Page 104 of Obsession
SAVANNAH
“I’m sorry, what?” I’m sure I’m turning green.
As soon as I entered through the front doors at the office, James was there, shooing me back out and waving Elliot over, with the news of another murder and strict instructions to gather as much information as we could. I don’t understand why he insists on Elliot coming along for the ride. Why not Jeanine?
The chatty police officer with the mustache and a toothpick lowers his aviator glasses. “Gruesome, isn’t it?”
I make furious notes on my too-small notepad, then turn the page. “What about his shoes?”
“Different ones to throw off the detectives.”
My ink pen flies over the paper. “He’s always one step ahead.”
“The victim wore a scarf like you.”
“What color?”
“A scarf just like yours.”
The strange note in his voice has me looking up with a frown. “Sorry?” I peer down at my mustard scarf.
“It looks exactly like it. She had brown hair too. Come to think about it, she looks a lot like you.”
Cawing, a crow circles overhead before flying off into the thicket of trees, disturbing the dusting of snow on their branches. A reporter by the edge of the river, as close to the tent as the police will allow anyone to venture, combs her fingers through her hair as her partner holds up the video camera.
“Are you okay, Miss Campbell?”
Shaking off the sudden chill winding its way down each curvature of my spine, I attempt a smile. “Yes, thank you. It’s just a lot to take in.”
The toothpick flicks left to right between his teeth. He takes it out and says, “They found DNA evidence this time.”
My eyes widen. “They did? That’s huge.”
His shoulders shrug. “If they can get a match.”
“So he?”
“Traces of semen in her hair.”
I shiver, burying deeper into my scarf just as Elliot crosses the clearing, dressed in his burgundy scarf and gray trench coat, a lock of his curly blonde hair falling over his brow.
“I got some good photographs. James will be pleased.”
This has become our routine now. I interview—since it’s my story—and he takes the pictures.
“What did you find out?”
The nausea is back, twisting my guts.
Speaking of guts.
“He strangled her, removed her lips, sliced her stomach open, and stuffed her mouth with her innards.”
Elliot blinks once, twice, then he shakes his head and mutters, “I wish I wouldn’t have asked.”
“He hung her from the bridge by her wrists.”
Elliot follows my line of sight to the steel bridge, where a tent is erected to protect the potential evidence. Raising his camera, he takes a picture.
