Page 19 of Girl, Reborn

‘Nothing free about it,’ Luca agreed.‘Especially not the water, apparently. That dam upriver's choking them out.’

She hummed, pieces clicking together inthe jigsaw of her brain. ‘So we've got a town full of pissed off farmers, apolitician with more slime than spine, and a whole lot of bad blood betweenthem. Recipe for murder soup.’

‘You thinking this was some kind ofrevenge kill? Locals making an example out of the guy who screwed them?’

It tracked. Rage and desperation made forone hell of a toxic cocktail. And God knows these folks had reason enough towant Toledo to suffer.

But something about it didn't sit right. Aniggling little itch at the back of her brain, a sense of a picture not quitein focus.

‘Could be,’ she allowed. ‘But it feels...Idunno. Too easy? I mean, drowning a man and dumping his body sends a messagefor sure. But why not just cap him and call it a day? Why go to all the troubleof, dosing him, snatching him, watching him drown and then dumping him outhere?’

‘Did you find anything out about himonline?’ Luca asked. ‘Any thongs in his dirty laundry?’

She was too professional to throw her penat him, but Lord, was it tempting. ‘No. A few posts about him being a grade-Ascumbag, but plenty of the opposite too. Tons of people singing his praises,especially up in Bristol.’

‘Peachy.’

She pushed away from the desk with agrowl, pacing to the grimy window and back again. Three steps each way, like achicken scratching out its coop. Someone had painted the glass with whitewashyears ago, and no one had bothered to scrape it off. Not much of a view even ifshe could see through it, she reckoned. Just another back alley in adehydrating town.

Times like this she wished she smoked. Ordrank heavily. Or had some unhealthy addiction she could cling to for hope.

But all she had was a partner who keptslanting her looks when he thought she wouldn't notice, some Mayberry reject'sfreeze-dried coffee crystals, and a dead politician nobody seemed to give twoshits about beyond how photogenic he'd be in his casket.

Ella blew out a breath and planted herhands on the desk, leaning over the scattering of papers and gory eight-by-tenslike a general surveying a war map.

‘Okay, let's think this through. Toledoturns up dead fifteen miles from home. We don’t know where he was when hiskiller abducted him, or where he was killed, and the water in his lungs isn’tfrom any river or lake or reservoir.’

‘Right.’ Luca scooted his chair closer tothe desk. He picked up a crime scene photo and tilted it to the light. ‘Docsays it's from stagnant H2O, the kind you find in places where water ain'tflowing too good.’

‘That means our killer would've needed aplace to carry out his little passion play. Somewhere private, isolated. With awater source rank enough to cling to Ricky like eau de stagnant.’

‘Agreed. No way that kind of odor comesfrom anything but sitting water.’

‘So, a vat? A tank?’

Ella thought of Elisa Lam, the youngtourist who’d ended up in a hotel water tank about a decade ago. When theauthorities pulled her out, apparently she smelled like absolute hell.

‘How many of those are gonna be in a placelike this?’

Fair point. Liberty Grove wasn't exactlyan industrial hub. A bunch of farms, a feed store, a truly tragic little stripthat passed for downtown. Unless their killer was hiding out in some prepper'sbunker, his choices were limited.

Luca began hammering away at his laptop.Ella turned back to the whitewashed window and lost herself in the stain. Shereplayed the route into town, the dusty roads and wilting fields. Theoccasional glint of tin, the hulked-out silhouette of a grain silo. The grimywindows of a warehouse long abandoned, an empty parking lot devouring itself inbrittle weeds and some kind of graveyard for trains.

Minutes passed, ticked by on thewater-stained wall clock above. Ella paced, too amped to sit. Gnawing on herthumbnail as she looped the small room, thoughts racing like greyhounds after arabbit.

Outside the grimy windows, the dustystreets of Liberty Grove baked under a merciless sun. Ella made out a bleaklittle grid of storefronts and squat houses, as withered as the folks whoscraped by there. It was the kind of place people ended up, not where theyescaped to. An hour to the east was the carbon copy town of Abingdon, the placeElla swore she’d never die in.

For a long moment, the only sound was Lucaclacking on his keyboard. But then he jolted upright like he’d been struck witha cattle prod.

‘Hold the phone, partner. I think we mightbe thinking too deeply about this.’

Ella swiveled to face him. ‘Do tell.’

‘You checked Toledo’s home life, right?’

‘Of course. Single, unmarried, no kids.Lived alone.’

Luca spun his laptop to face her andtapped the screen. It was a satellite view of something. An odd shape yawned infull-color display, all turquoise water and flagstone lip.

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