Page 25 of Girl, Sought

‘The roach.’

Ella put a hand on Luca’s shoulder. ‘Rewind that. Turn the volume up.’

Luca cranked the volume to the max then skipped the feed back a few seconds.

‘Mr. Finch? I’m here about the roach.’

Something cold and sharp lodged in Ella's chest. The voice oozed charm and menace in equal measure, like honey-coated razorblades.

‘Of course. Come in. Mr. Jones, was it?’

‘Yes. Call me Peter.’

'God damn,' Ella breathed. 'This is how he's getting close to his vices. He's posing as a buyer.'

‘Peter Jones. Fake name?’ asked Reeves.

‘Definitely, but run it through the system anyway.’

‘Can I take your coat? And your bag?’

'I'll keep it if you don't mind.'

Luca said, ‘His bag. Probably what he brought the tools in.’

Ella strained her ears and kept her eyes glued to the feed. She prayed for some movement that wasn’t on six legs.

‘You don't get color like that in captive-bred specimens.’

‘You must be very proud.’

Ella's throat closed up. Pride. That's what killed Eleanor Calloway too. Pride in her dolls, in her perfect little sanctuary. And now pride had Alfred Finch by the throat, leading him to slaughter like a lamb who thought the butcher just wanted to admire his wool.

‘I'm eager to see the roach, if you don't mind.’

Alfred's reply bubbled with the enthusiasm of a man who didn't know he was talking to his executioner.‘Of course. I'll get it from my study. Please, make yourself comfortable.’

The voices continued their duet but Ella’s was already three steps ahead, mapping out the violence to come. Conversations like this probably happened in auction houses every day, except this one was about to end in blood and industrial-grade nails through human flesh. Beside her, Detective Reeves had gone still.

Then Alfred screamed.

The sound hit like a sledgehammer to the spine. Ella's hands clenched into fists. The breeding room remained empty on screen but that howl of pure animal terror carved itself into her memory, filed away with all the other sounds that visited her at 3 AM when sleep wouldn't come. Ella, Luca, and Reeves stared at row after row of glass boxes while their keeper died just out of frame.

Thuds followed. Then another muted scream.

‘Christ in heaven,’ Reeves said.

Luca removed his hand from the keyboard, like he was scared to touch it. ‘That was it. The moment he struck.’

Ella tried to picture it. The tightening of the garrote and the slow descent of Alfred Finch into the black. The timestamp read 6:07 PM. Seven minutes from arrival to homicide.

More thuds came. Something heavy being dragged. The sounds of a murderous perfectionist at work.

Reeves clutched the edge of the table and said, ‘No sign of him in that room, but…’

‘Keep skipping ahead,’ Ella interrupted. Her voice sounded strange, like it was coming from the bottom of a very deep well. ‘He’d inspect the house once the owner was dead, not before. Serial killers relish the violation.’

Luca skipped ahead in five second intervals. Minutes blurred past, each one empty as the last. Nothing but tanks full of sleeping insects and the soft hum of climate controls keeping them alive.

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