Page 21 of Find Me

“Take a look at these two, Benny. Two freaking beautiful specimens. Sorry, but no contest.”

Jess ordered a beer Ellie had never heard of. Leo held up a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black to confirm Ellie’s order, and then poured her two fingers over two ice cubes.

In theory, a known cop hangout would be the last establishment where Jess might want to be a regular, but it was around the corner from Ellie’s precinct. And since Jess had taken over the lease on Ellie’s old apartment, it was now only a ten-minute walk from his place. And with $4 happy hour drinks, it was one of the few spots where Jess could occasionally pick up a tab. But like all of New York City, even an old Irish-style tavern had changed over time. Leo still winced whenever a customer ordered a frosé from the giant blender he referred to disdainfully as the Pink Slushee Machine.

She took a first sip of her drink.

“I expected you to down the whole thing in one gulp,” Jess said.

“Trust me, I want to.”

“You went poking around, didn’t you?” She held his gaze, confirming his suspicion. He shook his head. “Els, the case is solved. William Summer’s the serial-killing creepazoid. And our dad, as much as we didn’t want to believe it, went bonkers and called it quits. That’s it. End of story.”

Jess had always been more willing to accept that their dad did the selfish thing and took his own life. Maybe because he was older, he had been more aware of their father’s emotional absence even when he was alive. Where Ellie felt protective of her father’s memory, Jess didn’t mask his resentment.

Four years earlier, they’d received the news that the Wichita police had finally arrested a suspect. Ellie had been so certain that the breakthrough in the case would finally answer her family’s questions about her father’s death. But by the time William Summer pleaded guilty, two things were certain.

One: William Summer was definitely the College Hill Strangler. Over the course of nearly two hours, he had chronicled each murder onthe record in the courtroom, reciting from memory the horrific and previously undisclosed details that only the killer could possibly know. The proceedings were both gruesome and televised, but the prosecutors justified both decisions, saying it was important the local community be convinced that they had finally caught the man who had terrorized an entire generation of Wichitans.

And two: the College Hill Strangler had a rock-solid alibi for the night Wichita Police Department detective Jerry Hatcher died. At the moment Ellie’s father was killed by a single gunshot from his service weapon, William Summer was in Olathe, Kansas, 175 miles away, serving as the best man at his sister’s wedding.

Jess, halfway done with his beer, signaled Leo for another. “You were a mess when you went back to Wichita,” he said, referring to Ellie’s decision to drop everything and fly home after Summer’s arrest to pore over whatever evidence she could get her hands on. “You told me it was like burying Dad all over again. You really want to relive that a third time?”

“Look, I know I told you that I was finally on board. I made myself accept the fact that Dad... well, Dad made that final decision. But maybe Summer didn’t act alone, which changes everything. If Dad figured it out, the second killer could be the one who shot him. The accomplice could have remained active this entire time.” She waited as Leo switched out the beer pints before continuing. “This woman missing from East Hampton might be his latest victim.”

“I lost count, but that was, like, five different ifs and maybes you blew through there. I’m afraid to ask, but just how much poking did you do today?”

“Don’t worry. I didn’t call Mom.” When it came to dealing with the past, their mother was fragile on a good day.

“But you did call...”

“Steve.”

“Of course. And what did Steve tell you?”

“That the blood came from Janice Beale’s house, which I already knew from that lawyer, Lindsay.”

In some ways, Beale’s death had haunted her father even more than the others. By that time, it had been six years since the first set of murders. If they had made an arrest by then, or at least warned the public that a series of unsolved murders were believed to be connected, maybe Janice Beale would have lived. On the days when Ellie was willing to accept the idea of her father pulling his own trigger, she imagined that he was thinking not about her or Jess or their mother, but about Janice Beale.

Jess nodded. As much as he tried to distance himself from her obsession with the case, she could tell he recognized the name.

“Any chance I can talk you out of getting any more involved with this Lindsay person? I’m worried you’re going back to the dark place again.”

“Rogan told me the same thing.”

“And what does Max say?” he asked.

Max. Her first call had been to Jess. The second to Steve. She had exchanged a few rounds of texts with Max about what they were going to do for dinner, and to see if he knew Lindsay Kelly, but she hadn’t told him why she had asked.

“He was in trial all day.”

She couldn’t tell if he believed her, and then his phone buzzed against the bar. He glanced at the screen and held it up. “Add another vote for letting this drop.” It was a text from Steve.I’m worried about your sister. Look after our best girl, OK? Here for you guys.

“There’s one more thing I haven’t told you,” she said.

“Okay...”

She downed the rest of her whisky. “Lindsay’s friend Hope went missing two Saturdays ago. The last text she sent anyone was at ten thirty-three p.m.”

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