by Elle Gray
“I have sources too, TJ,” is all I say.
“Do you have something I don’t?”
I chuckle. “Couldn’t tell you. I don’t know what you have, since you’ve been so tight-lipped about it,” I say. “But if you want to get together and compare notes, my door is always open.”
“Arrington, I swear to God. If you’re concealing evidence, you are going to be in a whole world of hurt.”
I shrug. “I’m not concealing anything. It’s not like you guys have been a fount of information,” I reply. “But, your reaction just now tells me what I’m hearing is true. We’ve got another serial killer on the loose.”
“You breathe a word of that, and I’m going to kick your ass, Arrington,” he hisses. “That’s supposed to be kept—”
“Inside the task force, yeah I know.”
He stares at me, dumbfounded. “How do you know about the task force… you know what? Forget it. I don’t want to know.”
I give him a triumphant look, but it quickly fades as I put myself in check. This is not the sort of thing to be celebrating or taking victory laps about. The fact is, we have a killer running loose in the city, murdering young women at will, and the SPD seems more interested in covering their backs than catching this guy. I don’t blame TJ. He’s a cog in the machine and has to answer to an idiot like Torres.
But that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow, either. Something has to be done. This is not a situation where people should be playing politics. Not when the lives of Seattle’s young women are at stake. Not that I’d expect an idiot like Torres to either understand or care about that. To him, all that matters is how it reflects on him. But for guys like TJ, I have higher hopes.
“Listen, just take my word for it… we’re on the same side,” I tell him. “We want the same thing here.”
“You know Torres, man. You know I can’t give up any information,” he responds. “He’ll have my badge. Maybe worse.”
I frown and look down at the ground for a moment to give him time to think about this. But when I look back up, I see the firm resolve in his eyes. TJ is a cop through and through, and there’s no getting through to him. I can’t be mad at him for it. It sucks for me, and I may not like it, but I actually have to respect it. It’s one of the reasons he’s good police.
“I get it, TJ,” I tell him. “And I don’t want you to jam you up. I’m not going to say a word to anybody.”
He nods. “I appreciate it.”
From the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Marcy standing near the fringe of the crowd. She’s looking around nervously. Fidgeting. I have no idea what the killer said to her, but it’s something that’s got her on edge. I need to find out what it is.
“Anyway, good luck out here,” I say. “And keep your head on a swivel. Especially around Torres.”
He chuckles. “You don’t need to tell me twice.”
I nod and walk away, casually cutting a glance over my shoulder as I go, just to make sure TJ isn’t watching me walk off. He’s not. Even still, the last thing I want is for them to know I’m tied in with Marcy in any way at all. I don’t know why. It really shouldn’t matter, since I’m not police but it’s just one of those things I’d rather keep to myself. The less anybody— especially Torres and the SPD— know about me and my business dealings, the better.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, quickly find Marcy in my contacts, and push the button. I glance behind me again and don’t see anybody watching me as I press the phone to my ear. She picks up immediately.
“Why are you calling me?” she asks. From my vantage point, I can see her looking around, trying to find me in the crowd.
“I don’t want anybody knowing we’re connected,” I tell her. “I’m already headed back.”
“What? Why?”
“I’ll tell you later,” I reply. “Just go to your car and meet me back at the office.”
“But I wanted—”
“We need to talk in a secure location,” I tell her. “Meet me at the office.”
I disconnect before she can object further and drop the phone into my pocket. I don’t know if she’ll come. I mean, I’m sure she will at some point, but she may not do it right away. She still might insist on canvassing every last inch of the scene to get her story first. There’s nothing I can do about it right now, though. Marcy’s going to do what she wants to do.
But I’m worried about her, simply because she’s so jumpy and on edge this morning. I know the killer said or did something to scare her. I just don’t know what it is. As much as I want to say there’s nothing to worry about and that she’ll be fine, I never expected the killer to strike again so soon.
As I get to my car, I pull my phone out and key in a quick text message. Please come to the office ASAP. We need to talk, and I don’t want you out here alone.
A moment later, my phone chirps, and I look down at the screen.
K.
I’ve always hated that. Would it really be so difficult to actually give a real answer, rather than a single letter? I’ve read some of Marcy’s work. She’s a very talented writer. Far better than a simple K.
Shaking my head, I get into my car and make a mental note to add that to the list of things I need to talk to her about that when she comes in.
Twenty-Nine
Arrington Investigations; Downtown Seattle
“A sixth girl, huh?”
I nod grimly. “Looks that way. I thought we’d have more time.”
Blake shrugs. “Happens this way sometimes. As much as we pat ourselves on the backs after we put together these nifty profiles and think we’ve got it all figured out,” she starts, “what we always seem to forget is that these monsters are actually human beings. And if there’s one thing we know about human beings, it’s that they’re unpredictable.”
We’re sitting in the Fishbowl, and I just filled Blake in on the morning’s events. Amy’s already been in and laid out a coffee service and a platter of pastries. She and Blake seem to be hitting it off pretty well and are already chatting like old friends. I take a sip of coffee and lean back in my seat. Blake is studying me closely.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re worried about her,” she observes. “Marcy.”
“Well, of course,” I nod. “I don’t want anything to happen to her.”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s more than that,” she says. “You actually like her.”
A wry grin touches my lips. “I think you’re reading too much into things.”
“You forget, I read people for a living. And I’m very good at what I do,” she says. “I’m also not talking about romantic love. I’m just saying you’re fond of her.”
I look down into my coffee mug as if searching for answers in the dark liquid. She’s right. I do like Marcy. But it’s also definitely not a romantic feeling. I let out a long breath and raise my eyes to Blake again.
“She reminds me a lot of Veronica,” I say. “It sounds ridiculous, I know. But there’s something familiar about her, and I find that…”
I search my brain for the right word but come up empty. A look of understanding crosses Blake’s features, and she nods.
“Comforting,” she fills in the blank for me. “There’s something comforting about being around her.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that. But I would give you one word of caution about her,” she says. “And that would be to just be careful. I can already see you going into protective mode about her.”
“Protective mode?” I chuckle.
She nods. “It’s one of your better qualities, don’t get me wrong. You’re willing to put yourself in harm’s way to protect those people you care about. I think that’s an admirable quality,” she explains. “But my fear is that somewhere in that little brain of yours, you’re starting to think if you protect Marcy, or if you can save her, then it’s a substitute for saving Veronica. I worry it’ll lead you to do
something stupid. But it doesn’t work like that, Pax. And I think somewhere deep down; you know that.”
My lips curl down into a frown as I consider her words. It’s not like I’ve been actively thinking along those lines, but I can see where she’s coming from. And although I’d like to, I can’t say she’s necessarily wrong. I think about this morning and my aggravation at Marcy for not coming to the office when I told her she should. It’s because I wanted to keep her safe.
I didn’t think about it at the time, but with Blake’s perspective on the matter now, I guess that maybe I’m a little more invested in Marcy than I should be. Maybe she’s right. Maybe somewhere in the back of my lizard brain, there’s something that thinks if I save Marcy, I’m balancing some sort of cosmic scale. Something that thinks since I failed to save Veronica, if I save Marcy, I’ll have made up for it; perhaps alleviating the burden of guilt that’s pressed down on me since Veronica died. I don’t know.
I like to think I’m completely buttoned down and in control of myself and all of my emotions. But when it comes to Veronica, I have to admit that I’m still an absolute mess. Even almost three years later, everything inside of me is in chaos and turmoil.
“No matter what you think, what happened to Veronica is not your fault, Pax,” she says gently. “You need to find a way to let go of that guilt.”
“Easier said than done, I’m afraid.”
Her lips compress into a tight line, and she looks like she’s about to say more, but the door to the Fishbowl opens, and when I look up, I see Amy escorting Marcy in. Amy backs out without a word and closes the door. Marcy looks from me to Blake and back again.
“Am I interrupting?” she asks.
“Not at all. Come in, take a seat. Marcy Bryant, this is Special Agent Blake Wilder,” I introduce them. “Blake, this is Marcy.”
They shake hands, and Marcy gives Blake an uncertain smile. But she fixes herself a cup of coffee, grabs a Danish, and takes a seat at the table. She’s unusually subdued and picks at her Danish, I think, more to avoid eye contact than because she’s actually interested in eating it.
“Blake’s my friend from the FBI,” I explain. “I think I mentioned her to you before.”
Marcy’s eyes light up for a moment, and she nods. “Yeah, I remember you mentioning her before,” she says, then turns to Blake. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Yeah you too,” Blake says. “Pax says you’re doing some incredible work.”
Marcy shrugs. “Doing my best.”
“So are you going to tell me what today was all about?” I ask. “Why were you so jumpy out at the crime scene? You looked like you thought you were being watched.”
Marcy sighs, and though she still looks shaken, she also looks a bit more comfortable now that she’s inside the office. She takes a drink of her coffee and sets her mug down, then turns her eyes to me.
“He called me last night. Not an email, he— called me,” she says, with a slight quiver in her voice.
That he upped his communication from an email to a phone call feels significant. It’s more personal. Direct. He’s reaching out to her, trying to strengthen that bond he feels is forming between them. But why?
“What did he say?” Blake asks gently.
Marcy’s eyes shimmer with tears. She’s struggling to keep them from falling. It’s a battle she loses. I hand her a handkerchief, and she accepts it with a nod, then dabs at her eyes.
Blake and I share a look, and she shakes her head. Whatever this guy said, he got deep under her skin. Marcy takes a moment to compose herself. She sits up again and sniffs, using the handkerchief to wipe away the last of her tears, then does her best to maintain control of herself.
“Sorry,” she says quietly. “I didn’t mean to—”
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” Blake says. “It’s okay.”
I watch as Blake puts a comforting hand on Marcy’s arm and gives it a gentle squeeze. Blake’s always been really good with people. She seems to just know what they need at any given time. She has the ability to be everything to everybody. It’s a skill or an inherent talent, maybe that I lack. Even with Veronica, I sometimes never knew the right thing to say or do to bring her comfort or warmth.
I like to think that by the end, I’d gotten better at it, but having grown up as I did, and having to learn early on to build that hardened shell around myself, it wasn’t an easy obstacle to overcome. I think this is what Brody means when he tells me I need to work on my humanity. On being a human being. While I don’t necessarily think I’m a sociopath necessarily, I can admit to having difficulty empathizing with most people at times.
Marcy clears her throat. “H—he said that this was for me. That he murdered that woman last night for me,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “He said he feels a strong bond with me and wants to help me.”
“Help you?” I ask.
She nods. “He told me this is going to be the biggest story of my career and that he wants to share that with me. To help ‘move me up the ladder,’ as he put it,” she continues. “He said I’m smarter than the other journalists in the city who don’t see the genius of what he’s doing. That I’m special because I see the lessons he’s trying to teach.”
As she speaks, I can see why she’s so rattled. The killer made this personal for her in a way she’s not going to be able to shake off so easily. I lean forward and put my hand on her arm as Blake had done earlier, hoping Marcy draws some bit of comfort from the gesture. She turns her dark eyes on me, a fractured smile flickering across her lips.
“I know what you’re thinking, and this is not your fault, Marcy. You had nothing to do with this,” I tell her gently. “This is his sick game, and he’s just trying to get inside your head. Don’t let him.”
Blake nods. “I agree. He’s trying to make you feel responsible. Trying to bind the two of you closer together. But this is just because he’s a sicko creep. He wants you to be his mouthpiece,” she says. “Because the media isn’t paying attention, his ‘lessons’ aren’t being talked about; his story isn’t being told. And he wants the validation publicity brings. He didn’t do this for you, Marcy. He did this for himself.”
Marcy looks from Blake, then to me. I can see some bit of relief in her eyes, but I can also see she still feels somewhat responsible for the woman’s death. That’s a stink she’s not going to be able to wash off for a while. If ever.
I suppose now I can see what Blake has been preaching to me about; intellectually, I know I’m not responsible for Veronica’s death. There is nothing I could have done to save her any more than there was anything Marcy could have done. And yet, that stink hasn’t washed off me in almost three years either.
It’s funny. I’ve spent this whole time I’ve known Marcy reveling in how much she reminds me of Veronica, and never noticed how alike she and I are.
“I—I don’t think I should work on this case anymore,” Marcy says softly. “I don’t think I should keep writing about it.”
Blake shakes her head. “I’m really sorry to tell you this, but I think that would be a bad idea. For whatever reason, this sicko feels bonded to you,” she replies. “Your articles give him life and validation. If you stop writing about him all of a sudden, he might feel betrayed. And then there’s no telling what he might do.”
“Oh, God,” Marcy whispers.
“There’s got to be a way to use this to our advantage,” I say.
Blake nods. “There might be. We need to think about it,” she replies. “Right now, I think Marcy should go and get some rest. I’m sure you’re feeling pretty raw and wrung out right now.”
Marcy nods idly, then her eyes widen, and she looks at both of us, a stark fear in her eyes as something seems to occur to her.
“Do you think it’s possible he’s watching my apartment?”
As much as I hate to admit it and don’t want to scare her, I’d say it’s possible. Maybe even probable. It’s something I hadn’t thought of but
probably should have. I reach over to the interoffice phone on the table and push the button for Nick’s office.
“What’s up, boss?” he answers.
“Can you come into the Fishbowl for a moment?”
“On my way.”
A moment later, Nick steps in, and I introduce him to both Blake and Marcy. He nods and shakes hands with them.
“I need to put you on a special case, Nick,” I tell him. “I need you to guard this woman. You need to stick to her like glue. Do you hear me?”
“Yes sir,” he says.
Marcy looks at me, a small frown on her face. “Paxton, I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“I disagree,” I say and point at Nick. “And until I can arrange for other security, this man will be your shadow.”
“He’s right, Marcy,” Blake adds. “It’s better to be safe and to take precautions.”
I pull my house keys off my key ring and hand them over to Nick. “I’ll call the desk and let them know you’re coming.”
Nick nods, seeming to feel the weight of the duty I’m tasking him with— and yet still gives me the finger guns, making me cringe.
“Let me go get my weapon, and we’ll head out,” he says.
Marcy looks at both of us uncertainly and looks like she might be on the verge of another breakdown. But she reels it back in and gets a tight grip on herself.
“Have Nick stop by your place to get whatever you need for a few days away,” Blake says.
I lean forward and hold Marcy with my eyes, trying to give her some small boost of confidence as I can.
“Don’t worry. We’re going to nail this creep,” I tell Marcy. “Until then, you need to keep your head down.”
Thirty
Arrington Investigations; Downtown Seattle
“Well this thing has certainly spiraled out of control,” Brody comments with a rueful chuckle. “Chaos just seems to follow you around, Pax.”
