Page 37 of Bad Mother

“Everything we assumed about our victim’s death was confirmed,” Kat answered. “It looks like the same method and same murder weapon. Chloroform was used on this victim too. Time of death was estimated to be forty-eight hours ago, so if the sister’s timing is right, this guy killed her and then held her body somewhere for a very short time before setting up his scene.”

“Yes, then, most definitely the same guy,” Ingrid said. “Plus, the installment”—she shook the papers she was holding—“confirms it.”

“One more interesting thing,” Kat went on. “There were a series of numbers written on the back of her thigh. As soon as Art looked her over, he saw them.” Kat took out a photograph and handed it to Ingrid, who studied it for a moment and then gave it to Sienna. The string of numbers was as precisely written as the notes, certainly by the same hand, and it appeared that a black Sharpie had been used.

Ingrid set the papers down and tapped one fingernail. “Do either of you know anything about latitude and longitude?”

“I know it’s used to find a specific location, but I don’t—wait, are you thinking that’s what these numbers are?” Kat asked.

“I don’t know. I met this man on vacation in Miami who owned a yacht—”

“Ooh,” Kat said, her brows rising. “What happened to Moneybags?”

“As it turned out, the yacht was the only impressive thing about him,” Ingrid said. “I dated him for a week and was happy to hop back on a plane home.”

“There might not be a man on the planet impressive enough for you.” Kat smiled sweetly.

“Anyway,” Ingrid went on, “he explained latitude and longitude to me, and I’ve forgotten the specifics but remember that each coordinate is a string of numbers. And I know someone who might be able to let us know if I’m on the right track.” She picked up her phone and asked whomever she’d called to come to her office. A minute later, a stocky man wearing a PO uniform came in, greeting them. “Sienna, if you haven’t met Tony Wallace, he’s one of our most senior patrol officers. How long do you have left, Tony?”

“Seven months and sixteen days,” he said, taking a seat in an empty chair on the other side of the table they were sitting at.

“Until you’re sailing the ocean blue full-time?”

Tony chuckled. “Not the ocean, the lake, but yeah, that’s the plan.”

“Tony and Carol have a sweet place on Lake Tahoe,” Kat said, giving him a wide smile. Tony’s wife must earn a lot of money, because Sienna knew well that a police officer’s salary alone would never buy a “sweet place,” or even asemisweet place, on Lake Tahoe.

“Which is why I need your expertise,” Ingrid said, handing him the series of numbers written on the sticky pad found at Duces and the numbers found on last night’s DOA.

Tony studied them. “They could be coordinates,” he said, “only without the degrees, minutes, and seconds. Can I write on these?” he asked.

“Yes,” Ingrid said, handing him a pen. Tony took it, writing a degree sign next to the first set of numbers on both copies, an apostrophe next to the second set, and a quotation mark after the final set, where he also inserted a decimal. He tapped his pen on the final number of the first set. “There’s no direction, but if the location is here in Reno, this first one would be north and the other one west. You can program it into Google Maps.”

“Thanks, Tony. I knew you were the right one to ask.”

“I hope it helps,” he said, standing. “It was nice to meet you, Sienna.”

“You too, Tony, thanks.” He gave a nod to Ingrid and Kat and left the office.

“We’ll check this out,” Kat said to Ingrid.

Ingrid rubbed her forehead. “The news will be clamoring to ask questions, so we might have to do another press conference. I’ll let you both know. One more scene like the one last night and we have a bona fide serial killer on our hands, although I think it’s safe to say we already do. And both of you be extra diligent checking this location out today. If it looks sketchy, call for backup. And regardless, watch each other’s backs.” She picked the printouts up off her desk. “I’ll read this ASAP. Why don’t you two head to that location.”

Kat and Sienna stood. “I’ll look up the address we’re headed to, and you can read Danny Boy’s next installment to me on the way, partner,” Kat said. “And make sure to read with inflection.”

Sienna chuckled as they let themselves out of Ingrid’s office and headed for the car.

My “tutoring sessions” with Mr.Patches went on for months. My grades fell again, but none of my other teachers seemed surprised. I was deeply, deeply ashamed. I hid it from Mother.

But I could only hide things from Mother for so long.

One snowy winter day, Mother came home early.

In the past months, things had escalated quite dramatically, and Mr.Patches was no longer content with a mere hand on the thigh. Suffice to say, I was facedown on the table, Mr.Patches above me.

I won’t describe the details of what was happening, but I’m sure you can surmise.

He had grabbed the back of my head, and I don’t know if it was the rough contact of my forehead on the wood surface or the pain of what I was enduring, but I lost consciousness momentarily, long enough for Mother to have entered the room, taken in the scene, and smashed Mr.Patches over the head with a cast-iron frying pan sitting on the stove.

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