I select the only option on the screen, and it takes me to a fairly stupid shooting game that shouldn’t be on the phone of anyone over fifteen. Except that the targets are large, hairy animals howling and running.
Yeah, this guy wasfucked up, and hedefinitelyknew about werewolves. There’s no way this is a coincidence.
I hurry to the evidence room and hunt down the first victim’s phone. A couple of minutes later, my suspicions are confirmed. Tyler and Nathaniel both played this stupid game. And not casually, looking at the levels they were on.
I slump back down on my desk with both phones and look at the app's other features. We didn’t find any direct communication between them. But they might have met through their shared interest in whacking badly drawn virtual werewolves. I really hope their deplorable hobby was limited to the screens.
I open the level again.There, at the top of the screen. A chatbox. I thumb it open. It’s an open chat, so I close it and look for the option to start a private chat. When I don’t find any, I go back to the open chatbox.
This is frustrating. There are about a hundred different usernames. The chat itself is practically primitive, showing just usernames in different colors, followed by text with no option to click on the names.
I scroll down to weeks' worth of messages to find Nathaniel’s. There aren’t many, really. It hardly takes minutes to find the last few he sent here. They’re mostly discussing scores. He clearly continued playing after Tyler’s death, so it doesn’t seem like he felt threatened by anything.
I scroll through a couple of more messages, all related to the game, until my thumb stops at one.
Wolfslayer56: These fuckers don’t deserve to live.
Nathaniel wrote it a week before his death. I want to say this is about the game, but honestly, it doesn’t feel like it. Andit definitely stands out in the conversation. I scroll back further and start to see a pattern.
Wolfslayer56: I swear I'm going to kill her soon. Keep you updated
A chill runs down my spine. Is he talking about Isabel? A few minutes of scrolling confirms it. Fuck, the bastard shared intimate details about her with people here. Bile rises in my throat seeing what this man thought of a living, breathing human.
I continue scrolling, messages ranging from filthy to outright threats. But none made against him. In fact, all of them were supportive. Then, at a few months' mark, I can’t see anything from him. I keep scrolling up. But nothing from wolfslayer56. But his last message is clearly a continuation, not an introduction.
I head to the main screen to look for previous usernames, but there’s nothing. Fuck, it really is primitive. I wonder if they even ask for any real information from their users.
I open the app on Tyler’s phone to find his username, too, so I can check his messages.
Fangbreaker. Classy.
Fangbreaker: I work with more than a dozen. Can’t bear the sight of them.
His username disappears in just a few weeks. Despite that, someone had found him. And decided he shouldn’t live.
Clearly, they were horrible people. At least Nathaniel deserved some serious jail time. The Bureau wouldn't have let him get away with this shit. If Isabel didn’t have a solid alibi, I’d have wondered if she killed him for being so vile.
But Tyler didn’t make any real threats against anyone. So, why kill him? Was this a public service or something personal?
I’m overwhelmed with more questions than answers, but one thing’s for sure, LAPD won’t be able to find this killer. So,Ihave to.
Chapter Fifteen
Sleepless Nights, Short Tempers, and Sudden Invitations
Elliot
“This is the final prescription for little Charlie, right?” Ashley asks as she shoves the paper under my face.
I glare at her, but it goes completely unnoticed. “I was reading a research paper, Ashley.Fuck,” I snap.
Her face falls. Ireallywas reading something important. She can’t just saunter into my office anytime she wants, without knocking, I might add, and interrupt my flow like this.
Sure, I wasn’t completely focused on the screen when she came in because my mind had decided to play the reel of Drew Blue unsheathing his claws and attacking me over and over. But I would have gotten back to it, I’m sure.
I look at the prescription. “It’s all good,” I try for a softer voice, but it doesn’t quite reach there.
“Okay,” she snatches the paper back and walks out, slamming the door behind her.
