Page 20 of Nowhere Good

Claire squinted. Homeless people in Fairview were more likely found downtown, on benches or in abandoned buildings, not in a family neighborhood like this.

But that was the shape of a person. As they came into view, she realized they were wearing a red shirt.

Her bike rolled to a stop. Winslow’s lights were right behind her now, casting a spotlight on the person.

That was not a shirt.

On shaky legs, Claire got off her bike and walked toward them. The once familiar surroundings now felt distant and strange, like wading through a dream. Long, sandy blonde hair was matted with the red liquid on the person’s chest. Their eyes were wide open, staring at the sky, no sign of life. Glass eyes. Not real.

A noise, somewhere behind her. “Claire, don’t go any closer.”

Winslow’s hands gently tugged at her arms, an attempt to turn her away. She resisted him. She couldn’t tear her gaze from the body. Every angled piece of flesh, every drop of crimson burned into her memory. She knew this girl. Knew her from town, from the school bus stop years ago. Her name was Kelly or Carey. Something like that.

“Hey.” Winslow tugged at her again. “Claire, look at me.”

Finally, she let him spin her toward him. His face was panic-stricken and gray. But all she could think about was Kelsey. That was her name. Kelsey.

A burst of nausea nearly knocked her off her feet.

Claire keeled over and vomited on the pavement.

SIX

The stench of blood on concrete never failed to make his stomach turn. Seth knelt beside the body, his skin damp and itchy inside his latex gloves. Police lights flickered behind him, purple on the victim’s skin.

Dark blonde hair. Twenties. White. Slim.

Her eyes were more blue than green, but everything else was the same.

He glanced back at Claire, who sat in the backseat of an open police cruiser with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, clutching her stomach. Her face was still pallid, her expression queasy and shocked. Chief Wells blocked her view of the body while they spoke, but Seth managed to hook Claire’s attention. He wondered if she noticed it too—the uncanny resemblance she bore to this woman.

That made two.

Turning back to the victim, Seth observed the wound on her throat. He’d viewed Eliza Johnson’s crime scene photos extensively, but nothing compared to seeing this evil with his own eyes. The cut was cleaner this time, but like with Eliza’s crime scene, the absence of blood on the ground suggested the victim had bled out somewhere else and was dumped here.

He moved to the other side so he could examine the other arm. Using a flashlight, he illuminated the words—IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME—carved into her flesh. The scene was almost identical to Eliza’s, save for the location; Eliza had been left in the parking lot of a pharmacy downtown, but this was residential.

With a sigh, he stood and peeled off his gloves, grateful to feel the air on his skin, and tossed them in a trash bag brought in by the cops. They’d frozen the scene, but the coroner and her team would be another hour. He went over to Chief Wells as the police car Claire was in drove off in the opposite direction of the trailer park.

“Where is she going?” he asked.

“Station with Officer Yess. He’ll take her official statement.” Chief Wells hooked her hands to her belt. She had more warmth than any other police chief he’d met—sixties, kind eyes, a curled bob streaked with gray. Heavy earrings weighed down her earlobes, gold against dark skin. “Quite the first day you’re having here, Detective. Sure you don’t wanna head back to Kansas City?”

Seth ignored her comment, glancing back at the victim. “What can you tell me about the victim?”

“Her name’s Kelsey Campbell. Twenty-three, if my memory serves me. She’s one of the instructors at that Pilates studio downtown. Her parents died a couple years ago, car crash, real tragedy in town. They left their house and everything to her, and I think she’s been living there alone since.”

“A Pilates instructor? Was she also an addict?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but could be. People have different ideas of what a heathy lifestyle can be.”

He turned toward the hazy lights around them. Up the street, people dressed in their pajamas and robes had trickled onto their lawns, rubbernecking. He refocused on the body. From her face and hair, she looked a lot like Claire, but when he followed the trail down her chest, he noticed what set them apart.

“The one with the boobs.”

Seth faced Chief Wells. “Dillon Beamish. We need to bring him in.”

“What, right now? What for?”