Page 86 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

"Let's get to work."

We moved back inside, bypassing the main desks, and took over the small secondary office at the end of the hall. I dragged a large rolling whiteboard into the center of the room, pinning the glossy crime scene photos from the kiln shack and the old building directly next to the missing persons grid maps. The machine took over. The three of us fell into our old roles with the smooth, terrifying precision of a unit that had spent too many years clearing rooms in the dark. Derek went first. He thought in people, profiling the intent behind the blood.

"The kidnapper, who took those eight women over the last few weeks, likes control. Look at the data. The kidnapper takes them without a single witness, no struggle.”

“Which means we're profiling the kidnapper as male," Mason said, tapping the edge of the evidence board. Derek continues.

"The victims are all women, and every one of them disappeared without signs of a struggle. To control and remove an adult female that cleanly, he'd need a significant physical advantage. We're likely looking at someone at least six feet tall, around one-forty pounds minimum, probably heavier. Strong enough to overpower them quickly without drawing attention. No forensic footprints left in the dirt. Means he wants them clean. He wants them whole. That’s a ritual of absolute possession."

He paused, his scarred finger tapping the photo of the kiln shack.

"But this? The guy from last night? This isn't possession. This is a performance. He left the bodies right where the morning shift would find them. He bound the male victim with heavy electrical wire so the morning light would catch the reflection. He wants an audience. He wants the police. He’s trying to start a violent conversation with the town."

"Logistics don't match either," Mason interrupted, his voice a flat, solid weight as he leaned over the map.

"Look at the transport. The eight women vanished from transit points, highway turnouts, trailheads, grocery lots. Low-risk, high-efficiency snatches. The offender had a van or a truck with a covered bed. He knew the blind spots of every county camera."

He traced a line toward the timber yard.

"The kiln shack has one access road, blocked by a security gate that requires an encrypted keycard or a heavy bolt cutter. The killer didn't cut the chain. He walked the victim in through the creek bed. That’s two miles of wet rock in the pitch black, carrying the victim. That’s brutal force. That's a completely different physical profile."

I stood back, my hands interlocking at the back of my neck. I take a step back, the separate pieces of the investigation spinning in my head until they slammed together with a sickening click.

"Theory One," I murmured, staring at the whiteboard.

"The kidnapper. Only women. Never leaves a body. Methodical. Surgical. We don't know the purpose because we don't have the remains."

"Theory Two," Mason continued, his eyes narrowing into cold slits.

"The killer. A man and a woman last night. He left the remains, displayed them. Wants the press. Wants us to look."

"Two offenders," Mason said.

"Fuck. That's what I was afraid of," I whispered, my throat going dry.

The weight of the revelation hit the small room like a sandbag. There wasn't just one monster hunting in the thirty-mile radius of Blackridge. There were two separate entities operating in the same woods, their tracks overlapping in the dark, one stealing lives to keep them, the other using them to put on a show.

"I'll make a call, see if my contacts know of anything brewing under them," Mason said, pulling his encrypted satellite phone from his pocket.

He walked toward the narrow window, his low rumble rising and falling as he contacted his outside resources, private security networks, human trafficking databases, and military contractors who monitored regional anomalies across state lines. If our kidnapper was a traveller, Mason’s people would find his ghost in another jurisdiction. Derek slung his canvas jacket over his shoulder as Mason pockets the phone.

"Alright, Reed. Show us."

"No," I said, grabbing my truck keys.

"Definitely yes," Derek grinned, his eyes bright with that relentless, frustrating curiosity.

"You can't tell us you found a girl who argues with ceramic gnomes, looks ethereal and then expects us to sit in this brick box all day. We need to vet her. For your tactical safety. Honestly at this point I’m imagining she is a fiction of your imagination."

"Firstly, you fucking idiot, she is real. Secondly, she’s a civilian and too fucking young, Derek. Thirdly leave her the fuck out of it." I counted on my fingers, raising a middle finger when I reached three.

I looked over at Mason for backup, but he was already walking toward the door, his heavy boots making a steady, unyielding thud against the floor. He didn't even wait for the argument to finish.

"Fine," I growled, following them out.

"But you keep your damn mouths shut about the murders."

The drive down the valley road was slow, the truck bouncing over the deep ruts until we pulled into her dirt turnout. The sun was finally breaking through the upper canopy, casting long, pale needles of light through the trees that made the white trim of her cottage look almost surreal.