Page 38 of Girl, Reborn

Ella's lips quirked in a humorless smile.‘There's always a way, rookie. You just gotta know where to look.’

She circled the body, eyes scanning everyinch. There had to be something, some clue the killer had overlooked. No onewas perfect, not even meticulous psychos with a hard-on for drowningout-of-towners.

Ella hummed thoughtfully as she turnedback to the body. She ran a gloved finger along the man's arm, feeling foridentifying marks or scars. Nothing. But as she reached his forearm, shepaused. She gently rolled his sleeve up and there, peeking out – ink.

Three names, artfully scripted across paleflesh. Julie, Amber, Harley.

‘Family,’ she murmured. ‘Wife anddaughters, maybe?’

Luca leaned in for a closer look. ‘Goodcatch. But without ID, how do we track them down?’

‘Welcome to the digital age, Hawkins.Personalities are written on our faces, and personalities reveal the personunderneath.’ She stood, brushing dirt from her knees. ‘We get back to theprecinct, cross-reference these names with missing persons reports and socialmedia profiles. Guarantee you we'll find a frantic wife wondering why hubbynever made it home from his business trip.’

‘So you’re not just a pretty face,’ Lucasaid.

‘No one’s ever said that before.’ Ellaturned to Tucker. ‘We need to get this body to the ME, ASAP. Full workup – toxscreen, trace evidence, the works. And I want photos of every inch of him.’

Tucker nodded, already barking orders athis deputies. As the flurry of activity swirled around them, Ella found hergaze drawn back to the victim's lifeless form. Another piece in this twistedpuzzle, another life cut short.

Two victims. Two puzzle pieces in a gameshe was only beginning to understand. But she'd crack it wide open, come hellor high water.

High water, she thought. Ifshe were a betting woman, she’d bet everything she owned that high water wasthe backbone to this entire mess.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Ella had been staring ather laptop screen so long she half expected the damn thing to blink first.She'd been at it for hours, burning through databases like a chain smoker ondeath row. Her world had narrowed to the glowing screen in front of her and thethree names etched in flesh.

Julie. Amber. Harley.

Family names, had to be. Unless their JohnDoe was some kind of sicko with a thing for stripper monikers. But Ella's gutsaid differently, and her gut had a Ph.D. in reading stiffs. Those names wereetched with love, not lust. The kind of permanent reminder a man carries whenhis heart walks around outside his body, wrapped up in pigtails and trainingbras.

Her eyes felt like they'd been rolled insand, her back was screaming bloody murder, and her ass had gone numb about twohours ago. But Ella Dark didn't know the meaning of quit. She'd crack this nutif it killed her, and at this rate, it just might.

Missing persons came up dry. She'd checkedevery database from here to Timbuktu, cross-referencing those three namesagainst every Jane, John, and Jimmy Doe in the system. Nothing.

Social media had been a wasteland. She'dcombed through every high-profile network she could think of, even goddamnLinkedIn, looking for any combination of those names. Either this family wasliving off the grid, Amish-style, or they were ghosts haunting the margins oftheir victim's skin.

Next, she dove into the criminal records.Ella figured that by some small miracle, one of them might have a rap sheet,but apparently this was the Brady Bunch of tattoo subjects. Not so much as aparking ticket or an overdue library book to anyone named Julie, Amber orHarley within twenty miles in the past few years.

The sex offender registry was another deadend. Ella wasn't sure whether to be relieved or frustrated. On the one hand, atleast their vic wasn't some kiddie-diddler who'd gotten his just desserts. Onthe other, it left her right back at square one, up the creek without so muchas a pool noodle.

She was eyeballs-deep in the DMV database,usually good for at least a chuckle at the godawful license photos, when Lucaappeared at her elbow. He was brandishing a styrofoam cup that smelled like ithad been brewed in Satan's jockstrap.

‘Thought you could use a pick-me-up,’ hesaid, waving the cup under her nose like a fan trying to revive a swooningSouthern belle.

‘Thanks. You didn’t run the tap, did you?’

‘I did not. This is pure Evian. I checkedmissing persons, by the way. No mention of any forty-something male missingbetween here and Bristol.’

She took a swig of coffee and immediatelyregretted it. Christ, it tasted like someone had wrung out a mechanic's oil raginto a mug. But it was hot and caffeinated, and right now, that was all thatmattered.

Ella set the cup aside, making a mentalnote to use it as paint stripper later. ‘So we've got bupkis.’

‘The king of bupkis.’

Ella laced herself with more caffeine thendrummed her fingers on the table. If the usual channels were coming up empty,time to get creative. She dove into public records, property taxes, anythingthat might ping off those three names.

She checked business licenses, figuringmaybe one of them owned a shop or a restaurant. Nothing. School records came upempty too, not a single Amber or Harley enrolled in any school around theseparts. She even dug into marriage licenses, thinking maybe Julie was a blushingbride who'd recently taken the plunge. But apparently, love was dead in thisneck of the woods, because that well was dry as the riverbed this vic hadcropped up in.

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