Page 46 of Evidence of a Folktale

“We’ll just tell Griffin you were hiking,” Bel said as she led him out of the break room. “Everyone knows you’re an enthusiast. You construct half of your designs from materials you find in the woods.”

Ewan worked with Violet Lennon at Lumen’s Customs. Brett Lumen had been a famous furniture designer before his murder, and he’d left his entire business to his assistant, Violet. She was one of Bel’s closest friends, but she was no designer. She’d been at a loss for how to keep the company alive until Ewan moved to town. His style was far more rustic than Lumen’s luxury pieces, but the bear shifter with the sexy lumberjack vibe had the skill to turn furniture into art. He often used the recycled or natural materials he found in the woods, so convincing Griffin he’d been merely exercising was probably the easiest task Bel would face that day.

“Sheriff.” She cornered her boss and tried to ignore the way Olivia hovered from a distance. “Ewan was hiking this morning.”

Griffin’s eyes shot to the man clad in outdoor gear beside her with an expression that warned he knew what was coming.

“He thinks he found the body.”

“I was hiking here,”Ewan said as he led the police through the snowy woods. Bel had texted Eamon to warn him there was another body on his estate before positioning herself between Ewan and Olivia to help keep the hike professional, and she hated every second of it. Her physical position felt uncomfortably similar to the emotional one Ewan’s lies had placed her in, but while the trek through the cold was unpleasant, the end of their trip was what she dreaded most. She didn’t want to find another woman ripped apart to stain Eamon’s land. It seemed hell refused to let him go. He’d abandoned his ways of bloodshed, and in return, his property soaked up the spilled blood of those who murdered in his stead.

“I noticed something strange in the trees here,” Ewan lied as he left the trail and ventured into the woods. “I think there’s a body if you follow these footprints.” He gestured at the sea of endless white.

“I don’t see anything.” Griffin studied Ewan, and Bel could see the wheels in his head turning. The solitary tracks leading away from the path were human, but if she didn’t intervene, her boss might realize Eamon wasn’t the only Bajka man to be wary of.

“There.” She pointed as she moved through the trees, glancing at Ewan for guidance. He nodded, and she surged forward, an army of officers in tow. “There, I see it…” She froze, her little white lie suddenly true, and she instinctively reached out and grabbed Griffin’s hand for support.

“Good lord,” he muttered as he squeezed her gloved fingersin return. For a moment, no one spoke, and then Griffin cursed, the words ugly as they echoed through the emptiness. For before them was another dead woman wearing a hooded cloak, only this one wasn’t face down in the snow. This crimson victim hung like a crucifix from the tree branches, her body completely naked save for the red fabric and her frozen blood. Just like Gwen Rossa, her abdomen had been ripped apart, the jagged wounds flayed open and horrifying to witness. Her torso and spread arms were pale and bloodless, but her soaked legs had stained the deep drifts below her, and Bel felt instantly lightheaded at the brutality of her death.

“The same M.O.,” she whispered before venturing closer. “The same wounds. The same box. The same phrase. The same red cloak.”

“Don’t say it,” Griffin said.

“It’s the same killer.” Bel ignored him. “Two deaths by the same killer. One more makes it a serial.”

Griffin cursed again. “Thum, you’ll be able to confirm, but she doesn’t seem to have defensive wounds. Her feet are soaked in blood, but I’m willing to bet her soles aren’t damaged from running in the snow.”

“I would have to agree.” The medical examiner joined them before the corpse. “I thought Gwen Rossa’s scene was terrifying… but this. Hanging from the tree to bleed out like this, her entire bare and brutalized bodyondisplay. This was such a violent and hateful death. Whoever killed her did so in a fit of rage.”

“You think so?” Bel asked.

“Like with Rossa, he had to face her to kill her.” Lina pointed at her mangled abdomen. “The killer inflicted these wounds standing up close and personal. He looked into her eyes when he ripped her apart, and then he laced her arms through those branches while she bled out. I think she was still alive when he strung her up. There’s so much rage in these deaths. To be torn to shreds and then left face down in the snow. To be posed like the crucified Jesus of Nazareth.I might be wrong, butthis reeks of rage.”

“Like a man seeking revenge for an accident that sent him to jail.” Bel met Griffin’s gaze.

“Thum, can you remove the hood?” the sheriff asked. “Do we have another dead crew member on our hands?”

“Sure.” Lina rose onto her toes and pushed the draped fabric away from the victim’s face. Sunlight bathed the woman’s bloodless cheeks, and Bel lunged forward, her recognition dragging her closer to the disturbing scene.

“Griffin,” she whispered, her boss’ alarm crowding her back. “It’s her. It’s the costume designer.”

“Ellery Roja,” he spoke her name. “We just saw her yesterday.”

“Yeah.” Bel met the sheriff’s eyes with an overwhelming churning pulsing inside her. “When she warned us about Orion Chayce.”

“Sotimeof death was probably in the middle of the night like Rossa’s,” Lina said. “Lividity and rigor mortis confirm that estimate.”

“And like with Rossa, I doubt we’ll find anything of value,” Griffin said. “The elements always compromise outdoor crime scenes. We have footprints this time, but they belong to one, maybe two people. They’re mottled, sowe won’t get any boot prints, and they stretch between the trail and the body. Little good that does us. We already know she was chased here, and the trails are too trodden to track the killer’s retreat. No blood drops lead away from the scene, though, which is strange.”

“The killer probably cleans the weapon before he leaves the bodies,” Olivia said.

“But a kill this violent and personal?” Lina said. “The blood spatter and cast off would’ve coated his body.”

“Except I’ve seen the designers spray painting the set pieces,” Olivia said. “They wear masks and protective suits. White protective suits. The killer would’ve disappeared out here wearing one, and when he was done with his kills, he could’ve stripped it off at the scene so the dripping blood would join the rest. He left clean, and even if he was dirty, he could’ve scrubbed himself with snow andthentossed it below her body. Her warm blood would’ve destroyed what he used to wash. We won’t find anything.”

“We might get lucky,” Bel said, not believing herownwords. Whoever killed Rossa and now Roja had been deliberate in their attacks. These weren’t the sloppy murders she’d dealt with while on the NYPD force. This killer was telling a story, and stray evidence wasn’t a part of his narrative.

“Story,” she whisperedto herselfas the unsolved hangman puzzle flashed through her memory. A hanged man for a hanged girl. “Lina, the first body’s clue read,‘What big eyes you have’.”

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