Page 25 of Sinful Reality

“Maybe Pax was wrong! I was asking him questions on the spot. He was doing the math on the spot. A miscalculation is entirely possible. This could have been him, Archer!”

“He said the guy died monthsbeforeElouise went missing, so there’s no mathing to do. And even if itwashim, by that theory, we have another killer on the loose. Copying the first. Snatching girls. You said Soph said they’re the same guy because the cops have information or whatever that the public doesn’t. That means the fruit guy is out.”

“But he fits!” she pleads. “He was exactly who we’re looking for.”

“Can’t be perfect, because it’s not him. But I had a thought when you mentioned the methylated spirits.”

“Cleaning.” She studies the plate in her lap and selects a chunk of beef. “He likes a clean world.”

“Right. So we have someone who suffers with OCD, perhaps. Diagnosed or not. Taking five-year-old girls and then having sex with them also leans toward purity. He likesclean.”

She wrinkles her nose with disgust. “They’re five, Archer. That’s not purity. It’s pedophilia.”

“There’s howourminds work, but we need to figure out how hisdoes. He probably lives in a pristine environment, right? Hospital grade, almost. But the bodies are coming back to you dirty and unbathed.”

“Yeah, they…” She peers up and frowns. “That’s a contradiction. They should be spotless, no? Bathed in cleaning chemicals, even. But they’re not.”

“OCD and… a personality disorder? Jekyll and Hyde?”

“Like a split personality?” Cato inserts himself in our conversation—funny how that doesn’t bother me like it does withPax—and folds his arms. “One half of him is a clean freak, control freak. Someone who lives a life of structure and strict planning. The other half is less so; dirty, impulsive, maybe?”

“So glad you’re attending those psych classes you’re not supposed to be in,” Minka grumbles. But she nods for me, at least. Considering. “Could be true. We discussed today how he raped the girls, but it wasn’talways. It wasn’t a chronic thing—if such a classification could be made. They weren’t all returned torn up, which means he abstained sometimes.”

“Clean freak Cletus,” Cato declares. “That’s his name for now. So Cletus liked the world to be ordered. He probably bathed the girls, brushed their hair, dressed them, and set them up like real-life fucking dolls. They were pretty and pure and, ya know…” His cheeks turn a light sheen of green. “Virgins. They were perfect in his eyes.”

“And then there’s the less controlled side of him.” I quickly re-load the fork and offer it to Minka. “Explosive rage, maybe, considering how beat to shit they are when they come home. They were dirty, so maybe he was, too. They were unfed, which might lean toward his more impulsive side where maybe he forgot to feed them.”

“Forgetful Fred,” Cato adds with a sneer. “That’s his name.”

“Right.” I hold Minka’s stare and wait for her to open her mouth. “It’s highly possible Cletus and Fred are two halves of one person. He’s functional enough to get a job, probably. Hold it. He can assimilate into society and go unnoticed. Which means what? He takes them when he’s Cletus?”

“But even the most in control, average-looking dude is gonna draw eyes if he’s hanging around at the park,” Cato argues. “I’ve taken Mia a few times. Just me and her. She’s twenty feet away on the swings orwhatever, and I’m chillin’ at the edge of the play area. Those mama bears arestillclocking me from the corners of their eyes. I don’t look dirty. My clothes are clean, and my shoes are expensive. My hair is brushed, and Mia isn’t afraid when she looks my way. Half the time, she’s screeching my name.Look Cato! Watch me, Cato!Those womenknowshe’s with me, but I guarantee most could provide a detailed description if the police ask. Because that’s what women do. They log this shit away for the future, and then they move closer to their own kid to make sure I’m not gonna snatch them. A single dude at the park, even one as sexy as me,” he smirks, “isstillnoticed. So how does Cletus, who is probably, what? Fifty, now? Sixty? How does he remain invisible, even after all those cases and all that hyper-vigilance in New York?”

“He could have an accomplice?” A deep line forms between Minka’s brows. “Wife, girlfriend, sister, friend. A female who scouts for him?”

“But not a single file has mentioned an accomplice,” I counter. “Every DNA sample pulled from the bodies has matched, and they all say male. Nothing, to date, has so much as hinted at two people.”

“Could be a gay couple,” Cato ponders. “One dude at the park? No bueno. Two dudes at the park? Totally acceptable, especially if they have a little kid with them.”

“Two dudes holding hands at the park in New York in ‘98 probably would’ve ended with a beat-down,” I murmur. “They would’ve been noticed most of all, and they sure as hell would’ve made it into the statements given. You’re thinking of a gay coupletoday, when we need to apply the same logic to nineteen-ninety-eight.”

“I mean…” He draws a long breath and exhales with a huff. “Fuck. Fine. So not a gay couple, not a single dude alone, and there are no reports of an accomplice. Which means he’s fucking invisible?”

“It means he’s sneaky,” Minka sighs. “Like a chameleon, he blends in to the environment, so even if someone is looking right into his eyes, they’re not alarmed. Theyexpectto see him there.”

“Ultimately, we’re no closer to figuring this out than we were when we started, and the one guy who fits the brief died before the last two vics were swiped.” But Minka’s eyes grow glassy with exhaustion. Swelling sits beneath each, and a warm blush fills her cheeks.

“Finish your dinner.” I offer her more, knowing she needs to sleep,and brutally aware tomorrow won’t be any better than today. “We have an early start in the morning, so I need you rested.”

“I wanna call the fruit shop.” Sleepy, she opens her mouth and chews slowly when I fill it with noodles. “The dead guy is pinging my sixth sense. Besides,” she blinks owlishly. “Why the early start tomorrow?”

“We’re heading out first thing to dig up a body; you and Aubree are on the shovels. And the dead guy from the fruit shop is dead,” I drawl. “He’s not pinging anything.”

“I wanna call the ex-wife.” She yawns. “The daughter is older now, too. Maybe they know something we don’t.”

“Maybe you don’t get to call anyone.” But I set the plate and fork aside, because Minka’s posture turns to shit and her slow blinks turn to mini naps. Leaning closer, I pinch her nose and chuckle when her eyes snap open. “Swallow so you don’t choke.” But then I stand and scoop her into my arms. “Time for bed.”

“I’m still working.” And yet, she curls into my chest and wraps her arms around my neck. “Still have to call the lady who worked for the guy. She still alive?”

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