Page 21 of Girl, Accused

‘Yeah,’ Ella said. ‘But this is different. He gets it.’

‘Doesn’t hurt that he was a looker too. You worked many cases together?’

‘A few, but the case we just closed was our last one. It gets messy, being in the fieldandat home together. Too many… factors.’

Ripley said, ‘I can only imagine. Where’s he now? Did you tell him to get out of D.C.?’

‘Yeah. He’s going back to Massachusetts. Your family aren’t staying in D.C., are they?’

‘No. Edis is sending them somewhere safe.’

‘It’s the least he can do.’ Ellasaid. ‘If your son lives in your house now, where do you live?’

‘Upperville. About ten miles away from my old place.’

‘Downsized?’

‘Yeah. Smaller place. No point having five bedrooms when four of them are empty.’

Ella stared out the window as she cataloged the pieces of this strange new reality. Here she was, miles above the earth, sitting across from a version of Ripley she'd never seen before. Not the sharp-suited agent she'd been five months ago, but this softer version with her gardening magazines and grandson photos. And yet, underneath that cream sweater, Ella had no doubt the predator still lurked. She still knew exactly how to dissect a crime scene and read the language of violence.

‘When we land,’ Ripley said, ‘we hit the Summers crime scene first. Fresh kills talk louder than cold ones.’

Just like that, the years peeled away. They could have been on any one of their hundred cases together, piecing together the puzzle of human darkness at thirty thousand feet.

‘Nothing's changed, has it?’ Ella asked.

‘What do you mean?’

Ella gestured to the table, the photos, the police reports. ‘This. Us. The way we work.’

‘Some things don't change, Dark. Some partnerships are written in blood.’

The irony of the phrase wasn’t lost on her. Somewhere in Ohio, a killer was writing messages in exactly that medium. Somewhere in D.C., state police were boxing up evidence of murders signed with Ella's DNA. And here they were, the dream team, back together for one more dance with darkness. Ella just hoped they remembered all the steps.

CHAPTER NINE

Ohio felt like someone had taken Virginia and twisted it sideways. The architecture was wrong, the trees were wrong, even the quality of winter light seemed off-kilter. Ella had never been to Ohio before, but the cab ride from the airport to the crime scene proved why they called this place America’s Rust Belt. Everything looked almost familiar, but not quite. Like a dream version of the East Coast. Granville itself seemed to be a college-town quaint with its historic shopfronts and endless coffee houses, but out here on the waterfront, wealth showed its face more openly.

She stood with Ripley outside Dr. Evelyn Summers' office, and the place challenged her expectations of what a therapist's office should look like. No sterile medical complex or professional suite here. Summers had worked out of what appeared to be a high-end log cabin. Odd choice, but Ella admired the innovation.

Two uniformed officers stood guard at the perimeter tape, looking bored but alert. One of them kept checking his watch, probably counting minutes until shift change. The other stared at Ripley with the wary recognition cops reserved for feds.

Ella showed her badge to the officers, who looked relieved to have someone else take point on this mess. The younger one - his nameplate read PETERSON – crackled his radio to life and summoned a higher-up. A minute later, a cruiser pulled up and spat out another officer from the driver’s seat. He approached the agents and extended his hand.

‘Feds? Appreciate you coming so quickly.’

Ella greeted him first. ‘Don’t mention it. You are?’

‘Ken Westfall, lead detective on this mess.’

The man was late thirties at most, Ella guessed. Short black hair with some premature grey at the temples. A scar bisected one of his eyebrows; the kind of mark that aid earned his detective's shield the hard way.

‘Agent Ella Dark. This is my partner…’ Ella paused, unsure what exactly her partner’s title was now. ‘Agent Mia Ripley. We’ve read the reports, seen the photos of your first victim.’

‘You work fast, though I gotta say, when they told me FBI was sending profilers, I was expecting...’ He trailed off, probably realizing there was no good way to end that sentence.

‘Someone taller?’

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