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When his fingertips brushed the nylon cord in his right pocket a jolt of adrenaline shot through his veins. She turned to unlock the door. The cord unfurled as he drew it from its hiding place. He twisted the ends in his hands.

“Thank you for understanding,” she mumbled as she turned the lock. “I’m sorry I⁠—”

Then she was bucking, twisting, flailing and kicking as he cut off her air. Pleasure exploded in his rib cage, spreading through his limbs in an intoxicating rush. He knew, even before she stopped fighting, that he had to do this again.

Eight

Turner started by taking Trinity through Saturday’s interview with Sylvia West, using the notes app on his phone to take down a brief summary of what they’d discussed. “You were going to her house this morning to ask some follow-up questions? What kind?”

“In the interview I asked her if she was ever afraid the Last Kiss Killer would come back and finish the job, and she said always. What I didn’t ask her was if she’d ever felt like she was being watched or followed.”

“She agreed to meet with you?”

Trinity nodded. “She had a church service at ten thirty, but she said I could come by at eight to talk. No cameras. Just the two of us. She said she’d make coffee.”

“You couldn’t just talk on the phone?”

“We could have, and I did talk to her late last evening, but I prefer to be face to face when it comes to these things. Sometimes I think of additional questions. I also wanted to see her home. She insisted that we tape the interview in a different location. I kind of wanted a peek inside her private life.”

Josie wondered if Trinity had noticed the contrast between the living room and the rest of the house. Her sister was nosy as hell, but she doubted that Sylvia would have let her see beyond the living room had the meeting gone forward.

“Okay,” Turner said. “You got there on time?”

Trinity nodded.

“Did she answer the door? Did you speak with her?”

“When I got there her front door was open. I called her name and looked through her screen door. There were mugs for coffee on the table and some sugar and creamer for us. I called her name again and didn’t hear her respond, so I let myself in.”

“You let yourself in,” Turner said slowly.

Drake said, “She’s not law enforcement. She doesn’t need probable cause or exigent circumstances to enter someone’s house, especially since she was invited.”

“Right,” Turner said. “Yeah. What happened then?”

“I kept calling for her. No response. I thought I smelled something burning. I took a quick walk through the living room into the kitchen. No easy feat, by the way. Turns out Sylvia was a hoarder. Anyway, she wasn’t there. I thought I heard something from upstairs—like a thud or someone falling—so I went up the steps. I was still calling her name.”

“You just started walking through this woman’s house,” Turner said.

“What do you want me to say, Kyle? That I’m nosy? I’m a journalist! Plus, Sylvia lives alone and I don’t know, I just had this bad feeling. Like something was off. Honestly? When I heard the thud, I thought she’d fallen or had a heart attack or something. So yeah, I went up the steps to find her, but the hall was all smoky and getting warmer by the second. I went from door to door, looking inside each one to see if she was in there—or anyone else.”

“Was there anyone else in the house?”

“No. Just her. I got to the last door and opened it and she was there, laying in her bed.” Trinity’s breath caught and Drake slid his hand through the bed rail to lace his fingers through hers.

“Did you go into the room?”

“Yes. I thought… I didn’t know she was dead and I wanted to get her out of the house. I didn’t think, I just ran in. It wasn’t until I was standing over her that I…” Trinity took a deep breath. “I saw the lipstick. That’s when I noticed how still she was and that her dress was torn.”

“Did you touch her body?”

“I checked for a pulse. On her wrist.” She closed her eyes, shuddering. “I couldn’t touch her neck. She had—had—ligature marks. It was gruesome.”

“It’s okay,” Turner assured her. “You did the right thing.”

When she opened her eyes, they were glassy with tears. Drake inched his chair closer, watching her intently. “It’s the Last Kiss Killer,” Trinity whispered. “It’s his MO, his signature. It was him. I never saw any of the crime scene photos but I’ve studied this case for years.”

“I know you have,” Turner said. “We’re going to look into that. Right now, I need you to focus on what happened today. After you took her pulse, did you touch anything else?”