Page 49 of Girl, Reformed

She jerked her head at Luca and strodetowards the door, not bothering to look back as it banged shut behind them.

Then came the familiar itch that said thepieces were there, just waiting for her to slot them into place. The picturewas taking shape, the outline of her unsub starting to emerge from the shadows.

But they weren't there yet. They neededmore. More evidence, more intel, more ammunition to take this psycho downbefore he added any more names to his list.

Ella cracked her neck, rolled hershoulders. Time to get to work. Sleep was for the weak and the dead, and shewas neither. She had a promise to keep, to the victims, to their families.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Mia Ripley sat in her car, the engineticking as it cooled, the acrid stench of burnt paper and scorched upholsterystill thick in her nostrils. On her lap lay the remnants of Martin's life, ahandful of half-charred files snatched from the smoldering ruin of his belovedride.

The uniform at the scene had been happy tolet Mia take them, eager to wash his hands of the whole sordid affair. ‘Allyours, Agent Ripley,’ he'd said, eyes skittering away from her face likecockroaches from a lit match.

Problem. That's whatMartin had become. A problem to be solved, a puzzle to be pieced together fromthe ashes of his existence.

Ripley's fingers shook as she flippedthrough the pages, because she didn’t expect this.

The documents in her hands were MartinGodfrey’s entire life in paper form.

Vehicle registration forms, tax returns,mortgage statements. A paper trail of a life lived, now reduced to so muchkindling.

But why? Why torch it all, erase everytrace of himself like a ghost slipping its chains? Was he running fromsomething? Someone? Trying to disappear without a trace, leave nothingbehind but smoke and questions?

The thoughts chased each other round andround Ripley's skull like rabid dogs, but no matter how hard she chewed on it,she couldn't make it make sense. Couldn't reconcile the man she'd loved, theman she'd shared her bed and her heart with, with this stranger who'd set hisown life ablaze and vanished into the night.

And amongst these seemingly ordinarydocuments, one stood out from the pack.

Her fingers closed on a file at the top ofthe stack, the edges curled and blackened but the contents still legible. Alease agreement, dated six months prior. Martin's signature scrawled across thebottom like a dead man's last words.

This contract confirms that Martin Godfreyagrees to rent storage unit #247 at Dover Self Storage, located at 1456Industrial Park Road, for the purpose of personal storage. The unit measures10x10 and will be leased on a month-to-month basis at a rate of $85 per month.

Ripley's heart kicked against her ribs. Astorage unit. Rented under Martin's name, squirreled away on the outskirts oftown. The perfect place to stash his secrets, hide his sins away from pryingeyes.

Kerosene. He'd said he needed kerosene,offhand and casual as a comment on the weather. For his lawnmower, his modelairplanes. All those little projects that ate up his time and kept him out ofher hair.

This was where he kept it. Kerosene thatwas also found on her ex-husband’s corpse. Perhaps Trevor had died in that sameplace.

This was it. The bread crumb, the threadto follow into the labyrinth. If Martin was hiding anything, playing anytwisted games, the answers would be in that storage shed.

She had to go. Had to see, evenif it killed her. Even if it shattered her heart into a million jagged piecesand left her bleeding out on the floor.

Ripley threw the address into the GPS.

1456 Industrial Park Road.

One mile away.

Close enough to walk to after ditchingyour car and setting fire to it in this empty lot.

She could be there in ninety seconds.

Ninety seconds between her and the truth.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Back in her office, Ella could feelHarland's and Luca's eyes boring into her back, expectant, waiting for somekinda revelation to come flying out of her mouth like a flock of doves from ahack magician's sleeve.

She spun on her heel, pinning them bothwith a hard stare. ‘What? I got something on my face?’

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