Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
The first two scenes had featured two bodies, the third three, and now this one was four. Things were escalating, the pile of bodies growing. And there was some dreadful point here that he thought he was beginning to understand.
“Could you tell if all the murder weapons are accounted for?” he asked Teresa.
She looked up from the woman on the floor. “From an initial glance, it appears that all the weapons are accounted for and that they used items just lying around,” she said, gesturing over to a piece of twisted metal on the floor by the wall. From this angle, Ambrose could see the blood on the sharp, rusted edge. “I haven’t confirmed yet, but stick around.”
Ambrose gave her a thin smile. That wouldn’t be possible. And he trusted this woman’s initial assessment. She seemed competent and observant, and she’d been doing this job for a long time.
He noticed some disturbed dust on the floor near the corner, where there were a few toppled crates. The marks next to them appeared to be shoe imprints, if the person had worn shoes with completely flat soles. Or booties over his footwear. He looked up to see a wooden beam stretching to the opposite wall. “Teresa, did you see this?” he asked, glancing back at her.
She looked up, her gaze going to the floor where he was pointing. “Imprints?”
“Yes, but it looks like these ones belong to someone wearing booties. The details of the soles are completely missing.”
She frowned and then leaned so that she could see the soles of the shoes on the feet of the victim she was next to. Then she glanced over at the other bodies. “I’ll check their shoes, but if the dust is recently disturbed, those might belong to an unknown subject. Maybe the one who anonymously called this in? I’ll make sure to take some samples.”
He nodded distractedly. Had the person who’d given these victims the pills used the crates to climb up and place something on the beam? A recording device, perhaps? One he came back to retrieve before calling this in? Was he watching it now? Replaying the carnage? The aftermath of this was awful enough. To see it live? And to enjoy it? He couldn’t begin to imagine how sick you’d have to be. “I’m going to go look outside and see if I spot anything,” he said to Teresa, who was once again deeply immersed in her work.
“Okay. See you soon,” she murmured.
His stomach knotted, and regret was a strong acid burning the lining of his gut. Given all the emotions he felt, standing in a room with four people who’d died horrifying deaths, he felt like he might lose his lunch. He took a few deep breaths, managing to contain the nausea. He wished he had another choice than what he was about to do. He really did.
Lennon. What was she doing right now? It was after dinnertime. He pictured her cozied up on her couch, a blanket over her lap, and the picture his mind conjured made his heart squeeze with longing. The department wouldn’t figure out what he’d done for a couple of hours. She’d probably be greeted by the news in the morning. And then she’d hate him.
As Ambrose stepped through the door, a couple of marked cars were pulling up, and two other criminalists were just ducking beneath the tape. He greeted them with a nod and then walked past, going around the corner and then taking up a slow jog as he moved away. He’d call an Uber once he’d gone a few miles. His “job” at the SFPD had come to an end.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The sun had barely finished rising when Lennon drove through the cemetery gates. She parked and walked slowly toward the familiar grave, resting her hand on top of the stone when she stopped in front of it. It was cold beneath her palm, not just from the chill of the night but also because Tanner’s family had chosen a beautiful spot beneath a large oak that kept it mostly in shade.
Lennon threw down the blanket she kept in her trunk and knelt on the dewy grass and ran her hand over his name. “Hi, Tanner. I’m sorry it’s been so long.” She reached out and plucked a dead leaf off the fall flowers planted in front of his grave. Unlike her, Tanner’s mother came here regularly and made sure the plantings were fresh and his stone was free of dirt and moss. She continued to care for him in the only way she was able, and Lennon hoped it helped her, even if only a little.
“I haven’t checked in on your parents in too long either.” What had it been? Three months now? Four? In the thirteen years since Tanner had died, Lennon had never gone that long without contacting them, and now it almost felt like she’d have to explain herself if she called. So she’d kept putting it off. Because really? She didn’t have an explanation. She’d just been busy living and working. And she’d thought about them, but she hadn’t reached out. She hadn’t even called to wish them a happy Thanksgiving. A lump formed in her chest, and she felt a flailing inside. Maybe being too busy was only an excuse. Maybe she’d wanted to put some distance between them. Maybe she was ready, and so instead of addressing it, she’d told herself she’d just forgotten.