Criminal (Will Trent 6)

“If you would?” Pete got down on one knee, then helped Amanda kneel beside him. She smoothed down her skirt so that her knees would not grind against the dirt. Her heels were going to get scuffed. She hadn’t exactly dressed for this.

Pete said, “Tell me what you see.”

The victim was face down. Her long blonde hair draped down her shoulders and back. She was wearing a black miniskirt and red T-shirt. Her hand rested on the ground a few inches from her face. The nails were polished bright red.

Amanda said, “Same as the other victim. All ten fingernails expertly manicured.”

“Correct.” Pete pulled back the woman’s stringy blonde hair. “Neck’s bruised, though I’m going to guess the hyoid wasn’t broken.”

“She wasn’t strangled to death?”

“I believe there’s something else going on.” He pulled up the red T-shirt. There was a line of injuries down the woman’s side, almost like a dress seam had been ripped open. “These lacerations run the length of her body.”

Amanda saw the pattern duplicated on the girl’s leg. She had mistaken the damage for the seam in a pair of stockings. Likewise, the outside of the victim’s arms showed the marks. It was like a McCall’s pattern, where someone had tried to tear apart the stitches joining the front to the back of her body.

Amanda asked, “What—who—would do that?”

“Two very good questions. Unfortunately, my answer to both is that I have no idea.”

Amanda didn’t so much ask as wonder aloud, “You told Deena to call us, to get us here.”

“Yes. The manicured fingernails were similar. The setting. I thought there was more, but upon further examination …” He started to pull up the miniskirt, then changed his mind. “I must warn you, even I was startled. I haven’t seen this in a few years.”

Amanda shook her head. “What do you mean?”

He pulled up the skirt. There was a knitting needle between the girl’s legs.

Amanda didn’t need to be coached this time. Automatically, she found herself taking deep breaths, filling her lungs, then slowly pushing out all the air.

Pete shook his head. “There’s absolutely no reason for a girl to have to do this anymore.”

Amanda noticed, “There’s no blood.”

Pete sat back on his heels. “No, there’s not.”

“You would expect to see blood, wouldn’t you? From the knitting needle?”

“Yes.” Pete pushed open the legs. One of the officers moved back a step. He nearly tripped over a broken tree limb. There were a couple of nervous laughs, but the man righted himself without incident. He trained the beam of his flashlight on the victim’s legs.

Pasty white thighs. No blood.

Amanda asked, “Are her fingerprints on the knitting needle?”

Despite the circumstances, Pete smiled at her. “None. It was wiped clean.”

“She didn’t do this to herself.”

“Not likely. She’s been cleaned up. Someone brought her here.”

“The same place our other victim was found.”

“Not exactly, but close.” He pointed to a spot several feet away. “Lucy Bennett was found over there.”

Amanda looked back up at the building. Miss Lula’s apartment was on the far end. She couldn’t see the tree from her window. She certainly couldn’t see where Jane Delray was found. Deena was right. There was someone else—or a series of someone elses—who’d seen everything but were too afraid to tell.

“Ned,” Pete called. “Take her feet, I’ll get her shoulders.”

The young doctor did as he was instructed. Carefully, they rolled the victim over onto her back.

Amanda looked at the girl’s face. The damage was incomprehensible. Her eyelids were shredded. Her mouth was torn to pieces. Still, there was enough left to recognize her. Amanda unzipped her purse and found the license, which she handed to Pete.

“Donna Mary Halston,” he read. “Lives here?” He looked up at the building. “Top floor, I’m assuming. Same as Lucy Bennett.”

Amanda shuffled through the licenses and found Lucy Bennett’s. She handed this to Pete and waited.

“Hm.” He studied the photo carefully. He was obviously mindful of the six patrolmen when he told Amanda, “This girl is unfamiliar to me.”

Amanda handed him Jane Delray’s license.

Again, he studied the photo. A deep sigh came out like a groan. “Yes, this one I recognize.” He handed both licenses back to Amanda. “Now what?”

She shook her head. It felt good to have Pete weigh in on the identities, but his validation wasn’t going to change much.

The back door opened. Evelyn shook her head. “Nothing in the apartment. It’s still a mess, but I don’t think anyone’s—” She stopped. Amanda followed her gaze to the knitting needle. Evelyn put her hand to her mouth. Instead of turning away, she looked up at the tree. Then she looked down at the girl again.

“What is it?” Amanda asked. Something was obviously wrong. She stood up and joined Evelyn. It was the same as the construction paper puzzle. Sometimes a change in perspective was all it took.

The tree limb was broken. The girl lay on the ground. Her child had been aborted.

“Oh, my God.” Amanda realized, “Ophelia.”

nineteen

Present Day

SUZANNA FORD

The darkness. The cold. The noise.

Air sucking in and out, like a car zooming through a tunnel.

She couldn’t take it anymore. Her body ached. Her mouth was dry. Her stomach was so empty that she felt as if the acids were eating a hole in her belly.

Meth.

That was what had brought her here. Brought her low. She had fallen too far. She had put herself in the gutter. She had brought herself to this place.

Dear Jesus, she prayed. If you get me out of here, I will worship You every day. I will exalt Your name.

The claustrophobia. The absolute darkness. The unknowing. The fear of suffocation.

Way back when they were still a family, her father had taken them all on a trip to Wales. There was a mine there, something from thousands of years ago. You had to wear a hard hat to go into the tunnels. They were small because people weren’t as tall back then. They were narrow because most of the workers were children.

Suzanna had gone in twenty feet before she started freaking out. She could still see sunlight from the opening, but she’d nearly pissed herself running back toward the entrance.

That was what it felt like now. Trapped. Hopeless.

I will praise You. I will spread Your word. I will humble myself before You.

Arms couldn’t move. Legs couldn’t move. Eyes couldn’t open. Mouth couldn’t open.

Meth will never touch my lips, my nose, my lungs, ever again, so help me God.

The tremble started slow, coursing through her body, straining her muscles. Her fingers flexed into a fist. She clenched her shoulders, her teeth, her ass. The threads pulled. The pain was excruciating. Hot needles touching raw nerves. Her heart was going to explode in her chest. She could rip herself away. She was stronger than this. She could rip herself away.

Suzanna tried. She tried so hard. But each time, the pain won.

She couldn’t make the skin tear. She couldn’t make the thread break.