Page 6 of One Last Chance

Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket, and she reached down to turn it off. Probably her mother, wanting to check in despite the late hour. She owed her parents a call. A visit. Maybe even an apology.

Raising her night-vision monocular, she scanned the shoreline. His MO meant he’d drop the body on the Minneapolis side, probably parking his car along the river road.

“See anything?” she whispered to Burke.

“No.”

“It’s the rain. No moonlight, darkness as cover.”

“How long have you been out here?”

Given the sogginess of her clothing, the burn in her knees—“An hour, maybe more.”

“You sure about this, Flynn?”

Not entirely, but, “As sure as I can be. I’ve spent the last six months getting inside this guy’s head.”

“Remind me who I’m looking for.”

“The victim is in her twenties, a frequenter of the 1039. I think he knows them, so he probably hangs around the bar, maybe even makes friends. He reminds me of the Charmer Killer in Seattle. My profile puts him in his midthirties, handsome, charming, but also a sociopath. Might have lost his mother, maybe had a young stepmother, felt rejected by her. Takes out his hurt on these women. He has a sibling—a sister, but I haven’t been able to track her down. It’s possible she was his first victim.”

“It scares me a little how much serial killer information you keep in your brain.”

“You definitely don’t want to see my apartment, then.”

“Eve told me about the wall.”

Oh, that was for a different case. But she didn’t contradict him. “Well, if I were better, I’d have found him before he killed another woman. But I’ve staked out the 1039 Bar so much I fear he knows me. None of the murders happened on nights I was there.”

“Why tonight, here, in the rain?”

“Because this is the night. The scenario fits—a rainy, live-music night, half-price rail drinks for women. The last two victims disappeared during ladies’ night. And until I figure out option three—his actual identity—I need to stake out the place he dumps the bodies. Some of the bodies have washed up into the rain culvert just under the bridge, so my guess is that he drops them upstream and they float down. Maybe you should go up to the parking lot near the Park and Rec building. But don’t look suspicious.”

“What? I’ve got my best Idris Elba on.”

“Yum,” she said. “Maybe Rembrandt should make you the hero in his new book.”

She heard breathing, and it sounded like Burke could be running. The guy didn’t do much in the way of field work anymore. He’d probably made a special provision for her.

But she worked alone, didn’t like the complications of a partner.

Don’t get hurt, boss.

Stationed here, under the shadows of the bridge, she had a view of the shoreline and anyone rolling a body into the murky waters—wait. . .

“Chief. There’s someone onshore, coming down the path right off the River Road split.”

“Not. Quite. There?—”

“I got him.” She raised her camera and took a number of shots, the light terrible, of course.

She needed a better look. Her gut fisted, though. She knew tonight was right—knewit. The bouncer at the 1039 should have listened to her, called her. But really, with so many patrons coming and going on a music night like this . . .

The figure was carrying something over his shoulder. He dropped it onto the shoreline.

More camera shots, but even as she peered into her viewfinder, she knew it wouldn’t help her case.

“I’m moving in.”

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