Page 67 of Girl, Reformed

‘Not really,’ Harland said.

‘Our unsub wasn't just posing bodies. Hewas staging them. Quite literally staging them. They were all elevated,like they were on a stage.’

Harland shifted a little. She could seethe gears grinding in his head, the stubborn blue-collar pragmatism warringwith the unavoidable truth. But he wasn't quite ready to cry uncle. Not yet.

‘Putting on a show, huh?’ he asked. ‘Yousure you’re not grasping at straws here?’

Ella had to grin. He sounded just likeRipley.

‘No, there’s a lot more. When me andHawkins talked to the vics’ families, both mentioned something that wecompletely overlooked.’ The details clawed back at her, as fresh as a papercut.She turned back to the board, tapped another set of underlined words. 'COMEDYCLUBS,' they screamed in lurid green.

‘Mrs. Newman said Archie frequented bars,comedy clubs, and the theater sometimes. Georgia’s sister said that Georgiagot blasted at every dive bar and comedy club in town. Same song,different key. See?’

Harland shook his head, incredulous. ‘So,what? Our unsub's hitting the open mic circuit?

Ella ignored the comment and steamrolledahead with the momentum of a freight train. ‘And then there’s this.’ Sheunderlined the word ‘TRAGEDY MASK.’

‘What about it?’ Harland asked.

‘Comedy and tragedy. Two sides of the samecoin. The theater masks. The universal symbol of the human condition.’

‘Right, but if he was a comedian, wouldn’the use a comedy mask?’

'No. Something happened to our unsub thatset him on his path. He's gone from comedy to tragedy, and this is the result.Laughing turned to screaming, somehow. Something flipped the script on thisguy.'

Harland stood up and walked over to thecrime scene photos. He zoned in on a glossy picture of Harry Shepherd hangingfrom the memorial fountain.

‘Chuckles,’ Harland said. ‘Last night’svic was hanging from a memorial to a comedian.’

‘Bingo,’ Ella said. ‘That’s why the lackof stocks. Because the location was the punchline.’

Harland harrumphed, bushy brows collidinglike mating caterpillars. ‘Alright, let’s say you’re on the right track. Whatdo the stocks have to do with this? Archie and Georgia were both locked up instocks. Why?’

Ella blew out a breath, dragging a handthrough her hair. The eternal question, the niggling little itch that haddogged her since they’d stepped foot in this city.

‘That's the million dollar query, Chief.The one piece that doesn't quite...’

‘Laughing stock,’ Luca broke in.

Ella's head snapped around so fast shedamn near got whiplash. Until now, the rookie had been deathly silent.

‘Come again?’ she said.

Luca met her gaze, steady as a surgeon'shands.

‘Laughing stock,’ he said again. ‘He’sbeing literal. Transposed his pain into tangible imagery that he thinks willhelp overcome his trauma.’

Ella's jaw hit the floor like a sack ofcement. Dammit. The kid had done it again, put the pieces together while shewas still fumbling in the dark. A hot flush of envy seared through her guts,green and ugly as a five-day-old bruise. How the hell did he do it?

‘Laughing stocks,’ she repeated.

Luca rose out of his chair. ‘Stocks areused for humiliation, right? Display the victims, let the public take theirshots. Our unsub’s doing the same. He’s trying to be funny. It’s a visual gag.’

Ella could have kissed him. Again.

‘Holy crap, Hawkins. Good catch.’

But even as she said it, even as shepasted on a smile and played nice, that jealous little voice in the back of herhead wouldn't shut up. Wouldn't stop whispering that she was obsolete and thisfresh-faced rookie was everything she was but better.

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