off his shoulders at the end of a long day?”
“No,” Elsie obliges.
“We know what it’s like to live with a dangerous man,” Margot continues. “We know—with the benefit of hindsight, of course—what the signs are that he’s dangerous. We may not knowwhyour husbands did what they did, but I’d say we have a pretty good chance of figuring out what kind of guy this killer is.”
“The police will be looking at circumstantial suspects.” Elsie works hard to keep the enthusiasm from her own voice. “People who worked with the victims, laborers carrying out jobs near where they were killed. Let them do that. It’s grunt work. We can get ahead of the game.”
“Get into this man’s head.” Margot’s eyes grow large.
“And on that note: I’ve been thinking,” Elsie posits. She’s already won over Margot; she just needs to ensure that Bev’s fully on board. But with the scrapbook, the map, the connection Bev feels to Cheryl Herrera, Elsie knows there’s no way she’ll say no. “All three of our husbands were going through high pressure in their lives at the time that they were killing, right?” She’d had the thought in the car on her way home from work the other day. She’d been trying to link Albert’s situation with those of Henry and Stephen. They were a teacher, an air-conditioning engineer and a politician, men who on the surface seemed so very different, but all committed abhorrent acts, expertly covering their tracks.
“ ‘High pressure’?” Bev asks.
“Take Stephen,” Elsie replies. “Didn’t you say he was running for election before his crimes started, Margot?”
Margot confirms it.
“He didn’t win, did he? His ego must have taken a bit of a knock…”
“He certainly had an ego.”
“He might have found the loss humiliating?”
Margot nods, tongue pressed against her cheek in thought. “So, what about Albert?”
“He’d lost his job at the school,” Elsie answers. “Hehatedthat. He was so angry. He was forced to look for jobs that he felt were beneath him, and even those places wouldn’t give him a shot. What about Henry?”
Beverley sighs.
“Any work issues?”
