Page 31 of Girl, Reformed

Ella's teeth sank into her lower lip.Truthfully, she’d expected a lot more from Georgia’s sister.

‘Did she ever mention an Archie?’ Lucaasked. ‘An Archie Newman?’

Marcy's brow furrowed, the lines etcheddeep as canyons. 'Archie? No, doesn't ring any bells. Why? He has something todo with this?'

Luca shook his head, face carefully blank.‘Just following up on a lead.’

Marcy's face twisted like she'd just bitinto a lemon. Her fist slammed into the ratty couch cushion, sending up a puffof dust. ‘I told her to stop running her mouth. To reel it in before someonedid something to her. Now look. It’s all just…’ Marcy grabbed her hair withboth hands and sank face-first into the cushions. The sobs came in a suddenwave.

Ella just sat there, letting the womanride out the wave of grief and rage. She'd seen this song and dance a thousandtimes before. The anger, the regret, the woulda-coulda-shouldas. It was allpart of the process, the messy, ugly business of picking up the pieces aftersomeone got snuffed out.

But Luca seemingly couldn’t sit on hishands while this woman spiraled into despair. He crossed the room in two longstrides and crouched down next to Marcy and lay a hand on her shoulder.

‘Hey, hey. Look at me, Marcy. This isn'ton you, alright? You didn't do this. Some psycho out there did. And we're gonnafind him, make him pay for what he did to Georgia.’

Marcy raised her head. ‘You promise? Youpromise me you'll get the bastard?’

‘We won't stop until we've got him incuffs or in the ground. You have my word on that.’

Ella had to hand it to the kid. He sureknew how to lay on the charm thick like honey. And damn if it didn't work likea snake oil salesman's miracle cure. Amazing what a pretty face could do for agrieving woman's frazzled nerves.

But they couldn't sit here all day,holding hands and making promises they might not be able to keep. They had akiller to catch, a case to crack wide open. And the longer they lingered, thecolder the trail would get.

Ella pushed to her feet. ‘Alright, Marcy.I think we've taken up enough of your time. You got a number we can reach youat, in case we have any more questions?’

Marcy blinked like she was coming out of atrance. She rattled off a string of digits. Ella committed them to memory andgestured for Luca to come along.

‘We'll be in touch. And remember, anythingcomes to mind, anything at all, you call us. Day or night. Got it?’

Marcy nodded. Luca gave her shoulder onelast squeeze and made his way to the door. Ella paused on the threshold, onehand on the knob. She turned back to look at Marcy, huddled on the couch like abroken doll. ‘I'm sorry for your loss. Truly. And I promise you, we'll get theson of a bitch who did this. One way or another.’

It was a vow she'd made a hundred timesbefore, and as always, she meant it. Georgia Bolton might have been a loudmouthKaren, but everyone deserved justice. The victims were out there somewhere,crying out for justice from beyond the grave. And come hell or high water, Ellawould get it for them. Even if she had to shake this whole rotten city down toits foundations to do it.

‘Well, that was a whole lot of nothing,’Luca said once they were outside. ‘Where to now?’

‘You sure about that? We have aconnection.’

Luca leaned against the car hood. ‘What?What connection?’

‘Archie and Georgia were both abrasivetypes, so we just need to find out who they pissed off.’

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

As he sat hunched over his computerlike a parody of a real person, a sudden profound awareness took hold. The world, thistwisted funhouse mirror of a reality, had become so absurd, so utterlyludicrous, that all attempts at art, at humor, had been rendered pointless.

No fiction could capture theabsurdity of the modern age. No jokes could dull the pain, and there was nopoint in even trying anymore, because humans were the jokes and life was thepunchline.

He had to laugh. If he didn’tlaugh, he’d go insane. Butthe real gag, the ultimate knee-slapper, was that he'd been nothing more than abit player in a cosmic comedy of errors. A footnote in the grand farce that wasthe universe.

The sounds of life, of laughter, seepedthrough the walls. Giggles, guffaws, shrieks that might as well have beenserrated blades designed to saw at his last few threads of sanity. Time hadlong since lost all meaning in this dank, musty space - seconds, minutes, hoursbleeding together like the viscous ichor of a festering wound. Was it day ornight beyond these moldering walls? He could no longer tell, nor did it matter.

They were talking about him, he was sureof it. Mocking him. Laughing at him. Just like they always did. So he lurchedto his feet and crossed to the window. He twitched the curtain aside with ashaking hand, peering out at the sun-drenched sidewalk. It was daytime,apparently, and outside a group of kids were playing hopscotch, high-pitchedgiggles like knives in his ears. For a moment, he imagined storming out there,grabbing them by their scrawny necks and squeezing until they went quiet.

But no. Not yet. There was work to bedone. Holy work. Righteous work.

He let the curtain fall back into place,shutting out the light and the noise and the sickening normalcy of it all.Returned to his desk, his sanctuary. The only place where he felt truly incontrol.

On the screen, the video waited for him.He stabbed a key, pausing the video for a single, frozen moment. Leaned inuntil his nose nearly touched the screen, bloodshot eyes devouring every pixel,every infinitesimal detail. The two before, they had fallen so sweetly. Theirchoked sobs, the spluttering and gargling before death took hold. Hell, thegentlemen he'd killed had even relieved himself in his final moments.

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