Page 12 of Girl, Unknown

“But from afar,” Ella interrupted, ”or he’d have come through the front door. No need to ambush a friend, not when it’s safer to go the direct route.”

The agents went back in and scrutinized the rest of the apartment. It was small: one bedroom, adjoining bathroom, kitchen and living room. Ripley couldn’t see much besides a few photographs that gave her an insight into this victim’s life. She plucked a framed picture off the bedside table that showed Katherine at some kind of protest. Ella peered over her shoulder.

“Ten women on a podium,” she said. “It’s either a bachelorette party or a women’s march.”

“Katherine’s front and center.”

Ella said, “What’s that on her t-shirt?IAFV?”

Ripley unhooked the picture from the frame, turned it over. Their answer was written on the back. “Iowa Against Female Violence,” she said. “Some kind of advocate group.”

“Interesting. That means Katherine might have put herself out there, made a few enemies. We’re dealing with a ripper, but we might also be dealing with a misogynist.”

Sergeant Grant’s voice carried through the apartment. Ripley placed the photograph back in the frame and headed back toward the entrance with her partner. Grant was waiting for them with a middle-aged woman in tow.

“Agents, this is Margaret Hudson. She called in a noise complaint around eleven p.m. last night.”

Ripley checked the woman out: short and skinny, long pointy fingers with overgrown nails, an unflattering blue cardigan that hung below her waist. A clichéd curtain-twitcher, Ripley thought.

“Miss Hudson, thank you for meeting us. Sorry for having to meet under such circumstances.”

“It’s okay. What do you need?”

If the woman was grieving for the lost life of her neighbor, she certainly wasn’t showing it. But people dealt with trauma in different ways, Ripley reasoned. “Could you talk us through what happened? What you heard?”

Margaret pointed a finger to the sky. “About twenty to twelve last night, I heard a scream, then footsteps thudding along like a herd of elephants. Then a God-awful crash. I thought the ceiling was going to come through. It frightened the life out of me.”

“Male or female scream?” Ella asked.

“Woman. Didn’t hear no man’s voice.”

Ripley asked, “How long did this last?”

“Ten seconds. Maybe less.”

“Did you see anyone lurking? Any unfamiliar faces?” Ripley guessed Margaret was the kind of woman who’d remember seeing something that didn’t fit in with the status quo.

“No, and I looked. Kept my eyes peeled but didn’t see a soul.”

Ella said, “Anyone leaving this apartment would have to go past yours on the way out, is that correct?”

“Yes. I’d see them going down the stairwell. Hear them, too.”

Ripley and Ella exchanged a look of silent agreement. Their killer certainly left via the fire escape, and probably entered that way too.

“Could you tell us about Katherine Parkinson?” Ripley asked. “Were you close?”

“Not really. The woman kept mostly to herself. Never had boys back here, which is why the noise shocked me so much. Quiet as a mouse. She’d only been living here for a year or so, but long enough for me to get a picture of her.”

“Did you know anything about Katherine’s personal life at all? Friends, family, work?”

Margaret said, “Barely. Never saw her with anyone. I only spoke with her a few times. I always saw her when I went out because the crazy woman used to sit on her balcony in all weathers.”

Ripley felt a piece of the puzzle slot into place. If this unsub had kept a watchful eye on Katherine before attacking her, he’d know her balcony door had a good chance of being open if she used it so often.

“Did you know about her protests? Her advocate group?” asked Ella.

Margaret paused, furrowed her brow. She scratched her chin and said, “That reminds me. Last time I spoke to Katherine, she mentioned that she was going to be on TV. Something about a women’s march. Whatever it was, I didn’t see it.”

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