Page 26 of No Escape

Charlie knelt down for a closer look. “You’re right. The forensic team wouldn’t have done that, not until after the autopsy.” He glanced at Will, curiosity in his eyes. “What do you think it means?”

Will rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his gaze locked on the lifeless faces. “Sometimes a killer closes the victim’s eyes as a sign of distant remorse or guilt. It’s as if they don’t want the victim to stare at them, even after death.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, surprised by the observation. “John Murphy? Feeling guilt or remorse? It doesn’t seem likely, given his track record.”

“I know,” Will conceded. “But we can’t ignore the possibility. Perhaps there’s a part of him that knows what he’s doing is wrong, but he can’t stop himself.”

Will doubted his own words as they left his mouth. He turned his attention back to the note left at the scene, a cruel, mocking message that seemed at odds with the idea of a remorseful killer.

“The note is too mocking to be from someone who feels remorse,” Will said, his voice troubled. “John Murphy must have closed their eyes for some other reason.”

Charlie’s gaze flicked between the note and the victims’ closed eyes. “What could that be, though?” he asked.

Will shook his head, frustrated. “I don’t know. But it’s worth noting. There must be a reason behind it.”

The two men exchanged a look, the weight of the unknown bearing down on them. They knew that every detail mattered, that understanding the mind of their quarry was essential in predicting his next move. And as they stood in the silent house, the scene of so much pain and loss, they couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of urgency.

Charlie began to talk about John Murphy’s previous history, recalling the disturbing pattern of his previous killing spree.

“You know, before we caught him a year ago, he was targeting family members,” Charlie said, his voice heavy with concern. “Now that he’s out, he seems to be going after them again.”

Will rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his brow furrowed. “Do we have a complete list of John’s family members in the area?”

Charlie shook his head. “I’m not sure. The police will be working that angle, but we’re not here in an official capacity, and besides, we don’t have direct access to the FBI’s database. Not since our unit got mothballed until the investigation is over.”

Will nodded in agreement. “We need to get that list and put a protection detail on each of them. We can’t afford to lose any more lives to this madman. And if we have it, maybe we can find out where Valerie might go to next, as well… The trick is to get access to the damned data.”

“Then if we can’t get that list,” Charlie said, “we’ll have to pull in a favor from the only one who can.”

“You don’t mean…”

“But we’ll need to be discreet,” Charlie said. “We’re not supposed to have any contact, so let’s do it away from prying eyes.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

John Murphy leaned against the grimy brick wall in the back alley of the clothing store, his breath visible in the cold air.

His cousin Joshua had once worked in the industry, running his own store, and it was this knowledge that allowed him to be patient. All he needed to do was wait for the perfect opportunity to slip inside.

There’s always a delivery out back or…

As if on cue, the back door of the store opened with a creak, and a young employee stepped out into the alley, lighting up a cigarette. John had been waiting on a delivery truck, but the outcome was the same. He now had access, if he was careful.

This was his chance. John moved swiftly and silently, watching the young woman smoking, glued to her phone.

Too easy, he thought.

He slipped through the open door behind her, and never made a sound.

The storage rooms are always at the back,he almost instructed himself.

Once inside, he pressed himself against the wall, listening intently for any signs of people nearby. He could hear the distant hum of shoppers and employees going about their day, but he was hidden from view, tucked away in a dimly lit corridor.

John moved cautiously, keeping an eye out for anyone who might spot him. He soon came across a storage room, its door slightly ajar. He took a chance and entered, finding himself surrounded by racks of clothes waiting to be put out on the shop floor.

He grabbed a pair of jeans, a tee, and a sweater and quickly pulled them on, discarding his old, stained clothes in a large trash bin in the corner of the storage room. If he was lucky, someone would throw out the trash and not even know they were disposing of evidence for him.

That thought made John smile.

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