“Your place is looking great, Katie,” Anthony says, lifting a foot over his knee.
I widen my eyes at Jonesy, telepathically telling him to fix his face. “Thanks, Jonesy has been helping.”
I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor. Anthony is on the couch, and Jonesy is sitting, legs man-spreading on the armchair like he’s trying to push it apart. Anthony gives him a nod, and silence descends.
“I’m cracking open the beers. It’s as tense as an English lesson in here,” Jonesy mutters.
I snort, and Anthony relaxes the second Jonesy leaves the room.
“You look better,” he says, his voice softening.
“Wow. What a compliment.” I laugh.
He rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. I’m guessing we have him to thank for that?”
I don’t want to lie to him, and now that things seem to be moving beyond physical with Jonesy, I need to be clear with Anthony.
I swallow down a lump in my throat, hoping that this doesn’t mean the end of our friendship. “I didn't mean for it to happen.”
“I know...Jesus, Katie.” He pulls his foot down from his knee and leans his elbows on his thighs. “I just wish it were different, but I’m gladyou’re happier. You’re not walking around like the cutest zombie now that you’re getting some sleep.”
I scoff, thinking of all the names Jonesy calls me that have not once included the wordcute.“I don’t think anyone has ever called me cute before.”
“Shut up, don’t lie. He must call you that all the time.”
“Honestly...Anthony, I don’t think we know each other as well as you think we do.” I laugh again. “Jonesy mostly calls me princess, but in a derogatory way, or she-devil. He even called me a dog earlier.”
His nostrils flare, my admission inciting a rage in him almost immediately. “Hewhat?”
“No...it’s not like in a bad way, it’s just teasing. And I give as good as I get.”
“She gives worse than she gets, actually,” Jonesy says, handing us each a beer. “In the scoreboard of our bickering, Katie wins eighty percent of the time, I would say.”
“And you . . . like this?” Anthony asks me.
I shrug, giving Jonesy a small smile. “Yeah, I do.”
“Alright, let’s get on with it, and you two can make googly eyes at each other later.”
I snap out of it with a shake of my head, placing my beer on the coaster. “You have the autopsy reports?”
“Yes.” He lays them out across my coffeetable, and we all huddle together to review. Jonesy on Anthony’s right, and me to his left. "Victim one was killed just under twelve months ago. The second, eight months ago, and the most recent was approximately one month ago. We think he had to have contained it in the warmer months so he could dig the ground.”
“Right, that would put a sense of urgency into it. And that’s if he isn’t dumping the bodies elsewhere in the winter months,” I say, thinking about the logistics of changing MO for someone who commits crimes like these. It could be opportunistic, but I’d say from the way the bodies were buried, probably not.
“Exactly. So why did you want to know the timelines?”
Jonesy leans in. “Hannah Spears, the girlfriend. She told us he had spent every night at her house for over a year. That’s two bodies that can’t be accounted for in that time frame. She would have noticed him leaving.”
“He could have drugged her?” I suggest.
“We found no evidence of drugs at the house. It seems the women went willingly, or maybe they were threatened with bodily harm if they didn’t comply. But no drugs. The autopsies may have missed it due to the rate of decomposition, but given that we’ve found no other evidence, it’s not a working theory,” the detective says.
“But the girlfriend . . .”
“Hecouldhave drugged her, but did you getthat vibe from her?” I look at Jonesy, and he runs a hand over his beard. “She was so confused. Her relationship with him doesn’t match this person,” I say, taking a pull from my beer.
“Unless he’s a completely different person with her, but I doubt that after years, something wouldn’t have slipped through the cracks.” Jonesy huffs, leaning forward so his elbows rest on his thighs.
