Shadows (Bayou Magic 1)

“He took one of you?”

“Carlson,” I confirm, feeling sick to my stomach. “He was forty-six, had been with the bureau for more than twenty years. A good man with a wife and five children. He went out to get us all coffee one morning and never came back.”

“Oh my gods.”

“He sent us video of what he was doing to Carlson.” I swallow the bile and try to push the mental images from my mind. “I’ll spare you the details. After four days of torture, he finally killed Carlson and left him strung up in the middle of Main Street in the dead of night.”

“Didn’t they have cameras?”

“Not before, no. This town was like going back in time thirty years. They didn’t have any kind of security or surveillance before we got there. But it was one of the first things we did. The killer didn’t know that we’d had them installed, and his public display cost him dearly. We got his identity.”

“Who was it?”

I swallow again and stop when we get to the police station. We sit on a step, and I finish the story.

“Rodney Simpson. The chief of police.”

“No way!”

“Yes, way. He was under our noses the entire fucking time, and we didn’t know it. God only knows how many people he killed over the years. Maybe dozens. I spoke to him every single day. Worked with him. So did Carlson. And that’s the really fucked-up thing. I don’t know how I missed it. I don’t know how I didn’t figure it out sooner. Six weeks, Brielle, and that bastard didn’t even trip my radar one time.”

“It’s not your fault.”

She takes my face between her hands and makes me look into her eyes.

“The fact that that man is a sick bastard is not your fault. He’s a monster, and he took a great deal of pleasure taunting all of you. I don’t have to be psychic to know that. And you don’t have to be a shrink to know that I’m right.”

“Carlson died because I didn’t do my job well or fast enough.”

“No, he died because a person who swore to protect and serve turned out to be a psychopath, Cash. You know that as well as I do. You can’t beat yourself up for that anymore, or it’ll eat you up inside. Trust me on this.”

“I don’t want you to blame yourself for those girls’ deaths, Bri.”

“Any more than I want you to blame yourself for your friend’s death. Sometimes, monsters walk among us, and there’s just nothing we can do about that.”

I kiss her hand and pull her to her feet.

“Let’s go catch this particular monster, shall we?”

“Absolutely.”

We walk into the building and go through the process of checking in at the reception desk. When we reach Asher’s office, he jumps out of his chair and slides his phone into his pocket.

“You’re just in time,” he says. “We have another body.”

We rush to the morgue in the basement of the building. Brielle’s body tightens. I’m sure there are many spirits down here, ready to taunt the hell out of her.

“Are you okay?”

She nods stiffly. “I’m all right.”

Asher opens the door to a cold room lined with freezers that hold bodies on rolling trays.

In the center of the room is a table holding a body with a sheet covering it.

“Pulled her from the swamp this morning,” the medical examiner says. “Another swamp tour.”

“He’s getting sloppy,” Asher says.

“Impatient,” I reply. “He’s working faster now. He’s starting to make mistakes.”

The ME glances at Brielle and then back to Asher. “She might not want to see this.”

“I’m fine,” Brielle says again.

“It’s not pretty,” he says as he grips the sheet and peels it down the corpse’s torso.

“Oh,” Brielle whispers, leaning over the body. “She wasn’t tortured.”

“Strangled,” the ME confirms, pointing to the ligature marks around her neck. “She was definitely dead when she hit the water, though. No fluid in her lungs.”

“That’s unusual.” Asher turns to me. “It doesn’t follow the killer’s MO.”

“You’re right.” I narrow my eyes. “She does have dark hair, and it looks like she’s about the right height.”

“Sixty-seven inches,” the ME says. We all look at him. “Five foot seven,” he clarifies.

“But there are no other marks on her,” Asher says. “Our guy is way angrier than this.”

“Agreed.” I glance down at Brielle. “Do you recognize her?”

“She’s not one of the girls who’s been following me,” she says, shaking her head slowly. “I don’t think I’ve seen her before.”

“I’m not ready to rule this as a homicide,” Asher says. “She might have killed herself.”

“If she hung herself, how did she end up in the swamp?” I ask and notice Brielle pull her phone out of her purse. “What are you doing?”

“I want Daphne to touch her.”

All of us turn to her in surprise.

“Who the hell is Daphne?” Asher asks.