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Ty pinched the bridge of his nose. The killer must believe that one of the participants was Jenny Davis, but it was dark and the people wore costumes with masks. “This is flimsy. Unless she takes off her mask before it’s over, and I really want it to be over.”
Furries weren’t his jam.
“Brings a whole new meaning to warm and fuzzy, am I right?” Ty asked, and his comment was met with a punch to his shoulder from Owen. He rubbed it as he stared at the man in his skunk costume with a woman who allegedly was Jenny Davis. Her pink cat head was pretty big. It added height, and according to the missing persons report she was only five foot three. This person looked to be much taller, and there was no way to figure out her weight inside the bulky costume. Nothing proved it was actually Jenny.
Owen shivered and tapped out. “I’ve seen more than I want to.”
But not enough to prove the participant was Jenny Davis. They had no body. No definitive proof that she’d been killed or dumped, only that she’d been reported missing.
Asa fast-forwarded past the frenzied animal action to the end when the man who was masked wrapped his fur-covered hands around her neck.
“Skipper said it was an accident.” Ty cringed as the woman allowed the man to strangle her. She clearly thought he wasn’t going to kill her, but as she needed air, fight-or-flight kicked in and she frantically pawed at him, but he hung on, enjoying the role-playing.
“Maybe Swain told him that,” Asa said. “If Skipper wasn’t there and hasn’t seen this video, he’d only know what he’d been told.”
“Or this is part of the fantasy. Strangling is the fetish but only to make them pass out.” Violet pointed to the screen. “He’s letting up now, and she was consensual at first.”
The woman lay utterly motionless. The man shook her. Shook her again. But she didn’t move. His shaking became more intense, and he hollered, “Wake up. Wake up!” His voice was panicked and his breath ragged as he cursed and undid a paw of his costume, revealing a meaty hand. The man felt for a pulse, then cursed again.
“Oh, this can’t be happening,” he said, and began pacing the floor. He rushed to the wall and hit a button. Then the feed went blank.
Swain had been watching, the sick voyeur, then cut off the feed when the button had been pressed, an emergency button or something to let Swain know the fantasy was over. Either way they didn’t have Swain on camera, and he’d know it. And they couldn’t prove this wasn’t part of the fantasy—pretending to accidentally murder someone. No definitive proof the man had actually murdered her, but Ty knew it. The panic in the man’s voice was real. But other than him being white, due to seeing his hand, they had no idea who he was. And no idea why the killer would send this. Was he in the costume? Was he Patrick Swain? Would this be a fun thrill? To get them so close but not close enough to arrest anyone or find that woman—if she was Jenny Davis?
“We still have nothing,” Asa said. “Unless we can trace who mailed the thumb drive. We can get a warrant for Swain’s security footage, which is recording this, but my guess is if it wasn’t destroyed after you two visited him earlier today, it’s gone now. And without a body, we don’t have a murder. Without Swain on camera, we can’t prove he was even in the house. And we can’t prove that this guy in the skunk costume actually killed anyone. For all we know she got up and walked away after the camera went black. And if he did kill her, all we have is a skunk.”
Ty kicked at the table leg. “We can secure a warrant for the footage if there is any and to search the house or at least this room. Let’s do it. Question him. Maybe he’ll slip up. We can hold him a little longer but not much. We gotta find something. This guy...he’s involved. I know it.”
“You don’t know it,” Asa said.
“He took pictures with Ahnah and Amy-Rose and Jenny Davis.”
“It’s a relatively small island, and they were smiling and not being confined,” Asa said. “We can’t arrest every person who took photos with them. He’s lied about knowing them. But that’s not necessarily a crime, and he’s not been arrested.”
“He’s impeding an investigation.”
“That’s Blue Harbor SO business. But I’ll let you have a crack at him one more time.”
Ty huffed. “Okay. Give me a few minutes to pull it together.” He walked outside into the hall, headed for the drink machine and bought a bottle of water. As he was gulping it down, Owen approached.
“Don’t let this guy burrow under your skin. I know you got a lot riding on it, but you have to keep a cool head.” He put two dollars into the machine and punched a Coke button. It rattled and clanked into the bin. “Do you think it’s Swain?”
“I don’t know. If he is, then he inserted himself into our investigation with enough information that throws us for a frustrating loop while he walks away. Our killer is that clever. On the other hand, if our killer is giving us this guy—without concrete evidence of any crime—what’s his motive? What does it have to do with the women he’s tattooing and murdering? What does it have to do with me specifically?”
“I don’t know, but if he is the killer and literally gave himself to us like this... I’ll be honest, my gut’s in knots. Who does that?”
Someone who knows they can’t be caught. A voyeur enjoying law enforcement’s frustration. Ty wiped drops of water off his chin. “Let’s see if he’ll crack.”
“He doesn’t seem to be that kind of egg, Ty.”
Ty didn’t have a choice but to try. Was this a wild-goose chase? Was he lying? Had Ahnah been involved with this kind of activity? She was in the photo. Why would Skipper come forward, and who sent the thumb drive? Ty’s nerves pulled taut. Any moment he was going to explode.
How was he going to get a step ahead of this guy?
If he didn’t, people he cared about were going to die.
Chapter Thirteen
Wilmington, North Carolina
