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“Alanna’s ex-husband said he found her in her bed,” Trinity offered quickly. “She was on her back. Fully clothed in jeans and a black shirt so probably from the night before. He didn’t see any tears in her clothing or anything that might lead him to believe that someone had tried to sexually assault her. Later, after the autopsy, the detectives on the case assured him that she hadn’t been raped.”

“How about the apartment?” Josie asked. “Did he mention what the scene looked like?”

“According to him, there were no signs of struggle anywhere in the house. Although I suppose if there had been, the killer would have cleaned them up before he left. As to any other details about the scene, you’ll have to ask the detectives who worked the case. As long as I’ve been researching the Last Kiss Killer, I’ve never heard any reports of sexual assault on any of the victims. Anyway, Alanna’s ex-husband called 911 right away and left the house. I pumped him for every little detail. He didn’t mind at all. In fact, he’s been one of my biggest supporters in bringing more attention to this case. He wants justice for her—for their son.”

“What about the lipstick?” Josie asked. “Did he say if it was there?”

“He didn’t remember.” Trinity sighed. “To my knowledge, having spoken with the people who found the victims, the killer never left one of them behind on or in close proximity to the body, but that doesn’t mean anything. The killer could use one of the victims’ lipsticks and then put it back. Mr. Jarrett couldn’t tell if one of Alanna’s was missing or not.”

Josie decided to move on. “Was there anyone new hanging around the bar in the days before the murder?”

Along with information about the crime scene, she and Turner would have access to all witness statements and reports generated as a result of canvasses, which would hopefully tell them something useful.

“A couple of regular patrons recalled seeing a guy they’d never seen come in a couple of times the week before Alanna was killed but the descriptions were vague. One person said his hair was blond and the other said it was brown.”

“How about those makeup parties?” Turner asked. “You talk to anyone who had one right before she was killed?”

“I found one woman willing to speak with me,” Trinity said. “Alanna had done a party for her a few days before she was killed. Police spoke with her and everyone there but I don’t know the results of those interviews. She had done other parties in the weeks leading up to her murder according to her coworkers at the bar, but I couldn’t get any information about those.”

Josie had to assume that the investigators assigned to Alanna’s case had done all they could do to find the killer, all the things her team would have done, and come up with nothing. “Okay, he kills Alanna Jarrett in Morgantown. Where does he show up next?”

Twelve

The smell of her perfume and sweat lingered in the hall. She’d been out with friends. He’d followed them for hours without any of them catching on. They’d been so wrapped up in their conversation about one of their asshole boyfriends doing asshole things that no one had noticed when he stole her wallet. She’d been careless leaving her purse hanging from the back of her chair, wide open.

He inhaled the scent of her and knocked softly on her door. A minute later, it swung open. Alarm flitted across her face until he smiled and held up her wallet. “Sorry to disturb you so late. I was just leaving my friend’s house down the street. I’m house-sitting but I locked myself out. Anyway, I saw you when I was walking to my car. You dropped this.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed and silent.

“I didn’t want to leave it outside,” he explained. “In case someone stole it.”

“Oh.” She smiled.

Heady anticipation spread through him.

She took the wallet and opened it, almost absently. “I don’t know why I’m checking,” she laughed. “It’s not like I have any money to steal. Ten bucks maybe.”

He took a calculated step back, turning his body slightly away from the door like he was about to leave. “I think thieves are more interested in credit cards.”

“Right. Of course.” She waved the wallet in the air. “I’ll check for those. I really appreciate your returning it.”

“No problem.” He took another step back, turned a little more, then stopped. “Hey, um, do you mind if I use your bathroom? Like I said, I locked myself out of my friend’s house and my place is almost an hour away. I know it’s super inconvenient and I understand if you say no. I mean, you don’t know me, but I really have to go.”

He shifted back and forth on his feet and put on his best good-guy smile.

Her brow knit with uncertainty. “Oh, um, I don’t— I mean it’s late, and I…”

It was only a matter of time before she acquiesced so he said nothing. He knew what women were like. Knew their weaknesses. Knew how they always ignored their natural survival instincts. They always acted pleasing and polite no matter what. Even if, behind that act, they were raging bitches.

He had to suppress his laughter as he watched her reluctantly make her choice. Yes, he thought. Please be nice to the strange man who knocked on your door in the middle of the night with some vague story about a nameless friend. He did find your wallet and bring it to you, after all. Letting him use your bathroom is the least you can do.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he fingered the cord in one and the lipstick in the other. The ugly thing inside him strained against his skin, waiting, wanting to be nourished. “It’s okay,” he told her. “Never mind. I can hold it.”

“No,” she said, too quickly. “It’s fine. Come on in.”

It was almost too easy. Good thing the fun part was about to begin.

Thirteen