Page 22 of Girl, Reformed

But even as she said it, she knew itwasn't entirely true. Sometimes, that's exactly what happened. Sometimes,people just broke, snapped like an overtightened guitar string, their psycheshredding itself on the jagged edges of an uncaring world.

It was the scariest thing about this job.The knowledge that the monsters weren't always born. Sometimes, they were made.Forged in the crucible of a life that had dealt them one too many shitsandwiches. And once that switch got flipped, there was no going back.

Ella shook off the maudlin thoughts,forcing herself to focus on the task at hand.

Archie Newman. Twenty-six years old. Abartender at some trendy little microbrew joint downtown. Last seen clockingout after his shift, then...nothing. No witnesses, no security cam footage.Just a big, fat goose egg until his body turned up in an alleyway half a milefrom his last known location.

She flipped through the scene photos, herstomach clenching at the sight of Archie's slack, waxy face. He'd been agood-looking kid. Probably had all the sorority girls lining up. Not that itmattered now. Death was the great equalizer, and Archie had been found in anarrow strip behind a strip club called the Boobie Trap, trussed up like aChristmas ham and displayed on a stack of wooden pallets like some kind of sickart installation.

Ella's lip curled. This unsub had a flairfor the dramatic, she'd give him that. Posing his victims like they were readyfor their close-up, making sure they'd be found by some poor guy stumbling outof the club with a belly full of cheap booze.

‘Our guy has some audacity,’ Ella said.‘Victim number one in a public alleyway, victim number two in a busy park.’

Luca added, ‘And he elevated them both.Georgia was on a bandstand. Archie was on a stack of pallets – for somereason.’

‘Odd choice for sure, but he probably justwanted to maximize the shock. He staged them to incite terror in whoever foundthem – or us. Danny Rolling used to pose the bodies of his victims so that ittraumatized whoever found them.’

‘Hate that guy,’ Luca said. ‘Decapitatedthe head and hid it so the investigator had to search for it.’

‘Real monster. Blueprint for the modernlust killer. Albert DeSalvo used to pose the bodies in a similar way. So didRodney Alcala, Bruce McArthur, Edmund Kemper, Gary Ridgway, George Russell.’

Luca grinned in her direction. ‘Is thisyour perfect memory talking?’

Ella returned Luca's grin with a wry twistof her lips. ‘You heard about that?’

‘Who hasn’t?’

‘Ha. But yeah. Can't forget a singlegrisly detail, even when I want to.’

Her partner spun on his chair and tappedhis pen against his cheek. ‘Alright, I’m curious. How does it work? You justremember everything?’

'It's ironic,' Ella said. 'I don'tactually know. A doctor once told me I just have a really long short-termmemory. And by really long, I mean a lifetime, or until dementia sets in.'

Luca glanced out of the window then asked,‘So, if you saw a license plate this morning, you could remember it forever?’

'If I committed it to my short-term memorybank, yeah. But it takes a few seconds to register. I'd love to be able to justtake mental snaps of everything and recall them at will, but it's not thatsimple. Does that make sense, or do I sound insane?'

‘The latter,’ Luca said. ‘How did you findout about it?’

Ella shrugged. ‘I thought it was normaluntil I was about eight. I remember my aunt took me to the store once to buy arecord. Guns N Roses. On the way home, I read the booklet. You know, the littlething with all the lyrics in?’

‘Of course.’

‘When I played the record at home, Irealized I knew the lyrics to every song even though I’d never heard them. Myaunt thought I was pulling a prank or something.’

She could see the wheels spinning inLuca’s head, the implications of her little neurological quirk sinking in. Thekid looked equal parts awed and horrified, like he couldn't decide whether tobe impressed or to offer his condolences.

‘Christ.’ Luca said at last. ‘You’re awalking encyclopedia. I bet you clean up at trivia nights.’

'I would if I knew anything worth knowing.Ask me about murder cases from the eighties, and I'll talk for days. Don't askme the capital of Thailand.'

She reached for the second file, butbefore she could crack it open, the door to the bullpen swung open with a bang.Chief Harland stood in the doorway.

‘Saddle up,’ Harland barked. ‘Gotsomething for you two.’

Ella was on her feet in an instant. ‘Whatis it, chief?’

Harland gestured to the hallway. ‘Followme.’

---