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CHAPTER 1
Whisper
There’s a killer haunting the streets of Mistone, and for once, it isn’t me or my brothers.
I’ve been aware of this for a few weeks, even found a still-warm body three nights ago, but no sign of the person responsible. Dead bodies aren’t an anomaly in this city, but something about the method has caught my attention.
He—I’m assuming it’s a man—leaves the bodies in obvious places so they’ll be discovered. Dumpsters, alleyways, discarded on the side of the highway. He wants the bodies found and identified.
Either the cops don’t know what’s going on or they aren’t sharing with the public yet, but it’s obvious there’s a serial killer on the loose. The weird part is their MO. So far it’s been exclusively middle-aged men. Makes no sense.
That’s the thought still bouncing around my head as I come upon another body lying under a tree in a park notorious for hookups. This guy looks about fifty. He’s got a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead, and he’s so fresh rigor hasn’t completely set in yet.
I glance around the park, noting a few kids lingering by some picnic tables, before I dig through the dead man’s pockets for his ID.
Donovan Willis. Why does that name sound familiar?
I tuck his wallet back into his pants then cross the park to talk to the kids. They start to scatter but I call out to them.
“Hey, I’m not the cops.”
One kid, a slim young guy, pauses, eyeing me suspiciously. “You looking for a date?”
“No. Just a question. Did any of you see what happened to that man over there?”
He shakes his head, biting his bottom lip, but the lie is written all over his face.
“You can tell me. I want to find out who’s doing this. Keep you all safe out here.”
“He’s not after us,” the kid says, then sucks in a breath.
“So you do know who it is?” I pull a few twenties out of my pocket. “I’ll buy you and your friends dinner if you talk to me.”
He stares at the cash, eyeing it desperately. He’s too thin, his longish brown hair too long. I know all too well what life on the streets is like. I’ll give him the money whether he talks to me or not, but he doesn’t know that.
“And you don’t want me to, like, blow you or anything? ’Cause I can.”
“No. I just want to know what you know.”
Biting his lip again, he glances at his friends a few paces away, then nods. “Okay. We don’t know his name or what he looks like. He wears a hoodie and a mask over the bottom part of his face. He told us he would never hurt us because we’re not who he’s after.”
“Did he say who he was after?”
“Assholes. Predators. Guys who hurt people. He comes here a couple of times a week and just hangs out, watching. Tonight, he walked up to the dead guy, said his name, and when he turned around, he just put a bullet in his brain. Then he walked off like nothing happened.”
Hmm. Doesn’t care who sees him. Clearly has a target. Uses a gun.
“One time he beat the shit out of a guy first,” another kid says, inching closer to me. “In the parking lot of the gas station across the street.” He points in that direction. “He seemed really mad and he was talking shit to the guy the whole time.”
“What kind of shit?”
“Like asking him if he liked being a rapist piece of shit. If he knew how sick he was. That kind of stuff. The guy choked to death on his own blood.”
“Did you see what he drives?”
“No, he doesn’t drive, he walks off into the dark.”
“Real calm too,” the first kid says. “He doesn’t give a fuck.” Both kids chuckle like they’re impressed. “Sometimes he brings us food. Burgers or hot dogs. He’s really cool. Just not if he wants you dead.”
