Page 73 of Criminology of a Character

“Only youdidn’tsave her from Frost.”Bel tripped as she stumbled backward.“You knew him. I saw that news article. Annalise and Hazel stood in thephoto'sbackground.That’show he found them,wasn’tit?You gave them to him.”

“Of course.”The sorrow evaporated from his features as his predator returned to the surface.“Most womendon’tjust agree to change their face without cause. Frost and I had an agreement. I helped him find girls no one would miss, and inturn, he let the ones I wanted escape.It’seasy to convince a woman in love to alter her appearance whenshe’safraid a serial killer is hunting her down.”

“You wereSept’sboyfriend,”Bel sobbed, terrified that the far-fetch theories she and Olivia had discussed when they playeddevil’sadvocate were true. Those were suspicions, guesses, pure imagination. Theyweren’tsupposed to bereal. But that butterfly had been clutched inHazel’sfrozen hand because of Charles. Becausehe’ddated Annalise and then fed the women to a wolf so he could carve up yet another wife.

“You were the man paying for their summer trip.”Shecouldn’tstop the torrent of words flowing from her lips.“They were excited about their vacation, and you handed them over to that monster.”

“Ineeded Annalise to see the wisdom of becoming Anne,”Charles said.“I thought she was the one, and for atimewe were happy. I truly believedI’dfinally created my perfect wife, butI seenow I was mistaken. So she must join her sisters becauseI’vefound my new Anne.”

“You wereright about the accident victim not being Bel,” Sheriff Griffin said as he settled beside the immobile Eamon.Nightwas fast approaching, but Eamon didn’t feel its bitter wind as he stared at the deep wounds the crash had carved into the road. He prayed the sight would give him a clue as to where to search next since he couldn’t track her scent. According to the office’s security footage, Bel had gotten in her car after leaving the doctor’s, but she hadn’t driven it to the crash site. At some point, she’d abandoned her vehicle, and even if he knew where the transfer occurred, her scent would’ve vanished the moment she was locked away inside another car. Her phone had been destroyed, sohe couldn’t track its signal. Its last ping before it went dark was at Blaubart’s office, which she’d leftafraid but very much alive. Charles’ mansion had been void of anything remotely suspicious. He owned two other properties—a house in the Hamptons and a condo in Miami—which Eamon investigated, but they were empty. Anne Blaubart was also conveniently missing, a fact Olivia insisted meant she was Hyde, but Jake L. Hyde owned no other properties besides the island. If Anne had taken Bel, he had no way of learning where, but that wasn’t what bothered him. Bel hadn’t seen Anne at the office. She’d met Charles before fleeing unexpectedly. Anne wasn’t Hyde, but Eamon suspected Bel figured out who was.

“Thum did a thorough exam of the Jane Doe,” Griffin continued. “They’re faint, pointing to a surgeon of incredible talent, but she found signs of plastic surgery around the face and neck. The crash mangled the rest of the body, hiding any attributes that would’ve alerted us it wasn’t Bel, but DNA and dental records prove she isn’t our girl. Whoever did this was probably banking on Reese Emerson’s positive ID being all we needed. If the crashwasruled an accident, we wouldn’t have investigated her death, and I hate to admit it, but I was convinced it was her. If you hadn’t noticed she wasn’t Bel, we would’ve buried her with Emerson’s name.”

“All the good it’s done,” Eamon said, his body so still that he was more stone than man. “I can’t find her. All my money, all my power, and I can’t help her.”

“Gold shared her Hyde theory with me,” Griffin said. “Agent Jameson Barry called as well to say Bel left him a message before she supposedly died saying she was going to find proof, but?—”

“It’s not Anne,” Eamon cut him off.

“Olivia seems convinced.”

“A woman remade into Isobel’s likeness with plastic surgery dies hours after she left Blaubart’s office in fear,” he said. “It isn’t Anne.”

“The doctor?” Griffin asked. “The FBI has been monitoring him since Emerson’s call to Barry about his wife, but no one’s seen her in a few days. Charles has been at his house, though.”

“Isobel told me about Walker’s farmhouse,” Eamon said, the confession earning him a glare. “It was designed to fool outsiders into believing it was occupied.”

“It was…” Griffin’s words sounded like a question.

“I sent Ewan to check out Blaubart’s Hampton home, and I flew to Miami to search the condo. We found nothing, but there were hours when we weren’t monitoring Charles.”

“I know you, Mr. Stone,” Griffin said. “Something tells me you had someone surveilling the mansion.”

“I did,” he answered. “Only they don’t have my senses. They wouldn’t have been able to smell Blaubart leaving the house.”

“Okay?” Griffin dragged out the word, but Eamon remained silent. He stared at the sheriff in the failing light and watched as realization dawned on him.

“The Farmhouse,” Griffin said, his metaphorical lightbulb clicking on. “Charles isn’t home, is he?”

“He was there when I left for Miami this morning and gone when I returned. The house is still despite signs of life. No one’s inside.”

“You think he has Emerson?”

“And his wife,” Eamon said.

“If that’s the case, he’s only been missing for a few hours.” Griffin shuddered, the movement having nothing to do with the cold. “The women might still be okay. He hasn’t had much time.”

“He hasn’t.” Eamon stared at the broken car debris littering the pavement. “But I wasn’t there when he escaped his residence, so I can’t locate his trail. For all my power, I’m helpless.” He looked at Griffin, the despair in his eyes so raw that the sheriff stepped back uncomfortably. “I can’t save her,” he whispered. “She’s in danger, and I failed her.”

“Your spirit remindsme so much of my Anne’s.” Charles turned his predatory gaze on Bel, thegleamin his eyes sending her heart into overdrive.

“No.” She stumbled backward, her panic nearly forcing her to the ground. “No, you can’t have me.”

“It’ll be a shame to erase such a beautiful face, but I will remake you as my final Anne.” Charles stepped closer. “I’ll make you happy. I’ll make you rich beyond your wildest dreams and rescue you from that small town and demeaning job. You deserve the spotlight. You deserve a husband like me, not a brute like Stone.”

“I won’t let you do this.” Bel scanned the room for a weapon, but with her hands bound, favor wasn’t on her side.

“You will be my masterpiece, my chef d’oeuvre.” He stepped forward again, and despite the vaulted ceilings, claustrophobia tightened its hold on her chest. “I’ll remake you as my Anne, my scalpel returning to me what was lost.”

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