Page 14 of A New Days Don

I don’t wait around for him. Once Massimo is in his closet, I hurry to pull on my pants, pick up my vest and belt, and make for the exit as quickly as possible.

The last thing I need is to wait around for some stranger, let alone ‘make myself at home’ in his space.

Jitters run up and down my spine as my foot taps impatiently by the elevator. When it dings, I sigh, relief as I’ve never felt washing over me, and I slip into the elevator.

Chapter 5

Mila

I stare up at the map of Las Vegas, my jaw tight and stomach twisting. Each red tack marking a shallow grave brings a heavy ache—sixteen women. Whoever is killing them is cocky, almost taunting us, daring someone to stop him. It feels personal, like he wants me to feel this terror.

As of last night, we found another site only a block away from the last victim. Her body was battered and splayed out, much like the rest. There is evidence of current and past drug use—whether recreational or forced is still to be determined. We are still waiting on the coroner, but by the looks of her neck and the contusion on her head, she was choked, and her head slammed against a wall or was hit with a blunt object.

Breathe in two, three, four. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

The rest of the files are all similar. Their bodies are posed. Each one lying open, their bodies marred with bruising and evidence of drug use. Each one was found to have a cause of death of strangulation or intracranial hematomas.

Breathe in two, three, four. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

I know better than anyone why Vicek requested me specifically for this case. He wants to see me crack under pressure. This isn’t the first rape case I have dealt with, nor will it be the last. Each one that comes my way is unique, but this one has so many similarities to my own that it is hard to separate those memories from reality as I analyze the data—or the lack thereof.

Breathe in two, three, four. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

Vicek is an amazing detective. He keeps detailed notes and keeps all evidence organized to make it easy for our analysis and investigation. Each case of his I come across is easy to solve because of it, but this one… This one is a mess.

Whoever is doing this to these women knows how to clean his tracks. He doesn’t leave an ounce of DNA data anywhere on these women, and the condom he uses is never found.

I look back over the map. There is no rhyme or reason for where the bodies are found. He doesn’t have a favourite spot, but he isn’t shy about returning to an old location. Is it out of ease?

Pulling out my phone, I search up clubs in Las Vegas. The number of clubs that appear is shocking. It shouldn’t be considering this is Sin City. I should have been able to predict that it wouldn’t be a cut-and-dry answer to know if he dumps bodies close to clubs. The answer is yes, but that is because there seems to be a club every half a mile from one another. Not because of some connection.

I breathe a sigh of frustration, looking back over the data. Several of the women’s samples had been contaminated, and other files seem so small that it’s almost a joke. My heart breaks as I look at each of their bodies in the photos. Vicek and his team didn’t take care in gathering the samples and making notes.

Wait.

What clubs are within a short radius of these dump sites? The man who is doing this is cocky, and by the looks of the toxicology reports, he is too weak or lazy to strong-arm these women. He wants them easy and pliable.

Vicek and his team have been focusing on Las Vegas as a whole. What they should have been doing is reducing their search areas to specific neighbourhoods. The unknown subject doesn’t care about where he dumps the bodies, but he cares about the clubs he goes to.

Suddenly, the door slams open, and I spin, my heart racing in my chest while my hand reaches for my taser. When my eyes meet Vicek’s unimpressed hazel ones, I relax, though my heart still feels ready to beat out of my chest. Panic budding and spreading through my body, the familiar chill making goosebumps rise on my arms.

Breathe in two, three, four. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

My vision tunnels, but I don’t take my eyes off of Vicek, who looks far more pleased with himself than he should be.

I’m safe. I’m capable of protecting myself. I am not in that alley. I am here, in the station.

“Where the hell did you go last night?” I snap at Vicek, whose bored eyes turn sharp, full of authoritative audacity.

After I ran out of the fancy upper Sin City condo last night, I had to hail down a cab to return to Adelaide to grab my cruiser. I spent most of the ride home overanalyzing why, for the first time in six years, I felt calm, because that was what those warm feelings must have been attached to, the fact that the looming presence of panic disappeared.

Even now, as Vicek glares his intimidating hazel eyes at me, I am replaying waking up in that stranger’s bed, using whatever that moment was to tether me to reality and calm my racing pulse.

“We are going to one of the clubs. We received an anonymous tip.” Vicek tells me, not answering my question, “You’re coming with me.”

Clubs.

So much for calm.