“Claire-Marie? Are you here?” Danielle screamed as she rushed past Emerson.
Emerson grabbed her arm. “Stop!”
Danielle yanked her arm away, then covered her nose and mouth with her hand. “What smells so bad?”
“Look at me.” Emerson spoke calmly, though she was shaking.
Danielle did.
“I think Claire-Marie is dead.”
“Claire-Marie!” Danielle yelled, while bolting through the condo. “AAAIIIIIIIEEEE!!!!!”
Emerson ran after her. Claire-Marie’s lifeless body sat stiffly in the oversized chair in the corner of her bedroom, her dead eyes staring straight at Danielle.
Danielle started shrieking, then fell to the ground, sobbing. Emerson pulled out her phone and called for backup. “This is Detective Emerson Easton. I’ve got another wedding gown victim.” She gave the location and hung up, then dropped beside Danielle.
Emerson put her arms around her friend, and Danielle’s sobs turned into wails. As she held her, her heart broke in so many ways. The killer had outsmarted her again.
“Danny, we need to go into the living room,” Emerson said. “Let me help you.”
Danielle stared into Emerson’s eyes. “Oh, my God. Who would do this to her? How did this happen?”
Emerson helped Danielle to her feet. Instead of leaving, Danielle stared at her sister.
“She’s posed,” Danielle uttered. “Like a doll or a mannequin. What is this?”
“It’s the serial killer,” Emerson said, pushing away the defeat that hounded her. He was winning and Claire-Marie had become another victim in his sinister game. “I will find him and he will pay for what he’s done.”
When Emerson escorted Danielle into the living room, she broke down again in Emerson’s arms. Danielle’s gut-wrenching sobs tore at her, but Emerson pushed down her own sorrow and stayed strong for her friend.
“Do you want me to drive you to North Carolina?” Emerson asked.
“Oh, no, my mom and dad.” Danielle wiped her cheeks. “This is going to kill them.”
Two officers arrived, along with the paramedics. Emerson spoke with them before turning her attention back to Danielle.
“I can drive you to your parents’,” Emerson said.
Shaking uncontrollably, Danielle hugged herself. “No, you need to stay and find the bastard. I’m going home to pack, then I’m taking off.”
“I’ll let Stryker know,” Emerson said, wiping away her friend’s tears. “I’ll ask an officer to drive you home in your car.”
“Find him, Em. If you don’t, I will.” Danielle’s eyes grew cold. “And I’ll kill him myself.”
Emerson spoke with a patrolwoman, who escorted Danielle out.
Emerson stood in the living room feeling responsible for Claire-Marie’s death.I knew about Claire-Marie’s photo shoot, but I didn’t make her cancel or go with her.Even though she’d warned the women, it hadn’t been enough to save Claire-Marie.
She had failed her friends. Her throat tightened, the emotion on the verge of exploding out of her. She couldn’t lose it here. She had a damn job to do.
The crime tech team arrived. One of them handed her shoe covers and disposable gloves. As they dispersed through Claire-Marie’s home, Emerson went into the kitchen.
The sink was empty, the kitchen was spotless.He’s cleaning up after himself.Whenshe found no dishtowel, Emerson opened all the drawers. She opened the hall closet and found a matching set of three.He cleaned up and took the towel with him.Emerson asked the crime scene photographer to take a picture of the three matching towels.
Back in the bedroom, she studied her latest victim. Thirty-five-year-old Claire-Marie Fox stared back with lifeless eyes. Dressed in a white wedding gown, the train had been draped over her legs. If it wasn’t for her ashen skin and purpling of her neck, it would seem like she was sitting there relaxing.
Only she wasn’t. She was dead. A fury erupted inside Emerson and she released a muffled cry. Someone was killing innocent women and had turned it into a game of cat and mouse. She had to change things up, let him think he was winning.
