Page 5 of Sinful Sorrow

“I suppose it’s a case-by-case situation. But there’s no way I’d stand around and scream while a dude in a mask butchers my best friend. Which,” she strides to the stair banister on her left and knocks on the wood, “sounds awfully omen-y to me. Especially considering what month we’re in. Make sure you toss salt over your shoulder when you get home.”

Confused, I rise and swallow the groan that wants to roll free as I stretch my legs. “Why would I throw salt? I’d have to clean it up right after.”

“It’s a superstition thing.” She knocks a second time—probably for me—before she comes back and reaches into her pocket to free her phone. “I’m gonna call transport. Are you ready to move her?”

“We’ll flip her first and examine her back-side. But you can call transport now; I won’t be long, and we’ll be ready for them, anyway.” I reach into my kit and take out fresh supplies. “I’m gonna bag her hands, though I suspect all the blood under her nails will be hers. There doesn’t seem to be a great deal of struggle here. This wasn’t a fight to the death where she’s scratching and kicking her attacker. I think she was surprised, just like the rest of them, and went down quickly.”

“The added blood flow due to her pregnancy would have afforded her a few extra moments of lucidity. Though it also means she’d have bled out quicker, because the flow would have been faster. It’s a catch-22.”

“Sucky all around.” I carefully open one bag and place it over Jane’s hand. “She’s halfway through the pregnancy, which means she decided she was keeping it. School, age, relationships with the father and her parents aside, she’s keeping the baby. That means those who love her will grieve more than just one life. More than just one future.”

“I wanna listen to the detectives ask the questions.” Grumbling, Aubree photographs everything I do. Every single time I touch the girl. “I’ve never had an urge this strong to be in the interview room and listen to everything these people have to say.”

Same, I think to myself, straightening out and moving to Jane’s other hand. Same, Aubs.

“This wasn’t an accident.” I pull the seal on the bag and close her hand inside. Then I look at my colleague and attempt to release my tense jaw. “I mean, it could’ve been, if the costume’s knife resembled any old kitchen knife. Unfortunate, for sure. But it could have been an accident. But that one…” I glance at the evidence marker left behind on the floor, right beside the hunting knife. “Regular people don’t have those in their kitchens. They don’t even have them in their garages when they live in the city. That knife was put here intentionally. The killer meant to swap a prop with the real thing and end this girl’s life.”

“The killer, as in, the boy in the mask?”

“No.” I straighten out and smooth the creases in my pants. “The killer, as in, the one who wanted Jane dead. The one holding the knife, if his story turns out to be true, was nothing more than a puppet. A means to an end.”

“Cold.” Shivering, she hits dial on her phone and brings the device to her ear. “Who could be so friggin’ cold, and so ballsy, to set this up, hope it goes to plan, and knowingly kill a girl and her unborn child?”

“Someone who was angry. Or jealous. Or just plain mean.” I turn away and take out my phone, mirroring her actions as I dial Archer.

He answers like he already had the device in his hand and was expecting my call. “You okay, Minnnnnka?”

I close my eyes and exhale as my heart gives a heavy knock. “I’m fine. Aubree’s contacting transport now.” And because I’m making a semi-personal phone call, I remember to grab the recorder from the mirror wall and switch it off. Slipping the device into my pocket, I turn and see thirty versions of myself from every angle. It’s not creepy because it’s not dark in here. But I know, with the lights out, seeing your own murder played out in dozens of angles was cruel and intentional. “Does she have a name?”

“Naomi Alison Wallace,” he sighs. “She has two sisters, her parents are still married, and a little on the poor side. Seems Naomi busted her ass and secured a full-ride academic scholarship to Copeland U. And according to those we’ve spoken to, she was seventeen weeks pregnant, but only found out three weeks ago.”

“At fourteen weeks.” I turn away from the mirrors, the last image I have of myself is of my brows furrowing and my cheeks looking a little pale. Because tonight is infusion night for my bleeding disorder, and I was called out to work when I should have been injecting.

“She missed her first trimester. Found out, and then… what?” I wonder. “Probably talked to the father. Then her parents. Her best friend. The school.”

“A lot would have happened in the last three weeks. Lots of change in the direction she thought her life was heading. Lots of soul searching, considering her parents’ lower middle-class status and the scholarship she was awarded. No doubt, there was consideration about their next steps.”

“Have you talked to the boyfriend yet?”

“Briefly.” He releases a heavy sigh, as though his memories of that discussion have left lashes on his soul. “Mason Morgan. He’s a complete mess. He swore they were going to keep the baby and make a family. He said both sets of parents were supportive. Worried,” he amends, “but reasonably supportive. It came as a shock for everyone, but they were adapting.”

“Like you said—lots of soul searching and discussions had over the last three weeks. Any thoughts on who did this yet?”

I know he shakes his head, even when he doesn’t explicitly say the word no. “We’re only just getting started. I’m skimming the surface on each player for now, just so I can get an idea of what’s going on. Then Fletch and I will dig in. As it stands right now, the kid who held the knife—Connor Samuels—is about to go down for a homicide he never intended to commit. He’s a really fucking unfortunate bystander in someone else’s game.”

“What happens to him? According to the law,” I clarify. “He was still the one who killed her. But intention matters, right?”

“Intentions matter, but a life is a life, and he ended one. He’ll do time. It’s unavoidable. If he can afford a good lawyer, they’ll fight hard for him. Maybe the mayor could be a good resource for the family. As a former defense attorney, he might have advice for them.”

“Can’t you just…” I bring my hand up and drag my fingers through my hair. “He’s seventeen. If this all plays out the way I think it will, then he’s a victim too. He didn’t set out to kill someone today.”

“But he did. It happened, and Naomi is dead. The law is black and white on the matter. Where are you at right now?”

“Still inside the house. We’ll move Naomi to my autopsy room and start the process. Have you talked to her parents yet?”

“No. That’s next. They don’t know anything has happened yet—it’s only been an hour since the calls hit dispatch—but the media is already on the lawn outside. If the parents know where she went tonight, then they’re gonna panic when they catch this place on the news. You need help getting her into the van and away from the cameras?”

“No.” I turn back to Aubs and watch as she ends her call and slips her phone back into her pocket. “We’ve gotten pretty good at this. Naomi won’t be exposed, and she’ll be in-house within the next forty-five minutes. Then we’ll get the formalities dealt with.”

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