“Please, just…” She motioned toward the door.
“Can I bring you something?”
“No thank you. Close the door on your way out.”
“I can’t leave you like this.”
“I’m telling you to.”
“Come on. Let me—”
“No. I want to be alone. Please go.” She turned onto her other side, away from even the sight of him.
He stayed where he was for a full minute. She didn’t move.
He had to say Mutt’s name twice before he dejectedly obeyed and followed him from the bedroom.
Being shunned by Beth left him more dejected than he’d already been, but he forced himself to resume going through Crissy Mellin’s case file. He’d practically memorized everything in it and soon realized that he wasn’t concentrating. His mind kept derailing.
In frustration, he closed out that file and pulled up the photographs of the four women. Even though he’d stared at the compilation for hours, he now tried to see it with new eyes and from a different perspective.
After about half an hour, he felt a familiar tickling sensation in his gut. He trusted it, because historically it had heralded the spark of a new idea. He thought it through once, then a second time, then reached for his phone and called Mitch, who answered, saying, “You still alive?”
“For the time being. I wanted to catch you up.”
“Talk fast. Any minute I’m expecting a call to action.”
John began with Carla Mellin’s revelation. “Billy Oliver was dyslexic. Those bastards wrote the confession and planted it on him.” He went on to summarize what Isabel Sanchez had related. “Ogre’s veiled threats included her kids.”
“That fucker needs to die.”
“I second the motion.”
“How’s Beth holding up through all this?”
“Well, then there’s that.” He told him about Max Longren. “He was her mentor. A father figure, I think, although she hasn’t put it like that.”
“Is she going back to New York?”
“She’s not talking. We’ve got a lot to sort through on this blood moon stuff, but she’s torn up. I just don’t know.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Maybe. What do you know about the dark web?”
“I know it can be scary as shit for a variety of reasons.”
“Do you know any feds who specialize in surveilling it?”
“A handful.” He chuckled. “They’re scary as shit, too. Why are you asking?”
He told him about Victor Wallace. “He told us there were clubs, websites, chat rooms frequented by people who are into paranormal stuff like that. All things mystical.”
“That covers a lot of different factions beyond moon gazing.”
“I know, but we got more info on that today.” He told him about Larissa Whitmore’s tattoo. “This goddess’s name is Luna. She’s symbolized by a crescent moon.”
“That’s one hell of a coincidence,” Mitch said.