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“That’s a level of control that these kinds of sick bastards aspire to,” Anya put in as she picked up her camera and began snapping photos of Kirstie’s back. “Keeping you afraid all the time? Not wanting to step one foot out of line because you don’t know what will happen or if something will happen at all? Looking over your shoulder every minute of every day? For a lot of them, having that kind of influence over you is more satisfying than any physical violence could ever be.”

“You’re right,” said Gretchen. “He didn’t care about the media scrutiny that came with Sylvia’s interview. Why would he? If there was something out there that would lead to his arrest, someone would have found it by now.”

“He lost control of her,” Josie said. “At least in his mind.”

“Why didn’t he kill her before the interview then?” Gretchen used one hand to swipe at a trio of blowflies buzzing lazily over the body. They had multiplied in mere minutes, finding their way inside through the broken kitchen window and the front door that the ERT had left ajar.

“He didn’t find out until it was too late.”

There had been a buzz all over the city when news broke that the sole survivor of the Last Kiss Killer lived in Denton and was going to give an interview to Trinity, but no one had been certain when said interview was taking place until the production team showed up.

“Unless Louis Fisher is the killer,” Josie added. “In which case, killing her might not have had anything to do with the interview and everything to do with him thinking she was seeing another man.”

“You said Fisher first met Kirstie the other day, right?” Gretchen asked. “At the funeral planning meeting.”

Josie nodded. “I don’t know what happened before we got there but from what we overheard, she put Fisher in his place.”

“Maybe that set him off.”

It was entirely possible, but they both knew that trying to mold the evidence to a particular suspect instead of letting it lead them to the perpetrator could be fatal to their investigation. There were still so many lingering questions. They needed answers and Josie intended to get them, starting with Dean West.

Thirty-One

The sounds of shouting and multiple crashes bled into the stairwell as Josie and Gretchen reached the first-floor landing of the stationhouse. With nothing more to do at the West home, they had returned to talk with Dean and prepare some search warrants. They’d come in through the municipal parking lot at the back of the building, taking the stairs from the ground floor. Josie paused in front of the door. Everything had gone quiet. Still, a buzz spread through her body, the first shots of adrenaline that told her something on the other side was not right. Her hand hovered over her holster. A glance over at Gretchen revealed that she, too, was on high alert.

A roar came from the other side of the door, male, animalistic, and tortured. Without thought, Josie burst through, unsnapping her holster as she moved. Gretchen stayed close behind her. They moved down a long hallway that led to the lobby, passing the break room, which was empty. At the door to one of the conference rooms stood Officer Conlen, arms crossed over his chest, a mask of indifference on his face. The sound of glass shattering came from inside.

“What the hell is going on?” Gretchen said when they reached him.

He stepped aside, giving them a full view of the room. Officers Brennan and Dougherty had Carter West pinned to the floor. Dougherty secured zip ties around his thick wrists.

The room was in disarray. Several of the chairs had been tipped over. One of them sat atop the credenza along the wall. Above it was a sizable dent in the drywall. A framed hand-drawn map of the city that had hung on the wall lay face down on the carpet, its glass scattered all around it, winking in the fluorescent lights overhead.

“I want to see my brother!” Carter snarled. “I need to see my brother!”

“This is not the way to do it,” said Dougherty. “We let you wait here as a professional courtesy.”

Meaning they hadn’t sent him home or made him wait in the lobby because he was a firefighter and the two departments worked together often.

“You just vandalized government property, my friend,” Brennan said. “If the damage is more than five grand, you’re looking at a felony. You know what that means? Not just fines but prison time. I’m real sorry about what happened to your mom and sister-in-law but you’re only making things worse right now. You want to help your brother? Calm down.”

“Dean needs me,” Carter pleaded. “I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

“He’s fine,” Josie said, stepping inside the room. Mentally, Dean was not fine at all and probably wouldn’t be for a very long time and they both knew it. All she could offer him was the assurance that Dean was physically fine and safe.

“We need to talk to him about this afternoon.” Gretchen followed, bending to pick up one of the chairs and pushing it back under the table. “You can see him after that.”

Carter hissed in pain as Brennan and Dougherty lifted him to his feet. “Son of a bitch,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Aww, shit,” Dougherty mumbled.

There was a tear in Carter’s too-small T-shirt. It was edged in blood and started on his left side, just beneath his rib cage, then slashed downward about three inches. Josie looked beyond him and saw a jagged piece of wood from the photo frame on the floor. Blood coated its point. He was lucky it hadn’t impaled him.

“Cut the zip ties and go get a first aid kit,” Gretchen instructed, pushing a chair toward him.

Brennan said, “If we take these off are you going to stay calm?”

Carter grimaced and flexed his shoulders. “Yeah, yeah. I promise.”