Page 7 of Her Last Secret

"Nobody would've known she was dead if not for that call," the cop said. “There’s no way to know how long it would have taken for someone to find out. Maybe if she missed work tomorrow, or a friend called, concerned that Ms. Ross wasn’t answering her phone.”

“Any idea where she works?” Rachel asked, already turning to look at the apartment.

“No. But there’s a flyer in the living room. Maybe not a flyer, but like one of those books you get at the theater with the cast and crew listed in it. And she’s one of the names.”

“You mean a playbill?” Jack asked.

“Sure.”

Jack thought about something intensely for a moment, a frown stretching across his face. "Sarah Jennings," he said softly.

“Who?” Rachel asked.

“Sarah Jennings. A homicide from three days ago. Unsolved as of now. She was also an actress.”

“Damn, that’s right,” the cop said. “I remember hearing about that.”

“You heard about it?” Jack asked, puzzled.

The cop nodded, clearly unsettled. “Yeah. We…we got an anonymous call about her, too.”

The apartment went quiet as they started piecing together the macabre pattern that was emerging. "An anonymous tip after the fact for two actresses,” Rachel said. “It's like they're playing a game, wanting to make sure the bodies are found as quickly as possible.”

“It also means we’re likely looking at a serial,” Jack said.

The officer nodded gravely. "Jennings was three days ago, same deal. No clear signs of forced entry, no witnesses. Just that damned phone call.”

“No trace on that, either?” Rachel asked.

“No. These calls were very short. No chance for us to even say a word.”

Rachel turned away from the bathroom and surveyed the living room. It was tidy and clean. A small bookshelf by the couch featured a few books on theater and movies. A few paperback novels shared the space as well. She then walked into the kitchen, and something on the refrigerator caught her eye right away. The fridge was plastered with flyers and magnets like a patchwork mural of everyday life. One flyer in particular stood out—it was for a local play, bold letters announcing the title, dates, and cast. At the very bottom, almost as an afterthought, was Emily's name. And not too far away from it, Sarah Jennings was listed.

The connection was too stark to be coincidental. Two actresses having starred in the same show, both murdered, both announced posthumously through cryptic calls.

Her pulse quickened with the realization that they were dealing with something far more sinister than random acts of violence. This killer was deliberate, methodical, and seemed to harbor a vendetta against a very certain small community.

Rachel took one last look at the flyer, taking a photo of it with her phone. She then walked into Emily's hallway, where she and Jack rejoined.

Jack nodded over to the cop and said, “He says Sarah Jennings was found with her throat slit, in her apartment.”

"Both found alone, and both reported by an anonymous tipster," she said.

"Looks like our killer has a type or... a message," Jack replied, his tone equally measured.

"Or an audience he's trying to impress," she added, thinking aloud. “If he’s going after actresses, there has to be something drama based behind it, right?”

“I think there’s a good chance, yeah. If it was the killer who made those calls, he wanted them to be found right away. He wants people to know what he’s doing.”

"Directing us to find the bodies, making sure we follow the script," Rachel said.

Jack nodded, stepping away for a moment to confer with the cop who had been assisting. "Hey, can your supervisor send us Sarah Jennings's case files? We need to cross-reference anything that might link the two victims."

The officer nodded gratefully, glad to have a reason to not be looking at the dead body in the bathroom. "Sure, I'll request them right away," he said.

Jack gave him his email address and the cop took it down. During this exchange, Rachel looked back in the bathroom. She saw the bruising, the swollen, dead eyes. And somewhere far too close to the surface, she could feel that anger breathing. She’d hoped coming out onto a case would stem it, that directing her attention to something other than Alice Denbrough would maybe help control it.

But it was here, too, as she looked at the dead face of a woman who had died too soon. A thought then occurred to her, and she headed directly back to the kitchen. Jack followed her this time and they came to a stop at the refrigerator door. She looked at that same playbill and this time, not so distracted by the names, looked at another bit of information right in the center.

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