Page 11 of Girl, Haunted

‘They’re real conservative down there in Louisiana,’ Luca said. ‘They love their capital punishment.’

‘True, Hawkins. But politics aside, you made the Bureau look like we’re doing our job. So kudos.’

Yup, appearances were everything, Ella thought. ‘I just told the truth. The courts did the rest.’

Edis grabbed two brown folders and threw them across his desk. Ella and Luca scooped up one each.

‘Speaking of death sentences, we’ve got a situation out in Oregon. A little town called Yamhill. Please, take a look,’ Edis gestured.

Ella flipped open her folder. The contents were thick,stuffed with reports, photographs, and what looked like hastily scrawled notes. Typical small-town police work, more enthusiasm than expertise. Ella's eyes skimmed over the basics – Yamhill, Oregon, population just shy of two thousand. A blip on the map, a wide spot in the road. The kind of place where everyone knew everyone and secrets were as rare as vegetarians.

‘Two bodies within a five-mile radius in this little town,’ Edis said. ‘Local PD are desperate for our help. This is new territory for them.’

Ella thumbed past the boilerplate BS and the CYA cop-speak that made her eyes glaze over. She went straight to the part that told the most detailed story – the crime scene photos.

The first image hit her right in the solar plexus. A young woman, bright red hair, spider web tattoo on her temple. Timeless good looks wrapped in an alternative package. The poor woman was lying face-up on a hardwood floor, and there was a distinct lack of blood. None at all. Which meant this killer had gone for a cleaner approach.

But it wasn’t the décor or the woman’s looks that caught Ella’s attention.

It was her eyes.

Or more specifically, the lack of any pupils or irises.

They were sparkling. Glittering like disco balls. Like she was wearing a pair of opaque contact lenses. What in the sweet hell?

She flipped to the next shot and felt her gorge rise. There, behind the vic's head, was a floor-to-ceiling busted mirror. Shards everywhere.

Then it clicked.

‘He put mirror shards in her eyes?’

Luca looked over at her with a wince. ‘That could tell us a lot about him.’

‘Two victims over two nights. Second victim was twenty-year-old Natasha Langston,’ Edis said. ‘Killed in the early hours of this morning, discovered around nine AM. Still awaiting autopsy reports so cause of death is unknown.’

Luca said, ‘I don’t know, sir. I think jamming mirrors into someone’s eyes might do it.’

Ella kicked Luca’s foot. He hadn’t learned that the big man didn’t speak sarcasm. Thankfully, Edis seemed to ignore it.

‘And two nights ago, PD found their first victim. Gregory Van Allen, forty-two.’

Ella moved to the next set of crime scene photos and felt her eyebrows climb north. Gregory Van Allen, a silver fox type judging by the close-ups, was curled up on a linoleum floor. The man was clearly built like a linebacker, and this time, the crimson stain of blood was impossible to miss, even in grayscale.

But just like with the first victim, there was one detail of the scene that didn’t compute.

Gregory Van Allen, this forty-something man, was clutching a teddy bear in death.

‘The hell?’ Luca muttered. ‘Looks like this killer has a wicked sense of humor.’

Ella squinted at the photo, trying to make sense of the nonsensical. A male victim who was stabbed to death, judging by the pool of matted blood in his stomach, and a female victim with no visible blood loss anywhere. One left with a teddy bear, the other with mirrors for eyes.

Luca asked, ‘Sir, does anything connect these victims other than proximity? Different killing methods, different victimology. These could easily be two different unsubs.’

Edis snapped his folder shut and said, ‘I wish you two would read the details. Look at the locations.’

Ella flipped to the first written police report.At approximately eight-fifty-seven on the given date, Archie Goodman, owner of the establishment, discovered Miss Langston unresponsive in the ‘Chamber of Reflections’ section of the attraction.

‘Chamber of Reflections?’ she asked.

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