Page 55 of Girl, Reborn

Luca grabbed a marker and made for thewhiteboard anyway. Ella sighed but guessed it was all they could do right now.No stone unturned and all that jazz, even if it felt like they were justrearranging deck chairs on the Titanic.

‘Alright, let's start from the top. Victimone: Ricky Toledo.’ Luca began scrawling in handwriting that could make even adoctor squint. He scrawled Toledo’s name in bold letters. ‘Slick politician,championed the dam project like it was the second coming. Probably kissed a fewbabies and pocketed more than a few kickbacks along the way. Found face-down ina cornfield.’

Ella nodded, her mind conjuring up theimage of Toledo's bloated corpse. ‘No wife or kids. Lived alone in that palacein Bristol. Last seen alive leaving a fundraiser around 10PM the night he died.Tox screen showed his blood alcohol level was through the roof. Body wasdrenched, but with no water source nearby. Died around midnight last night.’

‘Don't forget the smell on Toledo,’ Lucaadded. ‘Like stagnant water.’

‘Yeah. Lab couldn't pinpoint the source,just said it was some kind of stagnant water. Not from any river or lake in thearea.’

Luca nodded, moving on. ‘Victim two:Marcus Ayers. Engineer who designed the dam. Left to rot in a riverbed thathasn't seen water in an age. According to his wife, she last saw him theprevious morning heading to work. God knows when or where the unsub abductedhim.’

‘And Ayers was found in the old riverbedon the south side of town. Same deal as Toledo – soaking wet, no water sourcein sight. Concrete blocks ziptied to his ankles.’

‘Lab's still analyzing the concrete,seeing if they can trace it,’ Luca said.

‘Let’s not hold our breath,’ Ellamuttered. ‘This guy's too smart to leave that kind of trail. What about thelatest vic? Jeremiah Clancy?’

Luca attacked the whiteboard again.‘Construction worker, 38. Found in Peterson's old apple orchard earlier today.Same MO as the others – drowned, dumped in a place hit hard by the drought.Married, two kids. Worked for Blueridge Construction, the company that got thecontract to build the dam. According to his boss, Clancy was one of the foremenon the project.’

‘Jesus,’ Ella breathed. ‘So we've got thepolitician who pushed for the dam, the engineer who designed it, and now one ofthe guys who actually built the thing. Our killer's working his way down thefood chain.’

'Looks that way. Clancy was last seenleaving his house this morning around seven AM, but his boss said he was onvacation this week.'

‘Odd,’ Ella said.

‘Right? Maybe Clancy was doing somethinghe shouldn’t. An affair?’

‘What kind of affair needs a week offwork?’

‘Dunno. Never had one.’

She turned back to the board, eyesscanning the details they'd laid out. Three victims, all connected to the dam.All drowned and dumped in Liberty Grove. The motive was there, but the identityof the perpetrator was still far away. Who hated this dam so much they’d killfor it?

As if in answer to her unspoken question,the door banged open, admitting Sheriff Tucker. The man looked like he'd beenridden hard and put away wet, his usually crisp uniform rumpled and stained. Heslammed a stack of papers on the nearest desk.

‘Got the autopsy results on Ayers,’ hegrunted. ‘Hot off the presses.’

Ella snatched the file, flipping it openwith more force than necessary. Her eyes scanned the medical jargon,translating it into something resembling English. ‘Nothing new,’ she muttered.‘Same COD as Toledo. Lungs full of water, no other trauma. Time of death around8AM this morning.’

Tucker nodded so fast his jowls wobbled.‘Clancy's prelim report just came in too. ME puts his time of death at roughly4PM this afternoon.’

Something tickled the back of Ella'sbrain. A whisper of connection, faint as a butterfly's wings but definitelythere.

Toledo. Ayers. Clancy.

The names seemed to pulse on thewhiteboard. The fog of exhaustion burned away, replaced by crystal-clear focus.Every detail, every scrap of information they'd gathered during their time inLiberty Grove, flashed through her mind in rapid succession.

The dump sites – cornfield, riverbed,orchard. All ravaged by drought, yes, but was there more to it? She visualizeda map of the town, the locations pulsing like nodes in a circuit. A triangle.No, a circle. The victims forming points on an invisible clock face spreadacross the town.

The water. Always water. Victims drowned,then dumped in the driest parts of town. A sick joke? A message? Both?

And underlying it all, the steadytick-tock of time passing. Lives ending. Water flowing.

Tick. Tock. Drip. Drop.

The pieces began to shift, rearrangingthemselves like some cosmic Rubik's Cube. Ella's heart rate kicked up a notch,adrenaline flooding her system. She could feel it, the answer, hovering justout of reach. Like trying to grab smoke, but with each attempt, the shapebecame clearer, more defined.

Water. Time. Death.

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