Page 43 of 1st Shock
I know that.
Yet, looking at this girl, I feel...responsible.
Pressure builds in my knuckles and I look down to where I've clenched my fists too hard. I stretch my fingers, releasing the pressure as I bring my gaze back to Jane. "We'll find him. I promise you, we'll find him."
18
Charlie
The local cops are going crazy and have frozen me out for now. The press is equally so, spreading fear among the public about a serial killer.
They're not wrong.
What bothers me more than all of that is the fact my sister has shut me out. It's her coping style, and it works for her, but it drives me batty. Gentry already called to tell me Meg was talking to the dead Jane Doe. I really had no words. I don't find it unusual—a little concerning, yes—but this is how Meg deals, how she processes life and death, violence and injustice.
The psychologist in me knows she's mentally healthier then 99% of the general population. I admire that about her, because I'm pretty sure my methods aren’t nearly as healthy, even if they appear normal to the casual observer.
Which is why I'm at my desk, burying my nose in the trial transcripts from Mickey Wilson's case. The police are looking for Devante as a person of interest, and JJ is out making speeches and running the investigation from the U.S. District Attorney's office the best he can. As soon as the public gets a whisper ofserial killer, all hell breaks loose, and I have a feeling I won't see him the rest of the day.
Another reason to bury my head in the transcripts—I don't have to face what's going on between us. Last night, we didn't have sex. A first for us. I fell asleep in his arms on the couch, and in the wee hours of the morning, he carried me into the bedroom and crawled in beside me. We were still sleeping when the call came in about the Jane Doe.
The third thing I don't want to think about is this girl. Yesterday at this time, she had no idea her life was about to end. A young woman with her whole future ahead of her cut short because the killer got itchy.
Premeditated murder is thought out, planned. The single fact the killer dumped the body, as if in a hurry, rather than taking the time to bury her like he did the others, tells me he was acting on sudden impulse. Organized killers use one place and dispose of the body in another, leaving a clean crime scene with little evidence. While the girl fits the parameters of our investigation, our killer appears to have attacked and killed her in the same spot he left her body, suggesting he's under stress and needed a quick release. The most likely reason is because we're on his trail.
I scan the transcripts, stopping here and there to read different people's testimonies. He was of average intelligence, regardless of what he told Devante, fairly social, and held a regular day job.
Like Meg, I want to jump to the conclusion Devante is our new killer. He's college-educated, social, and has copious notes with details about Mickey's kills. Somehow, I just don't see the two of them fitting together, but it doesn't mean he isn't the one who took Jane's life.
Contrary to popular belief, most serial killers stay in a local area. The highly intelligent ones don't keep trophies or souvenirs at their residence, but I sent Matt to Devante's apartment anyway. The cops can't get in without a search warrant; Matt is pretty handy with a lock pick, and I'm determined to stop this killer before he strikes again, even if I have to break the law. I was going to hit Devante's myself, but Matt insisted he would do it. Dumb guy likes to live on the edge, which I totally respect, even admire at times. It takes a lot for me to bypass the law, and he jumps at it every chance he gets.
Poor Taylor. She's got her hands full with him.
My desk phone rings and I ignore it, reading another section. I had Matt transfer all calls to my office since everyone else is gone. The ringing is like the throbbing of my pulse, poking at me, and I glance at the ID screen to see it's the last person on earth I want to talk to right now—Juanita Jones.
The DNA results for her mother should be in, but I've been so caught up with this case since yesterday, I've totally blown them both off. Guilt eats at my stomach and I chew on the inside of my cheek, considering my options.
I can't put her off for long, but there's no point in wasting breath telling her I don't have the results. I pick up my cell phone and call my friend at Family Ties as the landline goes to voicemail. Five minutes later, I have news Juanita doesn't want to hear.
Yvonne is not her mother.
I was afraid of this, pretty much sure of it, in fact. I call my dad. "Any luck with the cousins?"
"Good morning to you too, Charlize." It's almost noon, but he’s a stickler for details. "Yes, I have a lead, and I'm meeting with him at four p.m. for coffee. He was a little... surprised, you might say, at the idea of a lost cousin. He's quite the genealogy buff, I guess, and was sure he had located every living relative in his family tree already." I hear him shifting and can imagine him getting comfortable in his big recliner. "Now, tell me about the serial killer."
At least he's got something I can pass to Juanita to soften the blow of finding out she is once more without her biological parents. I play with my—Meg's—watch as I fill him in on the basic details he hasn't already heard on the news. "Meg is taking this hard, Dad. I'm worried about her."
"Me too, but you can't protect her from everything, Charlize, no matter how badly you want to."
He knows me so well. "She needs to go to her happy place." Dad knows what I'm talking about. Meg has a favorite spot in the woods near our parents' home where she likes to decompress and connect with nature. I decompress by going to the gym and punching things or going to the shooting range and blasting holes into paper targets. My sister sketches flowers and trees while I imagine taking out every bad guy I've ever come across. Which version is more sane? "Could you talk to her and see if she'll visit you for a few days? Tell her mom needs her."
Meg never ignores our mother's requests, just like I never ignore our father's. He makes one now. "Only if you promise to come with her."
A part of me begs to spend the next few days with them, get away from all the stress and pressure of this case, of Juanita's dying wish, of JJ's constant presence. I fiddle with the ring on my finger and tell him a half-lie. "I would love to. If you can get her to say yes, I'll pack my bags and be there with bells on."
We say our goodbyes and I call Juanita. I don't want to dump the new information on her over the phone, but I don't have time to go for coffee with her like my dad would. It goes to voicemail, saving me some of the awkward conversation we need to have. I give her the good news, rather than the bad, letting her know my father is in contact with someone who's directly related to her. Hopefully this person will be open to meeting her and telling her about her biological family.
That done, I refill my cup, hating the eeriness of the too-quiet office and wondering if the serial killer is somewhere outside, watching the building. I go to one of the windows and adjust the blinds to see out. There are plenty of areas nearby where he could be hiding.
