Page 64 of Girl, Entangled

The note.

Reuben Hoy’s note.

I cannot give you a phone number because phones are of no use to me.

He had carried his name on a card around his neck so that people would know who he was, because his mouth couldn’t tell them.

A person who couldn’t talk could only listen, Ella realized.

And Simon Varro had listened to Billy Hayes confess. He’d listened to Thomas Greaves tell his story. And then Simon Varro had drawn the battle lines.

Ella looked at the dead flat eyes in the photograph one more time.

Simon Varro was her killer, and now she had to find him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

‘Ripley, I need you!’ Ella shouted into the speaker.

She was doing sixty miles an hour en route to the precinct, even though she had no intention of going back there. She just needed to be moving.

‘Yeah, what? We’ve just had a guy bring in Curtis Brennan’s head. It’s on the way to the lab.’

‘First, I need you to get the address of a man named Daniel Barton. He was a former judge in D.C.’

‘Barton? Are you sure?’

‘Yes. Do you know him?’

‘Yeah. He was a big name years ago. Is he in trouble?’

‘Possibly. Barton was the guy who sentenced Thomas Greaves to death, so he would definitely be on his hitlist. Our killer sent him a letter last year telling him that Thomas Greaves was innocent. Barton ignored it. We need to make sure he’s safe.’

‘On it,’ said Ripley. ‘What else?’

‘Search the MPD database for a guy named Simon Varro.’ Ella spelt it out. ‘He was the sewing instructor at MCI Jessup when Greaves and Hayes were there. Both of them took sewing classes, and were one of the few people who did. That gave Varro ample one-on-one time with both of them, and I’ve got a feeling both Hayes and Greaves spilled their life stories to him.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Varro couldn’t speak.’

‘Everyone loves a sounding board,’ Ripley said. ‘I’ve got Varro. He’s got a record and – holy shit – his height is listed as six-eight. There’s a picture of him too, but he’s not built like a monster here.’

‘That must have come later. Is there a listed address?’

‘1124 Curlew Street. Beltsville. That’s Maryland. Maybe twenty minutes south of Jessup.’

Ella hit the brakes and spun around, so hard that Ripley probably heard the squeal from thirty miles away. ‘I’m going there right now. I’ll plug it into the GPS. Send backup. And make sure Barton is safe.’

‘Yeah, I’ll grab his address now. Just reading Varro’s file, and Jesus Christ. The guy is a former mental patient at Spring Grove Hospital. He was there for three years.’

‘What for?’

‘Identity theft. Apparently he just started mimicking a guy from his town.’

‘Did he steal anything from him?’

‘Not according to this,’ Ripley said. ‘He didn’t steal his credit cards or anything. He just… became him.’