Chapter Forty

Graves

One look at Mallory’s rear driver's side tire and I know this is no accident. No simple nail embedded in the rubber or a pop off the rim. There’s a clear slit in the tire, someone did this deliberately. Who the fuck is after my little siren? I pop the trunk and the spare tire is flat too. Fuckin’ hell, Mallory.

A lap around the car unnerves me more when I see nails propped up under the passenger side front wheel. She would have never seen them and rolled right over the trap when she reversed out of her spot. I feel fucking nauseous.

I pull out my phone and call Graham, he’s the owner of the local mechanic shop in town and a close family friend. I tell him to come pick up Mallory’s car and give it a full blown inspection. I’m not taking any chances with her life driving this potentially tampered with death trap. Giving him the rundown on what happened makes him uneasy, and he ensures me that he or his son will get to it ASAP.

I open the door to my truck and pull out the radio.

“Captain, Officer Graves checking in. ETA forty minutes.”

“Copy that.”

It’s a small fudge of the truth but I’ll be out of here soon. I know Mallory is safe at work for the day, she’s not off until midnight tonight. I stroll into the hotel and come across Rita at the welcome desk, she directs me to the fourth floor where Mal is cleaning.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Lennox,” she jokingly scolds me. I tip my hat to her as I enter the elevator.

The ride up is slow, but it gives me time to sort through my thoughts. The doors ding open and I see a cleaning cart halfway down the hall to my right. I head towards it when I’m ambushed from behind. I’m about to throw whoever jumped onto my back to the floor when a girlish squeal echoes down the empty hall.

“Gotcha!”

It's Mallory.

“Shit, you scared me, baby. Don’t do that. I’m apt to throw you down and hurt you.”

“Ohhh, sounds kinky.” She winks and smiles. You’re playing with fire, little siren.

“How did you know I was coming?”

“You aren’t the only one with a walkie talkie.” Rita must have given her a heads up. “Did you come to return my keys?”

“Yes and no,” I reply.

“What?”

“Yes, here are your keys, but when Graham or his son, Jaydon, show up to take your car to their garage, you’re going to have to give them up again.”

“Why? What’s going on, Nox?”

“Someone purposely slashed your tire, and tried to sabotage another one.” The colour drains from her face and I swear she’s going to faint. But she gives her head a shake and gestures for me to continue. “Your spare tire was also flat so I couldn’t change it even though I wanted to. The shop is going to run a full safety inspection on your car and will be in contact when it’s done.”

“How will I get home?” She nibbles on her bottom lip, anxiety swelling within her.

“I’ll be here, whether your car is or not.” She nods. “I have to go now, babe. But, can you do something for me?” She finally raises her vision to click with mine.

“What’s that?”

“Can you please stay inside the hotel today?” I plead, hoping she won’t fight me on this. She huffs out a breath.

“Do you think I want to go outside alone after what you just told me?”

I hang my head in fucking shame because I’m failing at something as basic as protecting her. “I’m sorry. I’ll keep you safe,” I vow.

“I know,” she fakes a smile, but I can see her terror swirling beneath the surface. It wrecks me that I’m being torn between her safety and a murderer who’s just reached serial killer status. I’m almost positive there are more victims we don’t know about, but I kept that little nugget tucked away. No need to cause an uproar before it’s confirmed.

I lay a gentle kiss to Mal’s forehead and head back towards the elevator.

“Mr. Police Officer!” she calls and I turn to look. “Text me!” I nod as I push the down arrow button on the panel. She blows me a kiss just like she did this morning, and I throw my hands up making a heart before I can register my own actions and stop myself. Fuck. I’m having heart palpitations. Not yet. Her eyes go wide for a fraction of a second, but I catch it. No doubt remembering Ghost doing this exact thing mere hours ago. She waves gently as I back into the elevator and disappear from view. I’m a colossal dumbass.

Back on the main floor, I quickly tell Rita what happened and request for her to send me the security footage from the last twenty-four hours. She takes my CCPD email address and work cell number, saying she will be "quick like a bunny". Sure you will. If not, I’ll be back to get it myself.

Finally I’m on my way to the crime scene, the captain should only be a little irritated. I’m pushing the two hour time limit I set for myself but that’s what police lights and a fast truck are for.

∞∞∞

I pull up next to a cruiser from out of town, the man resembling Santa greeting me like before. Immediately, I can see the difference in the scene, and my captain’s annoyance with my tardiness makes sense. There are deep drag marks in the earth leading up to the mill. There’s a visible blood trail, gravitational drops peppering the wooden steps up to the doors. Bleach lingers in the air, I kneel and waft my hand over the area. The pungent aroma stings my nostrils... Shit. If that was the killer's blood, it’s useless now.

I open the doors, expecting to find another female victim hanging from the ceiling beams, but instead what I find is much worse. Captain Graves and Myers are off to the side, clearly just managing the scene while waiting for the coroner to arrive.

“What took so long, Graves?” asks the Captain.

“Someone slashed my woman’s tire. I called Graham to deal with it since her spare was flat too.” He nods, accepting my excuse for now. I know I’ll get an earful later. “What do we have?” He gestures towards the body, letting me look for myself. It’s pure carnage.

She’s been savagely beaten. Bruises from restraints purple her wrists and ankles. There are no marks from ligature strangulation but fingertip bruising is evident around her throat. She’s been stabbed in the neck, probably in this exact spot, based on lividity and blood pooling around her head. Her body is pale and riddled with more stab wounds.

“Petechial?” I ask, and Myers just passes me a mini flashlight. The victim's face has been thoroughly cleaned and Ilower myself closer to the body; my nose and eyes burning from the proximity.

“Did he clean the body with bleach?” I ask.

“It appears that way,” Captain replies.

I click the flashlight on and lift the eyelid of the deceased. I almost jump back in fright because what’s staring back at me isn’t the white cloudy eyes of death; but bright golden ones, surrounded by the telling little red blotches.

“What the fuck? Coloured contacts?” I question and both my comrades just nod. What the actual fuck is happening? I rise and take in everything as a whole. High velocity blood spatter coats the walls. The victim has dark brown hair and amber coloured contacts in. She fought like hell against her attacker and probably got a few good hits in on her assailant. She wouldn’t succumb to whatever his fucked up fantasy is, so he killed her in a blind rage.

“Do we know her name?”

“Yes, Melissa Erika King. Age 23. From the city. Her personal effects were found next to the body,” Myers explains, as the captain heads outside to greet the coroner who just pulled in. There’s never been items left behind before, so why this time? Things start to fall into place in my mind's eye.

“He’s escalating, becoming more erratic. He left her belongings behind because she didn’t fulfill his sick ritualistic fantasy.” I’m thinking out loud, talking more to myself than to Myers, but he’s nodding along. “She fought back, there’s defensive wounds on her hands and forearms. Find out if those contacts are prescription or not.” He takes out his notepad and starts jotting things down, about time.

“Double up patrols around the mill for the foreseeable future, and find out if the out of town department can spare some officers for twenty-four hour surveillance. He’s already going to be on the hunt for another victim. He’ll begin to unravel if he’s unable to complete the process. Being unable to access the mill could cause him to slip up and get us a break in the case. Maybe even an arrest if he shows up here.” Myers nods.

“Yes, sir.” He begins to head toward the door with a limp affecting his walk.

“Hey, what happened Sir Limps-a-lot?” I joke.

Jackson Myers laughs, "You noticed that, eh? Can’t hide anything from you.”

I tilt my head, waiting for an answer.

“The captain didn’t even notice my leg, but you did.”

“Yeah, so what happened?” I ask again.

“I tripped over the damn dog in the middle of the night,” he chuffs. “The wife was more worried I hurt the pup than if I fucked up my knee.”

“Women, hey?” I mock.

“Yeah, fuckin’ women,” he grumbles, turning back to the exit, but I call him back, annoyance burning in his gaze.

“Where are Smith and Johnson?”

“Smith was told to not even step foot in here because his stomach wouldn’t handle it.” Of course. “Johnson was here, but was told to go run patrols once you radioed that you were on the way," he answers curtly.

“Okay, thanks man. Feel better.” Myers nods, turns, and I hear the door close behind him.

Unease churns my guts. Something is tugging at the back of my mind, but it’s like I’m searching in the dark for the right thread to pull; while surrounded by a million different possible options of what could be the right one to yank.