I grab both ends of the necklace and jerk them apart, forcing the chain to break.
Then I head off to deal with the body with my hands and face covered.
This part is significantly harder. Not only am I in a residential area, but the cold and ice are fun to contend with. I wrap Tate up in a tarp and heave him onto a sled I found in his shed. I drag him out of the way and set to work removing all of the blood from the ice. Between my different lights, some cleaning products, and a shovel I use to break away any ice that we touched, I feel pretty confident that when the detectives come out here tomorrow, they’re not going to find a single thing left out on the ice.
I don’t want to leave his body out on the pond. I don’t want his death to look like it happened in self-defense. I want to portray that Whitaker left him in this position as a taunt, just like he had with Nadine so that nothing seems different.
The deaths should match, and while I know their deaths were significantly different, my plan is to set him up so that the police immediately know he’s connected to the case.
It’s a taunt.
After glancing at my phone to make sure Gabriel had picked up Michaels’ car, I move the body into a chair that sits on the porch of Tate’s home.
And then I take a picture on the phone that Whitaker had left at Jesse’s house and send the picture to Whitaker.
Me: This is a joke at this point. How many more of your pawns would you like me to dispose of?
The phone is silent for a long while. So long that I start to question if he’s even going to reply.
Whitaker: I will destroy everything you love and then you.
Me: You’re getting sloppy, Whitaker. Are you running out of pawns so you have to send someone as inexperienced as Tate? You’ve already used up your good pawns, and this was the only one left? What a joke.
Whitaker: I will fucking kill you.
Me: I can’t wait to watch you try. I will find you. And I will rip you apart piece by fucking piece.
Whitaker: I’ll go for Gabriel first. I’ll make sure when I cut him open layer by layer that he’s awake for all of it.
Me: You just said the worst thing you could ever have said. You’re done, Whitaker. The moment your eyes shifted back onto Jesse, your game was done. Run, Whitaker, it might be your only chance.
Whitaker: I’m not a fucking coward.
Me: Are you not? That’s all I’ve seen so far as you hide in safety.
Whitaker: I will tear you apart.
Me: Your threats are just repeated words that mean nothing to me. How long are you going to keep repeating them? I’m already bored. Why don’t you come out and play?
Whitaker: You really think I’m that fucking stupid?
Me: Let’s make a bet. I bet by the end of the week, you’re going to be bleeding out at my feet. You will become nothing. There’s no one left that you matter to.
I pull the battery out of the phone and slip both into my pocket, rather pleased with myself. Then I pull out my ink kit and rub Tate’s finger in the ink before I press his fingerprint down on a small card. I clean his finger carefully and tuck the card inside my phone case before retreating to watch the body from inside my car. A part of me hopes that Whitaker comes to investigate, so I leave the body as is until dawn begins to break, when I know someone will walk past and see it.
Then I call the police with the fancy phone Whitaker lent me and throw out my most distressed version of an innocent passerby before removing the battery again.
Now I simply wait until my phone rings and I see Michaels’ name.
“Hello?” I ask.
“You’re not still playing prisoner?”
“Got bored. Was looking into last night’s vic. Got something for me? I’m busy.”
“Too busy for a new body?”
“Never too busy for a new body.”
