Page 54 of PSYCHOlogical

I glanced to my right.

Wallace’s mangled body was slumped against the dash. A blood smear, hair, and skin stuck to the shattered windshield gave hint as to how forceful the impact of his skull was against the glass.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and shoved the mouthguard into my pocket. After momentarily removing my glove, I reached to feel for a pulse, wincing from pain in the process.

His pulse was faint.

I slipped on my glove and gripped the base of his skull with one hand and his chin with the other. With one forceful yank, I twisted his head with all my might.

The sound of his neck snapping was enough for me to know his spinal cord was severed. The investigators would assume it happened in the wreck.

I felt for a pulse once again.

Nothing.

I found my bag on the rear floorboard. I removed Wallace’s restraints and placed them in the bag. Using the heel of my palm and Pike’s cap, I pressed an indentation into the sun visor, where his head was likely to hit. In the center of the impact point, I smeared some of Pike’s blood. Then, I pressed the hairs I’d taken from his scalp against the blood, allowing a few to remain in place and the others fall to the floorboard.

I scraped up some of the glass fragments from the passenger side seat and secured them in a Ziploc bag for later use. Turning the passenger airbag switch on and removing the electrical tape from the overhead console were the last two steps.

I placed everything in my bag and exited the car.

Headlights in the distance illuminated the tree-lined ditch. I flattened myself against the grass, hoping to remain out of sight to the passerby.

The vehicle slowed. I lifted my head enough to see the roadway. The passenger door swung open. Val’s profile came into view.

I grabbed my bag and stood.

One more stop, and the first phase of my plan would be complete.