Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

If I ever needed confirmation that Jake was still single, now I have it. He's still on Cynch. He's still looking for the One, after we definitively determined that I was not the One.

Jake looks good in his photo. It's not a fake photo like Kevin's. It looks more like him than most people's photos do, but that doesn't surprise me. Jake was never the kind of guy who felt like he had something to hide—what you see is what you get. He's dressed in the same shirt and tie he usually wears to work, and he's sporting his perpetual five-o'clock shadow. I swear, five seconds after he shaves, his beard instantly grows back. It also hides some acne scars left over from his teenage years, although it's hard to imagine Jake ever being a skinny teenager. He seems like he emerged into the world already thirty-five years old.

I read through the details Jake lists on his profile. Doesn't have kids. Wants kids. Non-smoker. No political affiliation. Favorite hobby: Watching football.

Well that's a lie. Jake doesn't have time for hobbies.

Under what he's looking for, he wrote: I want to find a woman I can come home to at the end of a long night of work, enjoy a hot dinner together, and watch a movie on the TV.

More lies. Jake doesn't want a woman he can come home to. He doesn't want to come home at all.

But despite my simmering resentment, when I look down at his photo I remember that tug I used to feel when I was with him. We first met through Cynch, years ago, after we had both been on a ton of bad dates, and the second I saw him… Well, it was that lightning bolt. I knew that I wasn't going on any more bad dates for a long time.

Why couldn't it have worked out? Jake and I should be married by now. We should be having children and posting obnoxious baby pictures all over Facebook.

I scroll through the contacts on my phone, and sure enough, Jake's name is still there. A smarter woman would have deleted him after we broke up, but I didn't. As long as he hasn't changed his number, I still have it programmed into my phone.

Before I can stop myself, I click on his name.

The odds seem small that Jake will actually pick up the phone—after all, it's midnight and he's working a case—so I'm surprised when I hear his deep voice on the other end of the line. Well, I'm surprised until I remember that the man never, ever sleeps. "Sydney?"

"Hey…"

He doesn't ask me why I'm calling, but the fact that he didn't delete me from his phone says a lot. "Hey."

Despite the fact that I'm just as alone as I was a minute earlier, I feel better now that I've got Jake on the line. He always had a way of making me feel secure. His presence can fill a room, even over the phone.

"So how is the case going?" I ask him. "Did you find that boyfriend?"

"You know I can't talk to you about that, Syd. It's an ongoing investigation."

Jake was always such a stickler for the rules. "Right. I see."

He lets out a long sigh. "I can tell you that we haven't made any arrests yet."

"Do you have a person of interest?"

He hesitates. "No."

Great. So the guy who killed Bonnie is still out there while she is lying in the morgue. "I don't get it. Don't you guys have all this amazing fingerprint and DNA technology? How is it possible that you don't have the killer in custody?"

"It's not that simple, Sydney. We have DNA and fingerprints, but no matches in our database." He pauses. "Well, except for Randall Muncy, but we know he's not our guy."

"Great."

I had called Jake to get comfort and maybe find out that they caught the bastard who did this. But the revelation that they don't even have any suspects… Well, I'm astonished. How is it possible that they can't track down Bonnie's boyfriend?

"Listen," Jake says, "are you still living alone?"

I bristle. " Excuse me?"

"No, I mean…" He clears his throat. "You should just be careful. Make sure you lock your door. Do you have a dead bolt?"

"Yes."

"Well use it. Are you still on Cynch?"

"Yes…"

"Think you could take a break from it for a while?"

I grit my teeth. "One of my best friends was murdered last night. I'm not exactly thinking about my next date."

"Okay, well, good."

This talk is making me uneasy. "Is there a reason that I should be worried, Jake?"

He's quiet for a long time, and if he were sitting beside me, I would want to wring his neck. "Okay," he finally says, "I'm going to tell you something that we haven't leaked to the press yet. But I think you should know."

"Know what ?"

"You swear this is just between us?"

"Yes!"

"I wasn't being entirely honest with you before." Jake takes a breath. "We actually do have a fingerprint match."

I suck in a breath. That's great . That means they must be close to making some sort of arrest. "So how come you haven't arrested the guy?"

"Because we don't know whose fingerprints they are."

I frown. "I don't understand. What do they match with then?"

"Another crime scene."

My stomach sinks as I absorb what he is trying to tell me. The fingerprints in Bonnie's apartment match fingerprints found at another crime scene. Does that mean…?

"It was another woman about Bonnie's age," he says. "Looked sort of like her too. And there were other details that were similar. Like what was done to the body before and after death."

I overheard one of the police officers saying that they thought Bonnie was tortured before she was actually killed. It's the kind of thing that's very hard to get out of your head. "Something in particular that was similar?" I ask.

"Yes," he confirms. "But you have to swear you won't tell a soul, Syd. This is not public information, but you deserve to know."

The way he's saying it, I'm not even sure I want to know anymore. And yet I won't be able to sleep tonight if he doesn't tell me. "What is it?

"Both women…they had a large chunk of hair snipped from their heads very close to the scalp—at exactly the same spot. And we couldn't find the hair anywhere in the apartments. So it seems like the killer may have taken it…as a souvenir."

And now I'm imagining some lunatic storing Bonnie's hair in a jar in his basement.

"The other victim also dated a lot of men on Cynch," Jake says. "They were able to locate several of her recent dates and eliminate them as suspects, but there were fingerprints in the apartment as well as DNA that could not be identified."

"When was this?"

"About eighteen months ago."

Bonnie told me she had started dating that guy about a year ago. So apparently he murdered a woman, took a break for six months, then found his next victim.

My head is spinning, and it's not from the wine. I'm sorry I ate all that mint chocolate chip ice cream, because I feel like I'm going to throw it all up.

"Sydney," Jake says firmly, "we are going to find this guy. I promise you that."

"You haven't found him yet."

"Look, if this wasn't a crime of passion, it might take more time." I can envision that sexy crease he gets between his dark eyebrows. "A serial killer who planned this in advance would have covered his tracks better. He was obviously careful not to be seen with her publicly or allow himself to appear on social media with her. Who knows if she even knew his real name? But don't worry. We will find him—sooner or later."

I'm not sure I believe him, but what choice do I have? It's not like I have any control over this case. But I do think that if they truly believe there's a serial killer roaming the city targeting young women, they are going to do everything in their power to find him.

"Syd," he says. "Are you okay?"

I look over at my empty bottle of wine, empty tissue box, and melting ice cream. "I've been better."

"Do you want me to come over?"

My face burns. "Are you asking for a booty call ?"

"No! Christ, no." He sounds flustered in a way I used to find very endearing. "I just thought maybe tonight you wouldn't want to be alone. And I could, you know, be there. On your couch, obviously. If you want."

"Don't you need to get some sleep?"

"Sleep? What's that?"

Despite everything, I let out a snorting laugh. Jake did seem to exist on only a couple of hours of sleep every night.

"It's fine," I say. "My friend Gretchen was here all night. And now I'm going to sleep. Besides, it would be weird if you came over."

"I wouldn't let it be weird."

"I don't know if you have any control over it." I let out a yawn. "Anyway, I guess I'll attempt to go to sleep now."

"Okay," Jake says. "Just make sure you throw that dead bolt."

"Jesus," I mutter. "Don't worry so much. Nobody is going to break into my house tonight and murder me. That seems really unlikely."

"Just do it."

"Yes, Mom," I grunt. "Anyway, good night. Thanks for the terrifying update."

"Good night, Syd."

We hang up, and for a moment all I can do is sit there, staring at the black screen of my phone. And then I get off the couch, walk over to the front door, and make sure the dead bolt is in place.