Page 64 of Girl, Sought

That’s what she’d said.

And tomorrow, he'd remind her of it.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

Ella’s world had contracted to this underground vault where someone had tried to give a man wings, and she’d been staring at Joseph Carpenter's blood-feathered wings for so long they'd started to blur. The basement hummed with activity as forensics teams worked their patterns, but she stood motionless at the center of the storm.

Her brain kept circling the same questions: what did any of this mean? Did it even mean anything? Or was she just looking at flayed skin and a visible spine? This killer had taken a blade to this poor man’s flesh and carved wings that spread six feet in either direction. Could she figure out what this killer wanted if she looked hard enough, or was this empty sadism with no message behind it?

Luca's hand found her shoulder, and his touch carried voltage she couldn't quite process. The contact felt off, like her skin had forgotten how to interpret human warmth.

‘Ell, you haven’t moved in an hour.’

Had it been that long? Her legs suddenly remembered they were attached to burns that hadn't fully healed. The pain came rushing back like it had been waiting for an invitation.

‘Just... thinking.’

‘I got that. Are you okay?’

The question hit a nerve she didn't want to examine. Their argument outside the interrogation room still echoed in her head. All that stuff about her being jealous, about not letting him have his wins. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was just another collector, desperately holding onto something that wasn't really hers anymore.

‘I don’t know. Are you?’

‘Not really.’ He pointed to a small pile of smashed glass in the corner of the room. ‘Our guy’s stayed true to his ritual. Took another item. Broke it right out of the case.’

Ella had registered the pile of glass but hadn’t given it much thought. Now she looked, the top compartment of a glass cabinet was noticeably empty.

‘Took his prized possession. Maybe it was the crucifix Thorne mentioned.’

‘Could be.’

A forensics tech called out something about blood spatter analysis. Someone else mentioned defensive wounds - or rather, the lack thereof. Joseph hadn't fought back. Just like Eleanor. Just like Alfred. Their killer had a way of making people compliant before he transformed them into human collectibles.

Human collectibles,she repeated in her head.

‘He brought his tools again, and he clearly knows how to use them.’

‘You’re not kidding,’ Luca said. ‘This is butchery, but it’s far from surgical. Look at those cuts. He really dug in there.’

‘Chances are he used a serrated blade. Anyone with experience knows to use a smooth edge to cut skin. We can rule out butcher or surgeon as a job.’

‘He’d make a shit tattooist.’

‘Hawkins,’ Ella barked. ‘Can you not joke just for one second? This is a God damn crime scene.’

Her partner took a step back in shock. A camera flash turned the basement briefly white, catching gold and silver in the display cases.

‘Are you still pissed at me about earlier?’

‘No, I just-‘

'Well, sorry for trying to make you smile, for once.'

She knew he was just trying to look out for her. Knew he cared, in his own emotionally constipated way. But right now, his worry felt like sandpaper on sunburned skin.

‘What do you want me to say?’ She kept her voice low, mindful of the occasional uniform still milling around. ‘That we’ve got a guy who’s killing one person a day? That we’ve got three bodies and jack shit to go on? Yes, this perp is in my head. Happy?’

‘In your head is fine. Letting him set up shop and redecorate is the problem.’

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