Lily looked at her sister. “Did you know about this?”
“Pierce called as I was leaving the academy,” she said, irritated that the story had somehow been leaked to the press before she’d even heard. “I need to get on this. Do you think you could watch the girls for a while?” Chloe stirred in her arms but didn’t wake.
“Sure. It’s Friday night and with my busy social schedule, I’ll try to fit it in.” Lily didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm as she stared at the screen. The image faded to two in-studio anchors at a wide desk. They began discussing Naomi Kittle’s disappearance and then slid into the next story, the ongoing investigation into the homicides of Billy Huber, Mavis Greenlee, and Jeanne LaRoux, all their pictures flashing onto the screen.
She watched the TV, but there was no more information offered, just a warning for citizens to stay wary and report any suspicious activity to the police.
Lily said, “You know, the way the stories were reported, they were almost linked.”
“I got that.” The anchors hadn’t actually said it, but the hint was there, that Naomi could be the next victim. Even worse, the anchors kept referring to the unknown killer as the Savannah Slasher. The name had caught on. Someone in the television world, and probably the podcast and social-media worlds, had coined the phrase, and all of a sudden the murderer had a name.
Lily grimaced. “Does the killer actually slash the victims’ throats?”
Pierce had confided in Nikki that a knife was used in the homicides. “I’m not sure,” she hedged, still sticking to her part of the deal with her husband, even though the wounds to the carotid artery and jugular veins seemed to have suddenly become common knowledge. “That’s a really big leap.” Nikki dropped her purse on thekitchen table as she watched the report, which had turned the subject back to the connection between Naomi’s disappearance and the ongoing homicide investigations. “She’s missing, and they’re already speculating …” she muttered.
“Do you think—” Lily started.
“What are you talking about?” Ophelia interrupted. “Why is Shana’s mom on the news?” She’d looked up from her phone long enough to zero in on the television, where, once again, Naomi’s picture was on the screen, this time a photograph that looked as if it had come from the DMV.
Lily quickly switched off the TV with the remote. “We’re really not sure.”
Ophelia’s eyebrows lifted. “Did something happen to her?”
“No one knows.” Lily gave an exaggerated shrug, but didn’t lie. “It’s just that the police are looking for her.”
“Why? Did she do something wrong?” For once, Phee was engaged.
“I don’t know, but I doubt it.”
Somewhat mollified, Phee said, “Uncle Pierce will find her.” But she glanced over at Nikki for confirmation.
“Of course he will,” she said. “I’m going to go check with him now.” She handed the still-sleeping Chloe over to Lily. “Good luck with this one.”
“Oh, I think I can handle Little Miss Groggy.” She kissed the little girl’s forehead. “You wake up now, okay, sweetie, so you will go to bed for Aunt Lily at a decent time tonight.”
Chloe’s eyelids didn’t so much as flutter.
“Maybe not,” Lily said. “Hmm.”
“I’ll call,” Nikki promised and started for the back door.
Arlo followed her.
Lately, the shepherd had begun tracking her out to the car, even hopping inside when she opened the car’s door. “Not now,” she told him. “Another time.” He whimpered, but she couldn’t deal with the dog right now.
She drove past Forsyth Park and deeper into the city. Dusk was creeping through the streets, headlights and streetlamps beginning to glow. Her phone buzzed, and she saw that Tom Fink was calling.Great. She ignored the call and tried to phone Pierce. Her call, of course, went to voice mail. She texted him and said she was on the way to the station. Next up, she dialed Jill’s cell phone, and again, no answer.
“Son of a …”
Reaching the police station, she had trouble finding a parking space. Two news crews were already parked, set up, camera operators focused on reporters planted in front of the building. When she finally found a spot for the rental car and tried to enter the building, she, like the rest of the media, was kept herded in the lobby.
She tried the back door, but, of course, a deputy was posted, and no amount of cajoling or talking gained her access. “I’ll let your husband know you were here,” Deputy Marlin Freeman told her as he blocked the doorway.
“Why don’t you tell him now?” she suggested, but the big man wouldn’t budge.
“Maybe you can call him and tell him you’re here,” he suggested.
“I’ve tried.”
