Page 36 of Her Last Secret

He asked this question as his fingers were curled around the steering wheel, speeding toward the precinct where the killer had called to report his murders. The city’s lights flickered through the windshield, casting shadows that danced over Jack's solemn expression.

"No clue. I think we can start with directors. And Lord only knows we’ve spoken with enough people involved with theaters today who can help us with that.”

As they turned a corner, a soft, dull ache throbbed at the base of Rachel's skull. She winced, reaching up to massage her temples, trying to fend off the headache that had been her unwanted companion since the case began. Stress, she knew, and too many sleepless nights spent chasing shadows. Or at least that’s what she was telling herself. The tumor, like the anger that had taken over her mind in the past few weeks, was always a lurking shadow in the back of her mind.

"Hey, you okay?" Jack's concern was evident even without looking at him.

"Just a headache," Rachel muttered, dropping her hand and focusing on the road ahead. "It's nothing."

“You’re sure?” The concern was evident in his tone and his eyes.

"Almost positive. I haven't slept much in the past two days, and this is all…it's moving pretty fast."

“But you’ll let me know if you think it’s—”

“Yes. You have my word.” She knew he was only looking out for her and that based on her past with keeping such information to herself, he had every right to be suspicious. But, at the same time, there was a killer on the loose and thinking of herself seemed inappropriate somehow.

They reached the precinct several minutes later, and Rachel caught several glimpses of Jack looking over at her, checking to make sure she was truly okay. When she stepped out, the cool night air was a brief respite from the confines of the car, where she'd started to feel slightly cornered and trapped. And though she moved ahead as if the case was her sole focus, she had to admit that she was indeed starting to grow nervous about the headache's re-appearance and what it could possibly mean.

CHAPTER TWENTY

When Rachel and Jack entered the precinct, the place was humming with activity. Word had clearly spread about the most recent murder and everyone was moving around with purpose, fulfilling whatever duties they could to help.

“Agents!” a cop called out to them as they passed through the lobby at the front of the building. “Right through here.”

They joined the cop and fell in beside him. As he led them around the busy bullpen section of the building, he turned to them and said, “As soon as we got your call, we booted up all those recorded calls. And we’ve already got a team working with the theater to get the credit card information for everyone who purchased tickets online or through the app.”

“That’s great,” Jack said.

The cop looked rather proud as he brought them to the end of a wide, brightly lit hallway. He ushered them into a cramped and cluttered room filled with monitors and a tangle of wires. Rachel took in the banks of equipment, each screen flickering with data and lines of code. It was here that calls came to die or to evolve into leads, she supposed.

A woman sat behind one of the monitors, queuing up a file for them. She waved them over and said, “Have a seat.”

Rachel and Jack took two of four seats that were situated almost haphazardly around the room. As they sat down, the woman—presumably one of the heads of the tech department—handed them wired headphones that were patched into a thin, black control panel.

"Put that on, and I'll play you one call at a time," the woman said. Rachel noticed for the first time that the woman had dark half-circles under her eyes. She looked quite tired, making Rachel think she'd already analyzed the calls as much as they could.

Still, she brought up an audio file on her computer and pressed play. Instantly, Rachel heard the call in her headphones. The call was brief, a voice slightly distorted. It was clear he was using a voice modulator.

“There’s been a murder,” he said. “3811 Faber Way.”

That was the end of the call. “That was for Sarah Jennings,” the lady said. “The first one. Hold on for the second…”

Again, she brought up another file and pressed play. "Emily is dead," said the murderer. "801 Sycamore, Apartment 3B." This was followed by what sounded like a soft sigh before the line went dead.

Rachel knew these were all too short to trace. The killer had obviously known this too, or they wouldn’t have made the risk of calling. Frustration knotted in Rachel's stomach. Another dead end, another phantom caller guiding them to bodies without faces.

Just as the weight of futility began to settle, Rachel's phone vibrated against her hip. She removed the headphones and excused herself, stepping into the hallway. Her fingers trembled slightly as she swiped to answer.

“This is Gift.”

“Agent Gift, this is Officer Kayden Daniels. I’m one of the officers looking into your request to find other actresses with murder in their roles…” He spoke slowly and with the tone of a question to each word, wanting to make sure he got it exactly right. It was, after all, an odd request. But there was an urgency in his voice that made her focus sharpen.

"Go ahead," she prompted, not wanting to waste a second. This was actually one of the items she’d expected to take the longest amount of time to cover. She was surprised to already have a development.

"We got a name for you: Natalie King," he began. "She was Sarah Jennings's understudy for a few months two years ago, according to a director we spoke to. And, per your request, she's the lead in a current production in which her character commits murder on stage."

“Do you happen to know the method of murder?”

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