Page 24 of Girl, Undone
This was it.‘Think, Ken.Be specific.How tall?’
‘Uh, taller than me.Six-one?’
‘What about the suit?Expensive?Designer?Off-the-rack?’
Ken squinted, clearly trying to picture it.‘It looked… nice.Not flashy, but well-made.Dark grey, I think.He wore it like he was used to it, you know?Not like some kid going to a job interview.’
‘Anything else?Scars?Tattoos?Accent?What did he smell like?’
Ken blinked hard at the rapid fire questions, then said, ‘I don’t know.I don’t want to say too much in case I’m wrong, you know?Clean-shaven.No scars or tats, and I didn’t get close enough to smell him.’
‘Any CCTV?Maybe his credit card details?’
The store manager clenched his teeth and said, ‘Sorry, he paid in cash.And the CCTV cameras in store are… just for show.I’ve never seen the guy before and haven’t seen him since.’
Ella took every detail on board.She hadn’t given up on her rat theory, and she was going to stick with it until something significant changed her mind.She nodded at her partner and said, ‘I’m going back to the precinct to dig deeper.Check Ken out.Don’t let him out of your sight.’
‘Trust me,’ Ripley said and began accompanying Ken towards the store.
Ella headed towards her car, unlocked it, and sat in silence in the driver's seat.Ken could very well be their unsub because nothing confirmed his innocence, but her gut instinct told her he was a bit-player in this mystery.He didn't have the strength, the motive, or even the psychopath's smile.
The road ahead could be long, Ella concluded, but she was determined to unravel this mystery, piece by piece.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The office was warm.Too warm, probably, but clients seemed to like it that way.Oak paneling on three walls, and the fourth dominated by bookshelves stacked with texts he'd never actually read.Jung, Freud, Rogers, all the names people expected to see.Classical music played from a speaker hidden behind the desk.Chopin, tonight.Nocturne in E-flat major.The fire in the corner hearth popped and crackled and lit up the two leather armchairs positioned opposite each other.
He'd designed the space to feel safe.In this room, people could unburden themselves.
With two mugs of coffee in hand, he returned from the kitchen.His client sat in the chair closest to the fire with his hands wrapped around the armrests.The man was always nervous, and had been since their first session six months ago.
'Your usual,' he said, handing over the mug.'Sweetener and cinnamon.'
The client took it with both hands, like he needed the warmth.A thin film of sweat covered his forehead.'Thanks.I’ve left the cash on the table.’
They always paid in cash.He insisted on it.‘Appreciated.’
'Sorry, I'm late.Got stuck at a work conference.Ran long.'
'Don't worry about it.'He settled into his own chair, crossed one leg over the other.Sipped his coffee and waited.
The client drank.A small sip, tentative, like he was testing the temperature.His hand trembled slightly when he lowered the mug.'Perfect, like always.I know it's boring.Same order every time.'
'Nonsense.Routines aren't boring.People say familiarity breeds contempt, but I think it breeds comfort.And comfort's underrated.'
The client nodded in agreement, then took his coffee again.‘I wish I had time for rest.It’s non-step.Relentless.Work, home, kids.’
‘Overwhelming.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘It’s been two weeks since we last met.How have things been?’
‘Better,’ the client said.‘Longer times between medications.The pain isn’t as bad.I’m sleeping, four, five hours a night.’
‘Sleep is the silent healer,’ he said.‘And it’s your dreams that wake you up, correct?’
‘Every time.Every night.Sometimes I feel like things might be okay, but the dreams keep coming back.I can’t escape them.When I wake up, that’s when I reach for the pills.’
