Page 14 of Girl, Bound

Ella turned toHolbrook, her mind already piecing together a profile of their killer. ‘Yousaid Eric Saunders was a founder of Seraphic Labs. That kind of position comeswith power, and power breeds enemies.’

Holbrook nodded. ‘Trueenough. Man like that, he's bound to have pissed off his fair share of folks.Business rivals, disgruntled employees, maybe even some tree-huggers with abeef against Big Pharma.’

Ripley cut in. ‘Canyou walk us through the scene, Sheriff?’

Holbrook turned andled them deeper into the alleyway. 'We call this place Blue Alley. Don't ask mewhy, some local tradition or something.'

Ella scanned the area,her eyes picking out every detail, every scuff and stain. The ground waslittered with trash and debris, the walls covered in graffiti tags and postersof local events long gone. It was the kind of place where secrets went to die, wherethe forgotten and the forsaken found their final resting place.

‘That’s where we foundthe bag. Smack bang in the middle of the alley. Not even perched against thewall or nothin’.’

‘Isolated spot, allthings considered,’ Ella said. ‘Not much foot traffic, easy to go unnoticed.But how did our killer find her here? Was he stalking her, waiting for theright moment to strike?’

Ripley crouched down,examining the spot where the body had lain. ‘Could be a crime of opportunity.Maybe our Jane Doe was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

Ella turned theinformation over in her mind, examining it from every angle. Serial killerstended to fall into one of two categories - those who targeted specificindividuals, and those who killed at random. It was rare for a killer tocombine the two, but not unheard of. Ella searched her memory bank forhistorical killers who blurred the lines between personal and random. EdmundKemper, Dean Corll, John Wayne Gacy.

‘I don't think so. Theattack on Eric Saunders has all the hallmarks of a targeted hit. This has to bethe same.’

Ripley stood up,dusting off her hands. ‘What are you thinking, partner?’

Ella turned to faceher, relishing the thrill of the hunt. Her life in D.C. suddenly seemed amillion miles away. She scanned the scene from every direction, then lingeredon the spot where the body had lain. No blood stains, no signs of a struggle.Just a black bag and a mystery waiting to be unraveled.

‘No defensive wounds,’she said, thinking out loud. ‘No blood, no scuff marks. She went down fast,probably never even saw it coming.’

Ripley nodded,following her train of thought. ‘A blitz attack, then. But was he waiting forher here, or did he just get lucky?’

Ella chewed her lip,turning the question over in her mind. A serial killer on the hunt, stalkinghis prey through the shadows of Millhaven. But was he a creature of habit,striking in places he knew off by heart? Or was he a chameleon, adapting to hissurroundings and striking when the moment was right?

Their unsub would haveknown Eric Saunders would have been at his office. The killer likely watchedhim, learned his pattern, and then struck at the most opportune moment. If hewent to such lengths for that first murder, he'd do the same for the next onetoo. The chances of him succumbing to uncontrollable bloodlust this early inthe game were slim. If these were his only two murders, he'd still be in hisprimeval stages. A caterpillar on the verge of cocooning.

She turned toHolbrook, a sudden thought occurring to her. ‘Why do they call it Blue Alley,anyway?’

Holbrook shrugged.‘The streetlamps at either end, they give off this weird blue light instead ofthe usual orange. Been like that since before I came to town, no one seems toknow why.’

Ella's mouth droppedopen an inch, a puzzle piece clicking into place.

Suddenly, she had it.

‘Ripley, this victimwas lured here. Quite easily, too.’

‘Chances are she’s asex worker, Dark. He could have just posed as a john, gotten her alone thatway.’

‘And met her in themiddle of an alleyway? It’s not the nineties anymore. Sex work happens inmotels, back seats of cars. Not filthy alleyways.’

‘There’s not muchdemand for the oldest profession around here,’ Holbrook said. ‘Las Vegas weain’t.’

Ripley asked, ‘But ifthat’s the case, how’d he get her out here alone? Maybe he promised to pick herup and take her somewhere else?’

Ella pointed to thestreetlamps. ‘Blue lights.’

Ripley looked at her withan unreadable expression. Holbrook scrunched his face.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘Sorry if I’m makingassumptions here, but something tells me this alleyway is Junkie Central. Bluelights deter drug users from shooting up because it makes it harder to find avein. Can’t see blue on blue.’ She turned to Holbrook. ‘Your local council knowthis. Don’t you ever get reports of drug users hanging around here?’

‘Hardly,’ Holbrooksaid. ‘But we only know crimes if they get reported.’

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