Page 31 of The Birthday Girl
Vega’s gaze shifted upward, and he saw Jimmy dangling from a beam, the rope digging deep into his neck. His body swayed faintly, shoes brushing the wall with each slight movement. His tongue bulged from his mouth, blackened, his eyes wide and lifeless.
“Have you ever seen anything like this?” The rookie asked as he turned his back on the scene.
The older cop next to him, a potbellied veteran with too many years and too few illusions, grunted. “No, and I’ve seen a lot.”
“I have, but something about these murders don’t add up.” Vega stood over Tremaine’s corpse, head craned back, numb to the tremor in his knees.
The rookie had retreated to the shadowy end of the hallway and was squeezing his hands into fists so hard his knuckles whitened. Vega glanced at him, then back to the potbellied vet.
“Who found the bodies?”
“Patrol got the call around 8:30. Some dumb kids use this place to skip school because they know no one in their right minds will come here. Kids came in through the back and found the woman. The girl was still screaming when dispatch picked up.” The old cop shrugged, a tic in his jaw as he lowered his eyes to the floor.
“You get a statement from the kids?”
“Yes, from the boys,” the rookie answered.
“Good.” Vega’s gaze swept the hallway, observing the cracked drywall, ancient wallpaper half-peeled, and the dolls. “What about the girl?”
The rookie shook his head. “She couldn’t talk. Paramedics sedated her.”
“What do we know about the victims?” Vega leaned closer to Tremaine, studying his expression.
“We got ID on the woman. Her name is Mercedes Johnson. She lives in Highland Hills, and the two men are John Does for now.”
Vega's gaze traveled from the hanging body to the slashed throat on the floor, then mentally descended the stairs to the mutilated woman.
“Whoever did this changed their approach with each victim.”
The veteran frowned. “What do you mean?”
“The men,” Vega nodded toward Tremaine, then Jimmy, “were cut with the same blade. Look at the tearing. Something short, dull, and uneven was used in their attacks, but thewoman?” He paused, picturing Mercedes’ wounds. “Whoever worked on her used something sharper, longer. Took their time. Every stitch was intentional.”
The rookie shifted, his knuckles pressed to his mouth. “So… two weapons?”
“Two weapons,” Vega confirmed.
His pen scratched across the notebook, quick strokes marking down what his mind had already logged. “Could be two killers. Could be one who wanted the men out of the way, fast, and saved the theatrics for her.”
The rookie shifted uneasily. “So Johnson was the main target?”
“Maybe.” Vega’s gaze cut back down the hall, toward the stairs. “Or maybe not. Another angle is this: there were two attackers.”
The veteran crossed his arms, frowning. “You think more than one person had a hand in this?”
“It’s on the table,” Vega said as he scribbled a note, then looked up again. “But here’s another theory. It could be the same person, trying different methods. These murders might be their first, and they’re finding their rhythm. Testing what works. They could be gearing up for something bigger.”
The rookie’s voice cracked as he spoke. “You don’t think this is the end?”
Vega shook his head. “Killers don’t stage bodies like this to stop here. They do it to get attention. The woman downstairs was the centerpiece. The men, quick work. The message is in the difference.”
Vega checked the floor for bloody footprints. “If it’s one killer, they’re experimenting. If it’s two…” He paused, his jaw tightening. “Then we’ve got a partnership, and those cases can sometimes be even harder to crack.”
The veteran grunted. “Partnerships don’t usually last. Somebody always ends up causing a mess.”
“True,” Vega said, flipping the page in his notebook. “But if they’re working together now, the body count will climb before it falls apart. Either way, we’re staring down escalation.”
The rookie rubbed a hand over his face, his eyes darting between Tremaine’s stiffened arm and Jimmy’s dangling body. “Jesus Christ.”
