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“Control maybe?” Seth put down his half-eaten bowl of chili. “A lot can go wrong while a victim is awake and unrestrained. Maybe the killer didn’t want to take any chances.”
Nico nodded. “But look at these girls—” He waved a hand to Darcy and Isabelle’s photos. “They’d barely have weighed a couple hundred pounds combined. Almost anyone could have overpowered them and done the deed without much fuss, but the killer chose to keep them alive. Why?”
Frank and West remained quiet. Pensive.
“Some kind of fantasy?” Zoe asked. “The killer wanted to . . . taunt them?”
“Which means it wasn’t just pre-meditated; it was personal,” Nico said, speaking quickly so as not to waste any more time. “These women were best friends, they shared history. If we were dealing with some kind of garden-variety psychopath, there would be no reason to choose victims with such a close connection.”
“Okay,” Frank said. “So, the question is—as it always has been—who had motive to kill them both?”
Nico felt multiple sets of eyes on him as he forced two unfortunate words out of his mouth. “The Rileys.”
“Nah, we looked into George, remember?” Frank said, bordering on impatient. “Old Mr. McKinney needed his Corvette ready for the auto show. They pulled an all-nighter.”
Nico shook his head. “I don’t think it was George.”
It took a good ten seconds for his words to sink in, but once they did, a collective scoff swept through the room, including Seth and Zoe.
“You can’t be serious,” West said.
Nico stood his ground. “She has the motive.”
“But not the means,” Frank urged. “Jesus, Nico, a strong breeze could knock that woman over. How in the hell do you expect she’d be capable of cold-blooded murder?”
“By being smart about it,” Nico argued, struggling to keep his voice level. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that there wasn’t a single sign of a struggle at either crime scene? What does that tell you?”
“It tells me that whoever did it had enough strength to subdue two young, healthy women quickly and efficiently,” Frank said. “Which Esme couldn’t possibly have done.”
“Don’t underestimate broken people,” Nico warned. He then leaned over Zoe’s desk to tap a few letters into the keyboard. “Right there. George Riley is the registered owner of a pump-action Remington rifle. If Esme got her hands on it, she could have easily threatened her way into both women’s homes, got them where she wanted them and then—”
“And then socked them in the head,” Frank finished, rubbing his chin in thought. “I don’t know, Nico. Seems a stretch.”
“Then let’s go. Prove me wrong.”
Frank looked to West, who sighed, clearly unable to think of a reason not to at least check it out.
“Alright,” he said. “Go.”
Chapter twenty-nine
“Esme?”
Lexie gaped. Her nose was stuffy from sobbing and her tears had dried in long, cold streaks down her cheeks. Her head throbbed. A ripple of terror wound its way through her body as Sara Riley’s mother stood still as a statue above her. Her unblinking stare was unnerving, the intent to do harm penetrating Lexie’s very bones.
“What is this? Where are we?”
Silence.
“Untie me.” Lexie writhed and struggled against the restraints. “Let me out of here! Help! Hel—”
Like a rattlesnake, Esme struck, catching Lexie in the stomach with a blow that knocked the wind from her lungs. She gasped, grunted, and groaned, her body folding in on itself as the pain intensified and spread. When Lexie regained enough composure to lift her face again, Esme’s gaze was eerily calculating. Strange, she did not look like the woman Lexie remembered as a child. The shy yet warm and friendly member of their community who loved to cook and always sent her daughter off to school with a hug and a kiss. That Esme was gone. Whoever this person was, she held the black of sin in the depths of her eyes. Like a shark scenting blood, she radiated nothing but pure predatory menace, and Lexie couldn’t help but shiver.
She reached out a hand to stroke Lexie’s cheek, her touch almost loving in its tenderness. “Do you think my baby girl begged for her life before she died?”
“Esme, please. I understand why you’re doing this, and I know how angry you must feel,” Lexie said, trying and failing to keep the tremble from her voice. “But this isn’t the way to find peace.”
In her heart, Lexie knew it was useless to think such a line might work, the slim hope disappearing completely as Esme’s soft caress turned more aggressive. Wrapping pinching fingers around Lexie’s face, she squeezed until it hurt. Lexie felt her cheeks bunch and her lips protrude under the pressure.
