CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Ella shook the numbness out of her bones. The precinct”s chairs were built for perps, not posterity. Hard plastic and splintery wood, a chiropractor”s wet dream. In front of her, the victims’ records were spread out like a buffet. Bank statements, phone records, social media records. Everything they could dig up without the assistance of a black-hat hacker.

Beside her, Luca was doing his best impression of a statue - chiseled jaw, furrowed brow, the whole tall-dark-and-pensive schtick. She had to concede that this rookie was alright, even if his peach fuzz made her feel like a cradle robber.

He jabbed a finger at the stack of papers, breaking her out of her daze. ”Both of our victims had a real talent for pissing people off. We know that much.”

Ella grunted. He wasn”t wrong. Archie Newman and Georgia Bolton - poster kids for winning friends and alienating people, according to their records. Loudmouths with more enemies than a corrupt politician, given how many passive-aggressive posts they’d plastered on social media.

‘Could be something there,’ Ella said. ‘Coincidences are fairy tales in this line of work.’

Luca nodded, all earnest eagerness. The kid was like a puppy begging for a treat. ”Where do we start? Matching up known associates, cross-referencing social circles?”

Ella reached for Georgia”s file. Girl”s life was spread across a half-dozen social media platforms; a digital tapestry of bad decisions and worse taste in men.

‘Bolton”s online footprint is a minefield. Let”s start there, see if any of her virtual pals overlap with Newman”s.’

They dug in, sorting through a labyrinth of likes, shares, and subtweets. The minutes swept by, the bullpen”s buzzing fluorescents marking time like some kinda sadistic sundial. But even as her eyes strained and her brain went static, Ella”s thoughts kept circling back to Ripley. Her partner, her yin to her yang. Off chasing ghosts and gut feelings, probably drowning in a bottle all the while.

Ella”s fingers itched for her cell. One call, just to check in. Make sure Ripley hadn”t swallowed her Glock or done something equally stupid in the name of love.

But she shut that down quick. Ripley had made it crystal she didn”t want Ella”s nose in her business. Not when it came to Martin and his possible extracurriculars.

Luca”s voice yanked her back to the here and now. ‘I”m not seeing any mutual friends here. Bolton and Newman might as well have been living on different planets.’

Ella pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘Their financials telling a different story?’

‘Nada. She was all dive bars and nightclubs on the few occasions she did leave the house. He was more Pbr and video games. Opposite ends of the spectrum.’

This was getting them nowhere fast. She shoved back from the table and said, ‘Let”s look at this from another angle. Maybe it”s not about their social circle, but their daily routines. Where they worked, where they played.’

Luca flipped through a sheaf of papers. ‘Bolton was slinging drinks at a joint called The Rusty Nail. Newman was pulling pints at The Boathouse Brewery.’

‘Both service industry, both dealing with drunks and bachelorette parties.’ Ella started pacing, the gears in her head grinding. ‘What about extracurriculars? Either of them have any regular haunts? Places they frequented outside of work hours?’

More shuffling, pages rustling. Luca huffed. ‘Not seeing any crossover. Bolton was all about the party scene, anywhere with a pulse and a two-for-one special. Newman”s credit card shows a lot of activity at sports bars and a pizza place that he frequented with alarming regularity.’

Ella stopped mid-stride, something pinging in her brain. ‘Wait. Pizza place?’

‘Yeah. Bella Napoli Pizzeria. Sounds like a nice place.’

A memory tickled the back of Ella”s mind. Ella dove back into the Bolton file, scanning the pages like a hawk searching for prey. She flipped through Georgia”s social media history, a blur of drunken selfies and scathing posts about ex-lovers and former friends.

And there, buried in the deluge of digital vitriol, she found it.

A post from three months ago, Georgia ranting about some ‘punk-ass pizza jockey’ who”d kicked her out of his pizza shop.

And she’d tagged the page for Bella Napoli Pizzeria in the post.

”Hawkins, check this,” Ella said. She pushed the file over to him. ”Apparently, our girl Georgia got the boot for being a belligerent drunk.”

Luca’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Same place where Newman was burning his cash. He practically had a standing order at that place.’

Ella could picture it – Georgia swaggering in, all fishnet and attitude, tossing slurs and insults like confetti. Things escalating, tempers flaring. Maybe a full-blown tantrum at table six.

‘Maybe they got into it with a server or bouncer. Pissed off the wrong person. Maybe even got someone fired?’

It was thin, but it was something. More than they”d had five minutes ago.

Luca leaned back in his chair, a slow grin spreading across his pretty-boy mug. ‘Bella Napoli. That”s Italian, you know. Just like yours truly.’

She pushed to her feet, snatching her jacket off the back of the chair. ‘What gave it away? The ‘Napoli’ or the Italian flag on the logo?’

‘Just saying.’ Luca shot out of his chair and shrugged into his jacket in record time. The kid’s enthusiasm was a welcome shot of adrenaline in the arm.

‘You’re Italian?’ Ella asked.

‘No, I’m as American as a bald eagle,’ Luca said as he scooped up his things. ‘My dad’s middle name was Luke, and his favorite sport was lucha libre. He just combined the two.’

‘Smart. Just don’t tell anyone.’

‘My lips are sealed. Now, let’s pay a visit to my people.’

Ella mentally ran through the possibilities. If Georgia and Archie had gotten into it with an employee at Bella Napoli, it could be the break they needed. A disgruntled server, a pissed-off pizza slinger. The kind of everyday slight that could fester into something deadly in the right kind of broken brain.

She thought of their unsub, out there somewhere, stewing in his own twisted juices. Building his next torture throne, picking his next vic. The familiar urgency thrummed through her, the need to hunt, to chase, to catch.

Time to rattle some cages, kick down some doors, maybe grab a slice of Italy’s finest import. It was a long shot, but in this game, you played the hand you were dealt, and you played it to the bloody end.