Page 4 of Girl, Haunted

Somehow, all professionalism seemed to have gone out of the window in favor of curiosity. Ella was all for it. Trials were serious business, but no one said they weren’t boring as hell.

‘It’s irrelevant,’ Simmons said.

‘Talk us through that conclusion, Miss Dark,’ said Judge Hawthorn.

She hated playing the parlor trick, but sometimes it was necessary to establish credibility.

'Okay. Mr. Simmons' fingertips are a distinct shade of orange, like he handles wild flowers – probably marigolds – regularly. There are also blotches of red from stingers. He's got a band of white flesh on his ring finger, like he's removed a wedding ring. He's covered it with a different ring, but it's much thinner. His phone keeps pinging every five minutes on the mark. The same frequency as the races in the NASCAR semis going on right now.'

‘And?’ Simmons asked.

‘No one cares about NASCAR that much, not unless you’ve got money riding on it.’

A few laughs broke out. Ella didn’t know a damn thing about NASCAR, but Luca had spent the past three months bringing her up to speed on modern sporting events.

Judge Hawthorn put his glasses back on with a smirk. ‘Okay. And the alcohol?’

Ella shrugged. ‘As Mr. Simmons said, guesswork. I’ve never met a defense attorney that didn’t have a drinking problem.’

More laughs. Ella resisted the urge to say ‘Thank you, New Orleans. I’m here all week.’ If Mia Ripley – her old partner – hadn’t already retired and sailed off into the sunset, Ella liked to think she’d be laughing her ass off in the back row. Ripley had actually been invited to the trial, and Ella had hoped for a brief reunion, but Ripley had respectfully declined.

Dawson spoke up. ‘Okay, Miss Dark. Back on topic. Can you tell us how you became involved in the Austin Creed case?’

‘I was called in after the third murder. The local police had connected the dots between the killings, but they were struggling to make sense of the unsub’s modus operandi.’

‘Unsub?’

‘Unknown subject.’

‘I see. And what was his modus operandi?’

‘I recognized that each murder scene was staged to mimic the crimes of a different infamous serial killer,’ Ella explained. She pointed to the board of the victims’ faces. ‘The first victim, Julia Reynolds, was killed in a manner reminiscent of Edmund Kemper. The second, Winnie Barker, bore hallmarks of Richard Ramirez. And the third, Christine Hartwell, was clearly meant to evoke Ed Gein.’

Dawson pressed on. ‘How were they reminiscent of these historical crimes, Miss Dark?’

‘Each crime scene contained specific details that matched the M.O. of the killer being emulated. For instance, the Hartwell murder involved the use of a .22 caliber rifle and antifreeze, both signature elements of Ed Gein's crimes. Winnie Barker had a mark painted on her in lipstick. Julia Reynolds was mutilated and disposed of in the woods. Alone, these elements meant nothing. Together, they formed a clear picture.’

‘And what was the significance of this pattern?’

Ella's eyes flicked to Creed. He was staring at her intently with a faint smile on his face. She suppressed a shudder and focused on Dawson.

‘It indicated we were dealing with a highly organized offender, one with extensive knowledge of serial killers. He wasn't just killing randomly – he was recreating famous murders as a form of homage.’

Dawson nodded. ‘And based on this profile, what was your next step?’

‘We cross-referenced the dates and locations of the murders with significant anniversaries and sites related to the original killers,’ Ella replied. ‘We realized he was working his way through a kind of greatest hits of American serial murder. And based on that pattern, we predicted his next move.’

‘Which was?’

‘A shelter for battered women. On the anniversary of one of Ted Bundy's infamous attacks.’

Ella caught a glimpse of the victims' families in the gallery. Her heart clenched. They'd already lived through this nightmare once. Now, they had to relive it all over again.

‘So you set up surveillance on the likely target,’ Dawson said. ‘And what happened on the night of the stakeout?’

Ella closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself. This was the part she'd replayed in her head a thousand times, wondering if she could have done something different, something better.

'I planned to pose as a potential victim inside the shelter. We knew the unsub would likely try to infiltrate the house first to scope out his targets. So I went there to intercept him.' She could still feel the prickle on the back of her neck, the eerie sense of being watched. The creak of a floorboard that had made her heart stutter in her chest.

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