Page 39 of Girl, Reborn

Ella was about ready to put her fistthrough the screen when a thought hit her like a slug to the solar plexus. Thevoter registration database. It was a long shot, but at this point she wasready to take a ouija board to a cemetery if it meant breaking this case open.

She input the search parameters, held herbreath as the system churned. For a long moment there was nothing but the whirof her laptop's fan and her own thundering pulse in her ears.

Then – paydirt.

‘Got you, you son of a bitch,’ shebreathed, sitting up so fast her vertebrae popped like firecrackers.

Luca ambled over. ‘Give us some goodnews.’

There it was, black and white andbeautiful as a supermodel's smile. A family in Bristol, registered to vote at1255 Sycamore Lane. Julie Ayers, 42. Amber Ayers, 19. Harley Ayers, 17.

And Marcus Ayers, 45.

Ella's heart kicked against her ribs likeit was trying to break out and run a marathon. This was it. This had to betheir guy. Unless there was another family in Bristol with the exact same namestattooed on some other poor schmuck's arm, in which case she was gonna need alot more coffee and possibly a lobotomy.

‘Marcus Ayers,’ Ella said. ‘Find out whatyou can about him.’

Luca jumped back to his laptop. ‘On it.What d’you wanna know?’

'Tax records, employment history, whatcolor underwear he wore on Tuesdays. I want it all, and I want it now.'

Luca was already in motion. ‘One FreddyMercury special coming up.’

Ella ignored the quip, too busy diggingdeeper into Marcus Ayers' digital footprint. Middle management type from thelooks of it. Civil engineer, steady job with the city. No social media presenceto speak of, which explained why her earlier searches came up empty. Justanother Joe Schmoe trying to make his way in the world, keeping his head downand his nose clean.

So why the hell did he end up face down ina dried-up riverbed?

She was about to dive into his financials,see if maybe he'd been playing fast and loose with the city's coffers, whenLuca banged his hand on the table like a drumroll. She’d only ever seen him dothat when the Celtics landed a three-pointer.

‘Ella, you're gonna want to see this.Might want to sit down first, though.’

‘I am sitting down.’ She wheeled over tohis side of the table and gawped at his screen. It was a news article, datedabout a year back. Some puff piece about infrastructure improvements inBristol, the kind of thing that usually put her to sleep faster than a tripledose of NyQuil.

Ricky goddamn Toledo.

The headline screamed at her in 72-pointfont: ‘COUNCILMAN TOLEDO BREAKS GROUND ON NEW DAM PROJECT.’

And right underneath, in slightly smallertype that might as well have been written in neon: ‘City Engineer Marcus Ayersto Oversee Construction.’

Ella's blood ran cold, then hot, then dida little jig somewhere in between. Two vics, both with ties to that damn dam.It couldn't be a coincidence. No way, no how. Not unless the universe hadsuddenly developed a sick sense of humor and a fondness for drowning civilservants.

‘Son of a bitch,’ she breathed. ‘We’ve gotourselves a pattern.’

‘Looks like somebody's got a bone to pickwith the boys from Bristol. And they're picking it with extreme prejudice.’

Ella pushed back from the desk. They hadmotive now, or at least the beginnings of one. Somebody with a grudge againstthe dam project, against the men who'd brought it to fruition. Someone who'dwatched their town dry up and wither while Bristol flourished, and decided toeven the score.

But why now? Why wait until the damage wasdone, the town already strangled and left to rot on the vine? Why not sabotagethe project from the get-go, or target the bigwigs while the cement was stillwet?

No. There had to be more to it. Some pieceof the puzzle they were still missing.

If Ayers and Toledo were connected throughthe dam, there had to be others. Other bigwigs, other decision makers who'd hada hand in Liberty Grove's slow death. A whole cabal of suits and ties who'dsigned off on choking the life out of a town for the sake of progress andprofit.

Two bodies. Two men connected to the damthat was slowly choking the life out of Liberty Grove. A town full of folkswith motive to kill, and a killer with a flair for the poetic. Drowning the menresponsible for their drought, a beautiful symmetry that made her skin crawl.

‘Come on. We need to tell Marcus’ wife thenews. Then we need to find out who else might have had a hand in building thisdam.’

There were stones yet unturned, leads yetunchased. And somewhere out there, a killer was watching, waiting. Planningtheir next move in this deadly game of cat and mouse.

---